The Stickmen (14 page)

DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

PENTAGON LIAISON BRANCH

Senior Case Director Myers had
not-very-enthusiastically attended Garrett’s wedding to Lynn; that
was the only time Garrett had met the man, and it was Garrett’s
good fortune that looks couldn’t kill. To Myers, Garrett was a
conspiracy kook at the least and probably an anarchist at the
worst.
Jesus,
Garrett thought now, seeing the man again for
the first time in years.
If he was bald, he’d look just like the
Chief on Get Smart.

But Garrett minded his manners when he
received the otherwise impossible opportunity to make his pitch.
Lynn kept to a corner while Myers sat poker-faced behind his desk,
listening to Garrett’s extraordinary claims. During his clipped
discourse, Garrett showed the director the most convincing of the
documents, the photographs, and the ciphers, and at the end of his
first segment, Garrett felt pretty proud of himself. All in all, it
was a great presentation.

“Well?” Garrett bid after a long silence.
“What do you think so far?”

Myers’ emotionless face finally tightened
into something that could be called a human expression.

A
negative
human expression.

“What do I think?” Myers answered. “I think
this pile of paper here is more useless than a picnic basket full
of gorilla shit.
That’s
what I think. Don’t you know
counterfeiting government documents is a federal crime? Don’t you
know that trying to pass them off as genuine to an officer of a
government agency can land you in prison for
fifty years?
Look, Garrett, I know you’re a nut-bar, I know you’re rebellious
anti-Constitutional flake, and I know you’re a criminal…but even I
couldn’t imagine that you could be this stupid.”

Garrett shuffled in place. “Gee, I guess you
didn’t like my presentation, huh?”

Myers pushed away from his desk in disdain.
“You conspiracy nut-bars are all the same. When you can’t prove
anything, you make the shit up to support your own ridiculous
beliefs because you’ve got nothing
real
to do with your
lives. Your whole world becomes a sewer full of your own bullshit.
Jesus Christ, you idiots think the Apollo moon landings were staged
and Kennedy was killed by an Oswald imposture planted by the
CIA.”

“Actually,” Garrett elucidated, “the
imposture, William Seymour, was planted by Army intel, not CIA,
while the real Oswald was in Russia, and Kennedy was actually
killed by shooters in the Corsican Mafia recruited for Santos
Trafficante by the Marseille heroin syndicate…but that’s beside the
point. Look, sir, these documents aren’t fake. This brand of
photographic paper isn’t even made any more, and look at the
watermarks, look at the typographical protocol, look at the
ciphers. Christ, check the signatures with your graphology
unit.”

Myers was wincing so harshly he could’ve
just bitten into a lemon. “This shit is
fake,
Garrett, and
you’re
the one who manufactured it. You and your nut-bar
cronies. And, Lynn—” Now Myers’ glared shot to the corner. “You
must have some
serious
 flaws in your power of judgment,
to actually bring this
idiot
here. Frankly, I’m astonished
that you haven’t been able to see right through this two-bit
ploy.”

Stoop-shouldered, Lynn sighed. “Sure, boss,
I can imagine how this appears to you, given Harlan’s…escapades in
the past. But I don’t think my judgment is faulty. I don’t think
the documents and photos are fakes. And, yes, Harlan is a bit loopy
sometimes, but I do know him. I was married to him—God knows
why—and one thing I can attest to beyond all doubt is that he’s not
a liar. And I think that you won’t be so quick to dismiss him once
you hear, and see, the rest.”

Myers looked momentarily flabbergasted. “You
mean…there’s
more?
”

“Plenty more, sir,” Garret hastened to
answer. “The Nellis business is just Part One. Ready for Part
Two?”

Myers simmered where he sat. “If this isn’t
good, and I mean
real
good, I’m going to have you booked and
charged. And, Lynn? I’ll make sure you never get on a promotion
list again. Business is business, and our jobs are very sensitive.
Just because you and I are friends doesn’t mean I won’t transfer
you to our field office in Wainwright, Alaska.”

Then Lynn did the strangest thing. “This
is
good, boss. If I didn’t think so, then I never would’ve
brought him here in a million years.”

Garrett felt inclined to smack himself in
the ear.
Did I hear her right? Did she just express some
confidence in me? Somebody pinch me.

“All right, Garrett,” Myers gruffly
consented. “You’ve got five minutes to convince me why I shouldn’t
have you imprisoned.”

Garrett rubbed his hands together, sweaty as
they were. “Everything I’ve just explained to you about the Nellis
crash in 1962 is directly related to several things that are
happening right now. The DIA processes and analyzes intelligence
for all of the military branches, so I’m quite certain you know
about the atomic demolition device that was stolen several days ago
from the U.S. Army Munitions and Redepositions Command in Edgewood,
Maryland.”

Myers pounded his fists on the desk, then
stood up and shouted, “That’s hot off a restricted CID file! It’s
an official EEi report that’s classified crypto/citadel! There’s
no way
you can
possibly
know about it!”

Garrett stepped back as if he’d just had a
trumpet blown in his face. “Um-hmm, and I couldn’t possibly know
about the murder of a former JAG officer named Farrell, either, or
the murder of former FBI agent name Jack Urslig.”

“GodDAMN it!” Myer blew right up. “You’ve
infiltrated a national security database!”

“Actually,
several
national security
databases,” Garrett corrected.

Myers’ face was turning red as he reached
for the phone. “The Marines are carrying your ass to jail RIGHT
NOW!”

“Forget about that for now,” Lynn calmly
implored. “There’s something serious going on here, and I think it
bears some investigation. Harlan didn’t actually
hack
into
any databases. He was
given
the entry codes, he was
following a lead under the directions of an Air Force general.”

All at once, Myers’ rage siphoned out of him
like a balloon deflating. Suddenly he looked perplexed. “An Air
Force general? Not Norton T. Swenson.”

“Hey, how’d you know?” Garrett asked in
surprise.

“Fuck.” Myers sat back down, his ass
dropping into the seat like a dropped bag of cement. All at once he
looked flustered, even troubled.

“What gives?” Garrett asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago, I got a
classified FYI telex from the Interagency Branch.”

“Yeah?”

“Last night General Norton T. Swenson was
murdered in his home in Bethesda.”

“Oh no,” Garrett groaned. His spirit seemed
to plummet.

“And the thing that bugged me most about
it,” Myers went on, “is that…those two other names you just
mentioned?”

“Judge Farrell and Urslig, the FBI agent?”
Lynn said.

Myers rubbed his face. “Yeah. They were both
killed by the same m.o. as Swenson. Unforced entry, small-caliber
handgun fired through a chambered silencer, elaborate security
systems overridden.”

Garrett couldn’t have been more morose at
the news. Swenson was already dying, and he knew Sanders was
gunning for him. But—

For some reason, Garrett didn’t expect
this.

“Come on, boss,” Lynn edged. “How about
giving this some consideration. I hate to say it, but Harlan isn’t
always a
total
nut-bar.”

Thanks, baby,
Garrett thought.
“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he addressed Myers. “If I screw up?
Hey, it’s just me, the
nut-
bar. Nothing can lead back to you
or Lynn.”

Myers, very reluctantly, looked back up at
Garrett. “What do you want?”

“All I’m asking is for a simple cred pass,
sir,” Garrett tried to make it sound nonchalant. “Give me a phony
government ID that’ll get me onto Edgewood.”

Myers pawed his gut as if he had an ulcer.
“I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, give me a break. You guys print out
phony ID faster than Dark Horse Comics prints out copies of
Buffy.
I’m not asking you to for the key to Ellsberg’s
office. Just call up the boys in the print shop and have ’em make
me something that’ll stand up past a Class IV cred check.”

Myers’ face creased; he squirmed in his
seat. “You’re a private citizen, for God’s

sake. I can’t just—”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Oh, and you’re
telling me that the Defense Intelligence Agency has never
contracted private citizens for shadowed intel operations? What
about the plumbers you hired to case the new Russian Embassy?”

Myers frowned. “How the hell did you find
out about—”

“They were
private citizens
who you
set up with phony State Department ID’s so they could properly
blueprint the Embassy’s domestic water lines which you later traced
with milliwave surveillance sensors, and the whole job came out of
your shadow-op budget. And let’s not forget about that
private
ambulance crew you hired to contradict the testimony
of the paramedics who first saw the White House Counsel’s body at
Fort Marcy Park.”

Myers abruptly pointed a finger at Garrett.
“That wasn’t us, damn it.”

“Hey, Big Brother by any other name is still
Big Brother, right?”

“List it as a statutory inquest and send
me,” Lynn suggested. “I’m official, in case anything goes
wrong.”

“That’s even more out of the question,”
Myers said. “With a freelance hitter out there? I can’t risk one of
my most valuable operatives on something that’s probably just a
wild goose chase.”

“All the more reason to give me that cred
pass,” Garrett reminded. “If I get killed, you’ve got nothing to
worry about. And if I get caught, do what you Big Brother guys do
best. Disavow all knowledge and discredit the source. Plausible
denial and all that good shit.”

Myers hesitated with more pained looks. His
eyes scanned the piles of documents and photos lain across his
desk. Then he shook his head. “It’s just too risky. This evidence
just isn’t strong enough to justify something like this.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Garrett winked
at his ex-wife. “Lynn? Why don’t you show your dutiful boss the
rest
of the evidence.”

Lynn placed the suitcase on Myers’ desk,
withdrew the black plastic bag, and after unwrapping it removed the
charred alien forearm.

Its two black fingers pointed right into
Myers’ face.

««—»»

In the underground parking lot, Garrett
leaned on the fender of his dented Malibu, grinning down at the new
leather ID wallet in his hand. Lynn stood aside with her arms
crossed.

“You look like a kid at Christmas who just
got a bag of Beanie Babies,” she observed.

Garrett continued to look in awe at the
opened wallet. On the left side was the ever-familiar crested
silver badge, and on the right was a federal photo ID card
identifying “Richard Odenton” as a Special Agent with the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. All it had taken was a quick haircut in
the Pentagon’s mezzanine barber shop and a quickly borrowed shirt
and tie from the Ident Section’s wardrobe unit.

“This is cooler than cool,” Garrett said,
still grinning at his new ID. “I always wanted to be in the FBI.
And I like the name—Richard Odenton. Has a nice black bag kind of
ring to it, don’t you think? Good work on the driver’s license, car
registration, and Social Security card, too. Christ, even phony
license plates.” As an added treat, he’d also been given a cellular
field phone with all the latest scrambling filters and a pager with
a GPS direction-finding frequency.
Man, I’m set!
Garrett
thought in a rush of excitement.

“Congratulations, Special Agent Odenton,”
Lynn joked. “It figures Myers would give you
Bureau
ID.
They’re in enough trouble as it is, so if you screw up—”

“—then it’ll just look like a typical day in
the FBI. Hey, let’s assault a cult compound full of explosives,
ammunition, flammable material, and
children,
and forget to
bring a fire truck.”

Lynn frowned at the comment’s poor taste.
“Come on.”

The Malibu’s twenty-year-plus bench seat
springs groaned when they got in. Garrett drove out of the lot. As
they drove up the exit ramp into daylight, Lynn kept glancing over
at him.

“What?” Garrett asked. “I got a tick on my
neck?”

Lynn sighed, opened her mouth to say
something, but then declined.

“Come on,” Garrett insisted. “What are you
looking at? You’re making me paranoid.”

“You were born paranoid, Harlan.” Then she
shrugged and just said. “Don’t take this out of context but…you’re
actually a pretty decent looking guy with your hair cut short.”

“Oh yeah?” Garrett exclaimed. “So when do
you want to do lunch?”

“Never. I was simply making an objective
observation.”

“And a damn perceptive one if I must say.
And that geezer Myers said he doubted your sense of judgment.
Ha!”

“This is no joke, Harlan,” she reminded.
“You better be damn careful flashing that ID; you could get
yourself made real easy. You’ve got no experience as a field
agent.”

“No, but I did read Strasberg’s book on
acting. Relax, I can play the spook game.”

Lynn didn’t seem so sure. “I’d feel a lot
better if I went with you. At least I’d be around to make sure you
don’t step on your dick and make a complete asshole out of
yourself.”

Garrett winced behind the wheel. “Please,
Lynn. Foul language doesn’t become you.”