COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN - Joe Bergeron (different ereaders TXT) 📗

hadn’t used the improperly spelled first
name in the note.
Salazar recognized it as her father simply
using a nickname.
No harm done.
“I’m alright. But the people I’m with are very
serious about their plans. If you comply with their
demands, they’ll release me in ninety days. I won’t be
able to speak with you again. Please do as they ask.”
The phones were disconnected from the Cuban
side.
Salazar spoke softly.
“Congratulations, Mister McKenzie - you did
well.”
The contingent of three left him immured.
163
Monday, May 22, 3:05 p.m.
Breacher One had called back.
“OK, Courtney, the ball’s in your court. Get the
list to the Radisson garage attendant by five.”
“It’ll be there.”
He needed more information.
“When will you call back with the position you
want us to take?”
“When I’m damn good and ready. I know
where to reach you.”
He hung up, his statement confirming
Courtney’s previous certainty their hotel would be
identified.
Eddie Dalger had left an electronic sweeper
that would detect any transmitters.
He’d used it and found none.
Kay had left the room immediately following
her father’s call.
Although filled with emotion, her sense of
purpose allowed her to brief Wirtham coherently. She
knew Michael had control of the strategy, but she also
knew the truth about Yankee Echo’s silent partners.
She wanted assurances from Wirtham that the
CIA was keeping their eyes on everything.
Wirtham told her he’d been in constant contact
with David Eisenberg, a Deputy Director, and Yankee
Echo Liaison at the CIA.
Courtney and St. Croix would be given latitude
to remediate the breach and locate her father.
Should they show any faltering, the
government clandestine organization would step in.
They walked to the conference room together.
Courtney began speaking as they entered the
room.
“Robert, Let’s fire up the computer - we need to
see how this thing is going to shake out.
164
I think we should identify three hundred
writers for this guy.”
He’d evaluated the possibility of injurious
consequences to his people.
“I don’t think were putting our writers in any
danger here. He’s probably going to just verify a few off
the list.”
Wirtham agreed.
In the computer room, the Metaphysician
turned Director.
Wirtham took notes.
“I want to break out Standard Metropolitan
Statistical Areas by marginal income. Wherever you
find a fifty thousand dollar average household or better,
let’s hold back our guys. Include in that every U.S.
major metro pocket, and add those newspapers to the
list.”
He gave his old professor enough time to write
it all down and continued.
“Every zoned-edition staff writer in the major
metropolitan areas will have their fax designations
cued to TAC 1. That will keep their stories localized,
and off the ‘A’ sections of their papers.”
He paused - insuring a thought, left hand on
hip, right hand on chin.
Now both hands were on his hips.
“Our disposition to the negative writers will be
based on the decrease in the availability of capital to
supply world demand. Bring in Eastern Europe, Africa,
and Latin America. Let the neg writers have their
reins. We won’t write their leads, and keep a loose
frequency schedule on their stories. We need a perfect
balance - three hundred to three hundred.”
He thought about the possibility of coming up
short on the negative writer side.
“If we come up short on the neg side, let’s
remediate the balance by density pockets.
165
We’ll sequence the positive writers in three day
increments - Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’ll write
the leads for the pos guys.”
This had required some prior thought.
“I’m going to leverage the renewed threat of
Russia, and the possibility of a Sino/Soviet Alliance -
but it won’t be base on political ideology - it’ll be based
on economic necessity. We’re also going to market the
expansion of world trade, and the deficit balance in
favor of the U.S.. I don’t think the breachers will make
the connection. I just hope there’s no subsequent
ground swell because of the neg writers.”
Finally, Courtney had only concluding remarks
left.
“No matter how we cut this up, Robert, our
guys are good, and they’ll produce some compelling
stories - and some of those are going to get picked up by
the wire services.”
Lifting both palms face up, his mouth opened,
eyes wide.
“For the time being, that has to be an
acceptable risk. Can you get the logistical part of this
printed out for me in an hour and a half?”
Wirtham was certain of it.
“Yep - I have my two best ops people standing
by.”
“OK, let’s go.”
Monday, May 22, 4:49 p.m.
The automatic ticket dispenser at the
Radisson’s garage kicked out its two hundred fifty-sixth
voucher of the day.
Courtney pulled the pass from the
electromechanical machine and headed for the West
ramp for one loop of the ground floor.
166
Approaching the garage attendant’s booth,
there were two cars in front of him waiting to pay their
toll, and exit.
A quick glance in his rear view mirror
indicated no one behind him, an opportunity for a brief
conversation.
She was outfitted in a mahogany-red uniform,
the Radisson emblem emblazoned on her blazer. No
more than twenty, her auburn hair was bobbed in a
pony tail - obviously a hair style designated in some
procedural manual for garage attendants at the hotel.
Cute and petite, his intuition told him she was no more
than a drop.
He touched the envelope on the seat next to
him.
When it was his turn to remit - he handed her
the ticket.
She, reviewing it, gave him a look that was
somewhere between a pout and a laugh.
“You don’t have to pay for this, Sir. There’s not
enough time on it.”
Retrieving the envelop on the seat next to him,
he extended it through the driver’s window in her
direction.
“I have something for you.”
Miss auburn pony tail glanced at her time
clock.
“Oh yeah - I’m expecting a delivery. They
called.
An associate of the associate had ascertained
the number for the telephone in her booth.
Courtney thought it pragmatic to at least try to
secure some additional information.
“When you give it to Mister Donovan, tell him I
need it back.”
“Who?”
“Aren’t you delivering it?”
167
“Of course not. I’m not going to Colorado, I’m just going
to mail it to the post office box.”
It was a moot point, not worth any further
investigation. She was not connected - would never
know what was sent - or who it went to - and didn’t
really care.
Just a nice kid making a few extra bucks.
He noticed a Land Rover had pulled up behind
him.
Time to leave.
“Thanks - handle it carefully.”
She smiled, not looking at him, but beyond him
at her next toll payer.
“I will - bye.”
He had a feeling she’d been given enough
money to send it U.S Postal Service - Express
Overnight Delivery.
He was right.
Monday, May 22, 5:36 p.m.
The elevator stopped at the third floor.
As Courtney exited, he was greeted by Andy St.
Croix.
He’d arrived just after the analyst left.
Both Robert and Kay had debriefed him.
“Hey, Mick - how y’all doin.”
Each shook the others hand. Both exchanged
friendly slaps on the arm - Courtney extending words of
real sincerity.
“Am I glad to see you.”
St. Croix expressed what he’d received in the
debriefing.
“Ah got your plan by summary from Miss
McKenzie and Bobby, but ah need the whole thing,
Mick.”
“Where’s Kay and Robert, Andy?”
“In his office.”
168
Courtney wanted to get away from JGM - not
because he felt there was any chance of compromise -
He just wanted a break.
“I’m going to have her stay with him while you
and I go out.”
Explanations set in order, the two men left the
building together on foot.
In close-contact warfare training, a Zero is
taught reconnaissance and recognition theory - how to
look for an adversary - and how to identify him.
For someone with his ability and training, the
spot wasn’t difficult.
One man, clean cut, well dressed, no apparent
pressing obligations, eyes alternately looking up then
down, lips moving when eyes cast to the ground.
“Mick - we got us a follower across the street.
He isn’t holdin a listening device, so he can’t hear us.
But he sure as hell will be trailin our backside. Ah just
wanted to let you know. If he becomes a problem, Ah’ll
fix it.”
Without turning to review the now new party
to their walk, Courtney solicited more information from
his friend.
“Does he fit any profile to you - like CIA, NSA,
FBI…?”
He’d done this so many times before, he was
certain of his next response.
“Hell, yeah. He might as well be wearin his ID
on his forehead. Either CIA, NSA, or State
Department INTEL. He’s about one hundred steps to
our rear, and he’s jabberin into his tie.”
Courtney selected a venue for their
conversation.
“There’s a lounge on the next block. We’ll go in
there.”
169
They sat at a table near the end of the Capitol
Lounge’s fifty foot dark oak and brass appointed bar.
Their tail opted for something close to the door;
a stool at the bar in front of a wall-mounted television
set.
St. Croix assured Courtney he could not hear
them, and was really no threat given their proximity
from him.
“He’s receiving and transmitting, Mick, but ah
have to believe it’s just to identify our location.”
Satisfied, the analyst began detaining his
thoughts.
“Andy, did Robert and Kay tell you how the
organization has been split up for the time being?”
“Yeah - fifty, fifty, negative and positive
positions.”
“I think I can play one side against the other -
with more leverage on the positive side.”
“Ah’d have to see how y’all laid it out, but that’s
not an area of expertise with which this old Navy boy
has dealt. Ah’m sure y’all have it covered.”
St Croix reviewed the trail once again. He’d
ordered a dark soft drink and was glued to the
television set. He returned to the conversation.
“We need to do some reviewing, buddy. Ah was
goin over some of this with Bobby - like the card our boy
in Miami wrote but never delivered to his Catalina.
Miss McKenzie showed me the same name pulled off
the Cuban report. There’s more than coincidence here,
Mick. Ah ran into two foreigners at Bellcamp’s doin
some unauthorized housecleanin for him. One of them
was kind enough to give me another name - The name
of the guy who sent them. It’s Belize.”
An employee of the Capitol Lounge’s wait staff
approached the table. Halting their conversation
momentarily, they ordered two coffees.
170
The Howard University Senior, now walking
away from them with their order, thought to himself,
’this tip sure isn’t going to pay for grad school.’
The waiter’s egress from the table completed,
they continued.
“Ah let them go with their booty, figured the
breachers had all the info anyway - but that gives us
three of a kind. Ah guarantee we have a Cuban
connection here.”
Courtney wasn’t surprised, but he needed more
answers. A bigger stage had been set.
“Andy, don’t forget about the guy at the end of
the bar. I think there’s also a U.S. Government
connection here.”
It hadn’t escaped the Zero.
“Either that, or he’s got a leg on something, and
wants to follow the action. That little island’s really a
hot piece of property right now.”
“You should see the list of multi-national corps
waiting to get their shovels in the sand down there.”
“Ah can imagine. Mick, have we done many
writes on Cuba?”
“No - everything’s gone along pretty smoothly
with their transition so far. Pat never gave the word to