Game Time Pt. 01

"And I always get commendations on the way I handle the training, Andrew Maddux Brodie," a now very annoyed Lana said to me. I was not about to respond by calling her Svetlana Alexeevna Savina; THAT would definitely have put her over the edge into a full-blown shit-fit. I simply took a breath and paused to think for a second before continuing our conversation.

"Sugar," I said, now holding my hands out and up in a mild signal of body language that hinted that I was surrendering, while I continued to argue, although a bit less forcefully, "I know that you could take care of yourself in the case of a general self-defense scenario. But, these East European gangs that the Bureau has you tracking data on don't mess around. They are vicious and ruthless; and I simply believe that the FBI should be putting their own badged Special Agents on it, rather than asking someone who is doing contract support to do it. It's just not appropriate, in my opinion."

I was trying to be logical and reasonable; that's just the way us guys think; right? Well, women do not think that way; they include a lot of emotion into what they think, say, and do--as I was about to find out firsthand.

"Well, I will have you know that I am fully capable of handling the situation in this case," said Lana to me, as she resumed placing the utensils on the table, as if that settled it. Then she surprised me by trying to use logic and reason as part of her argument. "After all, I will only be doing office work on behalf of this investigation for the Bureau, and only with a company that is about two or three steps removed from any of the actual gang-related operations. I will be fine."

We had agreed that we would not talk about the details of what we did in our contracts, as they involved some things that carried a 'Classified' label--defense-related in my case; criminal-investigation-related in her case. But, we often talked in generalities about our efforts on behalf of our country's defense and Homeland protection missions. Lana knew about the general nature of the acquisition work that I was supporting, while I knew about her work for the Bureau in the area of the Russian and other East European criminal enterprises, but without any knowledge of specific names, crimes, or locations.

"Anyway," Lana continued, "Emmett needs my Russian language skills, and the cultural nuances with which I am familiar from my youth while growing up with immigrant parents. And he has constant electronic and general surveillance on our work sites, as well as on the offices in which we will be working.

"And," she dragged that 'And' out in a long syllable, "when and if he decides to pull the trigger on his big operation and begins to roll up the pieces of the gang that he is after, I will not be going to work that day in the usual offices. I will just let him descend on them with drawn weapons and crates of evidence bags, while I go about my business back at my old cubicle in McLean."

FBI Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn was the man in charge of all the efforts focused on taking down one particular segment of the Russian gangs that had, in recent years, displaced the Italian mob families all up and down the Eastern Seaboard, but gave the impression of being a legitimate business enterprise. Most of the effort of the Bureau in taking these gangsters down appeared to involve going after their money trail, a task to which Lana's contract efforts had been seconded.

I had not personally examined Lana's Program Work Statement, but somehow I got the impression that Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn was stretching the provisions of Lana's PWS somewhat by using her in the specific capacity in which she was now involved.

Lana and one or two other contractors, along with one or two undercover Special Agents, had been placed temporarily in the offices of a front company that the FBI had gained control of by leaning on its owner--a man well known to have distant links with the Russian mob, and who had come to the Bureau's attention--and under their thumb--because of questionable monetary transactions. The Bureau would use this front company's operations and connections to dig deeper into the Russian mob's financial dealings. That is about the extent of the details to which Lana had informed me; but, from that, I was able to surmise further and begin to worry--especially about the potential for danger in what she was doing.

The few times that I had met Emmett Van Horn were at those rare Bureau-hosted social gatherings, with spouses or significant others of the team under his supervision. During those events, I had developed an opinion of him as being an ambitious and arrogant prick from an affluent family background.

Van Horn, I had found out eventually, had attended the prestigious Ivy-League Brown University and had risen quickly within the Bureau; and he thought that everyone under his supervision should jump BEFORE he even spoke. This seemed to be true especially of some of the women in his office; almost all of whom appeared to be uncomfortable around him, to varying degrees, in those social settings that I had witnessed personally. Lana, though, had never had anything but praises for Emmett Van Horn and appeared to admire what he was doing on behalf of the Bureau--and truth, justice, and the American way--blah, blah, blah.

Back to our dinnertime disagreement--I let the danger-to-Lana aspect of our conversation die off now as we sat down to eat that night.

Steven was now at a stage of development that involved his talking quite a lot; and tonight he was telling us all about his daily activities in the K4 program in which we had him enrolled daily during the work week. Quite often, at the end of our busy and sometimes frustrating days, he was our primary bright spot in the world. I loved my son and, as I looked at the woman I loved sitting across from me at the table, I could not wait for this 'thing' she was involved in to get settled so that we could start to work on a brother or sister for Steven.

That night, after putting Steven down, Lana and I forgot our differences over what she was doing at work as she wore me out in bed. She and I kissed and licked each other all over, followed by a prolonged sixty-nine encounter. Lana then got on all fours for our first fuck and got off twice before I fired my load into her very tight wet pussy. After a short rest, she and I began to caress each other back into the 'go' mode and Lana rode me cowgirl until she came, leaning forward over me. I then rolled us both over and finished up by depositing another load into her missionary style. After cuddling for a while afterward, neither of us had any energy to hit the bathroom to clean up; so, we simply pulled the sheets up and went to sleep, still stinking of sex and sweat; it was glorious.

Things went to shit just a few weeks after that wonderful night.

****

CHAPTER 2

Early one morning, I was at my cubicle in the building in which I worked in Crystal City--the morning when my world began to fray at the edges--when my workstation 'pinged.' I saw the small translucent message shadow in the tray area of my workstation's desktop that showed me that I had a new email arriving in my Outlook client In-Box.

Pulling up Outlook, I examined the new email in the reading pane and saw that there was no text there. The header showed a series of about six attached Word, Excel, and PDF documents, but the originator of the email was indicated by an unknown Gmail account name.

Being very careful about taking prudent Information Assurance measures, as I was reminded each day when I logged onto my Department of Defense workstation, I did not automatically click on any of the attachments. Instead, I ran the anti-virus scan tool on the whole message before attempting to examine any of the attachments. I was already convinced that this was not really a message related to work, but by now I was curious.

As I opened the first PDF document attached to the email, it only took about thirty seconds to convince me that the message had come to me from someone who knew about Lana's Bureau boss, Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn; and had sent the attached data to me anonymously. While I could not tell if it was from Lana or not, that was not the big issue. The big issue, as I continued to open and examine the attached files, was how to answer the huge questions that popped up into my head at the moment:

1. Why was someone sending information about an FBI Supervisory Special Agent to a contractor for the Department of Defense? And, was it Lana, or someone else working on her contract with Tamerlane?

2. Why did the attachments to this email appear to point to Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn's having unusual sources of income--well above his pay level--that did not appear to be related to his job at the Bureau, his legitimate investment portfolio, or his family's trust fund accounts?

3. Why, also, did the attachments to this email appear to imply that Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn just might be working both sides of the fence with respect to that portion of the Russian mob being run by one Semyon Andropov and his subordinate gang leader, Vasily Radkevich, in the Baltimore area?

I forwarded the email to one of three personal email accounts that I controlled online and away from work and deleted it from my work account, emptying the 'Deleted Items' box in my Outlook email client. Then, I logged off my DoD work station, pulled my Common Access Card from the slot in the 'smart' keyboard, and told my Site Lead that I was taking the rest of the day as PTO, or 'personal time off.' No one objected, so I left the building and drove, taking the George Washington Memorial Parkway and Highway 123 out toward McLean, just after the end of morning rush hour.

Deep in my heart, I knew that Lana must have sent me the email containing those files, but I could not contact her, as she could not use a cell phone in the offices in which she was working as part of the FBI's distant sting. The Bureau, and specifically Supervisory Special Agent Van Horn, were concerned about the danger of accidental information leakage in phone conversations held within her work site--I did not even know if she actually was at her McLean office or working at the targeted Columbia, Maryland offices of the firm the FBI was using in its investigation.

I just knew now that I had to get to someone either at Tamerlane--Lana's company--or else within the Bureau itself, so that I could get to the bottom of what was going on. I also wanted someone in a position of authority within the Bureau to pull Lana formally from under the supervisory control of SSA Van Horn until my fears could be alleviated. But, I wanted to find out from her company what they knew about the situation first.

Tamerlane's main offices were in Patuxent, in Southern Maryland, and thus, were too far away to be effective in doing what I wanted with the speed I believed was necessary. So, I was now driving to Lana's primary office in McLean to speak to her Site Lead with Tamerlane. Together, we would find someone high enough in the food chain at the Bureau to whom I could get copies of the electronic documents now in my possession that appeared to shed light onto possible wrongdoing by one of their Supervisory Special Agents.

Like many other Americans my age, I could still remember hearing and reading about the case of Robert Philip Hanssen. Hanssen had spent years as an agent of the FBI--while at the same time selling secrets to first the Soviets and then the Russian Federation. In his arrogance, Hanssen had believed that he was too smart ever to face exposure and arrest. Had Van Horn succumbed to this state of hubris as well? And, if so, what sort of threat did this guy's actions pose for my wife?

****

Zach Taylor, Lana's Site Lead with Tamerlane, greeted me after I had passed through the security check point for the building out of which the Tamerlane team was basing its contract work for the Bureau there in McLean. I still had to wait in the lobby, as I was technically a 'Visitor.' Within a couple of minutes after the front security desk representative had called upstairs and informed him of my presence, Zach emerged, wearing his permanent access badge on a lanyard around his neck, from the middle of three elevator doors.

"Hey, there, Maddux," Zach said with a smile.

Zach and I had become reasonably well acquainted through our meeting not only at the Bureau-hosted social gatherings, but at various company events--like the going-away parties that were held at local watering holes when one of Tamerlane's employees found better opportunities and left the company, or the twice-a-year bashes that the company held for Fourth of July and the Christmas season.

"To what do I owe the honor of your presence here?"

"Well, Zach," I hedged, "it may be nothing; or else, it might be something that needs to be raised to another level."

Inwardly, I chafed. I knew that there were internet scams going on all the time. The materials that I had received via email this morning may have just been a hoax--like those email phishing attempts by so-called 'Nigerian princes.' Also, in this day and age of all sorts of cyber-attack and other cyber-intrusions into our country's internet grid, the materials I had received could also simply be a means by which our nation's enemies were attempting to ruin a good FBI Agent. Or, they could be designed simply to cause the Bureau to expend a lot of resources and energy following a phony rabbit trail, rather than expending their efforts in worthwhile pursuits.

"Do you have a quiet and secure spot where we could talk?" I asked, "You know, confidentially?"

Zach chuckled and said, "Dude, you are in a building run by the EFF ... BEE ... EYE!" He dragged out the letters in deep tones, in a comical emphasis on the exaggerated importance that the Bureau placed on its own image. "I'm sure that just about any of the rooms in this building are secure. But let me find a place where we can talk. From your expression, I can tell that this is something that has you a bit on edge."

After we had gone up to the fourth floor and Zach had closed the door to a small conference room he had chosen for us, I told him of the mysterious email that I had received that morning. Zach listened quietly until I had told him all I knew. Then he asked me a series of questions.

I only realized later that Zach had asked the same questions several times in different ways. After all, he had been a pretty highly-respected investigator with the Montgomery County Police Department in Maryland before coming to work for Tamerlane. Thus, he knew how to get a clearer picture of things than would otherwise be apparent with the first telling of a story. Sometimes, nuances could emerge that could, in some cases, give a completely different story than that which had emerged upon the first telling.

"Wow! Maddux; at first blush, I really think that you are probably the victim of a hoax. And, while I don't want to say someone is playing you for a fool, I don't think that you have anything solid enough right now to take to the Bureau." His brows were furrowed while he was thinking as he talked. It was obvious that Zach was in the quandary of trying to decide which way was the right way to go.

In the first case, Zach could recommend that either he or I take what scant information I had to the Bureau officially. If it turned out to be a hoax, then I would be scandalizing a good Agent, and possibly tarnishing the image--if only indirectly--of Tamerlane, by means of an unfounded accusation coming from the spouse of one of Tamerlane's brightest contract stars; meaning Lana. Zach, I could tell, was also feeling the need to stand in solidarity with the unofficial Thin Blue Line--one cop standing firmly in defense of another cop whose reputation might be at stake.

In the second case, if it turned out that this guy, Van Horn, was actually in the pocket of one of the criminal organizations that the Bureau was investigating, then a couple of things were apparent. One of its own was very possibly compromising the Bureau. And Zach and the Tamerlane crew could either come out of this--if he were to broach the issue with his Contracting Officer--with commendations for revealing a traitor within the Bureau; OR, Tamerlane could end up shunned and on the shit-list for future contracts because they--or one of their own--had caused the Bureau embarrassment by these same revelations--regardless of the veracity.

I could tell in the brief period of silence that Zach was weighing his choices; so, I offered him an out. "What if I were the one to take this to the Bureau? Then, you and Tamerlane could be off the hook."

Zach smiled at me and said, "Yeah; maybe. But it would still reflect on the company any way you look at it. If it is me who brings it to their attention, that is one thing--a big thing. But, having the spouse of one of our employees bring it up formally, while not having quite the same impact, nevertheless, plays into the company's still possibly taking a bit of the heat down the road from the Bureau ... and its overseers." Saying that, he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder and out the window in the direction of the District.

Shit! I hated Washington politics--even coming from those not associated with elected office. The ingrained bureaucracies here within and close to the District absolutely did NOT like to have any scandals associated with them. And, they were just as likely to shoot the messenger with embarrassing information as they were to take appropriate action with that information--even if it were valid.

Also, when one DID consider the politics of elected office, this was the spring of a non-Presidential election year. Every member of the U.S. House of Representatives who served on any of the many oversight committees was up for re-election; and each one of them would simply love to bask in the free television time given to special hearings on ANY possible scandal within any of the Federal agencies--especially the FBI.

"Look," offered Zach as he looked at his watch. "I've got a two-hour conference call at ten-thirty. That's in about fifteen minutes. Why don't you sit on this and let's talk about it after we can confirm, first of all, who sent this stuff to you, and second--if it was Lana--just how she got it. Oh, and third, in the case of whoever sent it to you, just how authentic is it?"

"I guess," I said, not really wanting to wait, but not knowing just how I should handle it at that moment. I was simply worried about my wife, since she was involved in a special case for this guy, Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn--I could not help but cringe internally at just how pompous his title and name sounded to me at that moment.

Looking up at Zach, just as he had checked his watch once more, I suddenly made up my mind, got really determined, and said, "I can't wait, Zach. I need to get moving on this and get Lana away from anything remotely touching the dark side. At least until this thing with Van Horn can get resolved. Do you understand?"

Zach sighed, nodded, and said, "Okay, Maddux. But why not talk to her Contracting Officer's Representative? Since he is on the Federal side, and not a contractor, he is Lana's first link to the Bureau's internal investigative apparatus. He would be able to tell you if this should go to the FBI's Internal Investigations Section in the Inspection Division, under the Office of Professional Responsibility."

"Is he here in this building?" I asked.

"No, Lana's COR is Special Agent Gary Fife," Zach told me, "and he works in one of the Bureau's sites in Laurel, Maryland. It is not an FBI office, per se; just a spot they are using temporarily that is close enough to the Baltimore area, where the overall operation they are watching is based, and where they can stage response teams as necessary. It is also close to the Columbia, Maryland offices where Lana and one or two of our other contractors are working, along with a couple of Special Agents from the Bureau. You know enough not to spread that information around, right?" I nodded to assure him of my professional discretion.