The Librarian Pt. 01

"What about my daughter? Is she alright??"

"I have no info on your daughter, sir." We rode to the other end of the flight line and there was an F-14 waiting with the power cart hooked up. I shook hands with the Navy captain and said thanks. I turned to the pilot, another Navy captain, and said 'We ready?' He grinned, and said 'Heck yeah, let's go!' As we turned to the plane, he smiled and said, "Sir, is it true what they told me?".

"I don't know. What did they tell you?"

As we climbed the crew ladders, he said, "That speed was of the essence, and not to spare the engines."

"Works for me. Think you can find Andrews at Mach 2??"

The grin split his face. "Hide and watch!!"

We taxied out and turned to line up for takeoff. He pushed the throttles up, checked the gauges, and tripped the brakes. Twenty seconds later we were gear up and climbing through fifteen thousand feet. He banked left and skirted the island. Within five minutes, we were over Florida airspace and headed north. We tankered over Charleston, South Carolina, which necessitated slowing down, then back to speed.

Two hours after take off, we arrived and greased onto the western runway. We made the turn off and as we taxied out he opened the canopy.

"I hope you enjoyed the ride, sir. I had a blast."

"Just remember, captain. This never happened."

He smiled. "What never happened, sir??"

I laughed and shook his hand again. It would be the last time I smiled for a long time.

I was met by the ubiquitous black Chevy Suburban and two Impalas for escort. Inside the Suburban sat Geronimo, Assistant Director of Operations Alexander Colton.

My boss.

I strode towards the Suburban and was greeted by cursory nods from the agent holding the door open. Climbing into the car, I took Alexander's extended hand and shook it.

"Mike, I'm so sorry for this shit. We have your 'wife' and her boy friend. They are in FBI custody at the Hoover Building. She's screaming her head off, but he's singing like a canary."

"Great. I'll deal with her when I see her. How's my daughter?"

Colton's mouth tightened and his face fell.

"Mike, I'm terribly sorry. We got there too late. When we showed up, she was tied to her bed with a hypodermic needle in her arm. Tox screen and blood work shows a massive heroin overdose. She died almost instantly. She had been sexually assaulted, and sodomized."

I stared at my boss as my whole world crumbled. The scream from my throat almost shattered the windows in the vehicle. I grabbed the assist handle in the overhead and flexed my muscles. It suddenly ripped out of the car's frame. I sagged in the seat and shuddered. My boss, my friend, looked on helpless. Then he reached over and took his friend in his arms and held him. Finally, while the sobbing man cried himself into oblivion, he nodded to the driver to get them moving the 28 miles to CIA HQ.

Forty five minutes later (traffic, you know) they pulled into Langley. I was immediately taken to the secure rooms set aside for transient agents and given a mild sedative. I crashed and slept for twenty hours.

When I awoke, I was a different person. Quiet, withdrawn, calm, but in control. I pushed the call button and went and relieved myself. Director Colton arrived, looking almost worse than I looked. Both of us needed to shave, but that was the farthest thing from our minds.

Mike had made coffee and offered his boss a cup. They sat at the small table in the room and Mike stared at the window. Alexander watched his friend and finally asked, "What do you want to do, Mike?"

I shook himself and turned to look at my boss.

"I'm starved, Alex. Let's get something to eat. Then I want to go and talk to my wife. If I don't talk to the asshole, it will probably be best for him. He will stay alive. But I have to get closure with Lorelei. Then, I'd like to see my daughter's body. Is that o.k.?"

"Let's get some food and I'll set it up with the FBI and the city coroner." Alexander rose and Mike got up with a heavy sigh.

"I don't suppose they know who did it, do they? .....Killed my daughter."

"They're working on it. No leads yet, but they're hopeful."

"Yeah, right," I muttered.

They went to the 'executive dining room'. I had been here a couple of times before in my career, usually when they had a particularly tough job for me. Carrot and the stick, you know? They had a great cheeseburger and onion rings combo. And they had R/C cola. I started to decompress.

Alex talked while Mike ate.

"You really stirred up a hornets nest in Venezuela, buddy. The Chinese were screaming bloody murder to the State Department about 'our' involvement. State fired back that they were more concerned with a missing G. E. tech rep than some 'bogus' CIA operative. The Venezuelan government was just screaming, period, about someone blowing up one of their Coastal Patrol boats, and stealing another one.

"Then there's the 'guerrilla' raid on an Army base east of Caracas. No one's claiming credit, but the government insists it must be the guerrillas. No one man could do all that." Alex smiled and shook his head.

"And no-one still knows where Micheal Starne, or Peter Trees is. I love it!" Then his look darkened.

"If it wasn't for the shitty outcome, I would have said it was a win-win-win situation. I'm terribly sorry, Michael. About Samantha. Lorelei is her own fault."

After lunch, we went to see the shrink and to debrief. The doctor and I talked for about two hours. The debrief lasted about four. Then Alex took me out for dinner and then back to H/Q. Alex told me I had to surrender my weapons until the doctor cleared me. I understood. Tomorrow they would go to my house and get my guns. I nodded and asked about seeing Lorelei.

"Tomorrow afternoon. The FBI is having her arraigned today. The assistant A/G is working up charges. Now get some sleep. I'll see you at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow and we'll go to your house and get your weapons."

I slept better but not peacefully-yet. I woke and showered and dressed in sports clothes. Just then Alex showed up and we went to breakfast. This time it was in the cafeteria.

'So much for being important,' I thought.

I was already beginning to formulate a plan. Revenge and freedom were the primary considerations. There was plenty of time.

Alex, Mike, and Agent Timothy Ross arrived in Bethesda about an hour after finishing breakfast. Mike's house was a small Cape Cod, more than fifty years old, that had been foreclosed on fifteen years ago. Mike and his wife got it for a song, and spent the next fifteen years renovating and updating it. It was going to be their 'base of operations' after he retired and they started traveling. They went in through the garage. There was Mike's F-250 Ford Crew Cab, and the bitch's Audi. Yeah, she had to have it. Was he really so fucking naive??

Not any more.

Entering the house, he led Alex and Agent Ross downstairs. There was his gun safe, a Liberty Presidential Model 50. Top of the line. 12 locking bars, 2 1/2 hours fire resistance @ 1200 degrees F. $10,000 f.o.b., as delivered. It had four tabs, one on each corner, with a 3/4" bolt through each one, bolting it to the floor.

He walked up to it and entered the twelve digit electronic password, unlocking the safe door, and spun the locking wheel. The door swung open to reveal his home arsenal.

Alex looked at the interior and turned to Mike. Ross whistled in admiration.

"Anything else?"

"My service piece is at Langley. I checked it with stores before I went to Venezuela. The gun safe is up stairs in the library, empty. We can look when we're done," I said.

One Winchester Model 1897 pump shotgun, 12 ga., 1 Winchester Bolt Action rifle, Model 670-A chambered for 30-06, with a 4×9 scope, a Mossberg 20 ga. pump shotgun, one Beretta 12 ga. over and under double barrel shotgun, my antique flintlock Brown Bess Musket, 2 Glock 9 mm. Pistols, 2 Colt M1911a World War II military surplus automatics, my World War II 1903 Springfield carbine, my antique Peacemaker Colt, my antique flintlock pistol, several hundred rounds of assorted ammo, some black powder, bullets, and my re-loading dies.

I got them the pistol cases and the long gun boxes. We boxed up everything and I signed a receipt for the weapons. Alex looked at me as I said I needed to get some papers together for my attorney. I asked if I could have some time and I would see him back at work in a little while.

He studied me, and looked like he was going to give me an argument. But then he shrugged and asked if I was sure.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm o.k., now. I just need some alone time. I have to make some lists and some decisions."

He looked at me and said, "No alcohol, alright??"

I chuckled. "I'll be fine. You've done a fine job of babysitting me so far. Do you want to leave Ross with me, so I don't fall down and hurt myself?"

Ross looked at the floor and grinned. Alex shook his head.

"I trust you, Michael. Just don't let me down, okay??"

"I won't, boss."

Alexander and Timothy left for the Farm with my weapons and I locked up the house. Then I went downstairs to my 'man cave' again and closed the door. I went to the end of the small bar and reached under to the hidden metal box affixed to the bottom of the bar. I flipped the small switch to the left and turned around.

The Liberty Safe Presidential Model 50 weighs 1,021 lbs. The four tabs were extras for security. The 3/4" bolts were pretty stout-if they had been real. All there was were the bolt head on each tab. At 1021 lbs., Mike wasn't too concerned about anyone moving it, especially being in his cellar.

Anyway, the whirring electric motor secreted in the base of the safe easily moved it sideways 4 feet, revealing the panel secreted in the wall behind it. I walked up to the panel and opened the secret door.

O.K., so I 'fibbed' to Alex. Sue me.

The panel concealed a cupboard-like enclosure in the wall holding a Barrett M82...50 cal. sniper rifle, with scope and bi-pod, two Browning 1911-380 Black Label Medallion Pro model semi-automatic pistols chambered in 380 ACP, 50 rds. of 50 cal. Barrett ammo, 200 rds. of 380 ACP ammo, four spare twelve round clips for the pistols, a Ka-Bar serrated edge fighting knife, $20,000 in used bills, twentys and tens, 100 South African Krugerrands (valued at almost $200,000 U.S.) and false I.D. papers-passports, driver's licenses, birth certificates, and social security cards, for the three of them, Lorelei, Samantha and him. His was for a John Dunne, from New Jersey. Now, Lorelei's, and Samantha's didn't matter.

My birth certificate was for a child born 42 years ago- and who had died 3 days after birth. The paperwork had been scrubbed. As of 20 years ago, the child did not exist. Then Michael Starne became him. John Dorne was born. On paper. It had lain dormant until I needed it.

Which I soon would.

I shredded the other papers and then shredded them again. I took the paper scraps and put them in a metal box, and poured in acid and gasoline-just a little. Then a wooden match. Flames licked the inside of the box and consumed everything. While this was happening, I spooled up my computer, my serious computer. A Dell XPS8950, 12th Gen Intel Core i7-12700 processor, 32 Gb Memory, with internet access. I accessed the program for facial recognition, comparable to the FBI program, and linked it to the college list of teachers and employees where Samantha went to school- Georgetown University.

Then I down loaded the DVD of Samantha's bedroom exploits and scrolled to a good shot of the pricks face. I hit enter and the programs started to run. Fifteen seconds later, I had my target- Jeremy Hun Chang, an assistant professor of biochemistry. Thirty two years of age, 170 lbs., 5 ft 7 inches tall, and his address. I printed it out; then I accessed the Internet and searched for family law lawyers. I found a few, read their bio's, and weeded the list until I had three.

I dialed the first one and got a rather abrupt recorded message. Office hours, fee schedule, and retainer fees. Then "We are not currently accepting new clients, but will gladly take you on a contingency basis. Blah, Blah, Blah." Strike one.

The second one got a person.

"Good just barely morning, the Law Offices of Marjorie Tremaine. My name is Melanie. How may I help you?"

I gave her a brief view of what I needed, and asked if I could get an appointment.

"Yes sir, Mr. Starne. How about tomorrow afternoon at 1:30? Would that work for you?"

"Sounds good. I have your address, and I hope there is parking."

"Oh, yes sir. And bring the parking ticket. We validate!"

Mike grinned. Finally, something was breaking his way.

"See you tomorrow, Melanie."

I shut down the computer and stared at it.

I thought about destroying it, but it didn't matter. Michael Starne was going to disappear and everything else was academic.

******************************************************************

I stowed everything in my backpack and broke down the Barrett and stowed it in another case. I took the Brownings and the ammo and put them in the backpack and leaned them against the bar, over by the door. Then I closed the wall enclosure and hit the switch to move the safe. Ten seconds later, it was like nothing had happened. I closed the lid on the small metal box, picked up the rifle, backpack, the box and the paperwork and left.

I went back upstairs with the lawyers paperwork and got all our financials and the bits and pieces of our marriage together. I tucked the print-out of the prick's profile in the folder and put it in my briefcase. Then I went to the detached garage.

I retrieved a black box from my work bench and walked to my Ford F-250, turning the box on. I walked around the truck waving it all over and finally was rewarded with a beeping sound. Under the left rear bumper. I reached under, pulled out the 'bug' and turned it off. Then I went and got in the truck, started it and performed the same routine all over again. Nothing. So the tracking device was the only one. Nothing was wired into the trucks electrical system.

I took the 'magic box' back to my tool box and threw it on top.

Getting back in the truck, I hit the garage door opener, turned on the tracker, then backed out. I closed the door, and set the house alarm. I would need to come back again, a couple more times.

I drove towards Langley, but stopped about two miles from my house at a Long John Silver's Seafood restaurant, and got a shrimp and fish meal with a Coke, to go. I pulled around, paid and got my food, then pulled over to a parking space. I calmly ate my lunch, then picked up the rifle and backpack, got out, locked the truck up, and walked next store to a storage facility. I accessed the gate and walked in to the row of garage sized storage units. I walked up to #243 and pulled out my keys and unlocked it. Rolling the door up, I beheld my pride and joy- a 1982 Super Glide II Harley Davidson, in cobalt blue, with saddle bags, and a back rest on the 'queen' seat.. I went over and stuck the key in the ignition, and it cranked right over. The rumble was like soothing music and I was at peace.

I shut down the bike and took the backpack over and put in the saddlebags. The rifle case I strapped onto the back fender rack, behind the queen seat. Lorelei never once wanted to ride with me after I bought the bike. I even offered to get her her own motorcycle. She said it was beneath her, and 'not on a par with her station in life'. I didn't understand. I told her I had sold the motorcycle because she didn't like it.

I didn't, though. I kept it, and found it a nice home, in the storage unit. That was eight years ago. Now it would figure in my future.

******************************************************************

I closed up the storage unit and locked the door. It was paid up for another two months. Plenty of time.

I walked back next door to my truck and reached in for the metal box with the burnt documents in it. I looked around and walked to the dumpster and pitched it in. Returning to the truck, I got in, fired it up and left for Langley.

I arrived at HQ and parked in the employee's parking lot. I flashed my badge and walked through the metal detector. I had nothing to set it off and they waved me through. I went upstairs to Alex's office and smiled at his secretary. He met me at the door to his office. He looked at his watch: 12:07 p.m. He smiled and turned to lead me into his office. Sitting across from his desk were the shrink and the head of the de-brief team. The shrink smiled at me and she opened her notebook. The head de-briefer rose and extended his hand.

"Mike," said Alex, "You're something of a legend now. You have been cleared of all questions and I have several commendations on my desk. The doc says you are cleared for limited duty, chained to a desk for a while," he chuckled, "and she wants to see you for a couple of weeks. Any questions?"

I smiled and the doctor stopped writing and studied me.

"It sounds good, doc. Thank you. I appreciate it." 'Stay calm. Your plan is coming together. Keep a low profile and don't blow your top too much,' he was thinking.

"I understand you're going to see your wife this afternoon. Do you want some extra company?," the doctor asked.

"No, ma'am. I need some closure and I'm not sure the language would be appropriate for a lady to hear." I turned and looked at Alex with a wicked grin on my face. "I'll just take Alex, 'cause that's why he makes the big dollars." I chuckled.

Alex smiled and said he thought we would be o.k.

"Did you get a lawyer, Mike?"

"Yeah, I talked to one and have an appointment for tomorrow, at 1:30, with Marjorie Tremaine. I liked their easygoing approach on the phone. The sooner I get this taken care of the better I'll feel, I think."

The doctor said that she was aware of Ms. Treamine's reputation and had heard good things about her.

So we wrapped everything and the doc and the other Agent left. Alex and I talked for a while and then we left for FBI headquarters. We pulled up to the Hoover Building and went into the underground garage, this time in a Tahoe. Guess I wasn't so important anymore. Tim Ross was our driver. We stopped at the security barrier and they checked all our IDs. The gate went up and Tim drove on and found a spot to park. We got to the elevator and went to the second floor.

We were met by special Agent Lance Fresno. He shook hands and said he was sorry for my loss. Then he led us to the interrogation room.

"Are you going to have your lawyer present, Mike?"

"No, this is between my wife and I. The lawyers will get involved later."

"Well, just so you are aware, your wife has talked to an attorney, and she is already there. She's a real shark. But neither of them know about Samantha. So go have your talk, and I hope it gives you some closure."

We went into the adjacent room, you know, like the one were Tony, Ziva, and McGee watch through the mirror glass while Leroy Jethro Gibbs breaks the bad guy? Anyway, there sat my wife and a statuesque brunette who I assumed was Ms. Lorna Duschense, Attorney At Law. Fuck her. Lorelei was looking a bit raggedy after three days in custody. Orange with black stenciled letters did not look good on her. I wonder how she knew this bitch to get her to represent her? Definateley not legal aid.

Alex put his hand on my shoulder.

"You ready?"

"Let's finish this."

"I can tell her anything I want, right?" I said to Agent Fresno.

"Sure. The FBI has made her aware of the charges against her. That's when she lawyered up. This woman," Agent Fresno gestured to Duschense, "turned up within a couple of hours."

Alex scowled.

"I think the FBI should check Ms. Duschense's background."

"We already are, considering the national security implications."