Chapter 2
Posted: June 26, 2007 - 12:57:28 am


Mike finally finished with the activities in the Personnel Department and returned to the lobby of the original Headquarters building of the CIA. He paused to look around. Every time he had been there, the architecture of the building had overwhelmed him. The great seal on the floor of the main lobby building gave him chills. He knew it was old fashioned, but symbols, such as the CIA seal, meant something to Mike.

His boss, Dale Dawson, was there to meet him. Smiling, Dale walked over to greet Mike. The man walked with a slight limp. On reaching Mike, he said, "Impressive, isn't it."

"Yes, sir," Mike answered.

"I'll take you to where you'll have your desk. It's in a secure area. I'll give you the codes to get in when we reach my office," Dale said. He glanced at Mike and said, "Before we go there, I want you to see something."

Mike followed Dale to the north wall of the lobby. Dale stopped in front of a marble wall in which stars had been chiseled. The area with stars was flanked by two flags: the American flag and the flag of the CIA. Below the stars was a book. It contained the names of the men being honored on the wall. Pointing to it, Dale said, "Each star represents an agent who was killed in the line of duty. They are going to add another one to it today."

The memorial was powerful in its simplicity. Mike swallowed heavily and asked, "Who was it?"

"That's classified. We'll never know his name or mission," Dale said.

"I understand," Mike said. He felt like saluting the wall to honor those who gave their lives in defense of the country.

Mike finally settled into his cubicle inside a secure area deep within the building. It wasn't much of an office, but it was going to be his for a long time. He'd been taken around and introduced to the other members of his department. The introductions had been short and he knew that it would be days before he could remember everyone's name.

Atop his desk were manuals explaining how to treat classified material. He was going to have to read all of them before getting access to the material necessary for his job. Ready to get to work, he picked up the first manual and opened it unprepared for how boring the contents were. His eyes drifted over the page after reading the first four paragraphs. He sighed and said, "This is going to be a very long day."

He sat back in his chair and attacked the manual with renewed energy. The procedures for requesting information were laid out in excruciating detail. The procedures for returning classified information were just as bad. There were even procedures for dealing with his filing cabinet. He looked over at the massive filing cabinet in his cubical and then back at the manual.

He was nearly done with the first manual when one of his coworkers stopped by his office. It took Mike a couple of seconds to recall the man's name. He said, "Sanjay, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sanjay answered with a slight wobble of his head.

"What can I do for you?" Mike asked.

"I have a list of initial reports that you should read," Sanjay said handing him a sheet of paper.

Mike had been expecting such a list to provide the current assessment of the areas that he was to monitor. He glanced down at the paper and noticed that it was marked Secret. He tried to remember the procedure for dealing with papers like that and couldn't recall it. Nodding his head, he said, "Thanks. I'll get to it."

Sanjay wobbled his head and said, "You'll probably want to put that in your filing cabinet until you're ready to use it. I use the top drawer of my filing cabinet for material like that."

"I was just trying to remember how to treat classified memos," Mike said. The head wobble as a way of signaling agreement had always bothered Mike, but he was just going to have to get used to it. It might not be politically correct, but he always felt that a head wobble was a sign of stupidity. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get rid of the image of one of those bobble heads that some people had in their cars.

"I remember when I started here. There were so many things to learn that I nearly went crazy," Sanjay said with a smile. He said, "You'll get used to it."

"I suppose," Mike said with a sigh.

"You have a lot of reading to do. I won't disturb you any longer," Sanjay said.

"Thanks for bringing this by," Mike said holding up the sheet.

Sanjay had been right. It didn't take Mike too long to get used to all of the procedures for handling classified material within a SCIF (a Secure Compartmented Information Facility). The whole purpose of a SCIF was to allow people to work with classified information without making it impossible to function effectively.

Mike had known that finding an affordable house was going to be difficult. The good neighborhoods around the capitol were expensive. For the first month in Virginia, they looked for an affordable place near Langley. Each weekend they slowly enlarged the area they considered until they finally had to settle for an old fixer-upper in Leesburg, Virginia. It wasn't that far in terms of distance from where Mike worked, but the commute was going to be a killer because of the traffic.

The couple who had originally owned the house had rented it out. The last tenant had completely trashed the interior and rather than try to repair it the couple had decided to minimize their losses by selling the property. Mike had gotten estimates on how much it would cost to hire a contractor to come in and fix the house. The estimated amount had been rolled into the mortgage.

Instead of hiring a crew, Mike intended to do most of the work himself. He'd do all of the work inside the house except for the electrical work. The roof needed replacing and he'd hire a roofer for that. He ordered a huge dumpster for all of the debris that he'd be pulling out of the house.

On the first Saturday after the closing, Mike and Karen entered their new house and looked around at the mess. Mike said, "It needs a bit of work."

"A bit? I think you're crazy wanting to fix it yourself," Karen said. It wasn't that she doubted his ability to fix the house, but felt that it would take too long.

Walking around the living room, Mike examined the walls taking in the holes that someone had put in them. The renters had even pulled some of the copper wire out of the walls. The carpet was old, worn, dirty, and smelled of mildew. Grunting, he said, "The first thing I'll do is gut the interior of the house. Everything has to go. That includes the walls, the carpet, those horrible light fixtures, and everything from the kitchen. It's going to be a lot of work."

"How long will that take?" Karen asked looking in the darkened bedroom. There were rotting curtains hanging over the windows.

"That'll take about two weekends with a little help from your Dad. I'll fix up the bathroom first and then the kitchen. Once those two rooms are in place, we can move in," Mike answered.

"Just how much time before we can move in?" Karen asked.

"Oh, two or three months," Mike answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He wasn't afraid of a little hard work. Of course, the house was going to require a lot of work. He said, "It won't be done by then, but it'll be livable."

"That's not too bad," Karen said. They had talked about his plans while going through the process of purchasing the house, but now that it was theirs she was impatient to move into it.

Mike walked around the rest of the house trying to envision how it would look once everything was repaired. It was a standard three bedroom ranch style house typical of those built in the 1960s. Most of the closets were too small and he wasn't going to correct that problem. That would require even more work than he was willing to put into it. There were two bathrooms; one of which was in the master bedroom. He knew it was the master bedroom because it had the bathroom.

While Mike was in the kitchen checking out the appliances, Karen slipped out the front door and went to the car. She returned a minute later with a pair of overalls. She stripped down to nothing and put on the overalls. When Mike returned to the living room, he looked at his wife with a grin. He said, "No one ever told me that overalls could look that sexy. I can see your nipples from here."

Karen glanced down at her chest and asked, "Are you saying that I'm supposed to wear a shirt, too?"

"I'm not saying that at all," Mike said with a grin. He walked over to his wife and kissed her. Life was good and looking better. For the next hour, they expressed their love like newlyweds and christened their new house with all of the appropriate grunts and groans. Their visit to the house wasn't all fun and games. After christening their house with their physical expression of love, they spent the rest of the day moving the tools that would be required to fix up the house into one of the bedrooms.

Mike sat at his desk reading one of the reports on the Chinese research program in high energy weapons. The report was highly classified and concluded that their program was not as extensive as that in the United States. Mike didn't believe that for a minute. It looked smaller on paper until one considered how many Chinese were working on American projects. From personal experience he knew that there were a lot of Chinese students and former Chinese Nationals working in critical research areas on campuses across the country, but there wasn't a word of that in the report he was reading. He put the report down on the table and shook his head at the incompleteness of the report.

His boss chose that moment to come into his cubical. Dale Dawson was a tall man who had been a field agent during the cold war and transitioned into the role of an analyst after his cover had been blown by a mole. He still had a limp from that little adventure. He asked, "So what do you think?"

"I think it barely scratches the surface of the Chinese research program," Mike answered looking over at his boss. There was obvious disgust in his voice concerning the report.

Not entirely surprised by Mike's assessment, his boss asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it doesn't include the research activities that their citizens are performing here," Mike answered tapping the report.

"That's a domestic issue. We don't do domestic," Dale said dismissing the objection.

Shaking his head, Mike asked, "How can we say we are assessing the Chinese research activities if we discount their activities here?"

"Are the people working here spies?" Dale asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Mike sat back and stared at Dale for a moment. The students and professors were here legitimately. They were openly working on those programs. They were actively collaborating with each other. They were even paid by their projects to present papers in Chinese scientific conferences. Everything they were doing was legal, but they were contributing to the Chinese research programs. He said, "I don't know how to answer that question."

"If they are spies then we ask the FBI to investigate them," Dale said with a dismissive gesture. He watched Mike's reaction very carefully.

"Are they spies if they openly give scientific information to the Chinese government through legitimate channels?" Mike asked.

"No," Dale said shaking his head. Officially they were not spies if they were acting within the rules. The rules might be wrong, but that didn't mean anything.

"But they are essentially an integral part of the Chinese research program," Mike said finding Dale's attitude puzzling.

"You have to understand how things operate around here," Dale said taking a seat in the second chair in Mike's office. Crossing his legs, he said, "We are constrained by law to look outside of our national borders for activities that threaten national security. When we learn about activities inside this country, we hand that information over to the FBI to investigate. If a crime isn't occurring, there is nothing the FBI can do about it."

"This is insane. Our research dollars and national laboratories are directly supporting the Chinese, but we can't say that in our assessment of their research programs?" Mike asked.

"That's right," Dale said. Eyes twinkling, he said, "You can try to write a joint report with the FBI, but I think you'll find it rather difficult unless you can show a clear and present danger to our National Security. Let me remind you of one thing, China is a friend of ours."

"You don't believe that," Mike said looking at Dale critically.

"Officially, I believe it. I keep my personal opinions to myself," Dale said pleased to see that Mike agreed with his private beliefs on the matter. Shaking his head, he said, "You might want to do the same."

Mike nodded his head thinking that it might be the best advice he had gotten since starting his job. He said, "Thanks for the advice."

"On a totally different topic," Dale said, "Chang is returning from China in a couple of days. You might want to talk to him about what he found."

"Isn't Chang originally from China?" Mike asked recalling Chang from when he first started working there.

"Yes, but he's an American citizen now," Dale answered. He nodded his head at the dismayed reaction of Mike to that little piece of news. He winked and said, "You'll have to learn how to hide your reaction a little better than that if you expect to last very long here."

Vincent looked at the interior of the house. The walls had been stripped down to the framing. The carpets and tile had been pulled up. The few light fixtures that had been in the house were gone. All of the kitchen appliances had been removed. There wasn't much left to the interior. Looking down at the blister on his hand, he said, "Well, it looks to me like we've got everything out of here that needs to be removed."

Tossing a beer to his father-in-law, Mike said, "Thanks a lot for all of your help, Captain. I don't know how we would have managed it without you."

Vincent held the cold can against the blister for a second while he said, "Don't think anything of it. I've enjoyed getting a little physical after holding down a desk job for so long. Besides, you're helping to build a future for my little girl. How could I stand by and watch?"

"Well, I just want you to know how much I appreciate it," Mike said. He looked down at his left hand and wished that it functioned better. Two useless fingers made a lot of tasks a lot more difficult.

Noticing the glance at his hand, Vince removed the cap from the beer and threw it into the large trashcan in the middle of the room. Gesturing to their surroundings with his beer, he asked, "So what's the plan?"

"I've got to get an electrician out here to replace the wires that the renter pulled out of the walls," Mike answered. He took a sip of his beer appreciating the cool liquid in his dry throat.

"Why would anyone rip the wires out of a house?" Vincent asked shaking his head.

"They probably sold the copper," Mike said.

"It's a sick world we live in. It makes me wonder what this country is coming to when people do things like that," Vincent said. He took a sip of his beer and sighed in satisfaction.

Nodding his head, Mike said, "Sometimes it makes me wonder why I risked my life by serving my country. It seems to me that most people don't appreciate the sacrifices that have been made on their behalf."

Vince looked at Mike wondering what provoked the comment. Shaking his head, he said, "The people who did this are a minority. Forget them. Remember that the majority of people are good honest folks, who believe in, and support, the American way."

"I know that, Captain. It's just that at times I find it a little difficult getting beyond the vocal rabble that hate this country," Mike said with a sigh.

"Something is bothering you," Vince said. He took a sip of his beer watching Mike over the bottle.

Mike told his father-in-law about the discussion concerning China that he had with his boss. Vince listened to the whole story without comment. The story only confirmed what he already knew. When Mike finished, Vincent moved closer to him and, in a very soft voice, said, "Never let one of the foreign nationals suspect that you doubt their loyalty. You'll be thrown out of the agency so fast that your head will spin."

"Why?" Mike asked surprised by the advice.

"We live in an era of political correctness. A foreign government sent them here to study science and engineering, paid their way through school, encouraged them to get jobs here in premier research institutes, and allowed them to become American citizens. You and I both know that they are agents of that government. Despite that, the do-gooders believe that these people are going to put America first. We have to act like we believe the same thing. To act otherwise is un-American," Vince answered. The sarcasm in his voice while he said the last part was thick and heavy.

"It's wrong," Mike said. He took a long draw from the beer bottle.

Nodding his head in agreement with Mike's comment, Vince said, "The Chinese aren't the only ones to watch. There are Russians, Germans, French, Indians, and Arabs working their way throughout the system. Watch out for the Muslims, they are everywhere. Not all of them are Arabs."

Mike shook his head and asked, "Why are we allowing this to happen?"

"There are some people who believe that by filling our country with the friends and family of hostile powers that they'll hesitate to attack us. There are others who believe that these people will grow to love America and want to protect it," Vincent answered. He paused for a minute and then shrugged his shoulders before continuing, "There are some who believe that other cultures have just as much to give to this country as we have to give to them. Believe it or not, a lot of people are enamored of Islam. They truly believe that it is a more peaceful religion than Christianity."

"We're giving this country to the damned terrorists," Mike said. He knew enough not to say that every Muslim was a terrorist, but deep down inside he believed it. The nice old man praying to Allah might not be blowing himself up, but he was contributing money and moral support.

Vince smiled at his son-in-law pleased to see that the two of them were in complete agreement. He said, "This is a great country and I want to keep it that way. I'll work inside the system to keep it great for as long as I can. I'll support every weapon development program that improves our ability to bring the fight to the enemy. I'll support every research effort to make our troops safer and more effective. I can't change the political climate, but I can do my best to keep our military ready to defend this country. You're in a good position to do the same thing. Don't blow it."

The discussion came to an abrupt end when Karen came in the house carrying a bucket of chicken. She looked around the house and said, "Wow. You two were busy while I was gone."

"We just have to clean up a bit and we're done for the day," Mike said. The tools were scattered over the floor where they had left them after wrestling out the stove. It had taken everything they had to carry it out to the dumpster sitting in the driveway. Tomorrow he and Karen would remove the wallboard from the kitchen. Then it would be up to the electrician to rewire the house.

"I was sure that you were going to save the sweeping and mopping up for me," Karen said with a laugh. She had helped pull the wallboard down, but had not been much help with some of the heavier stuff.

"That's right," Mike said with a wink at Vincent. Smiling, he said, "The Captain was just telling me that I had to hurry and get the kitchen done. His wife is rather anxious that I'm never going to steal your shoes."

"Steal my shoes?"

"How else am I going to get you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen if I don't steal your shoes first?" Mike asked. He edged away from her when she bent down and put the bucket of chicken on the floor.

Vincent laughed as Karen chased Mike around the house. It reminded him of when he and his wife were young and just starting out life as a couple. The old military housing hadn't been much better than this house, but they were young and it didn't matter. His daughter was conceived in Hawaii after a similar chase around a battered old house.

The bucket seemed to be calling to him. Not seeing any reason to resist, Vincent went over to it and grabbed a chicken leg. He had always enjoyed chicken that came out of a bucket. He looked over at the cooler and hoped that there was another beer or two in it. He fished around in the icy water and found one.
Lazlo Zalezac
Chapter 3