Monday morning, I made an appointment to see Mystie. I was going to find out who had decided I should start my investigation with Molly and Jeff. She got me into her office at ten.

"How's the investigation going, Chuck?" Mystie asked as she let me into her office.

"Of the people I've met so far, I've eliminated two. At this rate, it will only take me a century to go through the entire organization. Whose idea was it to start with Molly's team anyway? There has to be more likely suspects."

"That's the problem, Chuck, I don't think there are any likely suspects. Everyone at the agency was thoroughly investigated and polygraphed before they were even hired. Since Snowden, everyone is re-polygraphed and reevaluated quarterly. There is just no way we could have a leak in this organization."

"Then what am I supposed to be doing here?"

"I told you in the beginning this was the CIA's idea. We are just doing this to placate them. If I could turn this back on them, I would."

"Well, there is no way I can investigate the CIA, if I'm undercover here. Now is there?"

What I said clearly triggered an idea in Mystie's mind, I could tell by her expression, and I could literally see a lightbulb come on above her head. I do mean literally. It was a red light on the wall behind her. 

She noticed me looking at the light. "That is a silent alarm I put in. It is telling me I have a meeting in ten minutes. And it tells whoever I'm talking with they need to wrap it up. I thought it would be less annoying than an audio alarm. You know Chuck, there may just be a way to investigate the CIA while undercover in the NSA. Let me get back to you this afternoon.

#

That afternoon Mystie called me back to her office. She seemed excited as I came through her door.

"Come on in Chuck and have a seat. I think I've found you a new assignment." The look on her face was pure mischief.

I sat down apprehensively. I had a bad feeling about whatever Mystie had planned.

"Chuck, how would you like to be a real-life James Bond type spy?"

My good sense was saying not on your life. My mouth unfortunately asked to hear more.

"Do you remember this morning when we were wondering if there was a way to investigate the CIA while undercover in the NSA? Turns out there is. You see, there is a joint NSA-CIA operation known as the Special Collection Service. The SCS is charged with inserting eavesdropping equipment in difficult-to-reach places. I called in some favors and got them to let you be part of an SCS mission!"

"What would that accomplish?"

"The mission is with the same CIA team that is working the middle eastern terrorist money laundering activities. They are the ones claiming we have a leak. Anyway, they are going to be installing some eaves dropping devices at a sensitive location that just so happens to be an ideal location for us to install the microwave intercept equipment Jeff is working on to monitor that European SS7 link that has been tampered with. You'll still be working for us, but you'll be side by side with the spooks. Maybe one of them is the leak."

"Exactly how would this work?"

"Typically, SCS agents go undercover as Foreign Service officers or members of the Diplomatic Telecommunications Service. When State Department cover is impossible, the agents enter countries under the guise of business people. That is what you will do.

"Jeff will train you on how to set up the equipment. The SCS will brief you on how you will get the equipment to the intercept location."

"Where is the intercept location?"

"That's another perk of this assignment. You get to go to Paris!"

"What happens if I'm caught? Won't I be shot as a spy?"

"It's France. They won't shoot you. They'll just lock you up and throw away the key. Unfortunately, we have to disavow any knowledge of you."

"So, like Mission Impossible?"

"Now you're getting in the spirit of things!"

"No. I'm not!" I said as definitively as I could.

"This is a once in life time opportunity, Chuck."

"Especially if most of that lifetime is spent in a French prison," I pointed out.

"Think about it. It's a chance to serve your country and have a great adventure at the same time. It is not like we're sending you to Iraq or Afghanistan. You'll be going to Paris!"

"You're playing the patriotic duty card? Okay I'll think about it. I am going to take the rest of the afternoon off to think about it." I needed the afternoon off for another reason too. If I was going to be out of the country for an extended period, I would definitely need help with the investigation here in Maryland. I decided to use the rest of the afternoon to meet with Agent Lee's friend Kirby Jackson.

Her red light began flashing telling me it was time to leave.

#

Kirby Jackson's office was in an older part of the District in a nineteen forties vintage building. His office door had one of those frosted glass panels with his name stenciled on it like Philip Marlowe had in one of those vintage forties detective thrillers.

I knocked on the door of his office. As he opened it, I could hear the haunting, sultry sound of a saxophone oozing out "Harlem Nocturne." Exactly what you would expect as the sound track for this setting which was straight out of a Sam Spade movie. He opened the door narrating his actions in the genre of nineteen forties pulp fiction, "It was a muggy April afternoon in D.C." He scanned me quickly and continued his narrative. "The client in the doorway was not what I was expecting. He was too young and as clean cut as a new marine's hair. His J.C. Penney ensemble announced this was not going to be a lucrative case. The look he gave me was as vacant as a frat house expecting a raid. Clearly, he wasn't the fan of P. I. novels that I was."

"Actually I am, but Dashiell Hammett's Sam Spade you're not," I informed him.

"Afraid to call a spade a spade?" Kirby was making reference to the antiquated racial slur and the fact he was black.

"Funny thing, as a kid, I always thought spade referred to the card suit because my Aunts would use the phrase when they were playing bridge. Did you know the figurative expression actually dates back to Plutarch? Of course, he was referring to shovels and not card suits," I over explained trying desperately to appear non-racist.

He dropped his narrative voice and said, "I get it. You don't see color." He was trying to ease my discomfort. Realizing he was not succeeding, he added, "or humor either apparently." He continued with a good-natured chuckle, "I'm just pulling your chain, man. I like to set the mood when I take on a new case. I take it you are Chuck Farley?" he extended a handshake. "If not I wasted a perfectly good door opening."

"I am," I answered. "An ex-FBI agent with a sense of humor was not what I was expecting."

"Most of my clients aren't looking for humor when they come through the door. From what Jay Lee told me, I was thinking you might be different."

"Unexpected but not unappreciated," I assured him.

"My sense of humor may have something to do with me being an ex-FBI agent," he said emphasizing the ex. "You know, a lot of those guys don't have much of a sense of humor. Come on in and take a seat and tell me what I can do for you."

"Agent Lee told me you might be able to help me get some information on a couple of people."

"What people and what sort of information?"

"One is a GD employee working at the NSA. His name is Tim Holiday and I have reason to believe he may be connected to the murder of his officemate Mark Gregory out in California. The other is an NSA employee named Mystie Dey that's spelled M-Y-S-T-I-E D-E-Y. I want to know as much about their past and current private lives as you can find out. I'm not interested in the work they do for the agency. It is classified and I already know what I need to there."

"That's a fair amount of work. I can't make any promises, but I'm really very good at this sort of investigation. This is my hourly rate," he said shoving a one-page memorandum of agreement across his desk at me. It was basically a generic agreement that I would pay his hourly rate for services rendered. It was ready for me to sign. After reading it, I realized I was not charging enough for my own time, but then everything is more expensive in the D.C. area.

"I'll give you weekly progress reports and updates in the cost and you can let me know if you want me to continue," he explained. "If you want to proceed just sign and date at the bottom."

As I picked up the pen to sign, Kirby began his film noir narrative again. "My future client looked at me with apprehension. His hand with the pen hesitated over the document. Was he writing the opening line of a new chapter or was he signing a death warrant. Anticipation hung in the air like the dense D.C. humidity. Would it bring a rejuvenating spring rain or a devastating thunder storm?"

I smiled at his performance and signed the agreement. He reached in the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two shot glasses. "To seal our deal," he said filling the glasses and handing me one. He held his up to toast. "Here's looking at you kid." He sounded just like Humphrey Bogart.

"To the stuff dreams are made of, "I replied with the final line of the Maltese Falcon.

"Chuck, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he came back with the closing line from Casablanca.

#

The next morning, I told Molly and Jeff about the assignment Mystie had offered me.

"So are you going to do it?

"I don't know. What do you guys think?"

My question was met with deafening silence. I didn't understand. Did they have no opinion, mixed opinions, or just didn't care. I decided to put Molly on the spot. "Molly?"

"What do you expect us to say Chuck? If we were to encourage you and something bad happened, it would be on our consciences. On the other hand, discouraging you would not only be unpatriotic, but it would mean someone else would have to take the risk. This has to be your decision."

"I have an older brother who served in Afghanistan. He wasn't crazy about going, but now that he is back, he is glad he did. I know it's not quite the same, "Jeff offered sheepishly.

"Actually, maybe it is," I said. I leaned back in my chair and weighed the pros and cons. Pro, it might help me find who leaked the data about the terrorists. After all, that is what I was supposed to be doing. Pro, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have a real-life spy adventure. Pro, I would be putting my life on the line for my country; my way of paying back for the patriotic sacrifices so many others had made. Con, I could end up in a French prison for espionage.

I am no adrenaline junkie, but they say you always regret the things you didn't do more than what you did. I convinced myself this was something I should do. Ominous music of a bass guitar was in my mind. It was strumming, "Dum di-di dump dum duum\ Dum di-di dum dum", the "James Bond Theme."

#End Chapter Six