Pat came in through the closed door as I got off the phone. Her barging in part of the continuing exhibition of disrespect she’d been exhibiting from the beginning. No bonus apparently meant anything to her.

“You want to knock in the future?” I asked her, pointedly.

“The office is Banker’s Life so only the agents are yours to boss around.”

I sat back and breathed in and out deeply, wondering whether to call in my two agents who’d just been ‘hired’ before they started training to acquaint Pat with a hole out in the desert. But I needed her. I let my breath out. I would not be around long enough to support her replacement, not yet anyway.

“That’s true,” I said. “What is it now?”

“The packages you wanted to be sent are ready,” she said, smiling at me for the first time, probably in triumph. “The one is going to an address in Korea but there’s no address for the other.”

“I’m going on a short business trip, so I’ll take it with me to drop off.”

Pat pulled a file up from where she’d been holding it down at her side, held it out, and dropped it in front of me with a slight smack, before turning and exiting out leaving the door gaping open. Once again, I had to get up and close it myself thinking about how convenient it would be to have only the job of agency manager, which would require no confidential conversations at all.

I picked up the phone and called Herbert back, but he didn’t answer. I asked for the duty officer and waited until I got her on the line.

“My control told me that I could only use the Amex card for mission-related expenses,” I said, taking a short breath.

“That’s accurate,” the woman answered, tersely.

“He also told me that I have to get to Washington from Albuquerque and back which is going to take money. He said that my travel and operations in

Korea was not a mission, however. He said they were a test, and the test was not over.”

“Who is your control officer,” the woman asked.

“Anthony Herbert,” I replied.

The woman started laughing gently. “He was kidding. That’s the way it is with him. Of course, it was a mission. Anyone and there aren’t many, carrying your designation are always on missions even when lounging around a pool or in the surf on Waikiki Beach.”

“My designation?” I asked, in surprise. “What exactly is my designation?”

“That’s classified,” the woman replied, going all serious once again.

How can it be classified if you know what it is?” I asked, not understanding. “If I am the person designated then certainly, with my Top-Secret clearance I should know.”

“You do have the clearance, you just don’t have a need to know,” the woman said, flatly, as if the conversation was over.

“I need to know,” I said, slightly raising my voice, more in wonder than anger.

“Need to know is not assigned by the person saying he or she needs to know. That’s assigned by others above both of our pay grades.”

“I have a pay grade?” I asked, learning more from the hard-bitten woman than I’d been able to get out of Herbert about my status.

“That’s classified,” she replied.

I knew the woman was enjoying herself at my expense, but I needed information.

“I’m in my insurance management office,” I said, changing the subject.

“How can I be sure that my conversations are encrypted from prying ears or people listening in here?”

“You’re evidently brand new to the field,” the woman replied.

I waited, patiently but a little peevishly as well.

“Open the left drawer of your desk,” the woman instructed.

I obeyed.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“A black box with switches and round lights in a row across the top,” I answered, my forehead wrinkled in wonder that I’d never bothered to open that drawer before.

“Your conversations with this number are always encrypted, but to the outside world you push the switch to the left to encrypt outgoing and the one next to it to encrypt incoming. The next switch turns on the VSA system.

I stared down in curiosity and surprise.

“What’s a VSA?” I asked, knowing she was waiting for just that question.

That last switch turns on the Voice Stress Analyzer, which is there to see how much stress might be in the voice coming through the line, encrypted or not.

“Lie detector?” I asked, again surprised.

“The more red lights that go on the more stress is in the voice pattern and therefore the likelihood of lying goes up.”

I switched the VSA to on.

“Is my pay grade truly classified?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” the woman said, her tone this time a bit angry.

“Funny, the lights are all red,” I replied, lying and then hanging up.

I booked my flight to Washington for late in the morning. Mary would not be happy, but I had no choice. Not only did I need to deliver and take the application for our own finances, but I had to find out what was going on with the new medical company and then visit Captain John McCain. That visit kind of sat at the edge of my mind, as the man had been a prisoner of war for five years in North Vietnam. Whatever he might have to do with anything had Vietnam footprints and fingerprints all over it in my mind and I didn’t want those feet and fingers to have anything to do with me.
I left the office and headed north on the road just outside that ran along the Rio Grande River, although at this time of the year, it was more a big stream rather than a river. Along the right side of the road, a big ranch house and then a huge warehouse appeared. The immaculate black letters on a white background sign read ‘Anderson Valley Vineyards’.

I turned in. Maxie Anderson, the world-class balloonist who’d been killed in Germany had started the vineyard right before he crashed his balloon in a storm. His son, now also a world record-setting balloonist, ran the place. My little personal mission was to somehow ingratiate myself with this special man and then find a way to go ballooning and become a balloon pilot. Somehow, after that, I might be able to wangle a balloon out of the Agency, although that seemed doubtful given Herbert’s comments about it.

Anderson was out but this sommelier was there. The tall skinny man wanted me to take a tour of the winery, but I begged off. I wasn’t a fan of wine drinking or any other drinking that might slow me down and moving fast in the multiple things I was being required to do was the key to everything.
I left a note indicating that I was housed just down the road and had been recommended to him by a friend of the family in D.C. I left my number but didn’t hold out much hope. The kid was famous, probably still going through the grief process, and not likely to respond. I knew I’d be calling on the winery again, although I didn’t mind looking around There was a comforting warmth to the place, and that no doubt was a function of the man running it. I had no friends in Albuquerque, in fact, just the opposite. Pat and Allen Weh, both disliked me rather intensely. I needed at least one friend, other than Mary, Jules, and Michael.

Mary wasn’t happy. She felt that Washington was about as dangerous a place for me to be as Korea had been. But I had no choice. My argument that we had a new house, new cars, two great kids in schools that were quality, a country club half a block away, and a real office, no matter how fake parts of it were likely to be, were solid and she bought them. The preparations and flight to D.C. were both without incident. I checked into the Willard Hotel, across from the Whitehouse. It was expensive but the culture in the place drew me in like a magnet. The Horseshoe bar off the lobby, where only recently women were allowed in.

The drive to the office building by cab took only a few moments as the traffic on the screwed-up layout of Washington streets was beyond belief but it was early in the day. The office was an imposing structure, six stories in height, and looked like it could house an entire insurance company rather than a small insurance office. The cab dropped me off near the downramp to the parking area.

I walked down the ramp which curved sharply at the bottom. It was a strange feature of the underground parking. I stopped once I came to a steel-reinforced gate. The place was a fortress underground, just as I’d been warned. A mere medical insurance company office, offering policies to ex-pat Americans living abroad would more than seem to be out of place. It was out of place but there was nothing to be done about it except avoid visitors of just about every kind.

I had to walk back up out of the garage area and head for the main entrance. It was a long walk, just like almost anywhere one might want to reach in downtown Washington D.C. without using a vehicle to get there.

Once inside the structure, where there was no one present at all in the huge lobby area, I went over to the elevators set into an interior wall. There were six of them, once again huge overkill for an insurance office that might house six to ten people. I shook my head, as I read the only name on the index set between two of the elevators. BCBSNCA was on the top floor.

“Of course,” I whispered to myself. At least the use of the acronym for Blue Cross Blue Shield of the National Capital Area was a bit stealthy, as there was nothing else about the whole structure that didn’t denote some high security top secret organization likely housed inside.

I went up to the sixth floor, the elevator being uncommonly fast. The doors slid open, and I stepped into a scene of movement and noise. I stood in shock.

Twenty to thirty people were all over, moving desks and arranging many electronic devices. In its infancy, the office was populated by ten times the equipment and personnel that my semi-real insurance office in Albuquerque was.

The Ambassador came through the throngs of moving personnel, all of them, by their attire, not blue-collar workers of any kind.

Without a preamble or any re-introduction, he motioned me off to one side by taking me by my left elbow and guiding me along.

“Sorry about all this, but it’s taking more time to put together the whole operation in such short order. We were all waiting for you.”

“Me, why?” I asked in real surprise. I was there to see how things were going not to do much of anything else, and be found by whomever was the intermediary with Captain John McCain, whom the ambassador could know nothing about.

“Medical insurance policy we’ll be offering, and also make a presentation about what we’ll be offering abroad. Lots of excitement here, but we won’t be fully staffed for another few weeks.”

I looked around, thinking of what it might be like to stand in the middle of a thunderstorm with lightning striking all around while just waiting to be hit by one of the errant strokes. I’d brought no policy. Had no presentation and I had no idea what the scale of what I’d started had already grown to.

“The size of all this,” I finally got out.

“Oh, yes,” the ambassador laughed. “We’ve got to have U.S. arm and sell the policy at home back here to, just for good cover. Your agency in New Mexico can be the sales focal point. It all fits together so nicely, proving you are as brilliant as Colonel Herbert said you might be.”

I said nothing, the shocks reverberating through my mind and body not allowing me to adjust fast enough.

“I’ll be back in the morning to make the presentation and deliver the policy. Selling in the U.S. will have fifty-state ramifications as all insurance in the U.S. is state-regulated. We would have to register in all the states where the policy is to be sold.” I backed toward the closed elevator doors I’d come through.

“That’s why we have a whole legal section and Sullivan and Cromwell on full retainer.”

I gawked. Sullivan and Cromwell was the biggest and most expensive legal firm in Washington, and I knew that because my brother-in-law, Douglas Wiggly was an attorney there. I immediately knew that Doug, not my biggest fan on earth, must never know my association with the new company. Neither my parents nor my sister had any real use for me unless they were in trouble and needed something that they felt only I might provide. My being a ‘secret agent’ would do in whatever tattered relationships I had left there. The budget for just one part of my idea was consuming millions and I felt deep down that there was no stopping it at all.

“Tomorrow, at eleven,” I said, making it sound like that was what I had planned all along. In reality, I had no plan, except to get back to the room, get on the phone with Pat, and get the Banker’s Life of Iowa small group medical plan faxed to me as quickly as possible. Just before I pushed the elevator button, I stopped.

“Can I use your office for a confidential call?” I asked the ambassador, who had been about as much of a real ambassador as I was a secret agent.

“Certainly,” he replied, guiding me through the clutter to a corner office that overlooked the entire Potomac River. The view was magnificent. Back in my office in Albuquerque, I had a view of the parking lot, usually populated by FBI agents waiting to arrest me for anything they might discover.

I closed the huge thick wooden door, obviously and painstakingly made from a single piece of a giant Walnut tree. The sound of the door closing was like that of a bank vault door, or quite possibly a prison door.

I called my office in Albuquerque. Pat picked up immediately, changing her tone of welcome as soon as I said something. I was in no mood for her attitude, however.

“You know, Pat, that I’m the guy that got you a substantial bonus less than a month ago,” I said, but got no farther.

“I’m employed directly by Bankers, so I didn’t get the bonus, everyone else did.”

I put the receiver down and rubbed my face with both hands in disbelief and frustration. No wonder the woman disliked me, and she had good cause.

I picked the phone back up. “When I get back you will receive the bonus amount in cash. It will be in one hundred dollar
bills. The same amount as everyone else got. I had no idea you were left out, now here’s what I want you to do.”

Pat took my instructions without comment until I finished.

“Yes sir, it will be done immediately, and thank you,” she said, her tone completely different from every other time we’d spoken.

I hung up and exited first the office and then the building. I had a lot to do during the rest of the day ahead and probably the night too, depending upon what might become of the John McCain mystery visit. There should be absolutely no connection between us but then I’d been shocked before about how the Agency was not really caring or sensitive about such things when it came to the individual needs of its agents, in this case, me.

The taxi I’d taken still sat out near the corner of the building. The trip back to the hotel was as quick as the one out had been. I went straight to the front desk to let them know a fax was on the way that I needed as soon as it came in. The Willard front desk crew was first-rate, and I knew I was in good hands. I went up to my room to freshen up and then called my wife. On the elevator, which wasn’t fast at all, I thought about how I would have to modify the policy. There was no way that Bankers could ever come to know that their policy had been used as a template, and that was going to take some time and trouble on my part It would be easier simply because of what I was discovering about just how well funded this effort was going to be. The policy could be a whole lot less restrictive because the government was proving that it didn’t likely care about the payment of claims coming in. Those costs were going to be offset by the benefit of getting agents in and out of countries easily and without the usual perusal by custom0s and immigration officials. There was also the problem of remembering to deliver and make sure the ambassador understood the million-dollar life insurance policy he was about to purchase. I was about to be out more thousands when I flew back to Albuquerque to justifiably satisfy Pat’s needs wants and desires.

I opened my room door with the big ornate and very old key. I stepped inside, closed the door, and then turned.

A man stood by the window, his back to it. He was wearing a blue uniform with four gold stripes running around the lower part of his forearms. I stood and said nothing. He said nothing either.

I knew his stare. I’d seen it so well at the ‘officer’s quarters’ in the mud at An Hoa when I was about to be sent to die in the valley. It had come to be known as the thousand-yard stare.

We looked into each other’s eyes and I was taken aback.

No introduction was necessary.

Captain John McCain stood facing me, somehow, inside my room. I said nothing and intended to say nothing unless he spoke. Finally, he did.

“They tell me that you’re willing to go back and save some prisoners still being held in the North,” he said, with no expression, still giving me the coldest stare of my life.

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