Death of A Spy

The death of a spy

The car careened across the highway and smashed into the guard rail.  The impact caused it to ride up on its side and bounce back across the highway crashing into a mini van.  The driver of the min-van lost control, hit the median and landed across oncoming traffic.  It looked like bumper cars but it was way more serious.

My father and I were in the first car and he was dead before he lost control. I made sure of that.  The hypodermic in his arm made sure of that. A quick jab and I threw it as far as I could out the window.  People were running and screaming.  There were casualties and there were survivors. 

It started when I picked up the phone by mistake during a short visit to my parents.  The cord to power up my cell phone was plugged in next to my father's phone.  I was making myself a pot of coffee when the phone rang.  Without paying a great deal of attention, I picked up the phone.

The voice on the other end was a monotone.  "Pick up the phone at the corner of 13th and Pennsylvania N.W. at 10:00 am on Monday."  The call ended and I realized I was holding my Dad's phone. 

What kind of mysterious date did my Dad have?  It sounded like intrigue and it made me curious.  My hands ground into my pockets as I paced the room.  With dismay I fingered the key ring in my pocket over and over again.  What my Dad was up to. 

"Dad, I answered your phone by mistake.  I thought that my phone was ringing.  The voice sounded kind of weird but you have some sort of date tomorrow at 10 at the corner of 13th and Penn."

"It's a game, Peter.  Some of the guys at work have started a fantasy game.  You go to different spots and pick up clues.  It's all very hush-hush and rather silly for a man my age."

"What ever turns you on?"

It was a reasonably plausible explanation as long as you didn't look at him when he was talking.  He shrunk.  He visibly got smaller as we were talking. I spent an uncomfortable night worrying about the rendezvous.  I lost sleep thinking of possible scenarios.  Following him was risky but it was the only effective plan.

There was my Dad at 10 in the morning on a work day carrying his brief case around town.  I stayed as close as I could while blending in with the crowd going to Starbucks.  It was mid-morning in Washington.  Everyone seemed to be either going to Starbucks or coming out of Starbucks.  I could see him pick up the phone and then he took off. 

I had to leave the cover of the coffee drinkers.  Traffic was sparse and I was very visible.  I had no back up plan if he turned around but it didn't matter because he marched like he was leading a parade.  The game he was playing was very serious to him.  His shoulders were hunched up as if he was prepared to tackle anyone that might get in his way.  His eyes stared straight ahead as he crossed Pennsylvania Avenue and headed for the Mall.  Not the Mall with the Gap and Banana Republic.  This was our nation's mall with the Capitol on one end and the Lincoln Monument on the other.  It consists of sandy walking paths and wooden benches.  At lunch both sexes come out to jog or to watch the barely dressed jog.  This morning it seemed desolate and forbidding.  He was so focused that following him was not hard. 

He was headed towards one of the many wooden benches.  I was following close behind and saw him leave his case underneath the bench.  His job apparently done, he scurried off down towards the Metro.  One of the Washington's homeless ambled over towards the bench but I was too quick.    I set off in the opposite direction to the Archives Metro station my arms locked around the briefcase.  I needed privacy and I couldn't get home soon enough.  Depending on what I found I would have decisions to make.

Like a child with a secret I took the brief case up into my childhood bedroom.  There were papers in Chinese which I can't read.  There were plans for thermonuclear warheads. I could have concluded that they were fake paraphernalia for the game but I didn't.  I could have concluded that they were espionage but I didn't.  This is my field and I knew these documents.  The Chinese already had this stuff.  The content of the brief case was a ruse.  I would have to dig deeper. 

I got a screw driver and took the briefcase apart.  I found a small flash drive in the hollow handle.  It was my flash drive from my keychain.

"It's your flash drive."

"Dad, I don't know what you are talking about." My voice was full of false sincerity but I couldn't pull off innocence when I had the screw driver in my hand.

"Let's not be coy, Peter.  It was just a matter of time before you stole it from your office.  I have known for months that you had plans to sell the information to the Chinese.  I knew years ago that you were turned but I couldn't bring myself to do what I needed to."

"I'm your son!" I said with as much pathos as I could muster.

"No your not!"  My son wouldn't sell out his country.  Part of me was proud when you rose in the Agency.  But the other part knew.  You care only for yourself.  You still pull the wings off butterflies.  Therapy failed because you have no conscience." 

"You wanted a secret life and you wanted a family.  You lived your life in the dark and hidden recesses of the CIA all the time expecting us to be the All American family.  What ever I am is because of you.  I don't see shades of gray and I don't worry about right from wrong.  I despise your sentimentality."

"I knew you were following me, Peter."

‘What was the point of playing a shell game with the flash drive?"

"It was one last chance for you because I'm still your parent.  I knew when you heard the phone call you would discover that I had taken the flash drive so I could have it returned.  Crazy as it may seem I was hoping you wouldn't go after the brief case."

"The names of our agents are very marketable.  I can sell it to China and probably Iran for starters.  It's an amazing money maker.  What happens now?"

"Now I take you in."

"Oh let's do that, Dad.  You be the hero and take your only son into custody.  Maybe they will give you a medal for such a sacrifice.  Why don't we just sell the damn thing?  There's plenty to go around."

"I'll take you in but I won't be a hero."  He didn't look too good and I almost felt sorry for him.  He had failed.  Don't say I don't have feelings.  He was suffering and I ended that for him with compassion.

My Dad committed suicide.  I look at it that way because a bright man like my Dad had to know that he was not taking me in.  I always carry a hypodermic of quick acting poison.  It's the Boy Scout in me. 
* * *
Something doesn't feel right.  I don't know what's happening.  I'm not in the car but I don't know where I am.  Is it too late to be sorry?

"Nurse, grab the paddles, this kid is coding.  Again. Again.  Its no use, time of death is at 2:14.  The father died in the accident.  I thought we could save the son.