Chapter 12

Aaron tried not to behave like a fretting housewife. As Garrett dressed in a suit and tie, Aaron watched him, an icy pit forming in his gut. Garrett was having dinner with the director of the CIA, the man that had ordered Garrett to ‘neutralize’ him.

Of course he knew this wasn’t a polite social event for Garrett. Although he did not know Garrett’s mindset, he had a feeling this was duty. Either a way to keep suspicion off himself, or maybe intelligence gathering.

Aaron didn’t want to know. Less is more when it came to this level of secrecy.

Garrett inspected his appearance in a mirror and then clipped his gun to his belt.

“Armed?” Aaron asked.

“No doubt he’ll ask me to remove it at the door, but I don’t like to travel without it.”

Aaron nodded but was unhappy that Garrett’s life revolved around defending himself against armed assailants.

But you play the spy game, you take chances.

Garrett stood in front of him. “I have no idea what time I’ll be home, but it won’t be late.”

“Okay.”

Garrett touched Aaron’s chin and kissed his lips. “Don’t worry.”

Aaron was going to worry. That was a certainty.

After taking his car keys from the kitchen counter, Garrett stared at him and as an afterthought said, “Don’t go out, don’t answer the door, or the phone.”

Nodding, Aaron had no intention of doing any of those things.

“Oh. And lock the door behind me.” He held the wine bottle in his hand.

“Yes.”

Garrett gave him one more kiss and left.

Turning the bolt on the kitchen door, Aaron heard the garage door rolling up and Garrett’s sedan starting.

He headed to the front window and watched Garrett’s car drive off, then heard the garage door lower.

Aaron slid to sit on the sofa, listening to the noise of the quiet house. A lawnmower hummed somewhere in the neighborhood. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, even though he wasn’t sure there was a god.

~

Garrett drove to the posh area of Baltimore, where the rich people resided.

Greenway. The street was lined with mansions set back from the roadway with manicured lawns and old-growth trees and shrubs.

Since he’d already seen the home on a website, he knew what to expect. He pulled into a driveway with a detached garage that looked more like a carriage house. The garage had an upper floor with windows. Garrett wondered if at one time it served as the servants’ quarters. This home was built in 1914 and had a colonial design to it.

Taking a deep breath, Garrett held the wine bottle and exited the car. He walked up to the front of the house. It had three levels with a small second floor balcony above the front door with glass patio doors that opened behind it.

Two arched windows framed the entry, and four windows were above them on the second level.

Garrett flattened his necktie under his suit jacket and rang the bell. A manservant answered, but he looked more like a security guard than domestic help.

“Sergeant Major Garrett Finnigan.” Garrett stared into the man’s dark eyes.

“Yes. Come in, sir.”

Garrett stepped into a huge foyer with wooden floors and a high ceiling. With the wine bottle still in Garrett’s hand, this man asked, “Do you mind if I frisk you?”

Even if Garrett did, he figured it would occur regardless. He held out has arms and said, “My gun is in my waist holster.”

It was removed from the holster.

Once the gun was confiscated, the pat-down continued. Garrett did not carry any of his ankle weapons, since he figured this was going to happen.

After the weapon search, a more personal search followed.

“What are you doing?” Garrett asked in irritation.

“Checking for bugs.”

“I’m not wired. I’m a guest here.”

After the man was satisfied, he said, “Let me show you in.”

Garrett restrained his urge to hit this jerk in the head with the wine bottle.

He was led to a living space. The size was absurd. The décor, well… dated. A sense that this home was inspired by southern plantation houses made him uneasy.

The upper half of the walls were painted red, the lower half, white. There was a green marble fireplace surround with a brass frame and over a dozen floral prints hung on the wall around the fireplace.

The director entered the room, as if making a grand entrance. He wore a golf shirt and khaki slacks, and held a martini.

“Garrett… so nice of you to come.”

“Nice of you to invite me, sir.” He handed the director the wine.

He set his glass down and removed it from its bag. “Very nice.” He handed it to the servant. “Take this to the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you like a glass, Garrett?”

“Perhaps with dinner, sir.”

A woman entered the room next. The director’s wife, Ginny. She was heavyset, had dyed blonde hair, and costly jewelry. She wore a blousy floral top and stretch pants, peach in color. She was in her forties, as was the director.

No doubt the man had several women on the side to have sex with.

“This is my wife, Ginny. Ginny? This is Sergeant Major Garrett Finnigan.”

Garrett shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“And you, young man.” She also asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Maybe a cocktail.”

A servant was called. A different man showed up. Men. All with the appearance of secret service agents.

The director said, “Garrett would like a cocktail.”

“Sir?” the servant asked.

Garrett said, “A martini. Thank you.”

“Coming right up.”

Garrett opened the button of his suit jacket. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Ginny replied. “You didn’t bring a lady friend?”

“My girlfriend is with a sick aunt. She sends her apologies.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that… come. Sit.” The woman pouted.

The director held his cocktail and sat on one of two floral printed stuffed settees, facing each other in the center of the room. A small brass and glass table was between them.

Ginny was given a cocktail as Garrett’s was served.

“And you may bring in the hors d’oeuvres.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Garrett had no doubt those servers were armed security. His gun was taken from him, but he’d receive it on his departure.

As he sipped the cocktail, only a touch of his tongue to make sure it wasn’t spiked or tainted, Garrett listened to Ginny’s monologue about the weather, climate change hoax, and other boring topics which Garrett had no interest in. He used the toothpick which skewered a green olive to stir the drink, although he was suspicious of the liquid. How nice would it be to drug him and make him vanish? The only witness to this man’s crime?

After Ginny finished her cocktail, she stood. “Let me make sure the cook knows there are only three for dinner. Excuse me.”

The director smirked after she left. “It’s just us now.”

Garrett smiled but said nothing, setting his barely touched cocktail on the glass table.

“May I congratulate you.” The director appeared to be buzzed. Garrett had no way of knowing how many cocktails he’d had previous to his visit. “Your skill and reputation are admired by many.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have something for you.” The director fished into his trouser pocket while holding the cocktail glass higher. He produced a plastic baggie and reached across the table to hand it to him.

Garrett took it. Two slugs from a gun. He knew right away which gun. His.

“We removed it from police custody. No need to involve the local authorities.” The director seemed very pleased with himself, finishing his drink, his pinky raised.

“Yes. My ballistics are on record.”

“Oh, they matched. Make no mistake.”

“You had them checked?” Garrett knew he would. Was counting on it.

“Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t.” He went to return them.

“No. They’re for you. A souvenir of a job well done. So well done.”

Fuck you, bastard.

“Thank you, sir.” Garrett slipped the plastic bag into his shirt pocket.

“Did you…” the director slurred his words a little, “Run into any snags? Any trouble?”

“None.”

“Good!” He rose up from the couch. “Let me show you around a little.”

“Very good, sir.” Garrett stood and followed this drunk. So cocky. So fucking sure of yourself, aren’t you?

He sneered as he trailed this man, getting a tour of his two-million-dollar home, taking the drink with him.

~

Aaron made himself a salad and added thawed frozen shrimp to it. He sat in front of the TV set, cross-legged, on the floor and ate his dinner.

Watching the local news, seeing the preparations for a grand fireworks display on Monday, Aaron tried to visualize Garrett’s dinner with the top CIA man.

No use. He couldn’t even imagine it.

After he’d finished the salad, he brought the bowl to the sink and washed it and the fork. Once he’d neatened the kitchen he drank ice water, staring outside at the backyard, wishing they had a pool.

He’ll be okay.

He’s fine.

No one suspects him of not killing me.

“Fuck. If I don’t believe you’re going to be okay, I’ll lose it.”

~

The director brought him to a game room. Like all the other rooms in the house, this one was well lit from the many windows surrounding two sides.

On a green felt card table were various items.

Garrett inspected them. He said, “I see you enjoy gaming.”

“I do.”

“Chess… checkers… backgammon,” Garrett said as he circled the table, “Mahjong…” He noticed a poker chip holder. Bright blue chips were stacked next to red and white ones. Garrett ran his fingertips over the blue ones, making them clack. “Are you a betting man, sir?”

“What else is there?” The director stood behind a desk and opened a drawer. “I find life dull at times.”

Garrett noticed framed photos on the wall. He leaned closer, kneeling one knee on a sofa to get a better look. The director and the head of the FBI taken ten years ago. The director with George H.W. Bush. The director with past attorneys general.

Another photograph was from the military with the director standing in front of a fighter jet, in uniform.

“Would you care for a cigar?”

Garrett carefully inspected the pictures. “Why, yes. Thank you, sir.” He set his cocktail glass down, having barely touched it, wary of the contents.

The director slid a large cigar across his desk. “They’re Cubans.”

Garrett had no doubt. He picked it up and sniffed it.

The director used a cigar cutter, then handed it to him. Garrett also clipped the tip, a wedge shape. Then, the man lit his, puffing gray clouds of smoke into the air.

Garrett took the lighter and did the same. “A fine quality.”

“Two dollars an inch.” The director seemed very pleased with himself. He blew smoke rings and grinned happily.

After setting the lighter down on the desk, Garrett puffed the cigar and looked around the room. “Quite a life you’ve had, sir.”

“Say what?”

“You with the former president,” Garrett signaled to the photo with President Bush as he spoke, “The head of the Federal Bureau…” Garrett leaned closer to the military photo. “Is that you, sir?”

The director approached him. “Yes. That’s me with the F-4 Phantom Aircraft.”

Garrett stared at the picture, then at him. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you seem to have a lot more hair now.”

A wry smile came to him. “I wear a hairpiece. I was younger, handsomer then, but my hairline, well, it receded.”

“I see, sir.” Garrett puffed on the cigar.

“I guess we should see if dinner is ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they left the game room, Garrett left the cocktail glass behind, crushed the cigar out in an ashtray, snatched a blue poker chip from the rack, and dropped it into his trouser pocket.

~

Aaron paced from the front of the house through the living room and kitchen, to the back window. The TV began to irk him, so he turned the radio on.

Hootie and the Blowfish, Let Her Cry aired.

Standing at the rear window, Aaron watched the trees sway in the hot night breeze. Birds called to each other and flit from branch to branch. He stepped out to the back patio and the scent of charred meat wafted in the air. Families gathered.

A sense of loneliness pervaded him.

He’d never had that childhood. Never had brothers or sisters to enjoy. No nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles… no grandpa to sit on his knee and hear stories about the war.

Then, it occurred to him.

There were no family photos in this house.

No nephews, nieces, aunts or uncles… no parents, sisters, or brothers… just a few military photographs with men.

Wait. Didn’t Garrett have a family?

“Wow. That’s confusing as heck.” Aaron sat on a deck chair. There were only two, painted white metal, and a matching table, tiny and round.

The grill was also on the patio but sat cold and void of meat.

A few firecrackers went off somewhere. No doubt children lit them off, anxious for the big day.

He sank on the chair and listened to the sound of the breeze moving the maple and oak leaves, the chirping of the starlings, sparrows, and robins, and now and then, a crackle of a bottle rocket would whistle into the air.

~

Garrett sipped the red wine he’d brought since it was opened at the table. Now that they were dining, Ginny was back. The woman yakked nonstop.

The director ate quietly and drank three more strong cocktails. The man had to be drunk.

“… and we visited Thailand. Remember, dear? The food was so spicy. And David got the runs.”

“It was terrible.” The director used a cloth napkin to dab his mouth.

Two male servers, both looking a lot like secret servicemen, stood near, ready to refill glasses or serve seconds from the chef in the kitchen.

They ate bacon wrapped scallops for appetizers and sole almondine for dinner with potatoes and steamed broccoli.

The meal was nice.

The host and hostess were drunk.

“I tried to tell them how we cook things here, but they don’t speak English, so it was useless.” Ginny gulped the red wine he’d brought and indicated for the server to pour her more.

When the man offered to pour for Garrett, he held his hand over his glass.

“… we did enjoy Australia. Oh, that was lovely.” Ginny ate another bite of her food. “But the critters there can kill you. I would hate to live there.”

“Nice place to visit though,” the director replied, also drinking the red cabernet he’d brought.

“Would you like more?” Ginny asked him.

“No. Thank you.” Garrett had finished his meal.

“Why don’t you tell the chef we’re ready for dessert?” Ginny asked the servant.

“Yes, ma’am.” He left the room while the second man began to clear the table of empty plates.

Garrett wondered who they were, how much they earned doing this gig, and if the taxpayers were footing the bill or they were private security.

A flaming baked Alaska was brought to the table. Very showy.

Ginny clapped in delight, while David had drunken himself into a stupor.

The flames were short-lived, and the creamy dessert was plated.

Garrett was full but said, “A small piece.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh.” Ginny scoffed, “Eat a little. You make me feel decadent.”

You are . “I’m full on the nice meal.” Garrett shot her a cheesy smile.

“How about a nice port or sherry?” The director pointed to one of the two goons serving.

A bottle of expensive booze was shown to the double-agent traitor. He nodded his approval, and three drinks were poured.

Garrett tasted the whipped dessert and didn’t want it since he was very full.

The director held up his tiny crystal glass for a toast. “To you, Garrett, and your loyalty.”

Garrett held up his glass. “To my loyalty to the United States of America.”

A slight sneer hit the director since no doubt he meant, Garrett’s loyalty to him … but he covered it up and drank down the booze.

Garrett let the sherry brush his lips and set the glass down. “Well… I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.” He scooted his chair away from the table. He rose up and held out his hand for Ginny’s. “Thank you. You’re a wonderful hostess.” He pecked the back of her hand.

She blushed and fanned herself as if he gave her a hot flash.

Garrett stood next to the director. “Thank you, sir. I’m overwhelmed by your gratitude and kindness.”

The director tried to stand but was so drunk he couldn’t get out of the chair. One of the men rushed to move the chair out for him, but the man had already sunk down on it into a foggy stupor.

Garrett shook his limp hand. “At your service.” He left the dining room, escorted to the door by one of the guards. He was given his gun.

Garrett asked, “How did you get this gig? Damn. Looks cushy.”

The servant’s pretense left since he assumed Garrett was an ally. “Easy money. Beats working on the street.”

Garrett stuck the gun in his holster. “No kidding? This is government salary?”

“Yes. All the bennies. Not to mention the incentive pay. The director rewards loyalty. His top security men can make over a hundred grand a year.”

“No kidding! Wow. Sign me up!” Garrett smiled at the stooge and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Garrett left the house and his cordial smile vanished. He sat in his car and backed out of the driveway, having enough to get a warrant for something he’d seen inside the home.

This evening dinner confirmed all he’d thought about the director. Dirty as they come.

At a traffic light, Garrett dug the blue poker chip out of his pocket and stared at it.

You’re a traitor.

And you’ve met your match.