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The List

Written By: Dorothy McFalls

One.

The sunset mimicked the golden field, various shades of oranges and browns spreading wildly across the sky, and the wind held the bite of winter, a leftover from the unusually long season. In the middle of the field, following the contour of a lazy hill, a tall man braced himself against the weather. His black cape, caught in the wind, flowed away from his body until he pulled it tight. He watched as a stream of white smoke rose from the small stone villa, the only structure in the Tuscan valley.

The sight of a thin woman sprinting through the field caught his attention. A hound, sleek and a deep chestnut color, strode at her side. He smiled briefly before turning away.

“Derek.” The woman said breathlessly when she finally caught up to him. He turned toward her and watched as she brushed the long, brown, windswept hairs from her face. His hand automatically reached out to the Pharaoh hound, sire of numerous champions.

“It’s still too chilly for Rames to be out in the weather for too long.” He admonished and walked away.

“Derek.” The woman said again. “I need to talk to you.”

He slipped his arm around her thin waist and allowed her to walk at his side. Rames darted around them, giddy to be out.

The woman pressed her side against Derek, comfortable with his body. “I have received a fax from Gordon. All of the pieces are falling into place.” The woman paused to catch her breath. “It’s time to begin our scheme.”

Derek stopped and held the woman at arm’s length. He studied her emerald eyes. “Miriam, I don’t know. It is needlessly dangerous. We could easily put something together with zero exposure, our usual strategy.”

Miriam pulled away from him. “Exposure is necessary. They need to know who did this to them. Revenge needs to be served in the open.”

Derek was not about to waste his breath arguing with her. He had more important matters on his mind.

Rames had taken his place by his master’s side, waiting. The wind blew cold again. “I have work to do.” Derek said, heading down the hill. “I’m flying to Amsterdam in the morning to check on the construction of the Dutton Corporate Headquarters. I need to work on design revisions. I don’t have time to think about this now.” Miriam should know by now that architecture comes first.

Rames bounded down the hill in front of his master, happy to be heading home, leaving Miriam standing alone on the hill.

Three months had passed since Derek and Miriam had settled into the skinny blue townhouse on a cobbled road in the center of Amsterdam. Derek spent his days at the construction site fighting with contractors and bribing governmental officials to speed permit reviews; and nights spent locked in his office surrounded by volumes of sketches produced for the contractors.

That afternoon, Miriam found Derek at the Dutton construction site, massive steel beams and glass growing from the ground all around him like an explosion from a silicon volcano frozen in time. The sun hung high in the sky like a giant heat globe, baking the ground. Miriam hung back, unnoticed, as Derek fought with the general contractor.

“You don’t understand Mr. Rand, the owners visited the site yesterday, after you left, and told us to move that wall.” The general contractor, about as wide as he was tall, said before taking a step back from Derek.

“I understand you perfectly. I do speak English. I hope that you understand me. That wall will be built where the plans specify.” Derek said in an even tone. Miriam could hear a small part the fury that must be brimming underneath.

“But the owners?” The general contractor insisted.

“I’ll handle them.” Derek flipped open his small chrome digital phone and dialed the direct number to Dutton’s vice president in charge of the Amsterdam project. “You get back to work.”

The general contractor shook his head as he waddled away.

“Edwardo, Derek Rand here. My contractor tells me that you were making some changes to the plan.” Derek frowned as he listened to the response. “No, I am the architect.” He said, certainly interrupting the client. “You do not own these plans; you only own the right to build the building. If you want this building built, it will be done as the plans specify. If not, I will gladly recommend a company that can dismantle what has been built.” He allowed time for the client to react. “Good. I’m glad. We are a week ahead of schedule. I would hate to ruin what has been accomplished up to now.” Derek’s tight stance relaxed. “Yes. I will be available at ten in the morning next Tuesday to give your board of directors a tour of the facility.” Derek disconnected the call.

“Busy day?” Miriam stepped forward and said.

Derek smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

“I have the last piece of the puzzle in place. The game will begin tomorrow.” Miriam said, winning Derek’s attention. He carefully rolled up his plans and stared at her. “Tomorrow night we will attend a gala ball hosted by the Dutton Industry. There, we will meet with a Helmet Bronhon, the head of intelligence for Croatia and one of the biggest gossips in the business, not to mention that he’s on CIA’s payroll. By the next morning the CIA will suspect that me, simple me, has stumbled onto a master list containing nuclear security codes. Iraq, France, India, Russia, and the United States will be emphasized to ensure interest.”

“Miriam, you know my feelings about this. There’s too much risk involved.” Derek said; his body, straight and tight, hid the same fury that he had suppressed with the general contractor only moments earlier.

Miriam smiled easily, never fearing his temper. “We will hold all of the cards. As you had suggested, they are playing into our hands, on our home field.”

Two.

All heads turned when Jason Grimball entered the conference room. The receptionist had sent him straight back; had told him that they were expecting his arrival. He did not fully understand what they did at Data Corp, but he welcomed a change from his previous assignment.

After the room of well-dressed men had sufficiently scrutinized Jason, the man seated at the head of the table stood. The man, in his early fifties, was fit and clearly the station chief, Tom Brickell. Brickell’s suit coat had been draped over the back of the chair and his sleeves were rolled up, as if expecting to be in a long meeting.

“Welcome to Data Corp.” Brickell said motioning to an empty chair. “Let me introduce Jason Grimball, our newest field operative. Grimball transferred from our Salahudin base, in Iraq, where he has spent the past five years buried deep in the Iraqi army.” Several of the men at the table nodded in admiration. “I’m certain that you will adjust to the change in pace here with no problem.”

Jason agreed, took his seat at the table, and listened as the officers presented their daily reports. He rubbed his cleanly shaved chin, a welcome change from the heavy dark beard he had been forced to wear, as he heard updates on political activities, summaries of news reports, analyses of technological advances, and updates on local controversies. The reports seemed minor compared to the fast-paced events in Iraq. Jason made himself comfortable in the leather chair. Things would definitely be different here at the CIA’s small Amsterdam base.

An officer in his early forties with sandy blond hair, slicked back with gel, was describing a phone call he had received that morning from a foreign agent named Helmet. “The biggest gossip in the business,” several of the officers around the table had taunted at mention of Helmet’s name. The officer glared.

“Irregardless. He told me that an American woman working in Amsterdam has somehow gotten possession of a list. The list includes the nuclear activation and authorization codes for many of the top governments…including ours. Not only that, it describes how to use the security keys and how to by-pass the systems if the codes fail to work.” Several men in the room huffed. The thought was ludicrous. Rumors that such a master list existed had been around for years, but no one really believed them. Such a list, the Holy Grail of intelligence, would give the holder the ability to tap into any nuclear system in the world.

“Officer Gray, do you have any information about the woman our friend Helmet alluded to?” The leader asked.

Gray confidently leaned backed in his seat and flipped open a file. “Her name is Miriam Rand. She’s an art buyer.”

“An art buyer? What the hell is that?” An older officer asked.

“She buys art for wealthy clients. They have a room that needs an impressive canvas that will match the decor; she goes out and finds one.” Gray explained. “She is living in Amsterdam with her husband, Derek Rand, an important architect. They also have homes in Tuscany, Rome, London, Bordeaux, Tokyo, and New York City. Miriam turns 35 this year. Derek turned 40 last year. According to our files, Miriam is not much more than a bored housewife buying art for other bored housewives. If she has the list she would not know what it was or what to do with it. I doubt that her husband would either. If it does not involve architecture, he really isn’t interested.”

“I don’t need to tell you that such a list could be useful. It’s probably a dead-end, but…Why don’t you take Grimball with you to check things out? You can show him around Amsterdam at the same time.” Brickell said and stood. “Well, if there is nothing else, I think we all need to get to work. Jason, I would like to meet with you in my office once you’ve had a chance to get settled.” The officers in the room scurried off to their regular routines, leaving Jason standing in the conference room alone.

Miriam met Derek at the door of their bright blue townhouse. Miriam was returning from a shopping trip; Derek was leaving for the construction site.

“Things are happening fast.” Miriam whispered and glanced over her shoulder. Derek’s eyes followed her lead and fell on two men dressed in dark suits walking up to the house. He stepped protectively between Miriam and the two government agents.

“Excuse me.” The younger of the two men said. “You are Miriam Rand? We need to have a word with you.”

Miriam, with a look of surprise, stepped toward the front door.

“Let me introduce ourselves. I am Jason Grimball and this is Denver Gray. We work for the United States government.” Jason said with a big smile. “May we come in and talk for a moment?”

Derek held his ground between Miriam and the two men. “I am not accustomed to inviting strangers into my home.”

“The United States government?” Miriam said with breathless excitement. “Which agency?”

“The Central Intelligence Agency, Mrs. Rand. Your business gives you the opportunity to make many important contacts. One of those contacts may have some important information. Information that is vital to the security of the United States.” Denver Gray said. “We need your assistance.”

Miriam laughed; she was enjoying herself. Derek tensed, knowing that he would have to ensure her safety.

“You want me to work for you?” Miriam asked.

“Yes Ma’am.” Denver Gray said.

“I had tried to work for the CIA years ago. A recruitment team had come to the college. I remember the rejection letter. It stated that the CIA was very selective, picking only the best of the best, and that I did not fit the profile. That I was not good enough.” Miriam said, her silly smile now gone.

“We are not asking for you to become a clandestine officer. We just want you to assist us.” Denver Gray explained.

“I’m not good enough to be an officer, but you will let me work for you as an agent? Your trained monkey?” Miriam’s face lightened. “No thank you. My clients are my friends.”

Derek wrapped his arm around Miriam’s shoulder, worried of the officer’s reaction. He pushed her through the front door. “If you will excuse us, we have some urgent business to attend to. If you would like to talk to us, I suggest you make an appointment with my secretary.” Derek said and closed the door behind him.

Denver and Jason stared at each other in amazement. They had spent the entire morning following Miriam to seven art galleries, the bakery, two clothing stores, and through the park. Out of boredom, they decided to approach her, feeling confident that the excitement that they could bring to a lonely housewife would outweigh any doubts she might have about cooperating. They had hoped for a quick search of the Rand home and an expeditious end to their questions.

Walking away from the townhouse with their hands empty, Jason spotted two men milling around the street. He had seen both men, at separate times, earlier in the day.

“Do you recognize that man in the tan suit?” Jason asked.

Denver glanced in the general direction. “Yes.” He said continuing down the walk toward the street. “That’s Torble, a Russian agent.”

“How about that man over there?” Jason glanced in the direction of a skinny man wearing a long raincoat. His hair was messy, flying in all directions. Jason thought that the man looked familiar, but he could not place him.

“Isn’t that the computer genius? You know. The one who had been arrested for hacking into government sites and deleting personnel files? What’s he doing here?” Denver asked.

“I remember reading in an issue of Studies in Intelligence that he had been recruited by a private intelligence firm.” Jason said.

“It looks like there is a lot of interest in our Miriam Rand. You follow the computer nerd and I’ll take Torble. Find out where he is staying.” Denver said. The two men took off in separate directions.

Jason followed the computer genius down the street, staying a safe distance away. He tried to remember what he had read in the classified periodical about the private intelligence firm, the IIA, that had employed his mark. Private firms were more common since the breakup of the Soviet Union. Ex-KGB officers ran many of the enterprises. Jason seemed to recall that this company was American-based though. Companies like these were ruthless, gathering sensitive information by any means possible and selling it to the highest bidder. If they got possession of the list, they could sell it many times over to terrorists, small governments, or whoever would take the risk to steal a nuclear weapon.

Jason watched from the busy road as the computer genius, after carefully looking around him, darted down a dead-end alley. The genius looked nervous. His stride was uneven and his tall body waved back and forth as he quickly made it to the end of the alley.

A slim figure, shrouded in black and shadow, was waiting for him at the end of the alley. The genius stood several feet from the figure and quivered.

“Did you get the information?” The figure asked. The voice was husky but distinctly female.

“No. Others are interested. I didn’t get a chance. The place was crawling with spooks. The CIA approached her.”

“Did you at least get the bugs into the house?”

“No. There were too many people. I…I couldn’t get close.” The computer nerd ran his hand through is already messy hair, tugging at it.

“You need to be persistent–”

Jason saw the flash of the dark figure’s eyes as they landed on him. He ducked into the shadows and pressed his body against the wall of a building.

“Fool! You were followed.” The figure shouted.

A series of gunfire froze Jason. His heart racing, he peered around the corner. The computer genius’s body was sprawled on the ground; his body riddled with bullets. Jason, worried that the mysterious figure might come after him, flagged a taxi and hurried back to Data Corp.

Brickell cancelled all of his appointments for the afternoon. He needed to sort through the information and plan a course of action. Officers Gray and Grimball were sitting in the two chairs across from Brickell’s large mahogany desk. Brickell swung his chair away from them and stared out the window, watching as people gathered at the outdoor cafe on the street below.

“A man was killed because you followed him?” Brickell asked with disbelief.

“I believe so sir.” Jason answered.

“What do we know about this private agency the IIA?” Brickell asked.

“Not much. They have a web page. We know that they do considerable business for industry and small governments. And we now know that the dead man was Gordon Pierce, a young computer hacker. He was the only person that had ever been identified with the company. Business transactions apparently take place through the Internet. Since Gordon’s arrest for hacking, his activities have been impossible to trace. We see only what he has wanted us to see.” Jason said.

“Ok. And what about Torble?” Brickell asked.

“Torble’s interested in the list. He bragged about a meeting he had set up with her. It seems he’s in need of some artwork.” Denver said. “He’s not willing to share resources.”

“What do we have?” Brickell asked turning the chair back around to face the two men. “We have a rumor, an uncooperative art buyer slash housewife, a dead computer genius, and a growing interest in the situation. We can’t drag our feet on this one. If the list is out there, it won’t be available for long.”

Three.

“Hello Linda. How’s the Senator?” Miriam spoke into the phone receiver. She had just shown Torble into the sitting room when the phone rang. Excusing herself, she had left him to wait in the room alone. As Miriam spoke on the hall phone, she kept watch on him, as he must have been doing with her. “I have great news. I picked up a small Renoir yesterday. It will be perfect for the Senator’s office.” She paused, listening to the woman talk on the other end of the phone. “How should I get the painting to you?” Miriam listened. “Oh wonderful, so you’re travelling with your husband to Amsterdam next week? We can meet on Monday.” She paused. “Listen Linda, I would love to talk, but I need to go. I have someone waiting on me. See you Monday.”

Miriam blustered into the sitting room, apologizing for making the poor man wait. She poured two glasses of tea, served Torble, and settled down on a tall-back armchair covered with a floral pattern brimming with delicate pink flowers.

Torble choose to stand and held his glass of tea, untouched. “I’ve just moved to Amsterdam. My house is empty, undecorated. I need a woman’s touch to make it into a home.” Torble said with a heavy accent. He walked around the sitting room, running his hand along bookshelves and over the top of the credenza.

Miriam’s eyes followed the man’s movement. She held her teacup tightly and forced a sip. “I’m not a decorator. I’m an art buyer. There is a difference.”

“Yes. I understand. I need art…for my house.” He said. “Where is your husband? He’s that architect, Derek Rand, right?”

Miriam carefully placed the teacup on the side table and stood. “He is in his office, the next room over.” She positioned herself between the open door and Torble. “What type of art are you interested in?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Torble looked at Miriam for the first time. “Anything that may have recently fallen into your possession.”

Miriam studied Torble’s face. It was large, blank, unreadable.

“In fact I’ve heard that you deal in more than just art. I would be interested in seeing anything that you may have to offer.” Torble continued too bluntly.

Miriam smiled. They all underestimated her ability. “I don’t know what you mean. I think that it would be best if we set up a time to meet at your house. I can look at the spaces. I would be better able to make recommendations after getting a feel for the place. If you will write down your address, I could make it out to your place next Friday.”

“Yes, of course. I will call you later this week to set something up.” Torble said making his exit.

Two vans were parked on the street across from the skinny blue townhouse. Torble’s men sat in the one van wearing earphones, listening to every word Torble said. The two CIA officers, Denver and Jason, were hunched over in the back of the second van. After playing with the receiver, they had quickly found the frequency of Torble’s bugs, and benefited from Torble’s careful placement of small audio devices around the room.

After Torble left, the room fell silent. Denver and Jason could hear footsteps in the room, the clanking of teacups, books being moved on the shelves, but no talking. The claps of heavy shoes against the wooden floor were not Miriam’s. They heard the sound of running water and then static. They looked at each other with surprise. They had underestimated the Rand couple.

Denver and Jason found themselves seated once again in front of Brickell’s desk early the next morning.

“Operation YBurg needs to happen next week.” Brickell said. He spoke quickly, clipping his words.

“Next week? We aren’t ready.” Denver protested.

“Operation YBurg? I don’t understand.” Jason said.

“Of course, you haven’t been briefed yet.” Brickell said. “The President has directed us to cause a small explosion. Nothing too big, but enough to win international support for his defense program. The world has been too quiet lately. Getting our hands on the list would help us, but it is not necessary.”

“How could the list help?” Jason asked, not comfortable with what had been implied.

“We are using one of our own nuclear warheads. We stole one last year. But with the codes we could use the warhead stolen from India.” Brickell explained.

“You’re talking about a nuclear explosion?” Jason asked. “Casualties?”

“Just a small, controlled explosion nearby. There’s an island just east of Amsterdam. They’re calling it YBurg. It’s being developed, high-density development. Lots of controversy. Not too many people have moved there yet. The loss is estimated to be just over 200 people.”

“I can’t believe this.” Jason said.

“You don’t have to.” Brickell said with anger. “Denver, I want your team to get the bomb in place by Sunday. That will give you three days to get the list from Miriam Rand, if it exists. Jason, your request to interrogate Miriam has been approved. You are cleared to use any means to find out if that list exists.”

Four.

The home, constructed of red worn brick and mortar, looked innocent on the outside, masking the sinister purpose for its hurried renovation on the inside. All was quiet in the home and on the heavily treed boulevard outside. Jason wandered through the upstairs double-checking details. It had been difficult to prepare the home overnight, but time was not a luxury.

The downstairs living, kitchen, and dining rooms all remained furnished and intact. The upstairs, though, had been stripped, windows boarded, heavy door locks installed, and sound barriers added. The walls had been painted monotone beige. Two rooms had been wired with hidden cameras and microphones. A third room, to serve as the control center, had been equipped with monitors, recording devices, and an interrogation cart stocked with vials of narcotics, syringes, a polygraph machine, and sinister looking machine powered by a car battery. Jason turned the dials on the torture device to its lowest setting. He was uncomfortable with the interrogation process. This discomfort had made him an expert at the craft. He never fell into the conquer/defeat trap that plagued other officers. The interrogation was to gather information, not to dehumanize.

Jason directed as the last pieces of furniture arrived. The hard cot, wooden chair, and leather office chair were to be placed in one room; the sofa and two plastic chairs in the other. Everything was ready. Jason phoned Data Corp to set the plan into action.

He settled in the living room and pulled out the now thick file on Miriam and Derek Rand. He reviewed, for the forth time, the surveillance report. After the death of Gordon Pierce, there was no record of the IIA. Jason was convinced that they had tried to contact the Rands again. But when? The Rands received no guests other than Torble, and that had been recorded. There had been no unusual phone calls. Yet Jason could not shake the feeling that someone who knew the intelligence business had to be directing the Rands. He hoped that Miriam could help shed some light on his questions. He had less than three days to question her. He would have to push hard to get results.

“She should be here at three this afternoon.” Denver Gray said when he arrived at the safe house with five other officers, a sufficient number to staff an interrogation.

Derek sat at his desk, his plans in front of him, unable to concentrate on architecture. Miriam had left a copy of the CIA’s KUBARK Counterintelligence Interrogation Handbook lying on his chair. He flipped the small handbook open and read the first few passages. Counterintelligence interrogation, it explained, is designed to obtain information about hostile clandestine activities and persons or groups involved in these activities. The book described, in detail, the process for working with willing and resistant interrogates. He slammed the book closed. She had come to him earlier in the day with her plans.

“I just got a call from a Trina. She says she works for Data Corp and is hosting an office party next week and needs me to help her liven up her living room with some important art pieces.” Miriam had burst in his office that morning and had told him. She had been excited about the prospect.

“Data Corp, uh?” Derek had muttered without looking up from his plans.

“Yes. I’m sure it’s a trap. Gordon has installed a subcutaneous superghost with tracking capabilities.” She had held up her arm and showed Derek the small incision. “He improved the design. I can turn it on and off by squeezing my arm. That way I can get around their detection devices. You will be able to listen to conversations from up to five miles away! Isn’t technology amazing?”

Derek had not argued or tried to stop her from going to meet Trina.

“I’m going to tag every officer I come across. I’m going to hide the tags in my mouth. They aren’t activated until attached.” She had continued to explain. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me and wish me good luck?” She asked when he had failed to say anything.

Miriam had been gone for more than an hour. She had promised to call if Trina turned out to be a real person. Derek was now certain that his wife was in the hands of the enemy.

Miriam held her breath as she walked up to the front door of the brick home. She clutched her portfolio tightly and rang the bell. There was no answer. Miriam looked up and down the vacant street and rang the bell again.

The door opened after a long wait. Miriam’s eyes fixed on Jason Grimball’s severe scowl. Her heart raced. This was a mistake. She turned to leave.

Two men, guns drawn and pointed at her back, blocked her exit and quickly ushered her into the house. The click of the lock, as the door closed behind her, echoed in her ears, the sound of her fate being locked into place.

Derek, with the interrogation handbook in one hand, flipped a hidden switch on the wall next to the hall closet. His stance was tense as the doorframe swung open revealing a metal door was hidden behind the closet. A high-pitched whine sounded as Derek’s body was scanned. A green light illuminated and the metal door opened exposing an elevator. Derek stepped inside and pressed the down button. Within seconds the elevator door opened into a room filled with computers. The three occupants of the room looked up from their computer screens noting his arrival. There was a loud hum in the dimly lit windowless room from the electronic equipment.

“Have you heard from her?” Gordon asked. The other two computer experts turned their attention back to their work.

Derek stood beside the Gordon, the young, presumed dead, computer genius. “No. I was coming down to ask you the same thing.”

“The tracking device is working.” Gordon pointed to window on his computer screen. It contained a map with a blinking green dot. “She’s at the location. Hasn’t moved in a while. But audio has not been activated.”

Derek drummed his fingers on the desk. “What is going on in there?” He flipped open the handbook. The first step in interrogation is the screening process. They would be talking to her, giving her psychological tests to build a profile. Sample profiles were listed in the handbook. Miriam had circled one: “ideologically unwilling to cooperate; one of the most difficult subjects to work with; coercive methods recommended.” Miriam had also jotted in the margin: “It is not their task to force me to cooperate, but to convince me that it is to my benefit to cooperate – fat chance.” He should have never let her walk into the trap. She was going to get herself killed.

“I guess she has to wait until she is confident that they aren’t going to detect the signal.” Gordon said after typing several commands into the computer. “The device is working.”

“How’s everything else going?” Derek asked.

“Gina?” Gordon asked the woman hunched over a computer terminal.

“We’ve been monitoring all phone calls being made at Data Corp. We have learned almost everything about Operation YBurg.”

“And what are we missing?” Gordon asked, clearly soaking up the stress that Derek had brought with him into the room.

“Uh, we don’t know exactly where the bomb will be planted. We know that it will be somewhere in Yburg. That’s all. I hope that Miriam’s tags will lead us.” Gina said.

“Has she placed any tags?” Derek asked.

“Yes. Three have been delivered.” Gordon typed some more commands on his computer. Another window popped up onto his screen. “They are all still located at the house.” He said pointing to the three red dots on the new map. “And Trevor? Is everything on your end on schedule?” Gordon asked.

“Yes.” Trevor stood and answered quickly. “I called and confirmed Senator Challis’s trip. He’s still scheduled to arrive Monday morning. He still believes that the he’ll be talking with Dutton Industries to discuss the opening of a branch office in his home state.” The popular Senator Challis had recently been appointed chairman of the intelligence committee.

“Good.” Gordon said.

“And we are certain that the bomb will explode Monday evening?” Derek asked.

“All sources say yes.” Gina answered.

Derek looked at his watch. Miriam had been in the hands of the CIA for over three hours. “Keep me informed of any changes.”

Gordon gushed promises that he would keep Derek informed, up to the minute.

Derek nodded and returned to his office in the townhouse above. He absorbed every page of the Interrogation Handbook. It explained that the principal coercive techniques of interrogation were arrest, detention, deprivation of sensory stimuli, threats and fear, debility, pain, hypnosis, narcosis, and induced regression. His blood ran cold as he imagined what those monsters were doing with his Miriam.

Five.

Jason looked forward to his break. He and Denver had pressed Miriam for answers all night. Their efforts hardened her resolve against them. She had only weakened when Denver wheeled in the cart with the vials and syringes. Miriam cried and begged not to be drugged with experimental hallucinatory substances.

Her head was now hanging, like a weight too heavy to bear, as she was led from the interrogation room. Jason ignored her, his mouth watering from the thought of the coffee and pastries waiting downstairs in the kitchen.

The sound of a commotion downstairs, shouting and fighting, perked Jason to attention. He instantly recognized the tall figure, dressed all in black, taking the stairs, two at a time, as Derek Rand. Jason watched as Miriam, sensing her husband’s presence, lifted her head and smiled as if she had a secret.

Jason’s mind reeled. He had administered the shot himself. But he suddenly felt like Br’ar Fox and Miriam was the Rabbit.

Jason turned to study Derek’s face to see if he was in on the secret. His face was cold with a look of murder trapped in his eyes. He struggled as two officers grabbed his arms.

“Get her out of here.” Jason commanded of the officers supporting Miriam. “You were supposed to guard the door from intrusions.” He shouted at the officers fighting to restrain Derek.

“You have no right to detain my wife!”

“Listen. Let me secure everything downstairs. If you will wait, I will be right back to talk with you.” Jason commanded and waited as the two officers led Derek to the screening room.

His mind worked overtime; this unexpected intrusion could work to their advantage. If he could get Derek to calm down and convince him to wait for Miriam, they could play the couple against each other.

Downstairs, Denver and Jason enjoyed their breakfast and discussed this new situation. It had been nearly an hour before Jason returned to the small beige screening room.

Derek rose from the sofa and stood stiffly. Jason noted that Derek had chosen the comfortable sofa, when Miriam, given the same opportunity, had picked a hard plastic chair. Jason sat comfortably in one of the plastic chairs and motioned for Derek to sit back down.

Derek refused. “I’ve been conferring with my lawyer. He faxed me a copy of the International Treatise on the treatment of prisoners and a copy of Holland’s policy regarding the detention of foreign political prisoners.” Derek handed a copy of these papers to Jason, who placed them aside. “It is his legal opinion that Miriam’s detention is illegal under both Holland and international law.”

Jason smiled. “Please sit down Mr. Rand. I believe that you are mistaken. Your wife came to this house under her free will. She has not been arrested or detained. She is free to leave at any time.”

Derek remained standing. “Then I would like to take her home right away.”

“She has not expressed an interest to leave.” Jason spoke calmly and evenly.

“Let me talk to her.”

“She has not expressed an interest to talk to you.”

Derek’s expression shadowed madness. Jason stood. “We are nearly done with our interview. She has been most cooperative, especially in the last few hours.” He said trying to pacify Derek’s dark temper. “I promise you. All we’ve been doing is talking.”

“I don’t believe you. I came here to bring my wife home.”

“You don’t believe me?” Jason feigned shock. “She’s just been telling us about her involvement with the IIA.” Jason noted a loss of color in Derek’s face. He had hit close to the truth. “Please sit down, Mr. Rand.”

Derek sunk back on the sofa. He needed time to think and regroup.

“If you will excuse me. I need to check on Miriam. We had given her a sleeping pill to help her rest.” Jason said while looking at his watch. “She should be waking up soon.”

Derek nodded dumbly. Once alone, he scanned the room. A video recorder had been poorly installed in the ceiling, shoddy craftsmanship that he would have never allowed to get past on his job site. He retrieved his digital phone and dialed Gordon. The phone was secure. The CIA would only be able to hear Derek’s end of the conversation. “How have things been going?” Derek asked. Miriam’s superghost had been activated late the night before. Gordon had been listening to and recording the interrogation.

“She’s not said a thing. They drugged her. I thought that she would break trying to avoid it, but she didn’t.” Gordon said.

“Call me the moment there is a break. You understand?” Derek said.

“I understand. Good luck.” Gordon said and disconnected the call.

“Things are going to move faster.” Jason explained as he wheeled the machine hooked to the car battery into the room. Threat, fear, and pain were now essential elements of the plan. “Things will go a lot easier for you if you cooperate. I don’t want to have to use this, but I will.”

Jason studied Miriam as she fought her drugged mind. Her head bobbed, her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus. The shot coupled with the drug mixed in her drinking water would keep her in a state of confusion indefinitely.

“You can do what you will. I won’t talk.” Her voice was weak. Her words slurred.

“Miriam, we’re not asking for you to give up all of your little secrets, just to tell us whether the list exists.” Jason talked with Miriam for less than a half-hour before giving up.

Derek felt more in control by the time Jason returned. He watched suspiciously as Jason took a seat across from him.

Jason grinned and crossed his legs. “We are nearly done. She has been telling us how the IIA has been in contact with the two of you. She says that you have been forcing her to go along with them.” Jason paused, obviously gauging Derek’s reaction. “Perhaps it would be wise if you were to give us your side of the story…in case criminal charges are filed.”

Derek laughed and leaned back comfortably on the sofa. “What lies. You are trying to turn us against each other.”

Jason’s face flushed. “What makes you think that?”

“Just let me take my wife home. You have no evidence of criminal activity. You will never have evidence, because there is none.”

Jason stood abruptly and opened the door. “I don’t know what kind of game you two are playing.” Jason said, his voice deep and measured. “But you will find that the consequences can be deadly.”

Jason stepped out of the room just before a guard stepped into the doorway, his gun drawn.

Derek’s body stiffened. He closed his eyes as he listened helplessly to his wife’s screams. The guard stood motionless. The gun aimed at Derek’s head.

Derek’s phone rang. He cautiously answered, only after the guard nodded his approval.

“She’s talking.” Gordon said and hung up the phone.

Derek appeared anxious to talk when Jason returned to the small room.

“Good news. Miriam has been telling us everything we want to know about the list. We just need to get possession now.” Jason said. “I’m sure that after a few more rounds with our electrodes she will be ready to hand it over.”

Derek jumped to his feet, the guard’s aim following his motion. “There is no list.” He insisted. “There has never been a list.”

Jason crossed his arms, confident that he could break Derek. “But Miriam has correctly quoted part of the access code for US nuclear warheads. If she didn’t have the list where would she have gotten that information?”

Derek sunk to the sofa. “She knows the codes. But there is no list.”

“So you mean to tell me that an art buyer just happens to have access to one of the highest guarded secrets in the United States government?”

“Yes. The list is just part of the legend – that’s what your handbook called it. She developed this legend to fool you into thinking that there was a list.”

Jason studied Derek. His posture suggested defeat. “Nice try. I almost believe you.” He said and left the room.

Miriam quickly grew immune to the pain of the electricity being forced through her body, a common reaction to torture. After approaching lethal levels of electric current, Denver and Jason admitted defeat. They turned the weakened Miriam, electrical burns marring her arms, over to her husband. Denver and Jason had learned one very important thing: the list existed. And they had a day and a half to find it.

Six.

Denver and Jason crowded in front of a small video monitor in the control room. They leaned forward, watching carefully. With the small monitoring device, they saw what Miriam saw. Both men wore earphones; they heard what Miriam heard.

As predicted, Miriam seemed anxious once the couple arrived at their townhouse. Denver nodded to Jason. After risking her life to protect her secret, she would naturally feel compelled to ensure that the list was still safely hidden away.

“Please Miriam, let me tend to you first.” Derek protested, tugging at her arm.

“I’m fine.” She said, her voice hoarse and light. She kissed Derek. He relented.

The two CIA officers watched as she pushed a small painting aside revealing what appeared to be a patched piece of plaster. She pressed her hand against the patch. The closet creaked and moaned as it swung out of place.

“I need to get that fixed.” Derek noted.

Denver and Jason both stared dumbly at the heavy metal door that had been revealed. A red light flashed above the door.

“I’ll be right up.” A metallic voice said.

Jason’s mouth fell open as he watched the metal door open and saw Gordon Pierce step from the elevator, his hair floating around his head like a horse’s mane.

“I thought you said you saw him die.” Denver said, eyeing Jason with suspicion.

Jason twisted his mouth into a strained grimace. “I did. I mean, I thought I did. I didn’t feel that it was safe to go check his pulse.”

“I think that we can safely say the IIA has beat us to the list.” Denver said with bitterness.

“I suspect Derek and Miriam Rand are the IIA.” Jason said quietly. He hated to be played for a fool. The scene that had been played out in the alleyway must have been designed to increase the CIA’s interest and efforts in finding the list. “I think they will still lead us to the list.” Jason said, wondering about what trap the Rands were planning for them.

“Look.” Denver said pointing at the screen. Gordon held a scapula in one hand and was teasing out a small electronic device from under Miriam’s skin with the other. “It’s a superghost audio device. How did she get that around our detection monitors?”

“They were bugging us?” Jason asked. “Why would she allow herself to fall into our hands?”

“We’ve lost audio.” Denver said pulling off his headphones.

Derek ground the bug that they had retrieved from Miriam’s scalp under his heel. Gordon was waving an electronic wand over Miriam as she sat at the edge of the bed. The constant tone warned that more signals were being emitted. The wand chirped when it was waved over Miriam’s face. Gordon pulled out a pocket light and shined the bright light into Miriam’s eyes.

“Cool.” He said as he carefully removed what appeared to be a soft contact lens from her right eye. He dropped the lens into a small black box. “We can use this. I will reconfigure it.”

Gina stepped into the bedroom carrying a laptop computer.

“Set that up over there.” Gordon said to Gina pointing to Miriam’s dresser. “I had asked Gina to bring up the remote terminal so Miriam could identify the tags and fully activate them.”

Derek nodded his approval and stepped out of the way. Miriam, with a monotone tone, recited tag numbers and the person attached to the tag as Gina typed the information into the computer.

“Denver Gray is overseeing Operation YBurg. Do you want me to activate audio on his tag?” Gina asked. “With this system we can only receive one audio signal at a time.”

“Officer Gray would be appropriate.” Derek confirmed.

Gina nodded and typed several commands into the computer. Four windows tiled on the monitor, each contained a map and a blinking red dot. Gina turned to Derek. “Two of the tags are outside the house.”

Derek nodded. “Where are the others?”

“They’re moving. Probably in a car, heading for the Data Corp building.”

“Thanks Gina. Now if you don’t mind, I think that I need to tend to Miriam now.” Derek said stepping toward his wife. She had been too silent; he was beginning to worry. “Gordon, you better lock the elevator from your side; I have a feeling that we might have some unwanted visitors.” Derek ushered his assistants from the bedroom and closed and locked the double doors to the bedroom before turning his attentions back to Miriam. “What did you think you were getting yourself into? Don’t ever do that again.”

“They are now financially and personally invested in finding the list. We’ve succeeded.” Miriam ran her hand along Derek’s cheek. It was trembling. “They’ll feel obligated to spilt their resources. After learning that the list exists, they won’t back down now. We just have to keep a few steps in front of them until Monday – just for a day and a half.”

Derek drew her into his arms. “Just promise that you won’t put yourself in that kind of danger again. Nothing is worth losing you.”

Jason left explicit instructions with the officers who were to remain behind in the white van parked across from the Rand’s townhouse. Time had run out. Although Brickell had assigned a complete team of officers to follow up on the capture of the list, no progress had come of their efforts by Monday morning. The Rands received few phone calls, all on Derek’s digital phone, and could not be deciphered by the mobile equipment. The only visitor to the home was a local doctor. He had come over on two occasions, and had stayed for only a short time. Heat sensors monitoring the home tracked the movement of the Rands. Miriam remained mostly in the bedroom. Derek split his time between his office and bedroom. Neither went near the metal door hidden behind the hall closet. That hidden passage had been the subject of considerable speculation. Heat sensors could not penetrate the area. Reviews of building records revealed no record of construction. Officers scouted the area, searching for alternative entrances into the secret area, with no success.

Jason hated to admit defeat, too many questions haunted him, but Denver had contacted him. He was needed to assist with Operation YBurg.

Once at Data Corp he was directed to one of the large warehouses located behind the office building. A miniature nuclear laboratory had been created inside. Scientists scrambled around the black cylinder in the center of the warehouse.

“It’s just about ready. They are just going through a last minute checklist.” Denver greeted Jason and said.

“That’s the nuclear bomb stolen from one of our bases?” Jason asked. He had seen his share of nuclear weapons. None looked quite like that.

“Yes. It’s been modified to fit in the truck over there. It’s also been modified to produce a lower yield and cleaner explosion. The President does not want to burden the European continent with widespread nuclear fallout.”

Both men joined several other officers to be briefed on details and roles for the mission. It was nearly noon by the time the heavy truck pulled carefully into traffic and toward its destination – a warehouse storing construction materials on the new island development just outside Amsterdam.

A growing feeling of uneasiness gnawed in Jason’s gut.

Denver must have sensed Jason’s troubled mind. “Still reeling over the Rands?” Denver asked, taking a moment to look at Jason before turning his attention back to the road and to the truck containing the weapon.

“What? Yes, I guess.” Jason replied and quickly looked away.

“Don’t worry. After the explosion a team will be sent in. Evidence will be planted that will lead any investigator to conclude that the weapon had been built in Russia. We’ve done it before and it worked out beautifully. Russia, with all their changes, is known for their lax security. We just give the investigator bits of evidence to lead him to the easy conclusion.”

“It’s worked before?” Jason asked softly not expecting an answer. Denver did not provide one.

The warehouse covered a city block. One day it would be converted into a factory. Now it served the town as a storage area for construction equipment and material. Finish materials, such as trim, tile, sinks, and hardware were relegated to one side of the warehouse. Raw construction materials, such as lumber and metal beams were stacked on the other. The truck backed up to the loading area. Several men jumped out of the truck and began the unloading process. Denver supervised as the bomb was moved into the center of the warehouse.

Jason stood back and watched, waiting for his role to begin.

Once the bomb had been secured, the men climbed back onto the unmarked truck and drove away.

Denver turned his attention to Jason. “Ready?” He asked.

Jason nodded; serious doubts now filled his head. He snapped an electronic panel to one side of the black cylinder. Denver mirrored his moves on the other side.

“Enter authorization codes.” Denver said and recited the codes. The panels emitted a three-second tone and lit up. “Enter access code sequence now.” Both men entered their portion of the 12-digit code to override any environmental or fail-safe mechanisms. A hum from within the bomb could be heard as the systems activated. “On my mark enter code 0345. That will allow us to set a timer.” Jason followed the orders to the letter. They disconnected the electronic panels. The bomb had been programmed to explode at 5 PM local time.

Denver took both panels and placed them in the trunk of the sedan. Jason stood with his back to him, watching a red blinking light on the side of the weapon, counting the seconds to explosion.

“Brickell let this be my call.” Denver said.

Jason turned to face Denver and immediately noticed the gun pointing at him.

“You seem uncomfortable with the mission of our base. Brickell and I have discussed your hesitation at length. You can understand our concern. None of our work can ever become public. You must realize the ramifications that kind of information would have against the United States.”

Jason raised his hands and took several steps backwards, increasing his distance from Denver. His eyes darted around the room, hoping to find a path for escape. “You have no cause for concern. I have a stable record.” Jason said.

“I’m sorry that it has not worked out for you here. You just were not suited for Data Corp.” Denver said.

The flash from the gun burned into Jason’s memory. He plunged to the left, trying to dodge the impact. His side burned. He must have caught the corner of one of the crates. Energy poured out of him as he sunk to the ground.

Shouts filled the warehouse. Derek hurled a concrete block at Denver, knocking him over.

“You couldn’t do that before he fired the gun?” Miriam shouted from another corner of the warehouse.

Derek smiled. “Their business is their business. We have no right to interfere with internal affairs.”

“You devil. I know what you were thinking.” Miriam shouted back. She pulled a heavy packing blanket from atop of row of toilets lined up behind her.

Jason put his hand on his burning side and then held it in front of his face. It was covered with thick, bright red blood. He shivered as he realized that he had been shot. Countless internal organs could now be failing.

Miriam covered Jason with the heavy blanket. “Don’t worry. We won’t let you die. Contrary to my husband’s actions, violence is not part of our mission.”

Jason’s mind stumbled as thoughts rushed forward. How did they learn about the mission? What was their purpose, their plan? How did they get the list? “The list?” the only words that made it past his lips.

Miriam patted his face gently. Was that a look of pity in her eyes? “There is no list. It’s not profitable; codes change too frequently. We gather information only when a need arises. We have to guarantee accuracy.”

Derek secured Denver, dazed but conscious, to a crate and retrieved the electronic panels from the sedan. Gordon and Trevor snapped into action, working together to disable the bomb.

A large Mercedes pulled up to the building. Gina jumped out from the driver’s side and opened the back door. Derek and Miriam both greeted the passenger.

“Senator Challis. I believe that the video and file that you were able to look at on the way over says quite a lot about what the CIA was about to do.” Derek said as he led the shaken Senator into the warehouse.

“I don’t understand everything.” The Senator said while his eyes fixed on the large bomb. “What I was watching was happening live here?”

“Yes Senator. Once we learned the location, we had video and audio equipment installed to record the whole thing.” Miriam explained with pride. “I believe that you will agree that the President and CIA have overstepped their bounds on this one.”

“This is just too unbelievable.” Senator Challis pressed his hand against his forehead and shook his head.

“You don’t have to believe it.” A voice from the far side of the warehouse said. A figure stepped out of the shadows. Armed men surrounded the building, guarded all exits. “Senator, you’ve been duped by a terrorist.”

Derek recognized the man as Brickell, the head of Data Corp. “We finally meet in person. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for more than a year.” Derek clenched his fists.

“We have the mission of Data Corp documented. You cannot hide any longer.” Miriam stepped forward and said.

“Perhaps you doctored evidence. Who will they believe? The President of the United States or a dead terrorist, the leader of a rouge intelligence agency, the killer of a popular Senator and two CIA officers?” Brickell asked, his tone calm. “Luckily the CIA has been able to thwart your plans to blow up YBurg.”

“No one would believe that I would destroy my own building.” Derek pinched his lips together, gathering control of his anger. “Remember the Millennium Tower in Monaco? That was my best work to date. I worked for over five years on the design. What reason did you have? Why was that building destroyed? What whim?” He paused. “I’ve delivered our documents to CNN World News. They are holding it, waiting for the outcome of today.”

“You lose, Brickell.” Miriam said quietly. She held Derek’s hand tightly.

Gordon threw a small box in the air. It exploded with a brilliant flash, sending noxious gases into the warehouse. The guards fired blindly into the smoke.

“Linda, you will not believe what has happened.” Senator Challis said as he greeted his wife at the Rand’s home. She had been waiting to meet with Miriam and to pick up her new Renoir. The Senator described the events as Derek led the way to the sitting room. “It was amazing. Smoke was everywhere. Next thing I know I am covered with a heavy sheet and led out of the warehouse. They even carried a wounded CIA officer out. He would have died otherwise.”

“Goodness. And no one got hurt?” Linda asked, shaken by the story.

“One of our assistants did take a bullet in the shoulder. We got him and the CIA officer to the hospital.” Miriam said. “Your Renoir’s in the other room. Let’s go have a look at it.” She led Linda Challis out of the room, leaving Derek alone with the Senator.

“I want to get the facts straight. You put this whole thing together because Data Corp blew up a building you designed?” Senator Challis asked.

Derek shrugged and did not provide an answer.

“Well, anyway, let me thank you again for everything that you’ve done.” Senator Challis said before taking a seat on the sofa. “I’m confident that the Data Corp operation will be terminated. Congress will definitely initiate thorough investigations of both the President and the CIA. We may even dismantle–” The Senator’s phone interrupted him. He spoke briefly to the man on the other end before hanging up. “The military has arrested the Data Corp staff except for Tom Brickell and Denver Gray. They don’t expect to find them either. They’ve gone deep under by now.”

Derek, remaining standing, nodded as he paced the room. Rames, his trusted hound, followed closely behind. “I hope that my bid to design the new defense complex will be viewed favorably on Capitol Hill.” Derek said, turning his thoughts back to architecture, a safe diversion.

“I’m sure it will.” The Senator promised. “You certainly have proven yourself in terms of security.”

“It’s sure interesting that I found you, Miriam, and then your husband has this business with my husband.” Linda Challis said interrupting her husband as Miriam and she returned to the sitting room. She was still admiring her new painting. The finest thing that will hang in their house, she had commented earlier.

“Yes.” Miriam smiled at Derek and gave him a knowing look. “It sure is a coincidence.”

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