COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN by Joe Bergeron (best beach reads txt) 📕

my curiosity, and I am
flattered, but I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re
talking about…”
She smiled, manipulatively.
“…not even with my evolved mind.”
He spent, and she spent the next six seconds in
silent eye-to-eye union - considering, contemplating,
examining, reviewing one another.
6
They could each sense the other - both feeling
an equanimity - a consciousness neither had ever before
experienced.
A gentle smile crosses his face. Now wasn’t the
time to continue.
His voice was soft, yet manly.
“We need more time on this - why don’t we
finish up when you get back from Thanksgiving break.”
She smiled - again manipulatively.
“I’d like that.”
Nine fifty two. The Waltham exit was lit not
only by street lamps, but also from the reflection of a
strip plaza’s lights bouncing off the all-glass facade of
the Hilton Vista International Hotel sitting on the
hillside Courtney made a right hand turn at the ramp’s
end, the Jeep’s stabilizer bars performing well under
duress.
Climbing the hill - five hundred feet ahead to
his left he could see the soft yellow glow created by
lights pushing through closed drapes and curtains in
the Pine Glen condominium complex. The thought of a
disjointed phone connection lingered. He negotiated the
entrance with a quick counterclockwise turn.
Two - no, three Waltham police cruisers were
parked laterally in front of her unit, their final, skewed
positions indicating a hasty egress by the officers
responding.
Twenty, maybe twenty-five people stood in the
parking area - randomly in pairs, arms folded, amongst
the cruisers, their red and blue strobes enhancing an
aura of fear.
He felt sick - ‘hang on.’
Pushing the shifting lever to the park position,
he pivoted to grab the navy blue LANDS’ END jacket
laying on the back seat. He’d recollected his shoulder,
and he didn’t want anyone, especially a police officer, to
notice.
7
His right arm was already through the
appropriate sleeve when his left foot hit the asphalt.
Closing the driver’s door, Courtney ran past the cruisers
toward the door of unit 6C.
Two uniformed officers stood on the landing in
front of the closed door.
“Is she OK?” The gravity of the request from
the jacketed stranger was compelling.
The senior of the two spoke for the pair.
“Are you a relative?”
“No…I’m a friend - IS SHE ALL RIGHT?” His
voice precise, it contained a bearing noted by both men.
“She’s pretty shook up, but she’s not physically
hurt - who are you?”
“Could you please tell her Michael Courtney’s
here.”
It sounded reasonable.
Retreating through the door, and carrying only
a first name, officer Hale promptly returned - his
interior conversation brief.
“You can go in, she’s in the…”
“Thanks.”
He crossed a small foyer. Turning to his left,
pausing, he made an evaluation of the living room - of
both its living and inanimate contents.
A policewoman sat with Kay on the couch, both
were facing him - three other officers were in various
parts of the room. He made a mental record of her
unnerved appearance.
His thoughts didn’t need tattooing on his
forehead, she could read them in his eyes.
“I’m alright, Michael.”
She was lying.
He saw that.
The rock thrown through Kathleen McKenzie’s
window was now in the possession of Waltham police
sergeant June Olson.
8
She still couldn’t understand why three units
were committed to what seemed to be such an
elementary crime - but you don’t question the dispatch,
you just do your job.
She’d take the rock in as evidence, write a
report, and give it to the detective assigned to the case.
‘Probably just some kids out being wild,’
thought the department veteran. She finished up.
McKenzie seemed alright - with her friend.
Speaking to Kay, now standing next to her
teacher, her right arm through his left, the officer was
informative.
“The maintenance people for the complex will
be over to fix the window. My report will be at
headquarters if you need it for insurance.”
Courtney addressed her.
“Officer?”
Releasing himself from Kay’s hold, he walked
slowly toward the foyer, an unspoken invitation for
Olson to follow. She complied.
“We’re leaving for Washington tonight. Could
you have a copy of that report sent to this address?” He
pulled a card from his wallet handing it to her.
“JGM Exports…do you work there?”
“I teach at B.C., but I do consulting at JGM.”
“Is that alright with you Miss McKenzie?”
She’d turned to face her.
“That’s fine.”
“OK, we’ll send a copy down.”
“Thanks, good night, officer.”
“Good night.” The policemen, and woman, left
together.
Closing the door, he returned to the archway
dividing the foyer and the living room. Kay, her back to
him, was across the room.
“What is it Kay?”
Turning without speaking, she extended a piece
of crumbled white stationery in his direction.
9
He crossed the room to accept it.
“It was attached to the rock. The police didn’t
see it.” Courtney carefully unfolded the cotton bond
sheet.
WE KNOW ABOUT YANKEE ECHO
WE HAVE DEMANDS
YOU’LL BE CONTACTED
Dropping the paper on her coffee table, he
folded his arms over her shoulders, her head coming to
rest against him. They felt each other breathing, eyes
closed, hers moist with emotion.
The First Physical Law, while seemingly very
basic, is actually quite complex, and eternal.
It was a twenty-one year old Michael Courtney
who had proposed its corollary to his Laws professor,
Robert Wirtham, while in his Senior year at The
University of Vermont. The corollary had been
subsequently approved and adopted the National
Collegiate Committee of Laws professors.
He’d apply it tonight.
‘The ball is in their court’ he thought.
Remaining in his embrace, she spoke quietly.
“What are you thinking?”
“I have to contact Robert. He told me Yankee
Echo’s been compromised. He thinks the leak came out
of Miami. Andy St. Croix is on his way there now. I
don’t know how they could know you’re involved. They
may have done this because of your relationship with
me.”
Pushing herself slightly away from his hold,
she kept hold of his forearms while speaking with more
force than she’d used previously.
“Compromised? Michael, how? We have to call
Dad.”
“I’m sure Robert’s taking care of that, Kay. We
have to get going.” 10
He removed his jacket, throwing it on the chair
opposite the couch, the action revealing his wound.
“Michael - your shoulder! What happened?
Stay right there.”
She left him.
Courtney began an analysis:
‘They’ll make contact - with whom - where?
Who are they? Why send her this message and cut her
phone off and not mine? Did they know Robert would
be calling? He was delivered a similar message - most
likely a lot more civilized. How could they know she’s
involved? Have they located our physical plant in D.C.?
Why was Tom Griffin interviewing the Secretary of
Commerce on his position with Cuban trade? Did that
have anything to do with what happened tonight? Is
Robert OK? What about Pat McKenzie - Oh shit, he’s
in the Bahamas.’
She returned.
“Here, take off your shirt - how did you do
this?”
“ I didn’t. Someone did it for me.”
“Oh, great, are we going to keep this a secret?
Who compromised us?
“Someone used a gun and took a shot at me in
my office tonight.”
“”WHAT! Does my father know about this?”
“I told you - Yankee Echo has a leak and I
would bet someone’s serious about using it for their own
purposes - according to your rock note.”
“Oh God, you knew this was going to happen.”
“Yeah - but we’re not unprepared - you know
that.”
“Well I’m not prepared for people shooting at
you - or me.”
“There won’t be any more of this. They wanted
to make a statement and deliver a message - and they
did.”
11
He suggested packing enough clothes for a
month
“I not going to stay in Washington for a month.”
“You may be right. One, or both of us, might be
in Miami in a few days.”
“Oh, shit, Michael. I can’t believe all this.”
Twenty minutes later, she produced three
suitcases and two carry-all bags into the living room.
“Kay, a month - not a year.”
“I’ll need to change.”
“We’re going to the VISTA to make a phone call. Do you
have your checkbook - credit cards?”
“Yes, I’ve got everything.”
In the lobby of the Waltham Hilton Vista
International, he used a pay phone near the main
entrance - wanting a clear line of vision on anyone
entering or leaving, or just hanging around - even
though he didn’t know who, or what he was looking for.
It was also easier for him to keep a line of sight on Kay,
who was now sitting in the bar just off the lobby, a
Perrier in front of her.
Dialing the number for JGM Exports, he
followed it with another that a remote AT&T computer
interpreted as JGM’s credit card. Subsequently, the call
was allowed to go through. Before he heard the first
ring, he recovered the black encoding device from his
pocket and held it against the phone. Any taps on
either line would hear only gibberish.
“JGM”, the company, named from the initials of
Patrick and Laura McKenzie’s only son, contained only
one employee tonight, its President, and, according to
any legal records, its owner, Robert Wirtham.
“Robert, we’re safe. I have Kay with me.”
“She’s OK?”
“Yeah, someone threw a rock through her
window - there was a note attached to it about Yankee
Echo - I have it with me.” He turned his head again to
look at her. 12
“Robert, how did they make contact with you?”
“I had two phone calls. In the first one, I was
told to wait for the second. I got that one just before
calling you
“Are you closing down the office?”
“No, they don’t want blood, Michael.”
“They’ve already got some of mine - but I think
you’re right. What do they want?”
“Ink.”
“In the second call, they told me they intended
to use the organization to dismantle public support for
the President’s proposed trade program with Cuba - and
that we’d better comply.”
Courtney allowed the statement to sink in.
While speaking, he turned again to study Kay.
“Have you made contact with South, West
Coast, and East and West Central?”
“Yes - everything in the network is normal. I’m
trying to reach Pat. How soon can you get here?”
“We’re going to my place now to pick up some
clothes. It’s going to be at least eight or nine hours.”
“OK…this is your ballgame now, Michael.”
He thought about that for a second.
“I know…we’ll see you in the morning, can you
get our TAC 5 ready?”
“It’s in the computer, all set to go out. Be
careful.”
Returning the receiver to its hook, he walked
across the lobby and into the bar, pulling out a stool
next to her.
Something and everything about him
consumed her. She loved his complexity. She also knew
she’d fallen in love with her teacher.
Michael Courtney was the Group Head of
Yankee Echo, and had five managing Agents working
for him - controlling what he’d been told was an
organization of six hundred newspaper writers placed
strategically in newspapers around the country.
13
She looked at him, speaking with a ragged
sincerity.
“I hate this organization.”
He’d heard it before.
“I know - but your father runs it - maybe that’s
what makes you feel that way.”
He’d squared himself sideways on the bar stool
to face her.
“Did Robert contact my father?”
“He hasn’t yet - he’s trying.”
She rested her and on his forearm.
“Yankee Echo is wrong, Michael.”
He reaffirmed his belief in the organization, as
much for her as for himself.
“It’s done a lot of good over the years,