Terminal Compromise Part 78

"Great another list. Just what I need. Another list."

"Whad'ar'ya, a wise guy? Youse wanna talk or listen?" Scott didn't answer. "That's better, cause youse gonna like this.

Some guy named Faulkner, big s.h.i.+t banker from La La Land is borrowing money from the mob to pay off a blackmailer. Another guy, right here in New York s.h.i.+tty, a Wall Street big shot called Henson, him too. Another one named Dobbs, same thing. All being blackballed by the same guys. Youse want more?"

"I'm writing, quiet. Faulkner, Henson and Dobbs, right?"

"That's whad'I said, yeah."

"So how come you know so much?"

"That's my job. I deal in information. Pretty good, huh?"

"Maybe. I gotta check it out. That last stuff was . . ."

"Hey!" Vito interrupted, "I told youse 'bout that. Eh, paysan, what's a slip up among friends, right?"

"I'll ignore that. Gimme a couple of days, I'll call you."

"Like h.e.l.l you will. I'll call you. You'll see, this is good stuff. No s.h.i.+t. All right? Two days."

Click.

Monday, December 14 Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

The FBI runs a little known counter intelligence operation from the middle of a run down Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. neighborhood on Half Street. Getting in and out is an exercise in evasive not to mention defensive driving. The South East quadrant of Was.h.i.+ng- ton, D.C. is vying for the drug capital of the nation, and per- haps has the dubious distinction of having the highest murder rate per capita in the United States. Since the CI division of the FBI is a well kept secret, its location was strategically chosen to keep the casual pa.s.serby from stopping in for a chat.

Besides, there was no identification on the front of the build- ing.

Most Americans think that the CIA takes care of foreign spies, but their agents are limited to functioning on foreign land. On the domestic front the FBI Counter Intelligence Group is a.s.signed to locate and monitor alien intelligence activities. For exam- ple, CI-3 is a.s.signed to focus on Soviet and East Bloc activi- ties, and other groups focus on their specific target countries.

Thus, there is a certain amount of compet.i.tion, not all of it healthy, between the two agencies chartered to protect our na- tional interests. The CIA is under the impression that it con- trols all foreign investigations, even if they tread upon United States territory. This line of thinking has been a constant source of irritation and inefficiency since the OSS became the CIA during the Truman administration. Only during the Hoover reign at the FBI days was there any sense of peaceful coexist- ence. Hoover did what he d.a.m.n well pleased, and if anyone stood in his way, he simply called up the White House and had the roadblock removed. Kennedy era notwithstanding, Hoover held his own for a 50 year reign.

Tyrone Duncan received an additional lesson on inter-agency rivalry when he was called down to Half Street. His orders were similar to those he had received from the safe house in George- town months before. Stick to your hackers and viruses, period, he was told. If it smells of foreign influence, let the CI fight it out with Langley. Keep your b.u.t.t clean.

In 25 years of service, Tyrone had never been so severely admon- ished for investigating a case that he perceived as being domes- tic in nature. The thought of foreign influences at work had not occurred to him, until CI brought it up.

As far as he was concerned the quick trip from New York to Half Street was a bureaucratic waste of time and money. However, during the fifteen minute discussion he was told by his CI compa- triots that both the blackmail and the ECCO investigations situa- tions had international repercussions and he should keep his nose out of it. CI was doing just fine without Tyrone's help.The meeting, or warning as Tyrone Duncan took it, served to raise an internal flag.

There was a bigger picture, something beyond a cla.s.sical black- mail operation and some hackers s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with government comput- ers, and he was being excluded. That only meant one thing. He was pus.h.i.+ng someone's b.u.t.ton and he didn't know how, where or why. The Trump Shuttle flight back to La Guardia gave Tyrone time to think about it, and that only incensed him further.

Aren't we all on the same team? If I stumbled onto something, and you want me to back off, O.K., but at least let me know what I'm missing.

Twenty five years and a return to Hoover paranoia. He under- stood, and advocated, the need for secrecy, privacy and the trappings of confidentiality. But, compartmentalization of information this extreme was beyond the normal course to which he was accustomed. The whole thing stunk.

He arrived back at New York's Federal Square during lunch hour.

Normally there was a minimal staff at that hour, or hour and half or two hours depending upon your rank. When the elevator doors opened on Level 5, seventy feet under lower Manhattan, he walked into a bustle of activity normally present only when visiting heads of state need extraordinary security. He was immediately accosted by eager subordinates. The onslaught of questions overwhelmed him, so he ignored them and walked through the maze directly to his office.

His head ringing, he plopped himself down behind his desk. He stared at the two agents who followed him all the way, plus his secretary stood in the open door, watching with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Duncan was not appreciative of panic situations. His silence was contagious.

"Who's first?" He asked quietly.

The two agents looked at each other and one spoke. "Uh, sir, I think we have a lead in the blackmail operation." Duncan looked at the other, offering him a chance to speak.

"Yessir, it seems to have broken all over at once." Duncan opened his eyes wide in antic.i.p.ation. Well, he, thought, go on.

The first agent picked up the ball. "Demands. The blackmailers are making demands. So far we have six individuals who said they were recontacted by the same person who had first called them a year ago."

Duncan sat upright. "I want a complete report, here, in 1 hour.

We'll talk then. Thank you gentlemen." They took their cue to exit and brushed by, Tyrone's secretary on their way out the door.

"Yes, Gloria?" Duncan treated her kindly, not with the adminis- trative brusqueness he often found necessary to motivate some of his agents.

"Good morning, or afternoon, sir. Pleasant trip?" She knew he hated sudden trips to D.C. It was her way of teasing her boss.

"Wonderful!" Tyrone beamed with artificial enthusiasm. "Book me on the same flights every day for a month. Definite E-ticket ride."

"Do you remember a Franklin Dobbs? He was here some time ago, about, I believe the same matter you were just discussing?" Her demureness pampered Duncan.

"Dobbs? Yes, why?"

"He's been waiting all morning. Had to see you, no on else.

Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, by all means, thank you."

"Mr. Dobbs, how good to see you again. Please," Duncan pointed at a chair in front of his desk. "Sit down. How may I help you?"

Dobbs shuffled over to the chair and practically fell into it.

He sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. "I guess it's all over. All over."

"What do you mean? My secretary, said you were being blackmailed again. I think you should know I'm not working on that case anymore."

"This time it's different," Dobbs said, his eyes darting about.

"They want money, a lot of money, more than we have. Last time I received a call I was told some very private and specific knowl- edge about our company that we preferred to remain private.

That information contained all our pricing, quotation methods, profit figures, overhead . . .everything our compet.i.tors could use."

"So you think your compet.i.tion is blackmailing you," Duncan offered.

"I don't know. If they wanted the information, why call me and tell me? We haven't been able to figure it out."

"What about the others," Duncan thought out loud. "The others with access to the information?"

"Everyone is suspecting everyone else. It's not healthy. Now, after this, I'm thinking of packing it in."

"Why now? What's different?"

"The demands. I can't believe it's my compet.i.tors. Sure, it's a cut throat business, but, no, it's hard to believe."