‘Woody,’ Kate said.
‘But, I mean,’ he objected — holding out his hand palm up to display the agent for Kate’s inspection — ‘look at him. He went to some podunk community college. Took English Lit courses he should’ve taken in high school and they give him a degree. Gets a gun courtesy of the U.S. government. Buys a three-hundred-dollar suit from some warehouse outlet. Thinks he’s hit the big time. But he doesn’t even speak any foreign languages.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Kate urged.
‘You wouldn’t even know what somebody said to you in a foreign language, would you? Could be “Gee, Mr Officer, you look swell today.” Or could be something else. Like… “Yob tvoyu mat”.’
The agent’s leg uncrossed and he leaned forward. The other agent backhanded the man’s chest to restrain him.
Woody was grinning ear-to-ear now. He leaned over to Kate, his eyes still on the angry agent. ‘They’re not FBI. They’re CIA. They’re taking us to Langley, I’ll bet you a hundred bucks.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Kate asked.
‘It’s an old trick. The CIA is prohibited by law from operating in the States, so they gin up these FBI badges and keep right on going.’
‘Jesus, Woody. You’ve got this paranoid conspiracy стар oozing out your ears.’
‘Or, they might be FBI — technically — but they’re really CIA.’
‘Where in the world are you getting this shit?’
‘They speak Russian, Kate,’ he said, finally turning to her. ‘The guy got pissed when I said “Fuck your mother” in Russian. Now how many run-of-the-mill, gumshoe G-men do you think take all that time and effort to learn Russian, huh? You mark my words, we’re headin’ straight for Langley.’
The nondescript government car pulled up to the main gate at the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Instead of heading for the front door, however, they pulled around to an underground parking garage.
Woody looked like the cat who ate the canary. He had turned toward Kate and arched his eyebrows at every turn the car had made on their trip out to Langley. He’d backhanded her repeatedly and pointed as the highway signs led ever closer. She had finally withdrawn her shoulder and said, ‘Cut it out!’ Now he just sat there, loving every minute of what he viewed as a triumph over ‘The Man.’
They were whisked inside the building and into a long antiseptic corridor. There were no names on the doors. No signs directing people to different departments. ‘Where do you do all those LSD experiments?’ Woody asked as they went through a set of double doors. They opened automatically like in a hospital, and the small group entered another featureless hallway. ‘You know, when I read about those experiments I sent an application to you guys volunteering for the program, but I never heard back.’
They reached a T-shaped intersection. Sets of closed double doors led off in opposite directions.
‘This way, please,’ one of the agents said. He took Kate by the elbow and headed to the right.
The other agent was taking Woody to the left.
‘Don’t tell them anything, comrade!’ Woody called out to Kate as their respective doors opened. ‘Long live the Party!’ The doors closed behind them.
The ‘FBI agent’ who escorted Kate did, she noticed, seem to know his way through the maze of corridors in the basement. He stopped at a door with the number ‘141’ on it and knocked — waiting a moment before opening it.
She had expected a bare, concrete room with a single metal table, two chairs, and a harsh, bright light overhead. Instead, several men and two women rose from the sofas and chairs around the carpeted room. It looked more like the ‘Green Room’ at a network television studio than an interrogation cell. There were even hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table and a small bar/kitchenette off to the side.
‘Hello, Miss Dunn,’ a middle-aged woman wearing a business suit said as she held out her hand to shake Kate’s. Most of the men and women wore plastic IDs pinned to their lapels. Some did not. ‘My name is Eve Fitzgerald,’ she said. ‘I’ll be your liaison during your visit to Langley, which we really don’t expect will take more than a few hours.’ She began the introductions. ‘Mr So-and-so’ from ‘State.’ ‘Ms What’s-her-name’ from the White House. The names went in one ear and out the other, but Kate saw their names were all conveniently printed in large letters on their shiny ‘Visitor’ IDs.
The introductions did not include the several men who wore no IDs. And none of the people other than Eve were introduced as being from the CIA. Kate was having fun, now. It was like a movie.
They poured Kate the tea she requested, and she settled onto a sofa. ‘You understand, Ms Dunn,’ Eve said, ‘that our conversations will be recorded.’ Kate nodded. ‘And you consent to that recording?’
Kate chuckled. ‘This sounds like you’re reading me my Miranda rights or something.’
Eve smiled graciously. ‘Nothing you say here, I assure you, can legally be used by the U.S. government in any court. As a matter of fact,’ she said, smiling, ‘if you want to establish immunity from prosecution for failure to pay income taxes or something, you should go ahead and blurt it out now.’ Several of the people in the room laughed, and it broke the ice somewhat. ‘I hope you don’t give Woody the same opportunity,’ Kate said with a smile. ‘We could be here several days while he confesses.’ There was more laughter. ‘But, in answer to your question, I consent to the taping or whatever.’
‘Wonderful. And let me take this opportunity to thank you for your cooperation. I know you must be tired, but we appreciate your agreeing to meet with us on such short notice.’
Kate decided to let the comment pass. She could only imagine what kind of time Woody was giving them.
‘Can I ask you, if you don’t mind,’ Kate said, ‘just what it is I’m doing here?’
‘Certainly, Ms Dunn,’ a man seated directly across the coffee table from her replied. ‘There’s really nothing all that secret about this, although we would like to get your agreement that everything that we ask you — the entire fact of your visit here — be held in confidence. That, I should say, would be a legally binding agreement.’
He was so polite — they were all so friendly — that Kate almost reciprocated, but she hesitated. ‘Well, I’m not… I’m not sure I want to do that,’ she said. They stared at her in silence, now. She felt their disappointment — their disapproval. They were being so nice, but she wasn’t returning the courtesy.
The man with no name tag seated across from her nodded. ‘Very well. That is your right.’ He looked at another man — also anonymous — in the chair next to him.
The new mystery man said, ‘Ms Dunn, we have all followed your reporting from Moscow with interest. The quality of it, let me say first off, is excellent. You seem to possess a rare blend — an ability to fact-find, together with a grasp of the broader perspective on the events unfolding around you. You are to be commended, and that comes from people who have spent a lifetime of judging the quality of information content.’
Heads nodded all around, but no one else spoke. ‘Thank you,’ Kate said.
‘Of particular interest, obviously, given what’s going on in Russia today, have been your reports on the Anarchists. Especially your reports on a… Valentin Kartsev.’ Kate nodded. That would make sense. Still, on hearing Kartsev’s name she felt a slight chill. ‘Can we get you something?’ the obviously attentive interrogator asked.