The Heiress and the Black Monk

Chapter 1

Ponder this question, Martin, Diane Sinclair said. "What if the guy you effectively vindicated with your stories, Steve Malawanni, really is a mole working for Iran."

Martin Cosgrove choked on a sip of coffee and covered his face to keep from spraying the table. His stories in the Baltimore Times over the past three months had exposed a conservative plan to sink the Presidential aspirations of Senator Robert Stoneman. Malawanni served as an important Stoneman aide in the continuing campaign, although Stoneman was now the probable Vice Presidential running mate of Andrew Hopkins, the current governor of California.

Diane Sinclair, an analyst for the CIA, had managed a joint CIA-FBI task force which made the case against the radical conservatives. In the process, she and Martin had developed a symbiotic professional relationship.

As suggested, he pondered as he cleared his throat and sipped more coffee. He surveyed the room. The Briar Rose Restaurant lounge had several patrons, but Martin and Diane occupied a booth beyond the earshot of others. Had he gotten it wrong, or was this another CIA smoke and mirrors game? he wondered. His first lead to Malawanni came indirectly from the CIA.

So, who is on first? Martin finally said quietly.

Translate that please.

Well, when I originally received the flash drive from Whistler containing the CIA documents along with tons of rather irrelevant stuff, I asked my contact to check it. He did and also forwarded a copy to someone in your outfit. Not long after, the name Malawanni was passed on to me as someone who was in line to be wrongly accused of being a spy, and thereby damage the Senator. You remember that, of course. I gather from your inference, that I was led on a wild ass chase.

Not really. In the end, you saved your Senator a lot of grief, disposed of the people who’d tried to kill you, and wrote some great stories. Maybe a book, too. What difference does the process make?

Martin wiped his forehead and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Amos keeps telling me that things in your world are never what they seem. He sighed and waited.

You’re smart Martin, though somewhat naïve and a bit too idealistic. Nothing functions perfectly, and we all get used. Yes, we used you. But we also kept you from further harm and supported your overall objectives. As with your Chinese trade delegation story, we both got what we wanted. Treat this experience as you would advice from Amos–as part of your education.

He took a deep breath. Okay, I get it. If I’d known more, I would have reacted differently and fucked everything up. So, you’re saying that Steve actually is a crazy Islamist, but you don’t want him to know that you know, so you’re not arresting him. Since I’m sure you don’t want that speculation in the Times, what am I doing here?

There is a person whom you apparently haven’t run across in your research, Sherrie Northfield. Ring any bells?

Not that I recall. What about her?

She would be considered to be a large campaign contributor if she was on anyone’s radar. Might make a good story.

Like the Koch Brothers and others, you mean.

Possibly larger, with a different long range agenda.

You’d like me to find out more about her, because you can’t easily, or legally, do it yourself.

We enjoy your stories, Martin. She grinned.

You don’t happen to have her email address do you?

No. She seems to be quite reclusive. She might not be online. At least, not under her own name.

They had their coffee refilled and chatted on a range of other topics for another twenty minutes before Diane reached for her purse. Keep me posted.

As they walked out the front door, Martin asked, Is my phone still tapped?

No one from our agency is listening to your ravings any longer. Feel free to chat with Amos regarding our meeting.

I’m sure the NSA saves every word for a rainy day, anyway. There’s not much to talk about with Amos on this subject. He’d say you’re probably looking for something unrelated to what we discussed. I’ll be covering the Democratic Convention next week, but I’ll get the search started.

Martin, don’t be too skeptical. I wouldn’t waste my time jabbering if we didn’t have significant concerns. You’re my best alternative at the moment.

• • •

Angela Valentine, Martin’s fiancée, listened quietly to his description of the Sinclair meeting while they enjoyed a glass of wine, side by side on the sofa. They’d lived together for more than a year in his house. That’s bizarre, she said. Is the CIA so underfunded they have to hire reporters to do their research?

Well, I didn’t say they were hiring reporters, and if I didn’t know you better, I’d be insulted. And she didn’t even offer to pay me.

Okay, they’re recruiting an excellent, and hot, investigative journalist to work for them, for free. Is that better?

I’m not omniscient. I need sources and I use what I can find. Diane was instrumental in getting the Whistler investigation in gear, and deserves the benefit-of-the-doubt for that alone. She sees the world from a different perspective.

The Whistler story, the fifth part of which had run in the Baltimore Times that morning, culminated Martin’s year-long effort to expose a corrupt conservative political group which on several occasions had sent assassins after him and others. Deanna Whistler was the fictitious name used by a woman who’d supplied him with a Trojan Horse-like offering–a flash drive containing, in part, modified stolen CIA documents purportedly proving treasonous acts in the Bush-Cheney administration. She was murdered not long afterward.

The Malawanni name had been added to the documents in certain locations in hope that the Times, through Martin’s stories, would publish the corrupted documents and thereby provide a source for misinformation that would damage Senator Stoneman’s political aspirations. It was a complex dirty trick that blew up on the politicians and their associates resulting in a range of criminal charges.

It still sounds hinky to me.

Amos may have an opinion.

I’m sure he will. He likes these games. I hope you realize how upsetting these stories are to me.

Amos Moses, a retired covert government agent now living in Costa Rica, had become a good friend and technical advisor on several of Martin’s stories over the past year. They were currently collaborating on an action thriller novel, based in part on Amos’s experiences in the Middle East, before and during the Iraq War, and in part on Martin’s recent story. The working title was The Whistler Protocol.

After dinner, he opened an attachment from his editor Jack Benson containing suggested corrections to Martin’s most current story, A Guide to the Democratic National Convention. He’d included the published daily agenda for those wanting to watch the posturing and fawning exercises. After rewriting a few sentences, and correcting typos, he returned it with his thanks. He planned to provide a daily update from the convention with interviews and dirt if he could find it.

His next email was to Shannon, a researcher at the Times who also coordinated his previous efforts with IT specialists, otherwise known as Crusher.

Shannon, would you have time for coffee on Saturday morning? I’ll be in Philadelphia all next week. MC

He picked up his phone.

Amos answered on the first ring. Hola, amigo.

You must have been on the phone. I hope I didn’t interrupt.

Madeline was just busting my balls. I need a change of subject. What’s up?

I met our friend Diane for coffee this afternoon. She suggested a new project, but she also made an off-the-wall comment on Malawanni. She asked if I’d considered that Steve might in fact be a radical Islamist mole, after all my work to prove he wasn’t. And, I have to admit that after talking with him and learning about his history in the U.S. Air Force, I only assumed he was straight. His non-Islamist student group story made complete sense to me and I investigated no further. Was I fooled? And if so, why didn’t the CIA set me straight?

The line was quiet for long seconds.

Compadre, off hand, I can think of three possibilities. First, the agency may have received new information; second, they may have sent us both misleading signals to divert us from a story they didn’t want in the media; or third, it was a chess game, playing a few moves ahead. The flash drive you were given could have been, for them, a gift from the gods. Your bent was clear early on, and the first CIA interview was all it took to figure out how to exploit your stories by assisting you on the Quixote Group beat-down. That’s only a guess.

You always tell me that nothing is what it seems. When I reacted to being used, Diane sort of confessed to something along that line, but defended it by saying that we all got what we wanted in the end, and they’d protected me. They are the pros and I’m out of my league.

Si. So what else does she want?

She wants me to go fishing. Do you know the name Sherrie Northfield?

Maybe before your time. She inherited a shit load of money and might still own big pieces of New York City. I haven’t heard anything about her for thirty years. Keeps her head down, apparently.

After that long, who would recognize her?

Check the papers from the ’80s and ’90s. How would she be involved in whatever Diane is working on?

Dealing with Sinclair is like those Nicolas Cage movies where one clue leads to the next. Maybe I’ll find a treasure this time, if I can avoid the booby-traps. The agency specializes in the obscure.

Be careful, amigo.

Martin let out a deep breath. Okay, I’ll play it by ear. Give my congratulations to Madeline. You should be happy she’s saving you.

Amos sighed. It’s not easy to accept being saved. Thanks, I’ll check your Sunday story.

Martin plugged his phone into the charger and pondered a few of his options as he doodled. Soon, he gave up finding an answer and checked his email.

Shannon said she could meet him at 11:30. He confirmed, then shut the laptop and turned off the office light.

Are you working tomorrow? he said to Angela, standing at her office door. I’m meeting Shannon for coffee at 11:30 if you’d like to meet her.

Angela was the Art Director for a book publisher, New Source Publishing in Gaithersburg, and a promising artist in her own right. "For your new free research project?"

Call me incorrigible.

A few other names come to mind. She smiled briefly. I’ll pass, in case someone ever asks me to identify your crime fighting assistant. I’m still working on a few pieces to send to Beth. Next month I’d like you to help me build a crate.

Angela had a friend who owned an art gallery in New York City who’d agreed to include selected pieces in an exhibition. If response was good, Beth wanted to have other paintings available for sale.

Whenever you’re ready. Is Stoneman finished?

Almost. When your biography project fell through, I put it aside. I can finish it in a few hours. I’ll let you see it then.

Martin had written the first quarter of a biography of Senator Robert Stoneman, but he’d had an unfavorable reaction from the Senator. He’d been uncertain whether it was his writing skill or his political acumen that had been the cause, but he’d gracefully bowed out of the contract. However, during the process, he’d asked Angela to paint a portrait of the Senator for the book cover.

If it’s half as good as Joanna, I’d be surprised if the Senator wouldn’t pay you a good price for it. But I’d encourage you to show it in New York, first.

The portrait of Joanna Starr hung in their condo stairwell as a tribute to Angela’s roommate who’d been kidnapped and murdered, leading Martin into the recent yearlong battle with the conservative politicians. That portrait, Angela would never sell.

Chapter 2

So, what sort of adventure are you involved with now? Shannon asked as she raised a forest green coffee mug to her smiling lips.

Just my regular boat-rocking stuff. He slid a slip of paper across the table. My request has two parts – one for you and one for Crusher. I need all of the information on Sherrie Northfield that you can find through normal methods. Part two, for your IT friends, is her email and financial records, if possible. Unfortunately, I have no email address or even a street address. She could be using false names.

They enjoy a good challenge, but I’d guess you’re looking at a high price tag for part two. I’ll let you know when I get the easy stuff.

Is that your latest mug creation?

Do you like the shape? I wasn’t sure about it and only made one.

The pot belly look is cute. If you make more, I’d buy some. I give them away, and everyone raves about them. Angela has taken several to friends in her office.

And how is the love of your life?

She’s busy working on her own paintings for an exhibition in New York in the next month or so. And how is your new heart throb?

She giggled and wiggled her engagement ring. We’re still throbbing, thank you. She slipped the paper in her pocket. I’ll buzz you when I know something.

The Starbucks where he’d met Shannon was not far from the Times, so Martin headed off on foot.

Jack’s office door was open.

I was in town, Martin said, and stopped to touch base before I head off next week. Any special advice?

Keep your powder dry and try to not alienate any more politicians.

I plan to scratch out a story every day with a few interviews and a photo or two. Something they don’t have on cable. I’ll do my best on the alienation part, but no guarantees. You know I go easy on the Democrats, but some of the donkeys have inbred and become jackasses.

There’re a few contradictions there, but I get the point.

Did you hire Ms. Saks? Martin had met Emily Saks from the Washington Post when they were both covering the Chinese Trade Conference. The Times had an ad running for a reporter position to replace Martin, in-house.

I made her an offer, but she’s probably negotiating with the Post to match it. When she learned that you have a fiancée and work from home, she seemed to lose her enthusiasm.

As I said, I didn’t encourage her in the least. I can barely handle one relationship.

Have you heard from your task force friends on your wrap-up story?

The detectives called to ask how I felt after struggling for a year. I told them I was definitely relieved, but that I’d probably miss the adrenaline rush for a while. I also talked to Sinclair about the Malawanni part of the story and hesitate to tell you about it.

Jack sighed deeply, placed both hands on his desk, and raised his eyebrows. Do I want to hear this?

I’ve debated, but you should know what I’m working on. She asked me to consider the possibility that Malawanni really is a mole. Is it a diversion from her real objective? I couldn’t judge.

Jack leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped across his barrel chest, lips pursed. That old proverb about waking up with fleas when you sleep with dogs comes to mind. It seems we might have been manipulated a bit. Hum.

She didn’t say that he is a mole. So were they playing us then or playing us now? Or both, and is there yet another option I haven’t considered?

He smiled. I’d guess they have another project for you.

That’s exactly why I mentioned the conversation. I don’t want you to think I’m playing games with you and the Times. Being manipulated was my immediate reaction, too, but I’d rather not sever the connection with Sinclair by slamming the door.

I agree, keep the door open. We just have to be judicious in what we publish. Jack rocked slowly in his chair. Be careful what you wish for. An inside track to the CIA, if that’s what you have, seems to include clever games of perception.

Among other things. Martin stood. Master illusionists.

• • •

Early on Monday morning, the cell phone buzzed in his shirt pocket as he passed an exit to Newark, heading up I-95. He pushed the button to connect the Bluetooth. John Fogerty’s Who’ll Stop The Rain cut off in mid-sentence.

This is Martin.

Hi, Martin, this is Ilene from Hardball. Will you be available this evening to be a guest on the show?

Absolutely. I’m on the way to Philly as we speak. Tell me where and when.

Our pavilion is outside, in front of the Wells Fargo Center, you can’t miss it. I’m still coordinating so I’ll call back by noon with an approximate time. The broadcast starts at 7:00 o’clock. He’ll do his full hour as usual then coverage switches to the Washington studio for another four hours with Rachel Maddow, Ed Shultz, Rev. Sharpton, and Chris Hayes. They’ll have guests, including periodic discussions with our Chris and his guests.

I watched your coverage last time.

So, after your slot during the first hour, you should remain available to talk with Chris if we need a filler, with about fifteen minutes notice. You may be live or not. Okay?

I’m trying to do interviews for the paper, too, so I’ll try to let someone know if I’m tied up.

Fair enough. Talk to you soon.

Two hours later, after checking into a Holiday Inn about a mile from the Center, he headed to a nearby Burger King for lunch. He’d registered for the convention a month earlier, so all he had to do was pick up his badge at the center. He called Angela.

She said, You’re not in trouble already, I hope.

Have you heard something?

You’re silly. I assume you arrived safely?

Yes. I just had a Whopper, and I’m waiting to hear back from Hardball with my time slot. I’ll let you know, but it’ll be between seven and eight this evening, if I’m on. His call waiting cut in. Got to go, love ya.

Martin, Ilene. Show up at our area by 7:20. You’re scheduled for 7:35, but things can change if someone ahead of you is delayed.

Are you here, Ilene?

Of course. See you this evening.

He stood on the convention floor, schmoozing with other journalists about national affairs and the state of politics in general. Their voices were competing with the enthusiastic delegates and the cheerleaders at the podium microphone. His phone vibrated and the display showed the number of Senator Stoneman’s wife, Karoline, who had been his primary contact on Stoneman’s memoir and biography. He walked away from the group and toward an exit.

Nice to hear from you, Karoline. I’m here in the convention hall getting my bearings. Hang on a minute while I move out of the chaos. In the lobby he said, I can hear now. I noticed the Wyoming delegates are all wearing Stoneman hats and pins. Impressive indeed. How are you and the Senator?

We’re doing well, thank you. We’ll arrive in Philadelphia on Wednesday for Bobby’s speech that evening. So, I’m calling to coordinate the interview time you’d requested.

Great. My schedule’s open.

3:30-4:00 looks like a good time right now. I’ll mark you down, if that’s okay.

I’ll look forward to it. Here, or at your hotel?

The Ritz-Carlton Hotel probably, but I’ll confirm on Wednesday. Bobby suggested thirty minutes, will that be suitable?

Of course. Any news on the VP announcement?

Friday night, at the end of Governor Hopkins’s speech is the plan, but you should speak to Bobby before saying anything about it.

I wouldn’t speculate before the announcement. Curiosity is in my nature. Thanks for your help, Karoline, and I look forward to seeing you and the Senator soon.

Martin turned and headed for the convention floor, navigating