Other People’S Mail

Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Prologue

Athens, Greece - 1972

Captain Ben Jourdon, U.S. Air Force Security Services was assigned as the commander of a small, but important, analysis unit at Athenai Air Base. They operated out of four specially equipped trailers, with their own diesel power supply, so as not to be dependent on the base power. The mission was to support C-130 airborne collection platforms, primarily targeted against the Arab block countries. Their job was to do rapid field analysis, then ship it all back to the National Security Agency, at Fort Meade, Maryland for in depth analysis.

This was a good assignment. He set his own schedule; was billeted in a hotel on the beach; and generally lived a good life. As the unit commander, he didn’t have a lot to do, if everything went as planned. If the plan went awry, he was totally responsible. So far, nothing had gone wrong. The unit was keeping their customers at Fort Meade happy. He hadn’t pissed off the base commander, lately. So on the whole, life was beautiful. This was all to change.

His day usually started with coffee in the dining room of the hotel. Cyril, the owner often joined him. After that, Pug, his driver, would take him to the base. Pug was Staff Sergeant Marvin Patrick. He came from Ohio, joined the service in 1961 and the rest was fate. Being a first -rate diesel mechanic, he had been promoted quickly. He had been with the unit over five months, and was assigned as driver about a week after Ben took command. Jourdon would go to the message center for the previous evening’s messages. This would take him about an hour. At the same time, Pug would be checking his diesel generators. When they were both finished, they would go for breakfast. Unless there was something really important going on, they would go over to the gym and work off the breakfast, then back to the compound, do the officer thing with the analysts, and complete any paper work that was necessary. Occasionally, there would be some personal problem one of the enlisted men would have, and then he would have to play padre, but generally things just hummed along. It had been going this way seven days a week for the past four months.

That day, before he could go back to the hotel for lunch on the beach and an hour or so of bikini watching, Jourdon received a rather unusual request. Lt. Col. Stimpson called him and asked if he and his operations officer could meet that night, naming a small restaurant in Glyfada. Since he didn’t have any firm plans, he agreed. Lt. Col. Stimpson was the Office of Special Investigations (OSI) commander in Athens. They had met several times in the past, usually at the officer’s club. A request for an out of the way meeting could suggest a problem. Jourdon got with Pug and told him that they had a dinner date, and he was riding shotgun. With that, he decided not to worry about the meeting until that evening. So, he returned to the hotel. Pug told him that he had to get one of the trucks serviced and would be back at sixteen hundred to take him back to the compound. Since he would be returning to the compound, Jourdon decided not to change out of his uniform, but just walked down to the little taverna on the beach. Now, he settled back to watch the girls come down for a noonday swim. They would come from the offices and shops to swim before they went home for lunch and the long afternoon break. Few of them wore their bathing suits under their clothes, so they would change there on the beach. Usually, this was done with the aid of a small bath towel that seldom covered all of the strategic locations at one time. One rather well endowed young lady was having a particularly difficult time with the towel. She managed to get the bikini bottom on, but somehow dropped the towel before the top was in place. The thought of applauding came to mind, because her chest was truly magnificent. He must have had a big grin on his face, because when she realized that he was appreciating her, a big smile also crossed her face. Jourdon was considering approaching her when one of his men came out of the hotel and yelled to him. It must be important, because one of his few rules for the men was that he wasn’t to be disturbed while bikini watching. Finishing the last bit of Retsina, he went into the hotel.

Sergeant, this had better be good. You interrupted one of the best views in Athens, next to the Acropolis. Ben said jokingly.

Communications just called. The sergeant said breathlessly. There is a priority ‘Eyes Only’ message for you. Pug is on his way, sir.

Jourdon apologized for being so abrupt. A long time ago he had found out, unlike many officers, the fact that enlisted men are what made the military go. It only takes a little effort to be polite and treat each as an equal. They know who is boss when a crunch came. Pug came screeching up in the little blue jeep the unit had somehow acquired, there was an M-16 lying between the seats. Jourdon didn’t ask where he got either, and Pug didn’t offer an explanation. Over the wind noise Jourdon yelled at him, What’s the message all about?

Sir, Sgt. Crowder wouldn’t let me see it. Pug said. I think it might be serious Eyes Only messages came in frequently, but Pug always was able to brief him about the contents.

The guard at the base gate recognized the vehicle and waved them through. After a minor altercation between one of his guards and the Sergeant Major for the Air Police Squadron, they weren’t bothered, even at the gate. When they got to the compound, he went right to the communications trailer. OK, Bill, where’s the message? He asked.

It is in the safe, sir. I have only read the header of the message. Sgt. Bill Crowder answered.

This was not a good sign. As head of communications, Crowder had access to all message traffic. If the subject got him upset, it couldn’t be good news for any of them. Ben went into the little office and opened the safe. The message was in a sealed envelope, inside another sealed envelope. It was stamped ‘EYES ONLY - TO BE OPENED ONLY BY THE ADDRESSEE’, and his name was below that. He opened the envelope and read the message:

TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY- NOFORN

TO:CAPTAIN BENJAMIN JOURDON, COMMANDER, DET. 1, ATHENAI AB

FROM: DIRECTOR-NSA (DIRNSA)

THIS IS AN AEGIS MESSAGE, NOT TO BE RELEASED TO UNCLEARED PERSONNEL OR FOREIGN NATIONALS

1. YOU WILL BE CONTACTED BY THE COMMANDER OF THE ATHENS OSI DETACHMENT WITHIN 24 HOURS.

2. YOU WILL PROVIDE ANY ASSISTANCE REQUESTED.

3. YOU ARE AUTHORIZED TO MAKE ANY TRAVEL ARRANGEMENTS NECESSARY, USING THE AUTHORIZATION PROVIDED BY OSI.

4. YOU WILL USE ONLY NSA SECURE COMMUNICATIONS FOR ANY MESSAGES.

5. YOU WILL NOT, REPEAT NOT UTILIZE EMBASSY COMMUNICATIONS.

6. ANY MATERIALS OR INFORMATION PASSED TO YOU BY THE OSI WILL BE GUARDED TO THE UTMOST. EXTREME MEASURES ARE AUTHORIZED TO PROTECT THE INFORMATION.

7. ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT AND UNDERSTANDING WITHIN 30 MINUTES OF READING THIS MESSAGE

DIRNSA ENDS

TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY- NOFORN

‘What the hell were they doing to me?’ He thought An Aegis message dealt with U.S. internal security. Jourdon said to himself, ‘I didn’t get into Security Services to play around with this cloak and dagger bullshit.’ He resealed the envelope and put it back in the safe. Then went into the other room and told Sgt. Crowder to acknowledge the message, that no one was to go into that safe for any reason; and that he was not to open the envelope. If additional ‘Aegis’ messages came in, they were to be put in the safe. Should, for some reason, he is incapacitated, all messages would be burned.

Then he went out to the guard and told him to advise everyone that the unit was now on full security alert, and that no one gets into the compound, except those now on the authorization list. Anyone not on the list would be considered hostile- full security alert meant that any intruder would be shot without warning. If it appeared that the compound would be overrun, the trailers would be destroyed using thermite grenades. Ben had never had to go to a full security alert, but all of the orders came automatically. Security Service officers were well trained in this procedure, but the last time this had happened was in Berlin in the early sixties. Even though they were trained on the procedure, not a single one of them thought they would ever have to use it.

About seven that evening, Pug showed up at the door of the hotel in a civilian car. Jourdon had suggested that this might be a prudent move. He had on civilian clothes. The jacket hung a little funny on the left, but that was natural; it’s hard to hide a 9mm Beretta. Ben had a .380 Walther PPK in a holster in the small of his back. It did not show at all. Even though he was authorized to carry a concealed weapon, the intent was a military issue weapon. The PPK could get him in deep trouble, but he had a feeling that this was the least of his worries. They drove a few blocks to the restaurant, and Ben got out around the corner. Pug would come in a few minutes later and take a table near the door. The OSI would probably have someone there also, but he didn’t trust anyone other than Pug to be his backup. Ben knew that he didn’t have to look for them. He just entered and went to the rear corner, near the exit.

Lt. Col. Stimpson greeted him like a long lost friend, and introduced him to Capt. Leo Fagioni. That was strange, since he had known Leo for a while, and had been drinking with him at the officers club two nights previous. It didn’t take him long to figure that they thought they were under surveillance. They exchanged small talk, and Leo asked questions that he already knew the answers to. Ben figured he might as well play along. When the couple at the closest table got up to leave, a plain looking man in European clothing sat in their place. Stimpson nodded to him, and then turned to Ben, Ben, I have something for you to get to NSA headquarters, as quickly as possible. I can’t send it through the embassy or my channels. You are our only conduit.

Colonel, you seem to have stepped in it, this time, Ben said. Do you have it with you?

No. As a matter of fact, Cyril has it at the hotel for you. Apparently, Cyril was one of his local contacts.

Are you sending a decoy?

Yes, Leo is going out with a package this evening,

So what do you need us for?

Because of some things that have happened since yesterday, he might be intercepted, Stimpson said seriously.

This is a joke, right? The OSI never gets into anything that requires this kind of action. DIRNSA sent me a message suggesting that I should offer help. They have my unit on full security alert. You want to give me a hint about what’s going on here? Ben asked.

Well, one of our agents was onto a suspected homosexual group. I authorized both cameras and wiretaps. He came up with a real plum. We thought that some foreign agents had setup a homo honey trap for some of the airman at the base. But during the wiretap, we overheard a discussion between the person running the operation and a very important senator. I will not tell you the contents of the tapes you will be carrying, but it is strictly Aegis material.

Don’t worry; I’m not interested in what’s on the tape. The less I know the better.

OK, get back to the hotel and get the package into your channels. I won’t ask how you are going to do it, that way I can’t tell.

Ben got up and shook hands with them, heading for the door. Pug was waiting outside with the car running. Sometimes, Pug could read his mind.

Where to, Captain? He asked.

Back to the hotel; I need to pick up something from Cyril. Ben said sharply. All Pug did was give a questioning look, but never said a word. He knew if Ben wanted to explain, he would. They got back to the hotel and Ben went up to Cyril at the front desk. Cyril handed him a package wrapped in paper. Ben looked at the package for a moment and an idea came to him. "Cyril, do you have some paper like this and some tape? He asked.

Yes sir. Do you want it now, or should I bring it to your room?

Bring it up to the room, and bring us some coffee, please.

Five minutes. He said and turned away.

Pug, get Sgt. Crowder. Tell him to be in my room in fifteen minutes. He is to be in dress blues and packed for a trip. Pug left without a word and went up the stairs two at a time. Ben knew that Pug would only talk to Sgt. Crowder, and Sgt. Crowder wouldn’t talk to anyone else. He was only in his room a minute when Cyril came in with the paper and the coffee. Cyril looked a little sheepish, and Ben knew why. Don’t let it bother you, Cyril. We are all doing our job.

Thank you, sir. Cyril said with relief. "I feel like I have betrayed your friendship, but I have worked for the OSI for many years now.

No sweat, man

Pug came in, as Cyril was going out, with Sgt. Crowder in tow. The sergeant wasn’t too happy. Jourdon found out later that he had gotten lucky that evening, and they had dragged him away from a Swedish lovely.

Sgt. Crowder, how much money do you have on you?

About fifty dollars, sir. He replied.

OK, here’s another fifty. I want you to take a package to the operations officer on Crete. There is an Olympic Airways flight at 0230. Before you go, call Crete and have a car waiting. Go directly to the base. Give the package to the Operations Officer, only. Tell him it contains Aegis material, and to contact command for an aircraft to pick you up. Then wait for further orders. You will not be returning to Athens. Is that understood, sergeant? Ben asked.

Yes sir. How long do you think I’ll have to be there?

Only until the aircraft comes. You are to accompany this package to NSA. When you get to Fort Meade, deliver the package to DIRNSA. The Director is the only person you will give it to, without exception. At no time, while you are in transit, will you let the package out of your hands. You are under orders from DIRNSA.

Yessir! He responded crisply.

Ben had picked up a tape from his classical collection that weighed about the same as the package, wrapping the tape exactly as the other package was wrapped. He handed them to Pug and told him to turn and let the Sgt. choose one. Now, even he didn’t know which the real tape was.

Sgt. Crowder left the room without another word.

Ben turned to Pug and said, We are going to Crete, but, we are going by ferry. The ferry leaves at zero four hundred from Piraeus. Telling him to get a set of fatigues and put them in a small bag. They would meet downstairs in ten minutes. Quickly, Ben put a set of fatigues in a bag, added an overnight kit, picked up the package, and went downstairs. Pug was already down in the lobby. When they got to the compound, Ben filled him in the on rest of the plans. They would take the big White diesel tractor to the ferry. If anyone asked, they were transporting it to the base on Crete. In their fatigues they looked like couple of men from the motor pool. It was pretty thin, but it was all he could think of. Besides, he thought that anyone wanting the tape would hesitate to attack American military in uniform. They turned out of the base and headed toward Athens. The Piraeus turnoff was about five miles down the road. It was very dark that night. Pug was driving carefully, running the tractor up through the gears. A tan Land Rover pulled around and sped away. Ben noted that the vehicle took the turnoff to Piraeus ahead of them, but nothing seemed out of place. As they came around a slight curve, the Land Rover was sitting across the road. Two men had gotten out of the vehicle. One of the men had something that looked liked four or five feet of tubing with a bulb on the end. They realized, at the same time, that it was a Soviet RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) Pug turned the big tractor to the right, just as the weapon was fired. The RPG hit the front of the tractor about a foot off the center of the grill. The world exploded in front of them. Turning had caused the RPG to destroy the left front of the tractor. The blast was directed by the engine block along the left side and into the cab. Unfortunately, Pug was in the way, and was killed instantly. Ben was thrown out of the tractor, breaking his left leg in several places and a wide variety of other bones. Barely conscious, he saw the two men approaching with guns drawn. One of them looked down at him, chuckled, and aimed the gun at his head. He heard a gun go off, and then nothing. A surprise came, a few days later, when he woke up and realized that he wasn’t dead. Stimpson was at the hospital, and he told him that they had been following and saw the whole thing. It was his gun Ben heard before passing out. The two men escaped without being hit. But even though they got away, Ben would never forget their faces.

1

Fort Meade, Maryland- NSA Headquarters, eight years later.

Ben Jourdon was now an analyst at the National Security Agency, specializing in the Middle East. He hadn’t sought the job, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted it. As with many of the things in life, Ben had little choice, since it made an excellent cover. The only thing he ever really wanted was to be a career Air Force flying officer, but that was not to be. After six years of flying, he had been medically grounded, courtesy of a bullet in Vietnam, and had to seek a new direction. Another six years as a Signals Intelligence Officer, and that came to an end on a dark street in Athens some eight years before. As an avocation, he was a professional assassin. What a surprise it would be for the security people to find out about this other job. Ben didn’t worry too much about them finding out, since they had run a security check every year without getting wind of his extra-curricular activities.

If he were a pessimist, he would have felt that fate kept dealing to him from a cold deck. Fortunately, he just rolled along with what was dealt to him. He always gave any job one hundred and twenty percent, but seldom felt that he got much out of it.

One of the surprises in his life was the effect he seemed to have on women. Ben knew he was far from handsome; not big, or muscular. His hair was a dark with a slight curl, and now graying. The only thing that might catch ones attention were his blue eyes, which tended to look through, rather than at the things he saw. At times, this was quite disturbing to people, especially men. When he was young, women seemed to disregard him. But as he got to forty, he apparently developed a mystique with women. Ben didn’t try to understand, but would just let it happen.

He had been to work for nearly three hours. Bored stiff and wondering what culinary disaster they had at the cafeteria. Ben watched with only slight interest as the two Air Force officers entered the room and approached the Watch Officers desk. Suddenly, all of his instincts took over and, almost without conscious thought; he took a gun out of his desk and fired. The three 9mm slugs took the man on the left in the chest. Three rounds were excessive, but Ben wanted to make sure that the son of a bitch was dead. As he started to shift toward the other man, half the watch jumped on him. Ben locked gazes with the other man, and then he was gone. Ben had recognized the eyes, since they had seen each other eight years before. At that time the other man had had the gun, and Ben was on the wrong end.

It only took about two minutes for security to arrive. Ben was taken to an office in the lower levels of the building. Of course, by that time the other man was well gone. The two security men were extremely polite, actually treating him as if he were someone special. When they got to the room, the security team didn’t speak to him, but just sat patiently on guard. After about forty-five minutes, the door slammed open and an Air Force colonel stormed into the little room. Apparently, he had been interrupted at an important function, since the colonel was in a full dress uniform. He was rather polite, and introduced himself as Colonel Malcolm Collier, Chief of Security for the National Security Agency. The colonel looked at Ben for a minute, and then turned to discuss something with one of the agents.

He turned back. I understand that you just shot and killed an Air Force major, and were about to do the same to another officer. Is that correct? He said.

Ben thought for a moment. No sense giving away too much information. Yes Sir, I did shoot a man in a major’s uniform, but he was not in the Air Force.

What the hell do you mean he wasn’t in the Air Force? His tone had gone up a half note.

Ben had to feel a bit sorry for the Colonel, since what he was about to tell him could cost several people their jobs. The brunt would fall on the Colonel, since he was Chief of Security. And he also felt sorry for the marine guards who let those people into the building. Unfortunately, the Marines guarded the building because of their pretty uniforms and not because of their brainpower. Colonel, take a look at the body and tell me what is wrong.

I’m asking the questions here, you smart ass civilian. Now, the colonel was shouting.

Colonel, the explanation will be quite clear once you look at the body.

The body had been brought into the next room. Almost apoplectic by now, the colonel opened the door and went in. Ben could hear them talking, occasionally quite loudly. Finally, the Colonel came back into the room. How in the hell did you catch that, when the guards missed it? He growled.

Before I became a civilian at NSA, I spent twelve years in the Air Force. The first six years on flying status as a navigator. Both men were wearing pilot’s wings. As you noticed, the wings were on the right side, the style of some countries in the middle-east. As dumb as most pilots are, no American pilot would make that mistake.

You took a hell of a chance that he had just made a mistake, the colonel said.

No sir, they both had their wings on the wrong side. I don’t believe that could happen to two flying officers, regardless of the circumstances. Besides, once I had a good look, I knew they were phony. You see, colonel, we had met before.

What did you hit him with? I’ve never seen a 9mm do so much damage.

The first two rounds were Glaser rounds, and the third was just a standard copper jacket with a little zip.

Well, the first two rounds hit him dead center, destroying his heart, the third put those wings about three inches into his rib cage. You really must not have liked this guy. He gave a funny smile.

That’s a long story which I am sure we will have quite a time discussing, Ben said.

Yes, we will. As of now, you are working for me at least until we get this all settled, the colonel said.

Isn’t ‘G’ Group going to have something to say about that, Colonel? ‘G’ Group was the unit within NSA that handled almost all areas of the world, with the exception of the Soviet Union and China.

I don’t really give a flying fuck what they have to say. As far as they know, you are on special assignment out of the states.

Well, what about what happened here tonight?

Mr. Jourdon, nothing happened here tonight! And don’t fucking forget it, the colonel turned and left the room.

The whole situation had gotten quite confusing, and Ben was getting tired. He had just been told that he hadn’t really killed the son of a bitch. He could really use a drink. The guard must have been reading his mind, a glass of whiskey, dark oak in color, was put down on the table, along with the bottle. ‘How did they know that I drank Wild Turkey?’ Ben wondered. He was too tired to question. The first glass went down smoothly, the second even smoother.

It was not unprecedented for the Secretary of State and the Director of the FBI to be having lunch together. They were old friends and political allies, so no one took notice. J. Gilford Smith had been appointed to the post of Secretary of State when the new president took office. Under his recommendation, his old friend and ally was appointed to the FBI. Smith hissed at him. I thought that there would be no problem with those men of yours.

They were not from the Bureau, and as you well know, they were your recommendation, the Director responded in a harsh rebuttal.

Yes, but you said that they were well briefed and could not fail. The National Security Agency must pay for what they have tried to do to me. What the hell went wrong? Smith demanded.

Apparently, one of the civilians recognized them when they came into the watch area. He shot one, but Fazil got away clean, the Director said.

Who in the hell was this guy? Is he some special agent type that they have and we don’t know about?

No. As a matter of fact, he’s considered to be a fuck up and a loser. He was tossed out of the service a couple of years back, and then he joined NSA. Hasn’t been promoted because of a lousy attitude, but he is considered an expert on the Middle East. His name is Ben Jourdon.

Oh, shit, not him again. Waste the son of a bitch. I will provide assets; you provide the information and direction, is that understood? He said viciously.

There are rumors that he has some protection, but I haven’t been able to track it down.

Do you know where he is right now? Smith asked.

No. He was hustled off, and we weren’t able to trace him. But he’ll pop up.

Make sure he does. Our future depends on it. I intend to get the nomination for president at the next convention. Nothing can stop that. Your future, as well as mine, depends on it, Smith said forcefully.

I’ll do my best.

It better be enough, Smith said threateningly.

The next morning, Ben realized that he had a terrible hangover, but had no idea how he got it or where he was. The clock said eight a.m., but the blinds kept out any light, so it could have been any time. When he pulled back the curtains, he saw a slight fog, green grass, trees and mountains. His guess was that he was somewhere in western Virginia or Maryland. There were none of the little holders with information about other hotels or credit cards, so he knew it wasn’t a hotel. The room was large with a small breakfast table in front of the window, a desk against the wall and a king-sized bed. He went through the door to the bathroom, hoping to find something to rinse the ‘Turkey’ leavings from his mouth. On a shelf was his travel kit, complete with razor, toothbrush and aspirins. He brushed his teeth, took three aspirins and went back to the main room. A little blinking red light was showing on the telephone. When he picked up the receiver, a voice came on the line.

How may I help you, Captain Jourdon? said a sweet little Virginia voice.

Breakfast would be nice. And it hasn’t been Captain Jourdon for about four and a half years, Ben said.

There is an envelope on the desk that should explain everything, sir. What would you like for breakfast?

Well, how about chorizo and eggs, tortillas and black coffee for breakfast? He thought that might get some kind of reaction from Miss Virginia.

Flour or corn tortillas, sir?

Flour if possible, he said, deflated.

Ben sat there and tried to sort out what had happened. One thing for sure he probably wasn’t going to be welcome at NSA anymore. They probably didn’t appreciate the amount of work and inconvenience he had caused them. First, they had to dispose of the body, which probably wasn’t going to be very difficult. Then, all seventy-five men and women that saw the incident would have to be debriefed. That would take quite a bit of time, since they would have to limit the size of the debriefing team to maintain some semblance of security. Despite all of their efforts, the news of the incident would be all over the building before the debriefings were complete. But, because the people who worked at NSA were accustomed to tight security requirements, the information would never get to the papers or television.

The National Security Agency main facility sat right next to the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, at the western edge of Fort George G. Meade