Operation (14 page)

These thoughts about the Team, reminded him of Navy Commander John Reese, well just John now. If anyone had anything to be concerned about or if anyone wanted to know anything about what happened, he was the one to call.

The doors of the elevator opened and two Marine guards with their hands on the holsters stood before him. A desk separated. Their eyes were fixed upon him with an intensity that reminded him of soldiers who were wired for immediate action.

“Sir! Please present your identification,” one of the Marines barked.

Barkley thought the man’s voice was somewhere between courtesy and a threat. The other Marine never took his eyes off him, or moved his hand from where it rested on the holster.

“How are—” Barkley began.  

“Sir! Please present your identification,” the Marine repeated.

Barkley handed him his military identification without saying another word. He decided that by the look of them, casual conversation was not a good idea.

The Marine took his identification and placed it into a scanner. The red indicator on the top changed to green.

“Thank you, sir. Please place your hand here,” the Marine asked.

Barkley placed his hand on the glass. Immediately the scanner lit up and began to move along the length of his hand. The Marine stepped over to a computer and watched the screen. The other one didn’t move. His eyes remaining fixed on Barkley and his hand still resting on his holster.

“Thank you, sir. Please step through the metal detector,” the Marine said.

As Barkley stepped through, he found himself hoping that it would not go off. Seeing the intensity of the two Marines, he was relieved that no alarm had gone off. 

“Thank you, sir. You may proceed to room 240. Your identification card will act as a key to the door. Do not attempt to enter any other room. If you should do so, an alarm will sound. Is that understood, sir?”

“Yes. Quite clear,” Barkley said. “Where is room 240?”

“Down the hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.”

As Barkley moved down the hallway he exhaled, his earlier trepidation returning.

The hallway was cinderblock, the floor cement, in typical military fashion. The florescent lighting was too bright for the area and he felt himself having to squint at times when the light reflected off the floor. The walls held no pictures of Presidents, soldiers, historic battles or any other form of military art common in the hallways above. There was simply nothing. He glanced at the doors of the rooms he passed; one solid piece and made of steel. Unlike other rooms in the Pentagon, these doors had no markings of who occupied them or what their function was. The only signage was the room number. There were no doorknobs, just a card lock.

Welcome to Spookville,
he thought,
the land of anonymity and the home of denial.

He read the door numbers as he passed them. “237, 238, 239…” He stopped in front of room 240, took out his identification card and placed it in the card lock. The card was pulled through his fingers and into the device. He stood there waiting for several seconds. Finally, he heard a loud click of the large steel bolt being thrown, and the door opened. Hesitating, he checked the door again looking for his identification card to be returned.

“Sir! Please step into the room!”

Barkley felt his heart jump. He turned toward the voice and saw the Marine—the one who had never taken his eyes off him, and kept his hand on the holster of his weapon.

“My ID card—” Barkley began.

“It will be returned upon the conclusion of your visit. Step into the room, sir!”

For an instant, Barkley thought about saying something but didn’t. Instead, he turned toward the door, and entered.

He found himself inside a foyer, with another door in front of him, which clicked open as the one he just entered clicked shut, the steel bolt hitting home.

Why don’t I have a warm fuzzy about this?

He opened the door in front of him and stepped into a small reception area. A woman sat, one hand was resting on top of a desk; the other out of sight. She looked at him expressionlessly. She was plain with not an ounce of makeup, her skin pale. Her hair was black, and of medium length. Her facial features were…neutral. There was nothing prominent about her looks. The desk she sat at was devoid of anything except a desk lamp and a telephone.

“You’re expected, Lieutenant Colonel Barkley,” she said in a voice a neutral voice. “Please go in.”

Barkley noticed something about the plain woman. Her other hand remained underneath the desk.
Probably wrapped around a Glock.

“Thank you,” he said, as he moved toward the door.

“You’re welcome,” she said, not taking her eyes off him.

Barkley stopped and looked at the woman. “And you are, Miss?”

“Please go in.”

“Yes, of course, my apologies,” he said.
Anonymous people with all the information working in a place that doesn’t exist; they don’t want you to know who they are but they know all about you. Nice.

This door actually had a doorknob on it. Barkley turned it and opened the door. A man sat a desk at the far end of the room. Like the receptionist, or whatever she was, his desk was empty except for a telephone and desk lamp. He rose from his desk and came toward Barkley. He was a large man; about six foot three and maybe two hundred fifty pounds. His hair was unkempt and he needed a shave. Dark shadows lay under his eyes.
This man hasn’t slept in a while
, Barkley thought. His skin was pale white, almost sickly in appearance, as if he had not seen the sun for quite a while.

“Lieutenant Colonel Barkley, please come in and have a seat,” the man said as he reached out and shook Barkley’s hand, and then indicated a chair in front of his desk. The strange man then returned to his chair behind the desk and sat down.

“Thank you.” Barkley noticed that he hadn’t offered his name. “Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name?”

“I’m sorry. My name is Mr. Smith,” he said. His lips maneuvered their way into a smug smile.

Barkley immediately got the drift.
It’s none of your business whom I am, so there.

“Yes, well, Mr. Smith, you are with which agency?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Barkley. May I call you Sam? Titles don’t…well, they really don’t mean much here,” Smith said, ignoring the question.

“Sure. It’s your game,” Barkley said, uneasy.

“Oh I assure you this is not a game, Sam,” he said sharply as he leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on the back of his hands, which were propped up by his elbows.

Sam thought he would try again. “So what organization do you—”

“An agency that is tasked with seeking information,” Smith said quickly, a tone of aggravation in his voice as if he were annoyed. “But first, I suppose some clarity may be beneficial to our conversation,” his tone softening. “I am charged with ascertaining what your knowledge level is in regards to the operation that General Stone put together.”

“I’ve already explained all of that. I was medical officer for the task force in Kosovo—”

“Would you like some coffee, Sam?”

“Er…no thanks.”

“Well, then. You were saying?”

“I was the medical officer—”

“Excuse me, Sam. But I have read all of that.” Smith rubbed his eyes. “The transcripts weren’t very illuminating in regards to what I want to know. In fact, I was rather disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, reading about vampires and Special Operations was definitely something unique, reminded me of a Tom Clancy novel. Someone could make one hell of a movie out of this one. Huh?”

Barkley knew the fact that this person had access to the transcripts and the knowledge of the highly secret operation convinced him that whomever Mr. Smith was working for had top security clearance.

“Yes. I guess so. One hell of a movie,” Barkley agreed. “Perhaps if you were more specific in your questions, I could answer them appropriately.”

“Good, I like that!” Smith said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “I don’t want to tap dance around all this stuff. Here,” he said with a sweeping motion of his hands indicating a large area, “in our underground crypt, secrets never leave. It’s the free zone for secrets!”

Barkley thought Smith’s eyes and action were a little too enthusiastic. He felt perspiration beginning to dampen his armpits.

“So Sam,” Smith began. “Tell me exactly how many vampires there were?”

“Three.”

“Their names?”

“Dimitri, Andre and Iliga.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sam…there was actually four of them. Haven’t you forgotten one? What about the one named Josip?”

“Yes, that’s correct. He was killed by the civilian, Idriz Lauki.”

“So, just to keep the record straight, there were actually four vampires captured in the beginning of the op?”

“That’s correct.”

“Four vampires, one killed, with three remaining. These three were killed by…” Smith removed a spiral notebook from his pocket and flipped through some pages before stopping. “Ah…yes, Commander John Reese.”

“Yes,” agreed Barkley.

“Good then. That clears all of that up then.”

“We’re finished?” Barkley asked. The thought of getting out was very appealing, yet the questions that he had been asked had not been worth the time or the trip.

“Yes, unless there was something else you feel a need to tell me?” Smith asked.

“I don’t get it,” Barkley began, even though there was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to shut up and just get the hell out of here. “You called me here for that?”

“One must be sure of their facts, Sam. You, as a doctor, are aware of that. The slightest error can be life threatening.”

“Of course,” Barkley agreed.

“Then you would tell us if there was anything unusual about this operation. Anything at all to do with vampires, correct?”

“Has something happened?” Barkley asked.

“Answer my question, Sam,” Smith said, ignoring Barkley’s question. “Have you been approached in any way, shape, or form and asked questions about the vampires or the operation in any way?”

 “No. I have not been approached in any way, shape, or form,” Barkley replied.

“Well then, we’re through here. I assume you have duties elsewhere that demand your immediate attention, Sam, and I would not want to keep you from them. And just a little reminder: you were never here and I never asked you any questions.”

“I understand.”

“Good then. Good day to you, Sam. I believe you know the way out,” Smith said and then busied himself with a folder.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Sam said as he rose from the chair, stopping in mid-stride, he looked back at Smith. “Why now? It’s been a year. Why are you asking now?”

Smith looked up from his folder and its contents. “You don’t want to know that answer, Sam. It might keep you awake at night. Good day.”

Chapter Twelve

Smith removed a laptop from a drawer and placed it on the desk in front of him. He opened the lid and the computer immediately responded by displaying a screen wavy lines similar to what appeared on the paper lie detector tests. As he scanned the visual readings, he was satisfied. The interview with Barkley hadn’t revealed anything unusual from what he had expected. The chair that Barkley had sat in had recorded no biorhythm abnormities indicating he was lying or trying to mislead. He had been nervous, but that was usual for pretty much anyone who sat in that chair.

“What have you learned?” a woman’s voice asked.

Smith looked up. The woman with the plain features, sitting at the receptionist desk when Barkley arrived, walked into the office. Smith’s satisfied mood left him, replaced by a loathing, accompanied by a dash of fear.

“I don’t think he knows anything,” he said cautiously. “He—”

“I don’t want to know what you think!” she screamed. “How many times have I told you that I only want facts! Are you that incompetent you can’t remember that?”

Smith hated this woman. In all the years that he had worked for various agencies; the FBI, the CIA, and a host of smaller clandestine organizations, he had never hated a man or woman as much as he hated this one.
He also feared her the most.

“Of course, my apologies,” Smith said, trying to remain calm. He began again. “All evidence we have obtained by surveillance indicates that he doesn’t know anything of General Stone’s precautionary actions in regards to the vampires and the Team of Darkness.”

“You mean to tell me that a military man such as Barkley didn’t think the general would have a backup plan? Some form of a contingency plan to fall back on?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Barkley is a physician,” Smith said. “His expertise lies in that area, not in the planning of subversive actions. This is a common attribute of the staff corps, such as legal, logistics, and engineering of all the military branches. We claim that all our military are warriors and fighters, but the staff corps tend to stay in their own areas of expertise and follow the orders of the operational command personnel.”

“That’s an interesting point,” she said. “I hadn’t thought about that. Yes, a very good point.”

Smith watched her anger dissipate as quickly as it had arrived. Her mood swings were unpredictable, but as long as he specifically laid out the facts, she was generally appeased.

“What about this Commander John Reese?” she asked.

Smith thought he noticed admiration in her tone when she mentioned Reese’s name.

“Commander John Reese retired months ago. He is currently teaching a course in history at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia. Like Barkley, he was a staff corps officer as well. His specialty field was in logistics. He had worked for several years with the SEALs in Virginia; however, his focus was in providing logistical support only.”

“Yet this logistical specialist, as you call him, was the backbone of the operation. He masterminded the capture and devised a method of controlling the vampires. Without him, there would have been no operation to speak of.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Smith agreed. “He has an extensive background in myths and religions. It’s a well-known passion of his. General Stone knew he would not refuse the opportunity to pursue the investigation into the mysterious murders in Kosovo given the circumstances of the deaths. Once proven, and because of Reese’s interest in the creatures, Stone played that against him; he convinced Reese that if he wanted to continue to study the creatures, the only way to keep them alive was if they followed orders, such as performing the missions against the drug cartels.”