The Chameleon Soldier: NOW AS AN ALIEN BLUE HE CANNOT DIE. (20 page)

Over the thirty days, Killian followed and watched Deputy Director Spencer, always making sure to blend in with the general public. Sometimes Killian was a dude dressed casually and wearing a baseball cap, at other times a businessman, a construction worker, a rabbi, a Catholic priest, or whatever he felt like being that particular day, while shadowing Director Spencer.

Some days he entered the CIA’s 1,400,000 square foot building and wandered the lobby and hallway outside Spencer’s office. Whether Spencer was walking in the building, out on the city’s streets, in a store or in a restaurant, Killian noticed there were always suits nearby the now overly cautious director. It was easy to spot the suits as they blended into the crowds about as well as wolves in a flock of sheep. It was obvious to Killian that since he gotten to the Loretti brothers, Spencer was nervous. Killian smiled when he saw the suits following close to Spencer and, at times, like playing a game, he’d walk next to them until they glared at him to back off. He did, but he enjoyed toying with them and it took some of the boredom out of his daily surveillance.

Once a week, Killian met with Kip, who brought him up to date on what the CIA had been involved in, and who they’d been interacting with. Killian, in turn, would inform Kip about what he had been doing.

Killian had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to approach the deputy director. One evening, Spencer went to a Black Angus Steak House to have dinner with one of the CIA’s anti-Castro leaders, who had once been the prime minister of Cuba. Killian morphed into a tall, well-built black man, nicely dressed in a brown Hickey Freeman suit. He followed them to the restaurant and sat at the end of the bar, near the restrooms, and watched the two men ordering drinks. Killian ordered a Glenlivet and soda.

A short time later, the two men ordered dinner, and then Spencer went to the men’s room. Killian waited a few seconds, and followed him into the men’s room. He watched as Spencer finished at the urinal and walked to the sinks to wash his hands. Killian stepped over to the sink next to the director. Spencer acknowledged the black man with a nod. Killian nodded back. Then with his strong right hand he quickly grabbed the director by the throat and forced him back against the wall.

“I should kill you, Spencer, but I won’t. We know you met with the underboss Mario Marcinetti at the Italian Grotto restaurant. We know you ordered the hit on General Dugan. We know you and DCI Waterton have recruited anti-Castro exiles and organized special guerrilla training at Useppa Island in south-west Florida and other areas. We’re watching everything the CIA does, deputy director.”

Spencer was bug-eyed and choking as he stared at the large black man holding him by the neck. Then his assailant released his tight grip and shoved him toward the door. Gagging he staggered out of the rest room, and half-ran to the table where his two suits sat. They saw Spencer coming toward them and jumped to their feet.

“Quick, into the men’s room!” he gasped. “I was threatened by a large black man!”

The CIA men ran to the men’s room with their weapons drawn. They burst through the door, but all they saw inside; to their surprise and bewilderment was a stooped old gray-haired white man, who was bending over one of the two sinks. They looked around and then cautiously opened the two toilet stalls, which were empty. They barely glanced at the old man as they rushed out. Killian grinned, dried his hands, ran a comb through his thin gray hair, and went out the door. He heard Spencer shouting at his men. One of the suits hastened toward the front door, while the other headed for the kitchen. Killian slowly shuffled along toward the front entrance. He was chuckling as he left the restaurant.

Days later, at the CIA building, Spencer and a suit were exiting one of the elevators on the ground floor. As they were getting off a tall, thin, well-dressed Asian got on to go up.

As the door closed the Asian called out. “We’re watching you, Deputy Director Spencer.”

The deputy director and the suit grabbed for the door and tried to reopen it, but it was too late. The elevator headed up, indicating it was stopping at the third floor. The two men ran for the stairway. When they arrived at the third floor the elevator door was just starting to close. The suit grabbed the sliding door and held it open. They looked inside; a casually dressed, medium-built man with a blond beard was looking back at them.

“Looks like you guys just made it,” he said, with a smile.

“Did you see a well-dressed Asian get off this elevator?” asked the deputy director.

“Yes. He hurried out before I got in,” answered the man.

Spencer and the suit turned and each headed off in a different direction down the long hallway. The elevator door closed and went down to the ground floor. Killian, still in the guise of the blond-bearded man stepped out of the elevator and left the CIA building.

Angry and frustrated Spencer went to the office of his superior, Director of the Central Intelligence, Mason Waterton.

“I don’t know what to make of their tactics, Mason. It’s weird.”

“It’s obvious that, whoever they are, they’re trying to irritate us. I admit that it’s strange using a black man and an Asian,” said the DCI.

“It makes you wonder who’s behind this,” said Spencer.

“William, you can be sure it’s the same people, who were working with General Dugan.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But we haven’t been able to identify them.”

“Yes, it’s too damn bad your friends botched it up.”

“Mason, it was a mistake using the Mafia. We should have used our own men.”

“Well, that’s probably true, but at the time we didn’t want it to appear we were involved.” Director Waterton hesitated for a moment. “You know the expression, ‘Foresight is better than hindsight’, by a damn sight!”

They chuckled grimly.

“The general must have had meetings with other military personnel,” the DCI continued. “Do you know who he met with most often?”

“For a general, he was a bit of a loner,” Spencer answered. “We’ve checked into all of his subordinates and no one stands out. There’s nothing unusual. His telephone logs don’t show anything special except for two calls from Saigon. They originated from the offices of the Brown Root Construction Company. However, we’ve checked, and no one there knows who made the calls.”

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

“It’s damn annoying,” said a perturbed Mason Waterton. “We can do damn near anything imaginable, and yet we can’t find out who it is that’s threatening our secret clandestine and covert operations. William, you need to turn up the heat, put more men on it. We must find out who the hell these people are.”

“I totally agree. I’ll amp up our efforts. It’s my belief it’s a group right here in Washington that’s behind everything, most likely one with connections to the military.”

“Yes, I’d bet the farm on that. Let’s find and bury the bastards,” said the DCI, with emphasis.

A week later, Director Spencer was having lunch with three other men at the restaurant in the Mayflower Renaissance Hotel when a brown-eyed, mustached waiter with a slight Italian accent came over to their table.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but there’s a telephone call for a William Spencer from a Mason Waterton,” said the waiter apologetically.

“That’s me,” said Spencer, pushing his chair back and standing up.

“Sir, you can take the call at the telephone at the end of the bar,” said the waiter, pointing in the direction of the bar.

Deputy Director Spencer walked over and picked up the telephone receiver, which was lying off the hook. “Hello, Mason, this is Spencer.”

There wasn’t anyone on the line, only a dial tone. Spencer looked down. Next to the telephone was a note. It read, “We’re watching you, Spencer.”

Spencer dropped the telephone quickly, and looked round for the mustached waiter who had given him the message. He hurried over to the maître d’, only to learn there was no such waiter working in the restaurant.

At that time,
a hotly contested election was going on for the post of President of the United States. Admiral Hildegard called for a meeting at Zack’s ranch. The team discussed current events and all were pleased with the reports the CIA was concerned and uneasy about some outside group, which was badgering them regarding current operations. Nevertheless, the team decided to lay low, and to take the pressure off Deputy Director Spencer and the CIA until after the presidential election and the installation of the new president. They wanted to see what new changes might occur, and learn if the newly elected president was going to be as enamored with the CIA as was the current president.

During the holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, Killian saw and experienced what family life was truly like. He had been on this earth since 1832, one hundred and twenty-eight years, and most of his time had been spent in war and conflict. Now he was able to relax and enjoy his time at Zack’s ranch. He went on long, peaceful horseback rides, swam in the warm pool, and had many interesting conversations with Zack over a fine dinner and a few drinks. Kip’s parents, Jesse and Arthur, had the family over for a delicious turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day. Killian was surprised to see Whelan Dunne there, until he met Kip’s new lady friend, Maggie Dunne.

A week before Christmas, Kip and Killian drove to New York City to do some shopping. They stayed at the famous Pierre Hotel overlooking Central Park and ate at excellent restaurants like the ‘21’ club and Delmonico’s. They also attended two newly opened Broadway musicals—
Camelot
, starring Richard Burton and Julie Andrews, and
The Unsinkable Molly Brown
, starring Tammy Grimes and Harve Presnell. They shopped until Kip’s car was loaded with Christmas presents.

In the past, Killian had had some good Christmases at his ranch in Texas. He and the Freeman family would exchange a few gifts on Christmas morning, mostly for the children, and then have a modest ham dinner. But that would be the end of the holiday celebration, as it was back to ranch work the next day. Things were greatly different in Virginia, at Jesse and Arthur’s home, and at Zack’s opulent ranch. It was a festive time all the way from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. Neighbors, friends and family were always stopping by. There was an endless succession of cocktail parties and social events.

Christmas Day started with mass at the overflowing local church. The breakfast brunch, at the country club, began with a mimosa, followed by a seemingly endless buffet table. Then it was home to change into casual clothes, a cocktail, and the opening of presents near the eight-foot, well-lit Christmas tree. Throughout the day distant family members and friends came by for drinks, conversation and to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Early in the evening, an elegant dinner featuring duck a l’orange and baked Alaska concluded a wonderful day, which Killian could have previously only imagined.

Over the following days, Killian became acquainted with Maggie as she was staying at Jesse and Arthur’s for the rest of the week. She, Kip and Killian went riding almost every day. Killian liked Maggie, she was interesting to talk to and proved to be quite athletic, beating both him and Kip at croquet and tossing horseshoes. But what he liked most about her was she was a fun person, who could tell jokes with the best of them. Killian was happy for Kip, glad he’d found a lady like Maggie.

One afternoon, while lying in the sun by Zack’s pool, Killian was daydreaming that maybe, someday, he would find a woman like Maggie. In the past, he had dated quite a few different women, but he hadn’t given much weight to actually getting serious with any of them.

As he thought about things, he smiled.
Well, maybe I just need a little more time. After all, I’ve only had one hundred and twenty-eight years.
But how could I ever find a lady like Maggie? There was always something coming up, like the Civil War, the Indian Wars, taking care of his ill mother, managing his ranch in Texas, avoiding Major Hiram Liddle, becoming a Buffalo Soldier, serving the in World Wars, in the Korean War, and now this
ordeal with the CIA…
It had been the price of becoming a Blue, never ageing or dying. But did it have to be that way?
He stopped smiling and his brow furrowed.
Was it still possible after all he’d encountered, he could have a normal life, like Kip and Maggie?

He sat up and waved to Kip and Maggie, who were sitting in lounges on the other side of the pool. They waved back.

Yes,
thought Killian.
I need at least to try and find a good woman like Maggie. I need to put it on my list of things to do.

With those thoughts in his mind, he stood up, and dove into the heated pool.

On New Year’s Eve they all went to the country club to celebrate the arrival of 1961. It was an enjoyable night and everyone had a good time. Later in the evening, after quite a few cocktails, Whelan told Killian and Zack about his life after coming to the Unites States from Ireland. He told them about his dad Donald and Uncle Danny and about their bootlegging operations in Canada and New York City. While he listened, Killian thought about his own parents, who’d also came from the land of clover. Someday, he thought, he should to go to his ancestral homeland and find out what county the Kilkenny clan was from…

The surprise of the evening came just before twelve o’clock. Kipling Smith knelt down on his left knee, and proposed to Maggie Dunne. She accepted, and the noisemakers began to clatter, and the horns began to blow as the big clock on the wall struck midnight.