Episode Seven

[music] [music]

“Most people have no clue that dead drops are not generally a risky use of some commercial facility, like a bus locker or PO box.”

For years, the CIA has either acquired or franchised commercial chains for the purpose.

Using them is needed to deliver material and information while, in most cases, turning a profit on top of it. Some national brands or male facilities have been employed for such purposes. To avoid compromise or overuse, the businesses are sold off, bankrupted or closed, and no ones ever the wiser. Another business would simply be started or acquired to pick up the work.

“So it was not strange that a pickup would be in a rural bait shop that had a bank of private mailboxes along the back wall.”

When I arrived, I saw four vehicles.

A pickup in SUV out front and older SUV parked on the side, along with a resting yard ornament of a sedan. Experience led me to be cautious. I hadn't used this dead drop before, and under current circumstances. The risk of a setup seemed reasonable. I looked up the number of the shop. [music]

“Hello, this is Officer Ronson of the NOPD Fugitive Apprehension Squad. I have reason to believe one or more of the people in your shop right now are on our list. Please don't panic or say anything that might give away we're speaking.”

He said he was on the phone in the back, pulling out an alligator gun for one of the patrons. He gave me a quick rundown.

The customer at the counter was a young guy who'd been in a few times before. There were two others in the shop who he said looked like out of towners. There were a few rental fishing cabins in the area, so that was not uncommon, but the same two had been in yesterday and bought a couple of expensive rods. I'm coming into the shop. I'm wearing a dark grey jacket, black shirt and jeans. Just greet me as you do any customer and everything will be fine. Risk assessment running in my head, I hung up and headed in.

Any of the people mentioned could be a risk, including the guy I just talked to. I had no way of knowing if the real storm manager was lying dead on the floor of the stock room or not. Beyond that, the pickup box could be rigged and there'd be no way to know that without opening it. [music] Inside, I took stock of each of the men. The shop owner waved and said he'd be right with me if I needed an inhale. To dump the clean shave and men were arguing about the best lures to use at dusk. I tagged them as tourists. The guy behind the counter was pushing 70, which made the 20 something with the shadow of a beard the regular.

The owner was showing him how to load the alligator gun, a nasty device that used the 410 shotgun slug to launch an 18 inch 3-pronged dart attached to a reel of 200 pound test line. With practice nonchalons, I moved inside. To get to the back of the shop, I had to pass the kit at the counter. He had about 2 inches on me. And in that instant, I picked up on attention. A predator ready to spray. He was young and quick. He spun with something in his hand, a taser. This was a rendition. They'd want to know where Jolene and Casey were before my lights were putter.

I caught his wrist and we spiraled into a shelf of small coolers and bait fins. I managed to wrench the taser free and sent it flying. The tourists fled the shop.

He launched me across the aisle into a display of snag hooks. Ten inch treble hooks on long nylon rope used for gator hunting.

“They tore off my back and I fell to the floor.”

The kid was on me and got my P-40. He was strong, but apparently an idiot as he tossed the weapon and started to pull me to my feet. I swung the edge of my hand up into his groin. Followed with an elbow up into a solar plexus to make enough room for my other elbow to come hard across his jaw. I was a little surprised that it sent him really. He fired off a jab of a cross. My Crov McGot training kicked in as I parried his punches, but I didn't see his knee until it smashed my solar plexus.

I stepped back, giving him a room to chamber his knee and deliver a stomp kick to my sternum. Notting me back.

The kid grabbed the snag hook. Holding the rope in the other hand, he swung it at me.

I retreated to avoid the sharp times. My back was on fire, and I could feel the blood running down from my fallen to the rack of lures.

“I spotted a set of filet knives on a magnetic display and snatched his butt.”

The kid's hook caught my forearm, tearing a bloody line of cloth and skinned down to my wrist. I looked for an opening to cut him, got him. He was swinging the hook on the line, like a set of nunchucks, using the length of the rope to send it my way. I dodged and parried, but I was outgunned, and he was backing me down the aisle. I was running out of room. He knew he had me. I heard the alligator gun fire, and saw the tips of its trident dart sticking out of the kid's chest.

His face coiled up in pain, and he was yanked away, falling on his back.

Behind him, I saw the shop owner holding the line. I figured he needed a little help there, officer. I moved up and crouched by the kid. There was no need to check him.

“I had seen enough death to recognize it. I sat down the knife and cradled my bleeding forearm.”

There was movement to my left. When I looked up, I was staring at the business end of a suppressed automatic, and a dark skin fellow in a suit. But he didn't fire. He kept the gun on me, leaned down, and checked the kid's throat for a pulse. Not finding one. He holstered his weapon and walked away. Even though the kid failed to take out his target, me, the new guy didn't have orders for me. If he did, I wouldn't have seen him coming.

Cleaning the slate after an op was commonplace during the Cold War. It struck me that sending one young buck to rendition someone like me was bordering out full-hardy. I knew that someone was cleaning the cleaners, and in my case, thinning the herd may have been the reason this dead kid on the floor was working alone. The kid's cockiness got him killed when he tossed my gun, foolish move. I would have put one in his knee and a foot on the wound, and he would have given me everything I wanted to know.

If he didn't, I would have added additional wounds, but the kid was dead, and I was not. I had the shop owner to thank for that, and I did. He handed me a small stack of sport towels to press on my wounds. I need to call this in. I headed out of the shop. I shoved a water towel under my jacket to stem a wound on my back and shoulder.

Then wrapped another around the gash running down my forearm. It hurt like hell just to reach for the starter. I headed back to the city, doing my best not to pass out on the way. Around the upholstery. I was supposed to be at the courthouse this morning.

I asked Agent Brickshaw if there was any way I could go with the security detail. But he refused saying it was too risky, even with guards. So I sat in the lounge of the safe house and prayed that didn't blow my entire case. I'd seen this woman with Altan and Agent Brickshaw here on the fifth floor. But I wasn't sure if that made her more trustworthy or less.

What are you in for? Who are you? Casey. Casey Neto. You're injured.

Gunshot. It's my first.

Can't say I'm enjoying it much.

Jolene T. Garden. I'm... I used to be an attorney. A good one. Now I'm...

I don't know. A patsy? A target I suppose? Altan told me he or his daughter.

“All my life I wanted to know who my father was and now...”

Be careful what you wish for. You're lucky. Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea who he is? What he does?

I'm the lead attorney on a massive personal injury case worth millions because...

That man, my father, killed the first chair.

How on earth does that make me lucky? You know what he does? I have a pretty good idea. He's been doing it a long time. Well, that explains why my mother wanted nothing to do with him and refused to tell me anything

that might lead me to him. But here I am. He did kill your boss, as you say. But he got orders on you too. What?

If he wasn't your father, you'd most certainly be dead right now. I'd say that's a blessing from above. So, I don't know how you got into this.

“But it seems to me you're going to need help to get through it.”

Not just anyone's help. Alton and Agent Brickshaw.

Though I'm not sure I exactly trust the SAC's motives anymore.

And, and do you? Why are you here? I saw something I wasn't supposed to see. Well, I guess we have that in common. So, you're a whistleblower.

You know, you blow the whistle because you believe you're doing the right thing. It's a call for help. A cry for justice amid the corruption. But it gets the attention of the wrong people. You work for the government.

They killed my entire department. I managed to make it out onto the roof. The buildings are smoking whole now. There's no hiding from them. Is there?

Agent Brickshaw connected me with your father to keep me safe. I expect they were trying to grab me in the park when Alton intervened. I'd be dead if not for him. And I almost ended up dead because of him. Not because of him.

No. Nothing simple. Imagine how he felt when he found out about you. I hope he chokes on it. I don't.

He could take us both out. And go back to work like nothing ever happened. But I'm betting he won't. I wouldn't take that bet. I've seen two people murdered and cold blood in as many days.

And key was behind both of them one way or another. I hope you come around. Why should I?

“Who better to protect you than someone who knows how people like him would find and kill you?”

The best guardian is the angel of death. Well, my mother didn't think so. And so far, I'm with her. Alton arrived on the fifth floor. His shirt was covered in blood.

Oh, my God, Alton. Are you okay? What happened to you? Well, it's an argument. I bet.

I'll see if I can get housekeeping to clean up your trail of blood. I'm sure the doctor will patch you up. He had lost a lot of blood. Was he going to be okay? How could I feel anything for that man?

I spoke to the doctor. Lucky for you, they have plenty of type A on hand. I'm not type A. I thought the A stood for absent. I suppose I deserve that.

You suppose, huh? From your perspective. You know, since my mother wouldn't talk about you, I concocted all of these reasons why you weren't around. But when I was little, I imagined that you were in jail or on a chain gang.

But maybe you'd been framed or something. But as I got older, my thoughts grew darker. It was he a drunk and addict and unrepentant womanizer. I've never been in jail. I don't drink alcohol or do drugs.

And I was entirely faithful to your mother. If you were so in love, why would you disappear? A year into our relationship.

But she had a terrible cold.

I made her a mug of Judge. Merak, Judge. The Lebanese chicken soup. You don't look Lebanese. Are you...

Am I? No. I just did some work over there. And I knew it helped with the cold, so I was serving it to your mom when... I heard men entering the house.

Men? Claimers. Like me. Were you armed? Not as well as I would have liked.

I took the first one out.

But the second one was a little harder. When it was over, I tried to pull your mother out from under the bed, but she recoilt. Aileen looked at me like I was a stranger. If those men had killed me, surely they would have found her and left no witnesses. I had just saved her life too, but your mother looked at me terrified.

Do you blame her? No. Well, I fully admit that I made a huge mistake. I thought I could keep my work life separate from the personal. As I stood over one of the two guys bleeding out on your mother's floor,

“I knew that the best thing I could do for her was get out of her life.”

But she was pregnant. Your mother didn't tell me. Hang on. She didn't tell you where she was pregnant, but she didn't know you were a janitor? Cleaner.

Whatever. It doesn't add up. I think she was going to tell me that night. She mentioned that she had something to talk to me about. But then the break-in happened.

And after his over, she changed your mind about telling you? Something like that. Sounds convenient. Who the hell are you to lecture me? You have no idea what the situation would have been had I stayed.

You might have never been born.

Though, I wouldn't have stayed. You wouldn't have stayed if you knew she was pregnant? It wouldn't have changed anything. Mama's right not to tell me. Alton, where are you going?

Alton? Alton?

“I probably shouldn't have been going anywhere other than to bed.”

But I needed some advice. And there was only one person who I'd take it from. I walked into St. Bernardine of Sienna's respiratory convalescent center in Old Metary and stopped at the front desk. Excuse me.

I'm looking for a patient named Jed Burch. Mm-hmm. Goddamn son of a bitch bastard. Actually, I can find in myself. As I approached Burch's room, a woman with short red hair under a charcoal grey head scarf

shoulder bag and fleece coat was coming out. She gave me a fert of glance, then turned down the hall in the opposite direction. She dropped something about the size of a TV remote into her bag. Retrieved and oversized curved sunglasses and continued down the hall. Inside the room, I found Jed Burch sitting up in bed watching the news on a wall-mounted

flat panel with the sound off. An O2 line ran under his nose and an IV line into his arm from a bag on a metal stand beside his bed.

“With its wood-grain bed, matching side table and pattern drapes the room with more like a decent”

hotel than a hospital. Burch looked me over. Don't you look like shit. Still better than you. And I go and ask what happened because I don't care.

Pull up a chair. I'm not going to be here that long. You're blocking the set. Who is the woman? A friend.

Like that'll ever happen. A horror then, my productologist, the out salesman, take your pick and mind your own goddamn business. I'm going with proactive undertaker. Why are you here, Square Pegg? I explain the situation in which I found myself, discovering I have a daughter with whom

I'd also receive termination orders. I told him how I after boss and in doing so, put her directly in the crosshairs of the DDNI. Someone was falling Jackie Morehouse's strings, someone protecting the pharma that was the basis of Jolene's case.

Jackie's just to cut out, like you, a tool for others to wield. Yes, but who? You've been asking me that question for 35 years. And I was close to an answer now as I was back then. I took him through the contact with my half brother, FBISAC Robert Brickshaw, and how he'd

Are you some kind of idiot trust in that guy?

The girl got data off the station, data that proves the offbook ops. How do you know for sure? Well, for one thing, they cleaned the whole station. Casey managed to get out, but she was likely the intended target. Then they blew station 46 to the ground.

Number station A and a daughter. Who would have thought? That's quite a shit show. You think that's funny? I came to you for advice.

Shoot 'em all and walk away. Or cut the puppet strings and stand up and be a man. You followed at least three of their ops. They're not stupid or patient. You don't think they'll figure it out.

And I said from an open Prague recognized me.

The next time they won't send one or two. Your hands are still TD and I'm more house. Lucky me. Yeah, you might want to look into her family history. If you're not dead, that is, that might bring you some answers.

What do you mean? Insurance, my boy. I told you what to do. Keeping records or anything that can put a stick in the eye when you're gone. Well, I've got to stick the size of a redboard. And when I'm gone, the real shit show is gone, the start.

Birch slipped open the drawer in the bedside table. He pulled out a smartphone and handed it to me. When this starts to ring, you'll know what I mean. But for now, assume you're in a war because you were.

“And when the bombs are going off overhead, just remember,”

you didn't stack this, but you're going to finish it.

You mean two green beans isn't much of an opposition. Don't be a moron. What do you think Birch all wanted that data? I doubt it was to protect the data officer. Of course not.

He wants the people at the top, the ones running the farm at the center of your daughter's case. And drove the DDNI to order the hit on her and Hawkins. And that took out the number station. And the ones behind the out there eliminated your father. What?

Since I was 10, I've wanted to know who that was. And you swore to me long ago that you didn't know. I haven't written down any names for you yet, have I? Well, feel free to get around to it old man. You weren't ready.

And now? Well, maybe say your prayers and it'll just fall down from heaven. Is this your way of saying you know far more than you're letting on? Isn't it curious that you and your sibling are unparalleled paths? Not by choice.

Your gutters have focused on one small tentacle. You can win the battle by killing their soldiers. You win the war by taking out the generals.

“That's why your brother wanted the data.”

Are you saying I should trust him? No. Trust no one, my boy. No one but yourself. These elements cannot be tamed or contained.

They can only be taken out. You're being run by the DDNI. Find who's running her and maybe use them out the week. And the two women, my daughter and Casey? Casey now is getting sweet on her already.

That's not like you all tonight. She's toast without me. You are already smell burned. Any other sage words of advice? Maybe just maybe.

That analyst gives you an edge. So I don't see any downside to you doing the right thing for once. Do you? I see plenty. Life's tough all over, not pick off.

You cut into my next show. As I left, I knew this would be the last time I'd see him. I came back to Hotel of Fridge and found Casey watching TV in the lounge.

“All right, so you made it back without needing more stitches?”

The night is young. You know, I'm a little surprised you came back. Why wouldn't I? I wasn't sure after you talked with Jolene. What?

Sorry, I couldn't help but over here. For what it's worth, I understand why you had to cut bait from her mom. If you didn't, it would catch up to you again. Probably a lot worse. I wish Jolene could see it that way.

Give her time? I don't have time to give. Hey, listen.

Multiple hits on U.S. citizens.

“Assets eliminated multiple opts from a military industrial called Black Sand.”

What the hell have we stumbled into? I'm lucky into that.

We're not going to solve anything tonight.

Why don't you get some rest?

“You know, you're not as bad as I thought.”

Trust me, I'm worse.

And you better hope them right, because we're where they are.

They're coming for Jolene and you. What about you? Especially me.

“The cleaner is a production of Voyage Media.”

The series is produced by Nett Mendoll, Adam Prince and Dave Bettemore. Executive produced by Jeff Cowen and Wesley Miller. Based on the book series, The Intergets. Available Q1226 at Leading Book Retailers. When links are available, we will include them in the show notes.

Written and directed by Adam Prince. Story by Jeff Cowen, Wesley Miller, and Adam Prince. Starring Kia Jun, as Alten, and NAA brumps as Jolene. Additional cast credits available in show notes. Edited, sound designed, and mixed by Joel Lipman.

Original music by Joel Lipman's Dallas. If you're enjoying the show, please leave us a five star review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or anywhere you listen about cast.