asked: “How did Mick McCarthy die?”
Teddy Smith’s face remained expressionless. It didn’t betray his immediate reaction to Den’s questions. “Why does he ask? What does he know?” With equal speed, Teddy divined the answers to his questions. “It was Den who recommended we get McCarthy into the Agency. They had to be friends from back in their SEAL days. Den Clark doesn’t suspect a thing. How could he? This is nothing more than natural curiosity.”
“There’s not much to tell. It was Agent McCarthy’s first assignment. I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He hadn’t been in Damascus for more than a few days. He and another agent got ambushed. I’d guess one of those crazy Palestinian groups may have discovered the other agent’s identity and tried to engineer a kidnapping. Hold him for ransom and get publicity - their usual procedure. Our guys fought them off, but McCarthy was wounded and died before he could get help.”
Teddy leaned back and watched for any sign that would tell him Den might suspect what had really happened. He saw none, but, after Den left his office, he experienced an uneasy feeling. Teddy decided to warn Jake Jacobson. “I think Jake should get a heads-up on this one,” he thought
Jake Jacobson was in grade school in Massachusetts when he earned the nickname “Weasel”. He was a small kid with glasses and braces and big ears. Jake was never able to develop any close friendships. He was always the last one picked when the boys chose sides for sandlot baseball. With the cruelty common in children, the boys in his neighborhood picked on him and laughed at him. He was the butt of their jokes.
Young Jake reacted by becoming introspective. He satisfied his ego by dreaming of revenges that were never acted out. As he matured, he found he could build his self-image by detracting from others. He took delight in ridicule and sarcasm.
Later, at the university, he enjoyed publicly criticizing fellow students, corrosively exposing any weakness he could uncover. His sarcasm goaded a few of them into hitting him. When confronted, Jake’s immediate and unvarying response was to run. He was widely disliked.
Jake’s had an excellent academic record, but his post-college employments always ended abruptly. He alienated his immediate superiors as well as those who worked with him. The personnel manager who fired him from his third job suggested he might try government work where, he believed, discharge because of personality defects was rare. Jake was hired by the Central Intelligence Agency.
During indoctrination and initial preparatory assignments, Jake succeeded in keeping his assessments of his associates to himself. He had learned that open antagonism to others produced an equal and opposite antagonism toward him - a condition which not uncommonly resulted in being fired. While in Washington, Jake Jacobson developed the reputation of being a loner, smart enough, but not at all friendly.
His first off-shore post was Damascus, where he quickly concluded the station chief was an imbecile and his associates uniformly moronic. He began looking for some scheme that would show his obvious superiority and result in promotion from the field and back to Langley.
When he was called back to Washington after his failed attempt at bribery caused the death of Agent Mick McCarthy, Jake knew he would again be fired. He intended to defend his actions. He’d fight back, but he knew he wouldn’t get a fair hearing. The old timers would hang together, although, certainly, they must have long ago recognized the incompetence of that old fool, Henry Putman.
If it hadn’t been for Gigi Grant, the nosey little bitch, he could have blamed everything on that big, dumb ox, Mick McCarthy. But she had seen through him. McCarthy hadn’t been in Syria when Jake took the money from the Agency’s concealed account.
Jake tried to reason with Grant. After all he was just trying to do some good work for the Station and the Agency. The Agency got the money back. Who would be hurt if his “misstep” wasn’t mentioned in her report? But, no, she wouldn’t listen to common sense. There was nothing he could do about it right now. He had to satisfy himself by promising to get back at her someday.
To Jake’s surprise, he wasn’t called on the carpet. He didn’t have to defend his actions. No one mentioned his Syrian “misstep”. He was re-assigned to the CIA’s Directorate of Operations. At first Jake could not believe his good fortune. He believed it had to be a trick. The scenarios he developed to explain the reason for the pleasant treatment he received at Langley reflected his innate paranoia.
Perhaps the CIA didn’t want to fire him immediately for fear of some newsman uncovering his failed bribery and learn the facts surrounding the death of Mick McCarthy. Perhaps they would keep him in the Agency until the Damascus matter was obscured by the mists of time. Then, in a year of so, they would sack him.
Jake produced an even deadlier scenario. Perhaps the CIA couldn’t run any risk of his Damascus debacle becoming known. Perhaps they intended to insure against any such possibility by waiting for a year or so and then killing him. That is what he would propose if he were in their shoes.
Teddy Smith dispelled Jake’s fears when he invited him into the Aegis group. Jake was a willing recruit. He was more than comfortable in his conspiratorial assignments. He reveled in it. What Jake thought would be the end of his CIA career turned out to be his ticket to a position of higher responsibility.
He was promoted and given a post in the sensitive area of planning covert operations. Jake had a position in the Project Branch of the Clandestine Service. His boss was Teddy Smith. For the first time in his career, Jake Jacobson had a boss who protected him.
Most of the other people in the Project Branch had an idea of what Jake did. He designed programs to further the development of foreign intelligence. No one knew he served additional undisclosed functions. Jake was the man Teddy Smith called upon whenever he faced a special problem requiring an extra degree of duplicity and deception. He also called on him when he needed to surreptitiously insinuate an Aegis assassination into some project already approved by the Directorate of Operations.
Teddy knew Jake had an IQ substantially above the national average. He suspected Jake would enjoy the intrigue involved in fulfilling the requirements of Teddy’s special Aegis assignments. It didn’t take Teddy long to confirm his suspicion.
Of course, Teddy also knew Jake was woefully deficient in the personality department. Jake’s many detractors in the Projects Branch couldn’t bring themselves to admit how bright he was. They preferred to characterize his intelligence as a kind of well-developed, animal cunning.
Jake soon established a reputation as a ruthless office politician. If Jacobson didn’t like an associate, that man could expect trouble. Jake Jacobson was both hated and feared by the people who worked with him. Being hated didn’t bother Jake. Being feared pleased him.
The more he was feared, the more he could intimidate others and the higher his self-esteem. Jake’s ego blossomed. He had power and he enjoyed the protection of Teddy Smith. He thought no one would dare to challenge him.
Den sat in his apartment, the ice cubes slowly melting in his untouched drink. He was preoccupied. Teddy’s description of McCarthy’s death didn’t come close to satisfying him. There had to be more information available.
Den
