At the Summit Ch. 14

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Val entrances a police officer the old-fashioned way.
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Part 14 of the 16 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 12/31/2004
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Part 14 - "Into the Shadows"

LATE IN 1997

"It seems like everything in the Summit Conference preparations was coming together," observed Sophia. I agreed, unable to say more due to the toast with marmalade in my mouth. We were having breakfast in our room in the Oxford, Room Service now having become our practice. It was a luxury, but Sophia's business was benefiting from Denver's booming economy, and it felt so wonderful to be together after our tear-soaked lovemaking of the night before.

"We have an hour or so before my first appointment, and its only a block away, so please... It seems like the more you tell me, the more I want to learn about these people. And we keep getting interrupted!" Sophia wriggled teasingly, remembering something especially delicious.

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BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE

Morning for Dean and the women in the Bed & Breakfast did not dawn as tenderly as Sophia's and mine. Everyone had rings around their eyes as they went about the process of getting going. Ragged edges were frazzled further by the need to go down to the Panaderia for any sensitive phone call, as it seemed likely that the former policewoman had planted a bug. Perhaps the only things that kept them going were their individual desires to work this mystery through to the end, and deep memories of wonderful, young Tony. Now it was not just an intellectual exercise or a patriotic effort to intercept some unidentified foreign threat-- it was personal for each of them.

Val came back from the Panaderia, grabbed a cup of the coffee that Deborah had brewed, and joined Dean and Deborah at the kitchen table.

"I got a hold of my friend in Traffic," Val announced. "And we are going to be able to meet with a couple of his contacts in the Department at lunch... just a casual introduction. One of them is in Intelligence, the other is in Homicide, so we'll cover both sides of it. Just casually...." she added. Their story would sound too bizarre to unload on the unsuspecting officers in one sitting, the three partners surmised.

"My office says they'll look in the files on stuff like this, but not much additional help. The Cold War is over, and the budget has been cut way back." Dean reported on his phone conversations with his Washington headquarters.

Cheryl came down the stairs, her hair freshly washed and her face sparkling clean. She said nothing, but took a cup of coffee and joined them at the table. She stared into the cup as if it would answer some deep question for her-- but it did not. There was a long silence-- no one knew what to say. The innkeepers and Dean each would have blushed and confessed to being something of an expert on coping with bad news by their stage in life, but none of them knew what to say to this young woman.

Dean, in particular, who had spoken with men about life and death issues, and who thought that he knew how to speak with women, suddenly felt terribly shallow. On some other occasion, he thought, they would have begun chatting about silly things, and found themselves linking deeper and deeper with each other, feeling themselves opening to each other, and then, as nature intended, being carried on waves of pent-up energy into bed. Now, he had to think of something to say to a woman who had reasonably formed the idea that she would be spending the rest of her life with a terrific man, and then had seen that certainty ripped crudely from her.

"Would you like to help us nail Tony's killers?" The words came blurting out. Dean could not even say why he had said them-- in fact, they sounded like someone else was talking. "This usually just happens in movies, I know, and it's against my agency's rules, but I think there are some things that you can do."

"Like what?" Cheryl raised an eyebrow. Her words sounded dull.

"I'm not sure yet, other than coming with us to the police. You'll have to do that anyway, but Val has found a way that you can really get attention paid to what you have to say." What he told the young woman was as honest as could be. He was making things up as he went along.

"You can tell the detective who we're going to introduce you to everything that you know, okay?" Dean was counting on Cheryl not knowing enough about the intricacies to say too much at this stage.

Cheryl ran her hands through her dark hair, paused for a moment, and then nodded agreement.

---------------------------

Lunch was at the Cherokee Bar and Grill, just south of Police Headquarters. Val, Dean and Cheryl were ushered through a cozy set of rooms decorated with sketches of habitués from journalism, broadcasting and local government-- the main industries of this end of town. They were led around a "closed" sign onto the patio, where three police officers were waiting. A woman about Dean's age was introduced as "Margaret" from Intelligence, and a man in his thirties, Dean did not catch the name, was introduced from Homicide. Val's friend from Traffic was their host, and he was the only one in uniform.

It was, to a passer-by on the sidewalk, a collegial group, enjoying a break from the office. The sound of a fountain trickling, the noise of traffic over on Speer Blvd., the comings and goings in the restaurant, would not have covered their conversation, but neither would the spoken words have caught the attention of someone not listening for something in particular. Much of the conversation would have sounded typical of the things one talks about in such a setting: where they came from, what kind of work they did, places they knew in common, oh... and, by the way, a dangerous conspiracy, objectives unknown, goals being to place New-Age fascism on the world political stage.

Glancing around, Dean noted that they had not lost these officers' interest, although it appeared that the Traffic officer and Val were communicating more as recent or former lovers than as intrigue experts. Still, he observed, one could see respect in the officer's conversation, not just idle hands thinking of going back into the devil's playground. Val's approach to this problem had proven invaluable. Dean was relieved to see Cheryl relaxing in the company of the Homicide detective. He had hoped that this approach would make it easier for the troubled Hispana to dredge up every possible detail on the murder case.

Big plates of Mexican food were scraped clean and pushed aside and Cheryl and the Homicide detective quietly excused themselves. Val and Dean both looked at each other with a feeling of relief, as rightly or wrongly, now at least the conventional police process was advancing, and Cheryl was able to do something practical for her dear Tony. And from Dean and Val's standpoint, there was an assurance that important aspects of the murder case would be mislaid or held back until after the Summit.

As the four-way conversation deepened, Dean learned that the Traffic officer would be working on the Summit Conference motorcades, so each of them was involved in this event in one way or another. Without much back-up from his agency, Dean felt it necessary to be more candid with local police than might be expected from a Federal agent. Besides, his office had hinted in his series of phone calls in the past several days that they suspected that there were moles in both the CIA and the FBI. Those agencies were still covering the important stuff, and Dean, who had little experience with even this type of marginal security matter, found that big city police knew more about some issues than he did.

As Dean and Val outlined most of what they knew, solid, calm Margaret had been dredging her own mind for anything relevant.

"We have a surveillance video from the Drug Task Force that might fit some of what you've talked about," she interjected. The other three looked at her with curiosity. "It was on a camera that was set up after a tip that something suspicious was going on in the old Queen City Gear warehouse in LoDo. They decided that it wasn't drugs, but they didn't know what to make of it, so they passed it on to us."

"Could we get a look at it?" queried Dean.

"I have a 2:30 appointment, but if you can come over now, no problem." Dean and Val nodded agreement.

They figured out how to divide up the check, and took the short walk to the cop shop. It took almost as long to get past the sign-in process and through the maze of offices. Margaret showed them into a small training room, offered them the option of "really bad coffee" and left for a moment to call the Traffic man's supervisor for permission to include him in the project. She returned with a videocassette in her hands, and confirmation that Val's friend could sit in-- officially because of his involvement with planning for the big events.

"This camera was set up as close as we could get, which was on the Terminal Annex building. Postal Service security let us get in under cover of checking on building safety. Our Drug people were concerned about going in any closer at this stage-- the risks did not outweigh the advantages. They just had a tip from a carpenter who works on restoration projects in the old buildings down there. The Queen City warehouse was as yet untouched by development, but he had worked all around it. He had noticed people coming and going at odd hours, and riding the freight elevator to the top floor, an area that should have been storage, according to the fire marshal's records. Of course, near so many nightlife spots, he thought of drugs."

Margaret punched the tape into the machine and it started playing... showing a fisheye picture of the whole building from one side, with nothing happening. She dug around for the remote, and clicked it to speed up the tape. Date and time counter numbers flashed by. The sun's shadows lengthened and then faded into black and grey, replaced by artificial shadows of street lamps.

"Our people saw what was on the tape, it wasn't anyone they knew, and it just looked weird to them," the intelligence officer continued.

The Traffic man laughed: "Of course, if it's weird, we give that stuff to you people!"

Margaret smiled and hit the button to bring the picture to a normal speed. It was an eerie stop action effect, because it only "took" a new frame every so many seconds.

A shadowy young woman appeared in the frame, walking into the entrance of the building. There was a pause, and then lights in the doorway came on. The young woman turned back to look at the street, as if afraid of being followed, or, as Val suggested later, looking back because something was telling her that if she entered, her life would not be the same thereafter.

"It's Maria?!" Dean sputtered out the name.

"You know her?" Margaret asked.

"In a way." She was heavier than he remembered her, but she had a figure that might have lent itself to that, if she was not taking care of herself.

Dean squinted at the vague pictures, but felt certain that he was seeing the soft-eyed young Greek-American woman who he thought he had rescued from the rogue French intelligence group that seemed to be circling toward some sort of objective around Denver's Summit Conference. He outlined a bit about her to the group, holding for himself the velvet feel of her curves pressed hard against him in the sleeping car compartment. He held back the moment when she had taken her robe off, stood boldly in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes smoldering, wearing the red bikini panties she had put on that morning before breakfast, her hands in fists on her hips, reveling in the way that the slight thrust of her pelvis made her mons stand out in the clinging cotton -- "Fuck me, Dean... once more, just one more time..."

"Dean? One more time! You recognize her?" Val persisted in bringing his attention back to the present.

This time he was a bit more candid, but also explained how she was supposed to be seeing an expert who would help clear out the programming that had made her the willing toy of "Bernard" - the San Francisco-based Frenchman who was linked to the activities now confronting Dean. Obviously, the influences on her were much greater than he had supposed.

They turned back to the screen, and Margaret clicked the remote to advance the frames again. The camera showed glimpses of the Maria-figure entering the old warehouse and riding up in the slow-moving freight elevator. Its slowness allowed the stop action camera to pick up flashes of her ride to the top.

A light blinked on in the hallway and a door opened. Two figures emerged in the murky surveillance camera image. First toward Maria was a woman with a farm girl build, stocky...

"That's the woman who came to check our phones for bugs!" Val blurted out. "I'd swear it!"

"Linda M." murmured Dean. "The policewoman from the small Northern California town..." and he explained what he had learned from Maria, that it seemed that "Linda", too, was being prepared hypnotically or otherwise for service to the radical Lepenistes.

The second figure came into view, moving in what Dean took to be a deliberate manner, although the method of videotaping made it hard to be sure about that. He wondered if it might be the elusive Bernard, or perhaps someone else.

Dean felt that he had the answer as he saw Maria's reaction to meeting the shadowy male figure. Their eyes connected in a single frame, and then the next showed her standing submissively before him, her head bowed down. The next frames showed Linda kissing her on the cheek, and then leading her into the room. And then the light went out.

"Whew!" was all that anyone could think of to say after viewing this, with Dean and Val's additional information applied to what they were seeing.

"What was going on there?" asked the Traffic officer. Margaret nodded her interest in the answer to that, too. Dean explained as much as he could.

"I'd say that Bernard is assembling some kind of team, whether they are willing to help him or not. It's got to have something to do with the Summit Conference, although I think that he was getting Maria tuned up as a future sex slave gift for someone named Bruno back in France." He paused, and then pounded the table with the flat of hand.

"Damn!" Dean muttered. "I thought that we had Maria off his hook." Turning to the officers, he asked if he could use the phone in the conference room.

"It's getting late in Washington, but I might still be able to catch someone in my office who knows why Maria is out and under Bernard's thumb again. And maybe they can help us some other way, too." Margaret passed the phone over to him.

The phone on the other end rang and rang. Dean looked at his watch - it was now after 5 p.m. back in Washington. The office could be empty. Then a familiar voice came on the line.

"Rose here..."

"Rose?! What are you doing there? I thought that Accounting always got out of the office by 4:30!" Dean was caught off-guard. The briefest sound of her voice brought back the image of her late-30's, slim, slightly athletic figure, pressed hotly against his in the deep storage file area.

"I'm temporarily not in Accounting."

"What do you mean?"

"We have a hiring freeze on since you left town, and the Chief asked me to work in Operations for a while. I have to have the security clearance for doing accounting anyway, and they can't hire someone else for this job till the freeze ends. Did you know that I still wake up horny thinking about you?"

"Uh, Rose, I'm in a conference with some people here in Denver. I need to know something that you may be able to tell me. Are we still paying Doctor Marcus for helping break that hypnotic hold on the young woman, Maria?"

"You mean the one you fucked on the train? I read the report, including between the lines. Maria you did it with, I mean, not Doctor Marcus." Rose said this in such a delightful way, not mean-spirited at all, that Dean almost dropped the telephone handset laughing.

"I'm just glad I'm not on a speakerphone."

"Oh, darn, I thought you were."

"Thank you, Rose. I'll call tomorrow morning and get the answer from you, okay?"

"I can probably tell you right now. Accounting knows everything. When the budget cut came through, we had to slow down the payments to Doctor Marcus. I think he got ticked off at us, and finally he told us that he would have to drop the treatment sessions. Maybe he did?" Rose paused. "I can have the official scoop tomorrow morning if you want it."

"Just a moment...." Dean asked Margaret if they could meet in the same room the next morning for a briefing. Everyone tossed out times from their calendars, and came up with a compromise.

"Sorry, Dean," Rose responded. "The Chief isn't available at that time. He's got to see a congresswoman."

"Could you give us a rundown on all of this? What we have in the files?"

"What we had in the files???" Rose teased, dropping her voice to a reminder of the way she had murmured to Dean during their subterranean tryst.

Dean gnashed his teeth in mock annoyance.

"Just give us a rundown on what new information is relevant. And next time, you WILL be on the speakerphone with these police officers, Val, and myself."

"Ok. I'll be waiting." Rose sighed in a Victorian effect.

"Go home and get some sleep, Rose. Bye." Dean hung up.

---------------------------

On the way home to the Bed & Breakfast from Police Headquarters, the three rode in silence. Cheryl was exhausted from her interview with Homicide, but Dean sensed a new calmness in her. Telling her part of the story must have helped.

---------------------------

Deborah was waiting for them, a videocassette in her hand.

"You'll never guess who sent this tape over."

"Who?"

"Michelle. Your... amie."

"How do you know?"

"I wondered that myself, but she called and I recognized her voice from a long time ago. I tipped her off that the phone line was bugged, but she didn't have to actually tell me anything much, just to enjoy watching this tape."

Dean thought of all the awful things that an unsolicited tape could mean, but there did not seem to be anything wrong with it. It was labeled in French, with a date from the previous Spring.

"Did she say where she is?" Dean did not know when she was coming back into town.

"No, but she stuck this pager number with the tape."

"Is anyone hungry?" asked Val. "Let's get something to eat and then we can watch this tape."

It dawned on Dean that he had been burning calories like crazy.

"There's not enough left in the kitchen to serve four," Deborah reported. "Does 'Pagliacci' sound good? The restaurant by that name, I mean."

---------------------------

After dinner, drowsy with heavy Italian food - nothing nova about those dishes - the four of them made it back to the living room of the B&B. Despite the temptation to close his eyes, Dean made it across the room to the vcr and popped the tape in.

The machine clunked and whirred, interrupted a news story about Summit preparations, and then filled the screen with blue.

There was a long pause, and then a theme fanfare that included bars from 'La Marsellaise' that blended into a more modern synthesizer sound as a tricolor flag appeared. Evidently, this was a pre-recorded opening sequence, because the picture lurched suddenly into a single camera shot frozen on an unoccupied lectern.

A man whose face was now familiar to Dean and Val strode to the lectern, shuffled some papers, and looked intently into the camera.

"It's that Bernard!" whispered Val. Dean nodded. As the hard voice of Bernard ironed out all flourishes of the French tongue into a dangerous sounding rasp, Dean translated as best he could.

"Fellow men of the Force Droit.... fellow MEN....." Dean began. Bernard had doubled back on his first sentence to make sure that his non-correct use of words was noticed.

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