3
When Jake Adams was finally called before the House subcommittee on intelligence, he was nearly dead on his feet. Although he was used to traveling long distances on flights, trains and cars, it had gotten a lot harder as his age passed through the mid-forties. First class had helped, a new deal for Jake, and he had even gotten a decent five hours in the D.C. hotel the night before. Yet he still yawned as he took a seat in the hard oak chair in front of the microphones, multiple cameras pointing at him, and the half-moon table with members from both parties looming over him like dozens of St. Peters ready to judge him. From the cryptic letter summoning Jake to this fiasco, and from what he had heard so far from a waiting room before being called in, he had a small understanding of what they wanted from him.
His state department escort Devan Stormont had been a bit spastic during the long trip, had stayed in the room next to his in D.C., and even accompanied Jake to the waiting room. But that was where they had parted ways.
Jake was sworn in and the questions started. Well, he thought they were going to ask questions. But most of the members on the left simply used their time to talk to the cameras and excoriate Jake on his actions during that whole Berlin affair. Members on the right used their time to put words in his mouth and explain to anyone who cared to listen that Jake’s actions had been honorable and just.
For his part, Jake tried to keep his head from exploding, giving simple yes and no answers.
Finally, a congressman from the great state of California was up for questions and shuffled through his prepared speech asking pointed questions, one after the next, without allowing Jake a chance to respond to each. Ten in all. What the congressman didn’t know was that Jake had a near perfect memory and would have no problem answering each and every one of his attacks on Jake’s character.
“Sir, is it my turn?” Jake finally said into the microphone.
“Yes, but please call me congressman,” the rotund man said behind his high perch. “I worked hard for that title.”
“Sir,” Jake repeated with defiance, “you were a car salesman where you got your law degree online with money your father, the owner of the dealership, gave you, while you sold less cars than a dyslexic stutterer with tourettes syndrome. Then your father set you up with a law practice, where you lost every case, until he also paid to get you into your current position. So don’t talk to me about hard work. While you were building your excellent political career, I was getting my ass shot at in countries you’ve probably never heard of.” He paused for a second, took a drink of water and watched to see if the congressman’s face would turn a darker shade of red.
Then Jake went on to explain every question in detail, his attitude swiftly moving from defiantly indignant to royally pissed off.
The last person to question Jake was the junior member of the committee, a woman from his home state of Montana. He had heard of her, but she had never really represented him, since he had not actually lived in Montana for years and she had only recently been reelected into her second term. Congresswoman Lori Freeman had one other feature that had caught Jake’s eye as the members entered the room — she was not only a natural beauty with her long blonde hair pulled back into a braid, she proudly wore cowboy boots below her frilly dress.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Congresswoman Freeman said.
“Not that I had much choice, ma’am,” Jake said. “You don’t mind my calling you ma’am do you?”
“I would expect nothing less from a fellow Montanan, Sir.” Her eyes shifted slightly toward her colleague from California. “Now, what is your current position?”
“Upright and reasonably oriented,” Jake quipped.
She blushed.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Sometimes I can’t help myself.” He cleared his throat, smiled and continued, “I’m retired.”
“You’re very young to be retired.”
“Well, once in a while I consult on security matters.”
She lifted a piece of paper slightly and said, “In fact, you have become quite wealthy since leaving the Agency.”
Jake shook his head and smiled. “Ma’am you aren’t trying to hit me up for back taxes are you?”
Subdued laughter echoed through the chamber.
“No, Sir,” she said. “I understand that money was made while you worked overseas, and, although I don’t understand the entire seventy-two thousand pages of our tax code, I know that you paid taxes in the country in which you were currently living. I was simply setting the stage for my next question.”
He was starting to like this junior congresswoman from his home state. “Well then,” Jake said, nodding his head to her. “Please ask away.”
“How many people did you kill during that whole Berlin affair?”
Wow. She had cut through all the crap and asked what all the others really wanted to know.
“Ma’am, I only killed those who tried to kill me. I didn’t take a head count.” But he did have the faces of each etched in his brain. And not only from the Berlin affair. He was haunted specifically by some more than others.
“Understand,” she said and paused to consider her words. “Do you consider your actions successful?”
“Yes, ma’am. I had a one million Euro bounty on my head, as did many other former intelligence officers. I was lucky enough to not get killed. So, at least for me, I consider that a success.” He smiled broadly at her.
She returned his smile and said, “That’s all I have for this witness.”
And that was the end of the inquiry. It was political theater at its worst. Congressmen and congresswomen from both sides of the aisle had asked the same questions over and over in obvious partisan fashion and slightly different tone, playing it up for the cameras, to get their point of view into the congressional record.
Jake walked back to his hotel room along the snowy roads of the capitol. He had considered taking a cab, but he needed to clear his mind after that attempted grilling. Hell, he needed a shower.
When he sensed the presence of a car behind him, moving far too slow, even for the snowy conditions, he thought about the gun that was not comfortably under his left arm. Then he simply stopped suddenly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, and stared at the car, which stopped alongside him, the window in the back lowering.
Jake almost didn’t recognize the woman in the leather seats of the Lincoln Town Car. She had pulled her hair out of the braids and it now flowed down over her shoulders.
“Mister Jake Adams,” said Congresswoman Lori Freeman. “You look like you could use a ride on this cold January day.” She gave him a bright smile.
Returning her smile, Jake said, “Is that an order?”
“No, Sir. I just thought you could use a friend after that entire affair.”
A friend? Although they had been cordial in the chambers, she had still asked him some of the most direct questions during the session. Somewhat reluctantly, he got in as she slid to the other side of the car and nodded her head to the driver to continue driving.
“What can I do for you?” Jake asked her.
“That’s what I like about your family,” she said. “You shoot from the hip and tell it like it is.”
He was confused. “What do you know about my family?”
“You don’t know?” She smiled. “I guess I just assumed you were playing with me at the hearing because of my relationship with your family. They wanted me to recuse myself, but I thought you might need a friend.”