Debauched Duty

Debauched Duty Pt. 01

Debauched Duty Pt. 01

(This is Part 1 of 3 parts.)

Trevor

After flying for over ten hours, I was unceremoniously bundled into a car to be driven straight to Langley. My escort and driver only conversed when necessary, however it had been made very clear that I was to comply when directed. Tired and kept ignorant, I was also deliberately left disorientated.

Having had limited sleep the night before last, I was barely given thirty minutes to pack my belongings. I'd been driven six hours without a break for food or even to relieve myself just to receive a dressing down from an imperious functionary I'd not previously met. After another sleepless night being detained in a meeting room, I was then dispatched to the airport. While the flight was a more pleasant environment, a confined aircraft seat did little to enhance my composure. I hadn't received the courtesy of being accused or the opportunity to offer an explanation. I could only speculate what this officious kerfuffle was all about.

At Langley, I soon found myself sitting in the office of the Director's Personal Assistant. The nameplate of her desk proclaimed she was 'Mrs. J.R. Reed'. She resembled one of my former schoolteachers. Middle aged with a short perm and dark rimmed glasses, she appeared the type to have little tolerance for naughty boys. As by now I was completely intimidated, I decided to maintain a low profile and keep quiet.

After she printed some work and placed it in a file, she stood and approached me. Handing me a piece of paper, she suggested: "You should read this in preparation for your meeting with the Director. He's been called to the Hill, but I expect him to return in two hours."

I hoped he wouldn't be delayed, as that would be about 8 pm. My preference would have been to postpone this confrontation until after I had a chance to recover with some sleep. Of course, I'd no idea where I'd be spending the night. Resolved to try and make the best of a bad situation, I commenced reading. Any composure I thought I'd achieved evaporated as I read. In astonishment my unintended whisper of: "Oh shit!" seemed to reverberate about the office. While Mrs. Reed looked up in astonishment, I studiously ignored her as I read the paper headed 'Secret' more carefully:

SECRET

Brief for Director

Operation Belvedere

Agent Trevor Miles was assigned the mission of conducting electronic surveillance on the head of a suspected crime syndicate thought to be operating in Italy. As the surveillance was to be conducted autonomously without the normal disclosure with an ally, an overriding requirement was that all aspects must remain covert and non-attributable. Agent Miles has failed spectacularly as his actions of debauchery and sexual impropriety have drawn the attention of the Italian media. To mitigate his disgrace and the possibility of reputational damage to the agency, I have ordered Agent Miles's immediate return to Virginia. As my responsibility was purely one of support, due to his being under the operational control of Langley, I have returned him for your consideration and appropriate action.

P.K. Wright

Station Chief

Rome

My initial reaction was bewilderment. I'd considered several reasons why I might be in trouble, but this was not what I'd expected. I continued staring at the carpet contemplating how I could talk myself out of this dilemma so until a mug of coffee appeared in front of my nose, I hadn't noticed Mrs. Reed's movements.

"This may help," she suggested.

"Thank you," I automatically responded in surprise before grasping the sorely needed stimulant. Contrary to my initial impression, as I looked up at her face I detected a glimmer of sympathy.

"The Director is a fair man, particularly towards agency staff. When you speak to him, be forthright but don't attempt any bull shit. He probably knows more about the subject than you can appreciate."

After considering her advice carefully, I belatedly said: "Thank you. I am always truthful but I'm sure he can't know everything that happened."

I now had a couple of hours to prepare my story. While I understood that the Director encouraged clarity and conciseness, for the benefit of posterity I will elaborate my story in full with assistance from... let's say, a good friend.

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Trevor(the beginning)

I never had ambitions of becoming an agent. In fact, my family and friends would have laughed at me if I'd suggested it. Honestly, I stumbled into the position. While I liked exploring problems and searching for answers, I wasn't the type to take unnecessary risks.

My background was electrical engineering with a heavy emphasis on electronics and IT communications, networking and security. I'd always been enthralled by the latest gadgets. For three years I was completely absorbed by discoveries while employed in the research and development section of an international communications business. This probably explains why recently my social life had withered to become somewhat humdrum. My recompense was an accelerated broadening of my knowledge that couldn't have been achieved through any formal education. I was soon designing and producing gadgets for whatever the imagination could conceive.

This role gave me a ticket to any convention or trade fair that might be of interest. It was at one of these conventions that I first met Oleander Tyrone. We often bumped into one another and soon started sharing beers and ideas. At our fourth meeting, after spending some time pumping up my ego, he encouraged me to attend a job interview. I suspected his offer was prompted by the excess beer we'd consumed; however in my partially intoxicated condition, I agreed to attend an interview as it would be conducted in the Research Triangle near where I lived in North Carolina.

Two gentlemen, Morris Brown and Rohan Kumar, interviewed me in a nondescript meeting room at an innovation center. They were polite and even ingratiating as they proceeded to ask many questions about my work experience. Rohan asked many technical questions. I was happy to play along with their agenda, however when Morris commenced with personal questions, I felt uneasy. It was a bit of a shock to realize they already knew so much about me.

When they started delving into former girlfriends, as a matter of fair play, I explained that I'd be foolish to divulge any more of my personal life when I'd no idea what the job entailed, who I would be working for, or the remuneration. Faced with a stalemate, they outlined that I'd be required to investigate, test and assess new communication and security technology. This would include conducting practical trials to adapt and develop them. The salary sounded enticing; however, they simply stated that I'd be working for the government. Quickly I deduced that this would either be Defense or a security agency.

As it turned out, my deduction was correct. I had to complete a security questionnaire that took me over a week as I needed to find records to justify the existence of my life. Producing a full financial history, recalling former addresses and details of friends was harder than I'd have expected.

After two months without any communication, I was finally invited to attend a security interview followed by a polygraph. The interview was the worst experience as I had to answer intimate probing questions. What made it worse was that I felt the harsh judgement from the two women posing the questions. I knew there was no point in attempting any obfuscation; however I really wasn't psychologically prepared for this ordeal.

Unexpectedly I had to confess to sleeping with different women at each of the last three conventions I attended. Confessing that this was while I also had a girlfriend back home added to my embarrassment. Although I was being honest, I'm certain they thought me indifferent and despicable when I couldn't remember their names. My self-esteem wasn't helped when I tried to explain that Sylvie was really a friend with benefits rather than a normal girlfriend.

Having been totally exposed and thoroughly embarrassed, I just prayed that my mother would never gain access to my interview answers.

Once I completed physical and psychological examinations, I knew I'd passed their hurdles. Apparently, my training was different to most. I completed the standard orientation applicable to all new recruits. I was then appointed as a technical intelligence officer in the Directorate of Science and Technology. You've probably guessed which agency; however I was left in no doubt that I wasn't to reveal any details about my employer. This was no problem as I simply told friends that I was doing scientific research which quickly blunted any further enquiries.

For the next six months, as part of my induction, I was regularly moved about to become familiar with all their gadgets and resources. I was acquainted with much of it, however there were still amazing things I'd only heard whispers about.

During my interviews they'd determined that I spoke Italian with my Nonna. She'd been as much a parent as my Mom and was always generous with her encouragement. This was the main reason that I'd also studied Italian at High School. At the Agency, being certified proficient in another language entitled me to an additional pay bonus. Consequently, I was sent on a crash refresher course to bring me up to speed. My verbal communication wasn't too bad, but my written work needed improvement. I then continued doing two hours a week with a tutor online to maintain my skills.

For the next year, while I was technically stimulated, my work was routine and bland. I was then approached by the same Morris Brown who had conducted my initial interview. I learnt that he was a CMO for the NCS; some of the many acronyms I had to learn. The handbook simply stated that a CMO, Collection Management Officer, collected, evaluated and reported intelligence. While he was a desk jockey, it was obvious he also managed spooks, or as the agency called them, agents and assets operating in his area of responsibility. When he offered me a trip to Italy, I jumped at the chance at some adventure. Due to my limited training, I was reassured that I'd remain safely positioned just monitoring some surveillance devices.

My presumption of safety was reinforced in that my further training wasn't at the Farm, where the spooks received their skills. I was given detailed orientation about Italy and the crime syndicate that was of interest. I was in high spirits in anticipation, after all, how dangerous could it be just electronically listening or watching the activities of smugglers?

It was somewhat late in my preparation that I was informed that it would be my problem to determine how to place surveillance devices to achieve results.

To provide some legitimacy for my activities, I was given the cover of being an employee of GSE (Global Security Equipment). This company had no formal contracts with the Government, so only their CEO, Norman Garside, was briefed on my role. He made sure that in the month before my departure, I was familiar with all their products and company procedures. This included three weeks assisting with installations of equipment with one of their technicians. I was very grateful that I already had some practical skills, having spent a couple of summers being an apprentice for my electrician uncle.

During the final week at Langley, Morris Brown ensured I was updated with the most recent intelligence. It sounded simple, as he explained: "All you have to do is install a listening device and record the data."

I was to retain my name, Trevor Miles, as I'd be operating openly. My identity had been carefully modified so that any check would confirm that I'd been working at GSE for the last two years. With careful placement of documents, even my friends would swear I had worked there during that period.

On my second last night at home Sylvie and I tried to make a memory to last. I didn't mislead her with any romantic notions of an ongoing relationship, however fortunately she was also in need of good stress relief.

After several hours of being put through a variety of positions, we both collapsed exhausted, satisfied and reluctant to get up the next morning.

That exercise and long sleep was fortuitous as it better prepared me for the nineteen hour flight with a layover in Munich. I arrived about midnight in Genoa, or 'Genova' as I discovered was the Italian pronunciation. Feeling dried up and wasted, I went straight to the hotel that had been arranged for two nights. All I wanted to do was sleep but my desires were interrupted by a Stanley Lauri waiting at reception.

Up in my room, Stanley was quick to point out that he was a proper operations officer based out of Rome Station. Apparently, he had plenty of experience, the details of which he freely impressed upon me. I wasn't certain whether he was naturally arrogant, or he just regarded briefing me beneath his level of status, however his words were abrupt.

I may have imagined it, but listening to Stanley was like hearing a rerun of the British comedy show 'Alo Alo' when Michelle of the French Resistance says: "Listen very carefully, I shall say zis only once."

Without wasting time, he explained: "This is the business card for the 'agente immobiliare' that manages the apartment I've secured for your use. It looks across a small plaza to where George Katsaros and his wife, Francina, live. I've arranged for you to rent a second floor furnished apartment. Don't get used to the comfort as it's more than your entitlement. You only have it due to its location. You are to visit the agente first thing tomorrow with your passport and employment records to obtain the key. You need to pay the bond and first month's rent. Keep the receipts so you can claim it back as expenses."

He studied me before asking: "Have you arranged all the necessary tech equipment?"

"Yes... well I hope so... I obviously haven't had time to check. I have the address of the local GSE depot. Before I left the States, I was assured that my three crates had arrived. They should also have a range of ancillary devices in stock."

"Well, you must be discreet in moving the items into your apartment and be set up as soon as you can. Here is a cell for your official work only. Let me know when you're operational. Morris Brown remains your handler; however I'm your local contact... if necessary."

Before I had a chance to think of questions, Stanley departed without making any farewell courtesies. As the only person I knew in the country had welcomed me so warmly, I suddenly felt very much on my own.

My visit to the agente immobiliare was my first real test of my Italian language proficiency. I was pleased that I didn't need to resort to English even when the lady explained the utilities. I think she even appreciated my attempt at flattery as she graciously allowed me to use her telephone to organize the electricity, gas and internet.

She described the apartment as a trilocale; a three-room apartment which included two bedrooms and a living room/kitchen. Once all the documents were signed and the formalities completed, she gave me directions to my new home.

I'd been told the apartments had been built in the 1890s. As I walked through the plaza, my assessment of the apartments outside appearance confirmed that age. My initial apprehension increased as I climbed the dingy stairs enclosed by stained walls, however once I opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised. The interior was modern with new furniture and even though the previous tenants had left behind their rubbish, my spirit improved quickly.

The entrance foyer led into a large living room/dining room with a semi-habitable kitchen. In the main bedroom I was pleased with my first impressions when I tested the Queen size bed. There was a short corridor that led to a bathroom with shower which was next to the second bedroom. I'd need to confirm, but it was this bedroom window that I believed faced Katsaros's apartment.

Now I focused on what I needed for my mission. I made a quick list of items I'd need to acquire before heading to the GSE depot.

Enzo Rainaldi was the GSE depot boss. He'd been advised of my arrival but showed that he was less than impressed. He immediately challenged me with a host of questions. His main issue appeared to be why was I permitted to operate out of his depot but wasn't answerable to him? My explanation that I had a long list of prearranged clients obviously made him worry that he was being superseded. I tried to convince him that wasn't the case and that my job was only temporary. When after asking if he was expected to process my time sheets and pay, my negative response just made him even more disgruntled and less cooperative.

Grudgingly he allowed me to borrow their small van to transport the three crates to my apartment. Even though my appreciation was effusive when I returned the van, it was obvious that I hadn't made a friend.

Over the next two days, I commenced some cleaning of the apartment; purchased new sheets, blankets and towels; stocked the pantry cupboard with basic food items; and set up some of my surveillance equipment.

It didn't take me long to confirm which rooms across the plaza were being occupied by George and Francina Katsaros. I set up two directional microphones with parabolic reflectors as there were separate windows for the sitting room and their bedroom. As the microphones were connected through a voice-activated recorder to my laptop, I wouldn't need to track them as they moved about their apartment.

I also set up a camera to record any action at the downstairs entrance to their apartment block from the plaza. I mounted the camera high on a tripod well back from the window to prevent its detection by an observer outside. Fortunately the bedroom window faced to the north so during the day the window would reflect. To avoid detection at night, the lights would remain off and the door closed. I thought this would be sufficient however I found that the numerous indicator lights on equipment, including the modem and wireless router, produced an excessive glow. This was fixed by covering the lights with strips of black electrical tape.

Wi-Fi enabled me to move about my apartment with my laptop. If I left my apartment a notification would be sent to my cell once any noise or talking was detected. This alert system would also allow me to grab some sleep without worrying.

My crates included a variety of listening bugs which would be useful if I could gain access to their apartment, their phones or their vehicles. Morris, back at Langley, insisted that I only plant these devices if it was low risk. He was concerned that any detection of our surveillance could blow this and other operations.

I'd soon established a routine of being awake monitoring my laptop and equipment when they were in the apartment. This was mainly in the mornings and evenings; however Francina had an unpredictable routine where she left and returned at different hours. Mostly they conversed in English to each other and used Italian only when they talked on their phones. Francina's South African background was obvious in her accent, whereas George's heritage was less obvious.

The procedure with my surveillance was that I listened to everything and only sent conversations to Langley if I thought they were of some interest. A daily Sitrep was also demanded by Morris. Four times I sent recorded segments when they mentioned associate's names. While I suspected they had little intelligence values, I wanted to show Morris that I was actually working. Twice I was able to provide prior notice to Stanley of meetings that George Katsaros had arranged. Stanley sounded quite disgruntled when he later informed me that one appointment turned out to be with George's barber while the second was with his dentist.