Dead Drop’s Hand
The rookies, naïve as they were ambitious, saw it as a fast track. Never once landed a promotion, but that didn’t stop ‘em from showing. The lawyers came and went, but since crime never sleeps, keeping them on a reliable schedule was like trusting the housecat to pick up groceries. The detectives called every large bet, convinced everyone was bluffing, making them the most popular opponent.
Not the agents however. They saw every twitch and nervous bet, nobody better at using chips and their environment to deceive the table. Wasn’t long before the spies weren’t welcome.
And so it became, the quarterly poker game for Pennsylvania’s intelligence agents in the Montgomery County Courthouse boiler room.
Every time a newly initiated agent anted up, sure as the sunrise they were asked about Little Dutch Girl, the most infamous (amongst PA Field Agents only of course) blunder of keystone intelligence in CIA history. Tonight, it was Joe the Jeweler that broached it.
“What did you think you’d discovered?”
“You mean after the 7th floor decoded it?”
“No, Double-Oh stupid. He means the first time you saw that gash in the rocks.” Sam the Uncle always bullied the new guys. “Did your handler show you or did you find it yourself?”
“On my own, thank you very much. Didn’t know it was a dead drop if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“But you stuck your hand in anyway?” Kevin the Cobbler, despite his atrocious taste in shoes. “You think this job is like prom night or something?”
“Um, no? But we don’t get the handholding you fossils got, so I turn out anything shaped like a prom date.”
Sam chuckled, quickly stifling it before tossing chips in the middle. “I’ll call. So what next kid? You reached in, we all know what you found. Then what?”
“Same as all you, I’d presume. Opened the cannister, checked the film.”
The fossils all exchanged their looks and nods. This was their next 90 days.
“And how long until you figured out what was on it?” Kevin tossed his cards and folded. “And how long until you realized you were now more accomplice than agent?”
“About as long as it took to walk back to my car. I raise.” The rookie studied their faces, then pushed in every stack but one. “I was in the fishbowl on the 7th floor maybe fifteen minutes before they briefed me on the girl.”
“Good news and bad news Sherlock.” Joe flipped his cards. Bluff. “You won the hand. But now you gotta lose one.”
They’d all agreed it was Joe’s turn to break the news, and Sam’s turn to swing the machete, leaving Kevin to deliver the fingerprints.
“Is that some esoteric old man lingo?” The new guy reached for his winnings, then hesitated, wincing at the room’s shift.
“That girl? Declared dead by the 8th floor brass. Just seeing her on that film, that evidence, makes you an accomplice in her unsolved murder.” Sam stood from the table, reaching for his trench coat hanging near the door. “Put that cannister back where you found it and it’s obstruction of justice. Report it and it’s treason for undermining a CIA edict. Real North Korea shit but that’s what you signed up for, kid.”
“What is this, some fratboy hazing? If this is a joke, it ain’t funny.” The spy retracted his arm.
“The Mossad have her stamped passport and footage of her on King Saul Boulevard. Instead of humiliating us with a proof of life, they made a strategic request.” Joe’s tone was somber.
“Server room access to the Lehigh Valley branch. And the only way in without tripping alarms in Harrisburg and Langley is physically entering the room instead of logging in.” Kevin produced a mini cooler and placed it next to the rookie’s winnings.
“And that brings us to your fingerprints. Current CIA field agent protocols leaves Mossad ninety days of unfettered access before employee credentials are sunsetted for no contact.“ Sam removed the machete from his trench coat. “All that’s left is telling us whether you’re right or left-handed.”
And so it became, the quarterly delivery to the Israeli consulate in Philadelphia.