The Jefferson Allegiance

Inside FBI Headquarters

Chapter Four

Deep inside FBI headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue, Ducharme stared without expression at the two men across the table from him.  They had been asking questions for a half hour, and in that time he had not uttered a single word in response.  While they prattled on with their useless inquiries, he was trying to concentrate.  To understand what was happening.  As he had been programmed to do in harsh military training, he separated emotion from mission and kept the beast raging in his chest on a leash, as this was neither the time nor the place to let it out.

The door behind the two officers opened, and Special Agent Burns walked in holding a bulky manila envelope.  Burns leaned over and whispered into the ear of one of the agents who had been asking the stupid questions. 

Reluctantly, and with angry glances, the two junior men left.  Burns stared at Ducharme for over a minute.  Then he said in a voice that was level and emotionless.  “They told me you haven’t said a word.”

Ducharme returned the gaze.

“I’m in charge of this investigation.”

Ducharme remained silent. 

“You’ve been advised of your rights, correct?”

Ducharme said nothing.

Burns sat down across from Ducharme, pulling out a small spiral notepad.  He flipped the cover open.  “You are Colonel Paul Ducharme, United States Army.  Apparently.  According to your identification card and uniform.  However, when I queried our Army liaison on the highest priority, I was told you don’t exist.  That means you’re not who you say you are, or you’re deep in covert operations.”

Ducharme said nothing.

“If you are covert ops, you were trained not to say anything when interrogated,” Burns added.  “Probably Level Three SERE training at Fort Bragg.  Correct?”

Ducharme crossed his arms over his chest.  He’d gone through the Survival-Evasion-Resistance-Escape training at Bragg years ago.  The FBI were amateurs compared to the ‘interrogations’ the instructors in SERE put the high-risk-of-capture students in Level Three through.  

Putting down the notepad, Burns reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a switchblade, which he flicked open. He began to slice the skin off of an apple with one long, slow, spiral, as he glanced once more at the notepad.

“I checked out your gun.  MK-twenty-three pistol, but one that is specially modified—a military Special Operations version, the Mod O.  Built-in laser sighting, trigger pull’s been lightened, serial number gone, top of the line suppressor.   Those big, bad forty-five caliber rounds.  A lot of punch even when subsonic.  Not something you pick up at your local gun show.  In fact, the modified MK-twenty-three is illegal outside of Special Operations.”  A piece of apple skin fell to the table.

“The vehicle your Sergeant Major was driving—he’s downstairs, by the way, also not saying anything—is interesting.  Armored, bulletproof windows, tamper sensors, modified turbo engine for power, more weapons in the rear locker along with night vision goggles, body armor, and other specialized equipment.  You could be in big trouble having those automatic weapons in your truck.  The registration of the vehicle is to a front company we believe is part of a cover wing of the Activity, an organization in the Department of Defense that isn’t supposed to exist.”

Ducharme waited for Burns to tell him something he didn’t already know.

“You knew General LaGrange.”  Burns said it as a statement, not a question.  He had almost the entire skin off the apple.  It fell to the table.  Burns jammed the blade of the knife into the apple, and held it in one hand while he opened the manila envelope and slid a file folder and several other objects onto the table.  He turned a page in his notepad and began reading it.  “Lieutenant General LaGrange, US Army retired and brought back on active duty as Special Assistant for National Security Affairs.  Very high level.  The calls are already coming from a lot of big names.  Deep shit, my friend, deep shit.”