Summoned Again?

“Sir, we went over the security footage a dozen times and no one was near the desk. The things just appeared there.” The secret service agent said in the small meeting with the supervisor and another agent.

“That's not possible.” The supervisor said. “Things can't just appear out of nowhere.”

“It's true, sir. You've seen the footage yourself.”

“It was edited or there was a hiccup or something.” The supervisor said, completely in denial, because the time stamp on the video wasn't altered or glitched. “Did you have someone go to the Smithsonian to check on the note's threat?”

“Sir, we don't know what to look for. The museum is huge and we aren't art collectors. We have a request with the curator and he hasn't gotten back to us yet.”

“He's probably going to tell us it's a hoax.” The supervisor said and looked at the secret service ID on his desk. “I assume you've tracked this agent down, assuming he really exists.” He joked, to try and lighten the mood.

“Yes, sir.” The other agent said. “He was assigned a mission that none of us were aware of about six months ago, as was his partner.”

“Where are they now?” The supervisor asked.

“One was killed by his lover, apparently in a fit of anger. He was found dead on the bed in her house, half-naked and bullets in his chest from her gun.” The first agent said. “There was a note explaining how much he loved her and that he couldn't stand to hide from her husband anymore.”

“Technically.” The other agent responded.

“Explain that.” The supervisor ordered.

“She was found in an abandoned federal building, locked inside a room with an FBI agent on temporary leave and a tech support guy with mangled hands.”

“What?”

“It gets better. Both she and the tech support guy are from the NSA.”

The supervisor gave them stern looks and then he sighed. “Where's his partner?”

“In the hospital.” The first agent said. “He had a shootout with one of the supervisors over at the treasury office building.”

“Are you telling me there was gunfire in the capital two days ago and I'm just hearing about it now?” The supervisor asked.

“Sir, it's taken us this long to follow the threads the ID and note gave us to follow, then we had to connect it all together.”

The supervisor sighed again. “I suppose you have IDs for the others?”

“Yes, sir.” The agent said and handed over the folder. “They all claim they were working on a collaboration mission. When it went sour, they tried to abandon it and a bunch of odd things happened to them all.”

“Let me guess, it's all too fantastic to be believed.” The supervisor said with a huff.

“It's much worse than that, sir.” The first agent said. “They claim to corroborate the disappearing and reappearing items theory.”

“Of course they do.” He said and flipped through the report with the people that were present. “Did you contact their supervisors?”

“They all claim deniability, even the supervisor of our two agents. He said he had no idea what they had done and scrapped the mission.”

“Which caused this whole mess.” The supervisor said and the two agents nodded.

One of their cell phones rang and the agent excused himself and answered without leaving. He talked for a few minutes and asked questions, then told the person on the phone to stay quiet about it and they would be over to investigate.

“The thefts at the Smithsonian are real.” The agent said and hung up. “It took them this long to check everything and they've found over a hundred million dollars worth in paintings and artifacts are now replaced with cheap fakes.”

The supervisor's eyes squinted and he thought furiously. “You both know the policy of the United States. We do not negotiate with terrorists.”

The two agents exchanged looks and then looked at the supervisor.

“Sir, we've talked to the agent in the hospital. He's... well, he's...”

“Spit it out.” The supervisor said.

“He claims that his team were the ones to terrorize their target and his family. It was a very long sting operation to acquire the man's foreign gold resources.”

The supervisor huffed. “Why would they do that? We can just claim it as a national emergency and confiscate it to add to the federal reserve.”

“It's in the form of coins, sir.”

“Minted coins?” The supervisor asked.

“Foreign minted. They are so foreign that the markings and origins of it are beyond our capability to track down.”

“That's not possible. The resources we have access to, let us pinpoint every known currency in the world.”

“Maybe not for all of time, sir.” One of the agents said. “We talked to a Mr. Graham from the oversight committee, who is now looking into this whole mess on the other end. The date on the coin was the year 926.”

“You can't seriously think...” The supervisor stopped talking and thought about it. “...you know, if there was enough of it, wherever it came from, I can see them launching an operation to bring the target under their influence.”

“We thought that, too.” One of the agents said. “Then the injured agent told us what they actually did.”

“Well, tell me.” The supervisor said and sat there, a blank expression on his face, as he heard about all of the ridiculous things that agents of the government had been involved in. “Who in their right minds would give authorization for that?”

“He's dead.” The other agent said. “He died during the exchange of gunfire at the treasury.”

The supervisor sighed again and stopped himself from rubbing his face in frustration. “That's just great.” He said and pushed the folders on his desk away. “Now I have to deal with this cluster-fuck.”

The two agents sat there and didn't say anything, because they didn't envy their boss at all.

“I assume you know who their target was.” The supervisor asked.

“Yes, sir. Damon Smith, 30 years old, multi-millionaire construction entrepreneur...”

“Jesus Christ.” The supervisor cursed and interrupted. “Continue.” He said and listened to who the target was and slowly shook his head. “They really kicked a hornet's nest.”

“Mr. Graham informed us that he has a very strong case of wrongful imprisonment and both financial and physical harassment.”

“Of a multi-millionaire that's now broke.” The supervisor said. “We won't have to worry about...”

“We did a bit of digging and found a local bank in D.C. has opened an account for him.”

“Even with his ruined financial situation?” The supervisor asked, a bit surprised.

“He came with a recommendation and they took a chance on him. He dropped three million into a business account.”

“Where did he get that if we already took all of his money?” The supervisor asked.

“The bank said that they don't have to disclose privileged client information.”

“Did you get it anyway?” The supervisor asked.

“Only in passing, because a large sum of money was transferred into Mr. Smith's personal account.”

The supervisor gave them squinted eyes again. “Not the three million in a business account?”

“No, sir.” The agent responded and then fell silent as he wrote out the amount and where it had come from. He handed the piece of paper to the supervisor and the man's face went red, then purple, then white.

“You're not joking with this, are you? I don't need a heart attack right now over a prank.” The supervisor said, his heart beating fast.

“No, sir.” The agent said.

The supervisor sat back and thought about the situation. It took him a few minutes to realize something. “This thing with the Smithsonian is just an example.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“He's showing us that it can be done, without us knowing, unless he tells us about it.” The supervisor said. “A hundred million dollars is only a tenth of what he currently has, and since we don't know what else he has, it might even be... insignificant.”

The two agents looked surprised.

“I want you to bring him to me.” The supervisor said. “Arrest him if you have to.”

“Sir, I don't think that's a good idea.” One of the agents said. “After what happened to him before...”

“Then invite him for tea or something. I don't care.” The supervisor said. “We have a few things we need to discuss, so just get him here.”

“Sir, you don't understand. You don't have enough authority to allow you to negotiate with him.”

“We're just going to talk about this mess.”

“He won't agree to do that.”

“We are the secret service and he is a citizen of the United States.” The supervisor said.

“I'm taking my summer vacation early.” One of the agents said and stood up as he looked at his partner. “I'm heading to the cottage by the lake with my wife. Would you and Janice like to come with us?”

“Hell, yes.” The other agent said and stood as well. “Things are getting way above my comfort level around here.”

“Sit down, the both of you.” The supervisor said in a stern voice.

“Did you hear something just now?” One of them asked.

“No, because we're on vacation.” The other agent said. “All work related stuff is just white noise.”

They left the office together and the supervisor sat there, quite stunned that two of his top agents had pretty much abandoned him, right in the middle of the work day. It took him a few minutes to recover and he noted their actions and intended to note it on their work records. He placed a call to the next two agents and there was no answer. He frowned slightly, then called the next and the next.

None of them picked up.

*

The curator at the Smithsonian sat in his office, a drink in one hand and his resignation in the other. Even if they somehow recovered the stolen items, he would never live it down. The security system hadn't been tripped on any of the expensive exhibits, and that just wasn't possible. They had power and he had triple checked everything to make sure it was working.

He took a big gulp and let the alcohol burn all the way down his throat. He was definitely getting too old to drink like a young man anymore. His stomach protested the warm ingestion and he grabbed his lunch and quickly ate a sandwich. His stomach settled and he sat back to look around the office and at his life. He had spent nearly half of his life taking care of the place. He was going to miss it a lot.

He took another drink to finish it off and put the empty glass and the resignation into his top desk drawer. He would have to wait for the investigation to be over before he could do what needed to be done. He chuckled as he stood up and went to the door to go home for lunch, for the first time in over thirty years.

At least my wife will be happy that I've finally decided to retire. He thought and closed the office door.

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