Game Time

My thanks to HDK for his review and commentary on the initial draft of this story.

*

From the sound of things that I had heard in my phone recording of him and Special Agent Fife, Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn was a real pussy hound who expended his seductive efforts on female contract employees--like my wife, Lana. And she was definitely in his sights as a potential conquest. This had never been worrisome to me before, since Lana and I trusted each other pretty well. As good-looking as she was, Lana had been hit on often, and had shunned any unwanted advances successfully ever since before we had become exclusive back in school.

It also sounded as if Van Horn believed that he had Fife by the short-and-curlies over a one-time incident involving Fife's having fucked a fairly senior Bureau guy's wife at a party. Would this affect Fife's professional ethics in forwarding the information that I had given him today, I wondered?

What else could I do? Did I even have a choice?

I simply sighed, started the car to leave the restaurant where I had had lunch with Special Agent Fife, and told myself to wait it. Zach Taylor had vouched for Fife, so I decided that I would simply have to trust him; I had to trust someone, after all.

I had no clue as to the legality of my iPhone recording, but it sure did paint a picture of Fife as a potential victim of his superior's professional blackmail. It also portrayed Van Horn as someone with a superiority complex, perpetual horniness, and a carefree attitude about involvement in what sounded like criminal activity.

But what did I know? I was simply a husband who was both pissed off and a bit unnerved. Not only was I trying to do what was right in exposing potential criminal activity by someone highly placed in law enforcement. I was also trying to look out for my wife--physically, emotionally, and morally.

I sent the audio file of the recorded restaurant conversations to my personal electronic holding site in the cloud, using another built-in feature of my iPhone. Once I verified that it was stored there, I was confident that I could download it onto my desktop machine at home, my portable iPad, or any other of my compatible remote devices.

****

That evening, I made sure to pay special attention to Lana's expressions and body language as well as her words.

"Hey, Sweetie," Lana said with a kiss and a hug as I came in from the garage, and after putting Steven down. He had been in the kitchen and had made a dash and a leap into my arms when I came in the door.

"I hope that ham-and-potato casserole is okay for you tonight," Lana said, as she held me, but did not look directly in my face. I could not detect any expressions of guilt or evasion at this point. I told myself not to give away anything on my part until I could learn more about the dynamics of her work environment and any changes that might be transpiring--especially if this dick, Van Horn, was sexually harassing her.

"You know that I am always up for your ham-and-potato bake," I said.

"Look at this, Dad," Steven said, holding up a piece of paper with some of his K4-level artwork on it. Any conversation that I might want to have with Lana would have to wait until after supper and after Steven was down for the night.

Later, right after checking Steven's closet for monsters and tucking him into bed, I ensured that his nightlight was working and closed his door. I came back to the den to have a chance to speak to my wife about what I had experienced today, but Lana preempted me by parking her sweet ass in my lap and wrapping me up into a hug and very tongue-filled kiss.

"Maddux," Lana said to me when the kiss broke, "I need you tonight; RIGHT NOW!" She said this with such intensity that I knew that I had to postpone our conversation about her work with this turd, Van Horn. My wife, right then, was caught up in a heightened level of passion that I usually only detected in her about two or three times a year. And I was not about to waste the moment by spoiling the mood.

On, God, did we fuck that night! This was one of those rare three-timer nights for me, and I lost count of the number of times that Lana convulsed in orgasm. After almost three solid hours of active lust-filled fucking, involving my cock, her pussy, and our mouths, fingers, and tongues in contact with every erogenous zone on each of us, we lay in each other's arms, panting. We were both basking in the mutual glow of sexual satisfaction from our efforts afterward.

Lana raised her head and looked at me and said, "Maddux, I love you so much. Thank you for tonight, My Darling," and then she kissed me before reaching to turn out the bedside lamp.

"I love you too, Sweetie," I said, as I reached over to flick on the alarm switch of my bedside clock-radio. I held my tongue about the concerns I was having, since I could tell--from the sound of her voice, and based on memories of past experiences such as this--that she was fading fast.

The rush of our normal morning routine the next day did not allow for any intimate time of conversation either. Needless to say, I was mildly frustrated at not being to discuss my concerns about Lana's job and her ongoing contact with SSA Van Horn.

****

I went to work, as usual, and did my best for 'God and Country.' That night Lana, Steven, and I had a meeting over at his Kindergarten with all the other parents, students, and staff. It was a combined social event and parent-teacher conference. It lasted more than three hours, but only involved about twenty minutes of substantial conversation with Steven's K4 teacher and Lana and me.

Needless to say, I was a bit put out at all the effort and time, just to have such a short meeting with a teacher--just so that she could tell me that she was happy with the Steven's progress, and that, once he completed K5 the following year, she was sure that he would be acceptable at any of the finer schools in the DC area. I just shook my head upon hearing that comment about 'finer schools' in the area.

Hell, I just wanted Steven to be a well-adapted normal kid, ready for public school. Hell, he wasn't Al Gore, or Michelle Nunn, or Chelsea Clinton, or even Malia or Sasha Obama, for God's sake; he did not absolutely HAVE to go THE RIGHT DC-Area private academy or prep school, starting at age 6, in order to prepare him to face the adult world of the future. He was just a kid--so far!

We were all exhausted by the time we got to the house. Steven had fallen asleep in his car seat. Lana was tired was well. By the time I got Steven in the house and changed into his pajamas--while he flopped loosely in my arms, never waking up--and got him into bed, I was pretty tired as well.

Entering our bedroom, I noted that Lana was in bed and asleep already. I stripped and hung up my suit, tossing my other clothing into the hamper before brushing my teeth and slipping under the covers of our bed. I was asleep within seconds of my head's hitting the pillow.

I had not even have time to feel the frustration of not being able to talk to Lana about my fears before sleep had claimed me.

****

The next day, all worries I might have had about Supervisory Special Agent Van Horn's possibly succeeding in getting Lana alone and getting into her pants came to a rather surprising and abrupt end.

Lana had gotten off from work in the late afternoon and, after picking Steven up and arriving home, she had rushed getting supper together. As I had just walked in the door, she told me to get changed so that we could have supper without delay, and get Steven down for the night. She had some important news for me.

Lana, Steven, and I had a rather rushed evening and Steven seemed to try to resist all our efforts to get him down for bed early. But, eventually, we did get him to sleep, and then we retired to the den, where Lana had set out two large wine glasses filled with a dark, but sweet, red wine that was our favorite at the time.

"I have some rather exciting news to tell you, Maddux; but, it is disturbing as well ..." Lana abruptly cut off what she was going to say as the land line rang at that moment. Annoyed at the interruption--at a quarter to eight in the evening, no less--she took a sip of wine as I stood and walked to get the phone from the wall in the kitchen entryway where it was mounted.

"Hey! Maddux; are you and Lana watching Fox right now?" It was Zach Taylor's voice. "If not, you really need to turn it on and see what is going down!"

"Okay, Zach, hang on," I said, putting the phone on speaker mode and reaching for the remote. I had to turn the Comcast box on and then the TV. Once the picture came into view, I had to punch in the numbers to change the channel from PBS to Fox.

"... claim that the arrest comes on the heels of a months-long investigation," I heard coming from Sheperd Smith as I watched him point to a studio screen--almost the size of the wall in my den--at one side of his control deck in the Fox News Network's Breaking News Division. "One FBI spokesman says that, if proven, and if the suspect is convicted, then this is the most egregious example of lawlessness on the part of a senior Agent of the Bureau since the Robert Hanssen case, back in 2001.

"We will break in on tonight's programming as further news develops here on this story. Right now, we are waiting for the possible announcement of a press conference concerning this evening's arrest.

"Once again; earlier this evening, sources within the FBI tell us that the Bureau arrested one of its own," (dramatic pause), "in connection with allegations of ties to money laundering, prostitution, human sex trafficking, racketeering, and other activities related to the Agent's alleged personal ties to a Russian organized crime network based out of Baltimore." (touches his earpiece).

"The Agent's name we now know to be Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn." (touches his earpiece again and turns to his big display wall). "We can see, from the helicopter shot that you are seeing on your screens right now at home, the motorcade that is--at this moment, as we broadcast live--transporting the apprehended Special Agent to a Federal holding facility, where he will be detained and interrogated.

"Stay with Fox News this evening as we follow this incredible story. We now take you back to our regular evening programming with Greta Van Susteren."

I clicked the remote to mute the television and turned to look at Lana. She had a rather satisfied--and somewhat superior--expression on her face as she took another sip of wine.

"So," Lana said, "what do you think of what you see happening there on television?"

Before I could answer her, I heard Zach Taylor's voice again coming from my phone on the coffee table. "Hey! Did you see what your wife pulled off?"

I was a bit confused as I asked, "What do you mean?"

Lana put her wine glass down and, giggling like a school girl, rushed over and hugged me, as I heard Zach's voice continue.

"Maddux, Lana almost singlehandedly exposed one of the most corrupt Agents the Bureau has ever uncovered. She's a real hero. Oops! I've got a beep--another call coming in. Hey, I'll talk to you folks again once things have settled. Good job, Lana!" And then he clicked off.

Lana was smiling up into my face as she raised her arms up and around my neck.

"How do you like that? I seem to have kicked the hornet's nest here," Lana said to me.

"And just what did you do to bring this about?" I asked now, smiling down into my lovely bride's face.

"Let me refill our glasses first, and then I will tell you what I can, within the limits of the classification of the information and what is covered by my company's non-disclosure agreement."

Lana disengaged from my arms and picked up both our glasses as she moved over to the dining room, where she had left the wine bottle. Returning with the refilled glasses, she handed me mine, gave me a kiss, and the sat down on the sofa as I sat in my chair. I did not want to be distracted by the TV--even muted--so I clicked off the image of Greta Van Susteren interviewing some retired Army colonel about the situation in the Middle East.

"As you know, Honey, my particular duties as part of the contract with Tamerlane have been connected with forensic accounting support to Bureau activities. And, I have been performing those duties at offices in Columbia, Maryland for the past three months, as opposed to my main cubicle in McLean, Virginia." Lana looked at me to see that I was paying attention, and I nodded for her to continue.

According to Lana, Zach Taylor had approached her--accompanied by FBI Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn--over four months previously. They had asked if she would be willing to work temporarily out of an office in Columbia, Maryland. The office was part of a business run by one Vadim Lermontov; a brokerage firm.

Vadim Lermontov, it turns out, was actually 'brokering' deals connected with 'purifying' the funds that flowed through his business. In other words, he took the 'gray' money that came from several other firms. This money had only been partially purified by them, as they were only able to do so much with the 'black' money that they received from the criminal enterprises of one Vasily Radkevich. Thus Vadim's organization was the third and almost final step along the path in handling the money coming from Radkevich and cleaning up its provenance in the eyes of the law and the regulators.

Vadim's people pumped this river of Vasily's illegal cash that had been made semi-legal into legitimate investments, as well as into overseas financial institutions whose nations' banking and securities laws provided excellent privacy assurances to their customers. The investigatory powers of Interpol, the FBI, the U.S. Treasury Department, and many other financial regulatory and law-enforcement governmental agencies around the globe could only pound their respective desks in frustration. Vadim's expert accountants seemed to be able to perform electronic magic to transform the money into 'clean' resources; and then proceeded to park it in apparently untouchable holding sites and repositories around the world.

One of Vadim's accountants had not been quite so careful in his haste to finalize a transaction, and he had somehow allowed the Homeland Security Department's United States Secret Service--yes, even after moving in 2003 from Treasury to DHS, the USSS still performs its primary duties of ensuring the strength and viability of the nation's currency against counterfeiting and major fraud; and only secondarily provides armed protection to the President and others--to obtain evidence of his misdeeds. He had rolled quickly when the USSS and the FBI had pulled him in to question him. From what he had revealed during interrogation, the Bureau had been able to obtain--very quietly--warrants that allowed them to go after Vadim and his brokerage.

When shown the futility of fighting what the FBI had on him, Vadim had agreed--somewhat fearfully--to help the Bureau go after bigger fish in this criminal financial pond. It did, however, take quite a bit of convincing by the Bureau for Vadim to overcome his fear of possible retribution by the Russian mob. After all, this recent wave of criminals in the U.S. often took drastic reprisals against those who crossed them--killing not only the perpetrators, but their family members as well. And Vasily Radkevich was known to be particularly brutal in that respect.

In a manner similar to the Russian cultural aspect of a story within a story, and yet within another story--as typified by the Russian matryoshka (or nesting) dolls--the Bureau was also involved in another investigation closely tied to what they were asking of Tamerlane and, by extension, my wife, Lana. And Special Agent Fife was up to his eyeballs in it.

It appeared as if, over a year earlier, the Bureau's Office of Professional Responsibility, or OPR, had been concerned about the personal financial status of a very senior Agent within the Bureau. Thus, they had approached Special Agent Fife to serve as the central figure in the Bureau's internal investigation of Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn. The OPR investigators had uncovered what appeared to be financial links--although murky at best--between the financial institutions that assisted SSA Van Horn with his personal finances and those that serviced the interests of one Vasily Radkevich.

In a related matter, OPR had also been made aware indirectly about rumblings coming from the contractors associated with the FBI's activities in the D.C area, also involving SSA Van Horn. It would seem that SSA Van Horn was the central figure in one or two cases involving the divorces of female contractors, one of them being particularly nasty and casting a shadow over the professional status of a very senior Agent within the Bureau.

"I am sorry that I could not tell you anything while this was all going on, My Darling," Lana told me now, "but Barney and Zach asked me to keep things very close-hold while I assisted them with building the cases against Emmett and Vasily.

"You see, almost from the moment that I agreed to work on the Bureau's external investigation within the Columbia brokerage, Emmett began to work on ME," Lana told me. "He started with invitations to lunch early on, to 'discuss progress and key aspects of the investigation,' as he liked to call it.

"This had not been going on very long when Zach introduced me to Barney over lunch in McLean one day when Emmett was tied up in meetings in Downtown Washington." Lana took another sip of wine and continued.

"Barney told me an almost unbelievable tale about Emmett. It turns out that the Bureau had asked Barney, in his capacity as one of the Special Agents on Emmett's external investigation of Russian organized crime, to investigate Emmett internally. Barney told me that the internal affairs investigators within the Bureau had enough of a lead to allow them to launch an official probe on Emmett's possibly being on the payroll of one of the Bureau's largest targeted criminal enterprises. The Bureau's investigators believed that Emmett may have been warning the criminals just at the critical moments when cases might be coming to a peak--thus, frustrating the investigators. Files would vanish and accounts would close and witnesses would vanish at critical times that were just too coincidental and convenient."

"What about the payoffs that they were talking about on the news?" I asked.

"That was how I was supposed to help Barney and Zach--and the OPR investigators as well. While I was working on the electronic criminal money trails, ostensibly at Emmett Van Horn's behest, I was also able to discover and track the particular trails by which the Radkevich organization was paying off some of their paid agents deeply-placed within the Federal government." Now she brushed the fingernails of her right hand against her blouse in the manner of a braggadocio.

"And that is how I discovered the specific money trail leading directly to the complicity of Mr. Super-Duper Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn." She then gave a slight bow as I smiled at her. I had placed my wine glass down and was giving her quiet golf applause and a nod for her to continue.

"When I informed Barney about my discovery of proof of Emmett's possible criminal activity, as well as my recounting of Emmett's continued attempts to seduce me, he asked me to do two things for him and the Bureau.

"I was to continue to hold Van Horn off on my discoveries of the criminal evidence pointing to him. And I was to--I am sorry, My Darling--keep allowing Emmett to believe that he was succeeding in his efforts to get me into bed eventually." Lana looked down and blushed with the shame of what she was feeling as she told me this.