A Mocking Bird
Rating: PG-13 (primarily for language that might be utilized; these characters have some strong thoughts)
Disclaimers: None of it belongs to me; in fact, Wynken, Blynken, and Nod shared these visions with me as I was fantasizing about Clayton Webb.
Summary: From Porter Webb's POV, it's about time JAG Ops & the CIA acknowledge her son's contributions to national security and their well-being by getting him out of harm's way and back to the United States.
Author's Note: I made some alterations to the ending of Chapter 1 and must thank Alex for correcting my Italian. Chapter 2 was written on an airplane with a severe head cold. As always, feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated.
=============================================================
0900 Zulu
Great Falls, Virginia
Porter Webb thoughtfully replaced the phone in it's cradle.
*So*, she thought, *Commander Rabb makes contact after four years, claiming to be Clayton's friend. And checking on Sarah MacKenzie, no less. He was as obvious as a three-dollar bill. Whatever information he has to impart to that young lady has nothing to do with national security and everything to do with the charming Commander. How could he even know if she's on an op with Clayton? I have no knowledge about an op in Paraguay. Think, Porter, think--- analyze the evidence: uncertain voice, vague responses, fishing for information…*
Porter gazed at the picture of her son on the mantle and made a decision. Walking to the antique secretary in the corner of the room, she snatched up her private line and dialed an all-too-familiar number.
"National Security Agency, office of the Director; how may I direct your call?" came the cultured tones of a young man.
"Yes, put me through to General Hayden, please. Security code Alpha-Delta-three-four-seven. The old Sally (for SIGSALY) line, if you would?" Porter waited patiently for confirmation.
The cultured voice returned: "Please confirm digital voice recognition code Romeo-Charlie."
"Lady Macbeth is seeing spots," Porter smoothly quoted, then entered her PIN on the phone's keypad. Moments later a jovial voice greeted her.
"Porter? To what do I owe the pleasure? You're not going to try to talk me into assigning Rodchenko to the CSS team again, are you? Central Security needs to start recruiting …"
"Good Morning, Michael," she broke in.
The NSA Director was notorious for his diatribes on recruiting skilled personnel. Although too close for many to differentiate, personnel lines between the NSA and the CSS were clear. While the Central Security Service provided cryptologic activities within the military, the National Security Agency incorporated non-military personnel from the Departments of Defense, Justice, Treasury, Energy, and State, and the CIA. It was just a fact of life that Hayden was constantly shuffling his personnel from one branch to the other.
"No, no, Rod can stay in Fort Meade for the time being. He did a beautiful job on those anthrax letters, by the way. Don't forget that when the fit-reps are secured: diligence must be rewarded," laughed Porter.
"Him and sixty-seven other cryptologists!" groused the Director. "Right now we're negotiating with those damn contractors again—and half of them are former operatives. If Congress would only set a budget that would allow my personnel to compete with the private sector…but I know I'm preaching to the choir. And there's another budget meeting in twenty, so…?"
"I'll get right to the point. I need reciprocity with Watts and you can arrange it." Porter held her breath as the former Air Force General's agile mind processed her request.
"Langley is not where you want to be right now, Porter. Watts is up before the Congressional Committee this week and…"
"Yes, Michael, I know he's on his way out. Everyone knows Kershaw is in position. I'll help with the transition in any way that I can, I always do. This request, however, is of a highly personal nature. Michael, I need confirmation on a specific South American op to which Watts has assigned Clayton. It involves Chegwidden and his crew." By her stilted manner of speaking, General Hayden knew Porter was in a dangerous mood. That, plus the fact that Porter Webb never made personal requests. He quickly synthesized his intel.
Very carefully, he asked, "How long has Clay been out of contact?" He heard a soft intake of breath, the only outward sign Porter Webb would allow to escape her guarded emotions.
"I don't know. I just don't know. He's been down there for eight months paying penance for that Angel Shark incident. Avery Watts has had his pound of flesh and it's past time to recall my son from Purgatory!"
"You've been out of contact with your son for eight months?" The Director was astounded. The deep cover Porter Webb had established in the intelligence community was known to only a select few. As such, her tentacles of power reached far into the very infrastructure of several countries. He could barely believe that she had not kept a bead on her own son.
"I had to, Michael. It's the only request he's ever made of me. When Avery reassigned him, Clayton felt he'd been stripped of his career, his lifestyle, and his self-worth. You and I both know that revealing the fate of the Angel Shark in no way threatened national security. In fact, it was the best PR coup the Navy has received in years. My son expected to take a career hit, but none of us could believe that Avery would impose total exile. My hands were tied. He asked me to let him suffer alone and I had to respect his wishes. He told me he wanted time to re-evaluate his life and goals. I told him that I understood. And I did---I do."
"So what's happened? Why are you getting involved now, Porter?"
"I just received some intel that makes me question his immediate safety down there."
Hayden did not even bother to question her sources. If Porter Webb trusted the intel, you could take it to the bank. Although he didn't know her son that well, he had studied his service record. If he was even half as ruthless and intelligent as Porter was reputed to be, then Hayden truly pitied Watts. The DCI's days on this earth were numbered if something happened to Clayton Webb.
"Okay, Porter, consider it done. I'll set it up for 2100 tomorrow. Any preference?"
"Thank you, Michael. I'm in your debt. Ocala's Grille in Chantilly would be just fine."
"You want Chegwidden there, too?" General Hayden was all business now.
"Yes. Good suggestion. May as well kill two birds with one stone." Porter was equally matter-of-fact. Neither bothered with good-byes. They never had.
=============================================================
2100 Zulu
Ocala's Grille
Chantilly, Virginia
Admiral AJ Chegwidden guardedly approached the elegantly set table occupied by the CIA Director and Porter Webb. He'd never been formally introduced to Mrs. Webb, but by the agitation Avery Watts was displaying, she had to be damned intimidating. He held out his hand as he approached her left side.
"I'm AJ Chegwidden, and you must be Mrs. Webb. I hope I haven't kept you waiting very long."
*Another charmer in dress whites*, thought Porter as she briefly allowed Chegwidden to take her hand.
*Well, he's earned my son's respect and admiration over the years, but damned if I'm going to let the old salt off the hook that easily. Breaking Clayton's nose had required reconstructive surgery that had left him with constant sinus infections. I still wonder why Clayton hadn't just taken down the Admiral. Clayton is very skilled in several forms of hand-to-hand combat. He knows several ways to kill and defend himself without using a weapon; by the age of twelve, Neville and I had taught him all that we knew. Must have been an unexpected attack. Still, several years have gone by and Chegwidden seems to have filled the fatherly gap created when Tim Fawkes succumbed to a heart attack nearly three years ago. Very well, I'll reserve judgment on the bastard.*
"Not very," was her icy return. Outwardly polite and smiling, her eyes blazing with intelligence, Porter indicated that the Admiral should have a seat.
AJ briefly glanced at Watts as he straightened his chair and picked up the discrete little menu. Porter instantly picked up on the animosity between the two; it could prove useful.
"Gentlemen, I'd suggest the soft-shell aragosta pilaf eccessivo. It's especially good at this time of the year---first of the season. And would a chianti be out of order?" After receiving nods from the two men, Porter made a slight gesture towards an elderly man.
At first glance, AJ might have mistaken him for the waiter, but on closer observation, this was obviously the owner of the restaurant. It was also obvious that he was very well acquainted with Porter Webb.
"Ciao,Roberto" Porter greeted him
"Ah, Signora Webb... sempre un piacere servirla.Andava tutto bene fin'ora?" the owner inquired with a knowng smile.
"Certamente, Roberto.E grazie.Come stanno Margareth e Sophia? Sei riuscitoa farle sposare?" Porter was all grace and charm as she inquired after his two middle-aged daughters. Porter knew both of them to be quite lovely, but both had been unlucky in maintaining long-term relationships.
"Non ancora---Esiste qualcuno l. fuori che sia alla loro altezza? Questo il lamento di un padre!" Robert laughed at their long-standing frustration at being the parents of independent adults.
"Accadr. al momento giusto,Robert. tutte le cose buone vengono al momento giusto." Porter nodded sagely.
"Ah, s.,ha ragione" he agreed. "I suoi amici? Siete pronti per ordinare? Ma naturalmente che lo siete.questi uomini--lo sanno quanto sono fortunati a cenare con una donna cos. bella?"
"Certo che lo sappiamo!" inserted AJ. The Admiral then proceeded to place their order in his uniquely accented Italian.
=============================================================
Author's Note: Okay, spoilsports. Here's the translation—you didn't really think I'd leave you hanging, did you? Well, my Italian's a bit rusty, too. Thanks for the help Alex!
=============================================================
"Hello, Robert," Porter greeted him
"Ah, Mrs. Webb. It is always a pleasure to serve you. Is everything to your satisfaction, thus far?" the owner inquired with a knowing smile.
"Of course, Robert. And thank you. How are Margaret and Sophia? Married them off yet?" Porter was all grace and charm as she inquired after his two middle-aged daughters. Porter knew both of them to be quite lovely, but both had been unlucky in maintaining long-term relationships.
"Not yet---is there no one out there good enough for them? Such is a Papa's lament!" Robert laughed at their long-standing frustration at being the parents of independent adults.
"It will come in time, Robert. All good things come in time," Porter nodded sagely.
"Ah, yes; you are correct," he agreed. "Your party---you are ready to order? But of course you are. These men--they know how lucky they are to be dining with such a beautiful woman?"
"Of course we do!" inserted AJ. The Admiral then proceeded to place their order in his uniquely accented Italian.
=============================================================
Porter had wondered when one of the men would object to being excluded from the conversation. She had to hide a smile as she listened to the soft Texas twang. The Admiral's take-charge attitude seemed to irritate Watts enormously. Good. It was time to gather some data.
AJ was wary of the determined look in Porter Webb's eyes. Style, class, determination: now he saw the resemblance to her son. A stupid man would underestimate the intelligence and power of such a woman. Of timeless beauty and elegance, AJ could have easily placed her at about his age, but knew her to be at least fifteen years older---if Lt. Roberts' intel had been accurate. And there had been precious little information in the dossier Bud had compiled: it was bland enough to be suspect. Hell, right now he was almost certain it was a pack of lies. *Curator of the Center for Cryptologic History, my ass.* He glanced over at Watts and immediately realized one thing: the DCI was about to display his stupidity. Big Time. He decided to sit back and avoid the incoming---it was about to hit the fan.
Avery Watts looked over at Porter Webb with thinly veiled contempt. He knew all about the widow of Neville Webb. Just the fact that she had been married to that stiff-assed prick told him a lot. But he was also one of those select few who knew who she really was. Or, rather, the type of power she wielded. He would've had her "swept" years ago if he could have gotten away with it. As it was, he figured the old broad didn't have many days left ahead of her. He had to admit, though: she didn't look or act like a woman of seventy-two. Nevertheless, he hated encounters with Porter Webb; they left him feeling…emasculated.
"Avery, dear. Admiral Chegwidden---so glad you could meet with me…," Porter began, but was gently interrupted by the Admiral.
"Just AJ, please."
"Then you must call me Porter, AJ." Her smooth tones should have lulled both men into a sense of comfort, but at least one man was on his guard. She zeroed in on Watts.
"Avery, I understand that you and AJ were the last two to see my son before he returned to Paraguay three days ago." Both men immediately straightened in their seats. There had been no preliminaries. AJ nearly choked on his lobster when Watts kicked him under the table. Hell, no: he wouldn't cover for Watts.
"Avery, it's no use trying to inveigle AJ. He appears to be intelligent enough to avoid your sphere of influence. Right, AJ?" Porter barely glanced at the startled Admiral.
"Yes, ma'am." AJ intoned with not a little bit of awe. Damn, it had already hit the fan and somehow he'd stepped in it.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Porter. Webb returned to the States? Impossible. I've been on the Hill for the past week, but…" Avery Watts was stunned. *That little turncoat had better keep his ass down south.* He made a mental note to check in with Kershaw to monitor Webb's status. "Chegwidden? You know anything about this?"
AJ considered Porter Webb for a moment. Something was seriously wrong. Whether she knew it or not, Watts was telling the truth. Evidently, Clay had only made contact with AJ and Colonel Mackenzie three days ago. Or maybe he'd just steered clear of Watts---who knew at this point? *Damnit Clay, what didn't I `need to know' this time?
*
Being purposefully evasive, AJ played a very risky hunch: "Well, Porter, I—ah---I'm at a loss for words. Much as I hate to agree with him," AJ briefly grinned at the DCI, "Watts is right. It's been months since your son has blackened my doorstep. Sort of surprised me since that girlfriend of his is on my watch. Didn't you give him any leave time Watts?"
"The activities of my agents are classified, Chegwidden. Not even I know what their leave schedules are." Then turning to Porter, Watts folded his napkin and executed a gracious bow. "As always, a pleasure, Porter. I'm expected back on the Hill shortly or I would stay longer. Don't fret over Clayton. I'm sure his rotation will be over soon. I'll tell Kershaw to up his timetable, hmm?" With that, Watts made a hasty escape.
AJ evaluated Porter's _expression as she watched Watts take his leave. Avery Watts had seriously underestimated Porter Webb. By the time he got to the Hill, AJ didn't doubt Kershaw would be the acting DCI. Noting her look of satisfaction, AJ wondered what fate had in store for Avery Watts, but didn't waste too much time dwelling on it.
When they were finally alone, Porter smiled at AJ and began her subtle inquisition. After all, there was an art to gathering data. She had taught Clay to take pride such skills.
"Which girlfriend was this, AJ? He's had so many over the years, it's hard for a mere mother to keep up with them." Porter imperceptibly ran her right hand under the table where Watts had been sitting. Without batting an eye, she placed the small listening device on his plate.
"Is it Sarah?" Porter asked with a twinkle. Commander Rabb had already revealed that Colonel *Sarah* MacKenzie was with Clayton. Shaking her head, she considered what she had learned: she had made a strategic error in questioning Watts. The Admiral had made a good save. She needed to find out why. Before she could put her plan into action, she noticed the Admiral writing on his cloth napkin.
"Actually, no. Sarah is in the family way and is currently on maternity leave." At Porter's startled _expression, AJ chuckled and clarified: "Not by Clay, Porter. Such a situation would horrify your son, I believe. No, he lost out on Sarah. She found her soul mate in a Lt. Cowen. They're expecting their bundle of joy any day now."
AJ held her gaze for a beat: message received: * One of my people iswith your son. Cover is married couple with child on the way. Have been expecting status update at any time.* He continued to write while Porter gamely continued their conversation.
Porter nodded her respect for the wily Admiral. "Forgive me AJ, but who is this young lady who is so infatuated with my son?"
"Well, have you heard Clay mention a Harriet Simms---attractive Lieutenant from the IG's office. Wonderful young lady, I'm just not certain he deserves her. In fact, I believe that her interest may shift elsewhere if he doesn't return soon to stake his claim." AJ completed the final touches to the napkin and nonchalantly slid it over to Mrs. Webb.
"Well, AJ, they come and go," laughed Porter. "I wonder how long Harriet will last once Clayton returns." Porter touched a corner of the napkin to her lips, carefully folded it, and draped it inside of her Luis Vuitton purse.
"I don't know Porter. I get the feeling that this might be the one to lasso him in." *This mission is highly dangerous---this might be the one that kills him and my officer.* AJ observed a slight dent in Porter Webb's iron-clad composure. Her sudden pallor told its own story. Enough of this double-talk—
"AJ, I have a splitting headache I've been nursing ever since I arrived. Would it be too rude of me to abandon you to the dessert menu?" Porter did, indeed, look as though she might be physically ill. AJ debated whether or not she was up to the task ahead of them, but decided to respect whatever decision she might make.
"Not at all Porter, not at all. I've got to get back to JAG Ops myself." AJ started to stand, but a gentle pressure on his right should halted his progress.
"I insist, AJ. After our little talk about Clayton, I almost feel as though he'd been here. How's that for a mother grasping at straws? Please enjoy dessert as a small token of my appreciation." As she exited the restaurant, Porter casually added, "By the way, I highly recommend the tiramisu. Robert always triples the caramel sauce. Good afternoon, AJ."
*Well, ETA'll be three hours instead of two. Might as well order the damn dessert,* he mused to himself. Although he knew that patience was a necessary virtue when it came to dealing with situations like this, his anxiety levels were rapidly rising.
AJ's uncertain mood quickly turned to embarrassment as he made his way out the door a few minutes later: *Too many damn women are picking up the check for my meals, lately. That mocking look in old Roberto's eyes doesn't help any, either. Damnit!*