“So what did you do?” Jeri asked, watching him carefully. She slowly edged her way back towards her corner behind the counter.
“I submitted my report,” Chip replied with a shrug as he stared at his drink. “And assumed that was the end of it. But it wasn’t. Two days later I was sitting in my office when a messenger clerk dropped a file on my desk from my supervisor. I read it and immediately realized it wasn’t intended for me, but for the Director of the NSA himself. You see, back then everything was encrypted, even the communication protocols for delivering files by the messenger clerks. Apparently the messenger had read the delivery protocol wrong and mistakenly sent the file back to me, its original author. But when I opened the file and examined it, it was obvious the report inside wasn’t mine. Someone had completely rewritten it. But in this version, my target wasn’t clean. In fact, in this new fictionalized report, my young Washington Post journalist was as dirty as they come.”
Chip grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled his glass.
“Espionage, coercion, subterfuge… there were enough fabricated accusations in the report to convict him ten times over. And in case you weren’t aware, Jeri, agencies like the NSA effectively operate outside of the law. I knew once that damn document landed on the desk of the Director, my journalist was a dead man. Regardless of what three years in the agency had taught me, I just couldn’t live with that. So I made what you might call a career-altering decision. I placed a copy of my original report in the messenger’s file and destroyed the false version.” He stared solemnly at Jeri. “Then I walked out the front door of the agency to find the man I’d just risked my career saving.”
“Who was he?” Jeri asked as she slipped onto her stool in the corner. She waited for Chip to look away before discreetly reaching into her bag hanging from the counter behind her.
“His name was James H. Stone,” Chip replied as he picked up his glass and threw back another slug of scotch.
“Wait… what?” Jeri replied, immediately recognizing the name that was written on her father’s book. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s the name–”
“The name of your father, Jeri,” Chip said calmly. “His original name at least.”
Jeri froze and looked at him suspiciously. “You knew my father?”
Chip nodded his head. “I did.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. My father was an economist, not a reporter.”
“I’m sorry to be the one telling you this Jeri, but your father had a life you and your mother were never told about,” Chip replied bluntly. “And for good reason. The night I walked out of the agency, I went straight to his apartment in Georgetown and knocked on his door. When your father unlocked the door I stormed in, pointed my gun at him and asked why the NSA wanted him killed. He looked at me calmly and said ‘I take it you’re not here to kill me.’ Then he walked into the kitchen and poured me a drink.” He paused and looked at the bottle of scotch sitting in front of him. “A nice scotch like this if I recall. Anyway… after that, your father and I had a long chat.”
“What did you two talk about?” Jeri asked.
“The truth.”
“And what exactly is the truth, Chip?”
Chip picked up the bottle and waved it at Jeri. “Care for a drink first?”
Jeri looked at him for a moment before shrugging dejectedly. “Sure, why not.”
She stood up from her stool, quickly hiding the item from her bag behind her apron as Chip refilled the glass. She moved slowly to his end of the counter, watching him warily before picking up the scotch and draining it in a single gulp. Chip watched her with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sorry… I know this is more than you were expecting to deal with today.”
Jeri slapped the empty glass onto the bar and shook her head.
“Continue your story.”
“Oh yes… the truth,” Chip said, running his hand through his hair. “Your father was a brilliant man, Jeri. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who understood the way the world works as well as he did. When I first told him I was an NSA agent and revealed that I’d been assigned to keep him under surveillance for nearly a month, he wasn’t at all surprised by the agency’s interest in him. Nor was he surprised when I told him about the falsified intelligence file that accused him of being a spy.”
“If you really knew my father, then you know he was a good man,” Jeri replied defensively. “So why would anyone want to destroy him?