didn’t want us to be seen together by Feghali. What a paranoid chicken! I thought. That was then.
When I got to my desk, my phone light was blinking: voice mail. As if connected telepathically, Saccher had left a message, asking me to meet him about something urgent the following morning at nine sharp. Now that was Karma! I thought about Feghali’s warning, You are not allowed to meet with your case agent, Saccher, without notifying me first . I shrugged and mumbled to myself, “Screw you, Feghali; you and the Dickersons are about to be exposed.”
5
Discovery
T he following morning, only one day after Feghali’s e-mail and before signing in, I stopped by to meet Saccher at his cubicle. He’d left a message that he wanted to see me on some urgent matter. I had no idea what it was about.
When I appeared at his desk, Saccher grabbed a chair from an empty cubicle and rolled it over. After some pleasantries, he began. “Okay … I know you’re working on many different projects and counterterrorism cases; plus, you’re here part-time, so a lot of my CI stuff has been handled by Dickerson for the past month or so. Kevin—well, Kevin is not much of a translator, we both know that. I know how he got in here; I’ve resigned myself to the bureau’s disastrous state in translation and analysis—drowned in corruption, incompetence, nepotism, you name it. I won’t even get into that!”
I nodded for him to continue.
“You and I know and have talked about the primary targets—the three most important targets of this operation out of twenty plus—right? Come on, you discovered most of the evidence.” He grabbed the file from a stack and handed it to me. “I want you to take a look at this and let me know what jumps out at you, okay?”
I leafed through fifty or so stapled sheets, a collection of Counterintelligence project translations submitted by the Turkish translation unit at the end of each day. I started to hand the file back to Saccher. “So? What is it?”
Saccher pushed it back toward me. “Come on Sibel, just look at it closely. Take a few minutes and go through it. Then tell me what you see.”
Now I was curious. I set the file in front of me and paid careful attention to each line, each word. These were not from all three translators in the Turkish unit—they all had been submitted by Melek Can Dickerson. Her name and ID were printed on the top of each sheet. Each page had several target ID numbers followed by either the summary translation of the communication or Not Pertinent to Be Translated stamped on them.
On closer inspection, I realized one target in particular had Not Pertinent stamped on every single piece of intelligence. That target happened to be the one the Dickersons named during their visit: the colonel they wanted to introduce us to, the man with whom she worked in the past and associated regularly. I started turning pages and scanning for the same target ID number: there it was, on every communication stamped Not Pertinent to Be Translated . I could see it all now, plain in full sight: she’d been steadily blocking the translation of her friend and business associate for over a month. She’s shielding the criminals for whom she worked—and who are clearly still her friends , I thought.
Saccher was watching me intently. I plopped the file back on his desk. “Dennis, it all fits. Now, with everything else you have—the visit and dividing the lines—you can do something about it, right?”
Saccher looked puzzled. “What visit? What dividing?”
“The report,” I said. “The report on the Dickersons’ visit to my house, the forgery of my initials on CT cases in New Jersey and the latest division instructions!”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you talking in code? What visit or forgery?”
I felt blood rushing to my face. “I reported several highly suspicious activities involving Dickerson to Feghali, and he said he filed it with personnel security
When I got to my desk, my phone light was blinking: voice mail. As if connected telepathically, Saccher had left a message, asking me to meet him about something urgent the following morning at nine sharp. Now that was Karma! I thought about Feghali’s warning, You are not allowed to meet with your case agent, Saccher, without notifying me first . I shrugged and mumbled to myself, “Screw you, Feghali; you and the Dickersons are about to be exposed.”
5
Discovery
T he following morning, only one day after Feghali’s e-mail and before signing in, I stopped by to meet Saccher at his cubicle. He’d left a message that he wanted to see me on some urgent matter. I had no idea what it was about.
When I appeared at his desk, Saccher grabbed a chair from an empty cubicle and rolled it over. After some pleasantries, he began. “Okay … I know you’re working on many different projects and counterterrorism cases; plus, you’re here part-time, so a lot of my CI stuff has been handled by Dickerson for the past month or so. Kevin—well, Kevin is not much of a translator, we both know that. I know how he got in here; I’ve resigned myself to the bureau’s disastrous state in translation and analysis—drowned in corruption, incompetence, nepotism, you name it. I won’t even get into that!”
I nodded for him to continue.
“You and I know and have talked about the primary targets—the three most important targets of this operation out of twenty plus—right? Come on, you discovered most of the evidence.” He grabbed the file from a stack and handed it to me. “I want you to take a look at this and let me know what jumps out at you, okay?”
I leafed through fifty or so stapled sheets, a collection of Counterintelligence project translations submitted by the Turkish translation unit at the end of each day. I started to hand the file back to Saccher. “So? What is it?”
Saccher pushed it back toward me. “Come on Sibel, just look at it closely. Take a few minutes and go through it. Then tell me what you see.”
Now I was curious. I set the file in front of me and paid careful attention to each line, each word. These were not from all three translators in the Turkish unit—they all had been submitted by Melek Can Dickerson. Her name and ID were printed on the top of each sheet. Each page had several target ID numbers followed by either the summary translation of the communication or Not Pertinent to Be Translated stamped on them.
On closer inspection, I realized one target in particular had Not Pertinent stamped on every single piece of intelligence. That target happened to be the one the Dickersons named during their visit: the colonel they wanted to introduce us to, the man with whom she worked in the past and associated regularly. I started turning pages and scanning for the same target ID number: there it was, on every communication stamped Not Pertinent to Be Translated . I could see it all now, plain in full sight: she’d been steadily blocking the translation of her friend and business associate for over a month. She’s shielding the criminals for whom she worked—and who are clearly still her friends , I thought.
Saccher was watching me intently. I plopped the file back on his desk. “Dennis, it all fits. Now, with everything else you have—the visit and dividing the lines—you can do something about it, right?”
Saccher looked puzzled. “What visit? What dividing?”
“The report,” I said. “The report on the Dickersons’ visit to my house, the forgery of my initials on CT cases in New Jersey and the latest division instructions!”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you talking in code? What visit or forgery?”
I felt blood rushing to my face. “I reported several highly suspicious activities involving Dickerson to Feghali, and he said he filed it with personnel security
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