Chapter 37 - Cosmic Charlie's Coastline

Entering the driveway to their destination gave Finne’s heart a slight relief. The van and motorcade transporting him and Sarah had traveled the most direct route to CIA headquarters from their pick up on Kent Island, east of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, through the middle of Washington, DC along New York Avenue, across the Potomac via 395 South and up the Virginia shoreline along the GW Parkway. Their speed was paced at least 20 miles faster than any traffic they encountered and every detail of the ride had assured Finne he was dealing with Good people…the best of the best he thought. However as they made their way north past Chain Bridge Rd on approach to the CIA exit the van’s pace never slowed. They passed the exit for the fly-over bridge that led into the riverside entrance of the infamous agency with a further destination obviously in mind. Just as Finne began to consider he may have been lied to, the motorcade darkened its lights and pulled off at the U.S. Park Police Parkway headquarters less than a quarter-mile from the exit for the agency.

“Are we still headed inside,” Finne asked of the driver.

“Yes sir,” was the only reply.

Watching from inside-out through the heavily tinted van windows, Finne’s eyes closely followed and recorded the van’s path behind the concrete police sub-station to a desolate end of the facility’s parking lot. As the motorcade approached through the darkness at hurried pace, the forest bordering the end of the lot began to divide opening to a heavily reinforced, man-made tunnel entrance with a steep declining entrance. Finne watched as the vehicles passed through bunker-like entrance, and he saw steel plates and tire spikes rise on the path behind them just as the jungle covered gates that masked as the forest closed behind them. The vehicles descended quickly before the tunnel turned to the right at nearly a 90 degree angle.

Ok, Finne thought, we’re at least under the CIA, this should be legit.

“Special Agent Seldnak,” the driver called to get Finne’ attention. “We are entering Langley under the darkest protocols. Jack wants you here to be safe, but please understand; you are only safe here if nobody knows you two are even alive. We’re headed to a safe room on the north-side of the underground complex. Access is restricted heavily. There are only two entrance/exits and they are both classified at the highest level. You just passed through one, which I can assure was fortified with multiple layers of intrusion suppression and lethality. The other provides an exit if needed.”

“I’ve heard several legends of secret entrances to Langley in my youth growing up in this area, and as a Special Agent walking close to the dark sides of many lines,” Finne offered in reply. “I assume that this entrance keeps us off any entry log?”

“Absolutely, sir,” the driver responded with respect. “In fact, sir, before the Washington Post and New York Times put any attention to this country’s rendition programs; this location was the spot for the highest value targets. Take comfort, though, you are not in for any water-boarding. This is now the agency’s most-secret and most-secure safe house in the world. Your presence will never be noted here.”

Finne understood the reference to the highly-controversial, rendition program that involved international alliance agreements for the imprisonment and tortured interrogation of the enemies of the U.S.’ War on Terror.

Really, he thought. The big guys were here all along and not off-shore in Cuba. Great secret! Kudos!

The van and its accompanying SUV pulled to a stop at the end of the sub-terrainian roadway along-side a massive steel doorway opened but under heavy guard. Finne noticed three lines of security personnel distributed with military precision around the vault-like entrance. The first line included three canine officer’s and there military service dog partners. The second line of men he distinguished was all laden with heavy-explosive and ordinance disposal protective gear consistent with a federal bomb squad or a Marine counter-explosive unit. The third line of defense, Finne observed, were four highly attentive, jar-faced, special ops soldiers decked out in black body armor, each with a trigger-ready grip on their shoulder-strapped MP5 automatic assault rifles.

Finne and Sarah exited the van and proceeded towards the bunker entrance. The two men that rode with them in the van led their way at a steady but not hurried pace. Finne was impressed and at the same time comforted by the massive security infrastructure and professionals surrounding him. At least there won’t be any water-boarding, he thought to himself in attempt to sustain his sense of humor.

After crossing through the portal door from the tunnel entrance and past each line of perimeter security personnel, the two arrived in a massive room that extended from the vault wall they had just crossed onward at length likely greater than 200 yards, Finne estimated. The ceiling was at least 20 feet high giving the space similarities more in line with a sports arena than a secret underground bunker beneath the CIA.

A woman approached from the middle of the room. Before reaching Finne and Sarah, she began speaking to them in a tone of voice that seemed motherly – certainly with intent to be re-assuring.

“Special Agent Selnak and Ms. Simpson,” she began. “You both can be assured that you are safe here, more so than anywhere else in the world you could be right now. Jack is my friend, and I know he has informed you, Agent Seldnak…”

“Please call me Finne. And this is Sarah” Finne interjected.

“Of course. To continue, I know Jack has informed you Finne of the dire nature of the situation at hand,” the woman continued.

“Somewhat, I’ll agree. But there is more that I want to know. A lot more,” Finne returned with a strong tone in his voice expressing his sincere expectations to be provided more information than he had been provided by Jack or anyone else he had encountered since he and Sarah’s fates re-merged along Georgetown Pike paralleling the Potomac shoreline less than 10 miles north of their current location several hours earlier.

“Of course,” the woman replied. “Over on the far wall you will find several workstations from which you may access any US resource you may ever want with complete anonymity. Those computers don’t exist neither do its users. But you can get any piece of information you could ever conceive by querying from anyone of them. Feel free to pull on any threads you want. Nothing will be reserved from you here. If you should want or need anything while you stay here just ask. We can provide any comforts you desire.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah interjected sarcastically. “Can we get some music in here?”

“What would you like to hear?”

“The Grateful Dead…live!” Sarah replied with a slightly pretentious demeanor, confident that she had just requested a ‘comfort’ that could not be provided.

Before her grin had expanded to its fullest across her face, music enveloped the room with symphonic acoustic projection. The riff being played could only be attributed musical mastery of the late, great Jerry Garcia. Uncle John’s Band, Sarah recognized the tune from the first notes released from Jerry’s guitar. OK, she thought. Sarah might be able to get anything she desired here, as promised. Nice!

Finne cast a look over his shoulder towards the control room he noticed across the room. He wondered whether the song choice was made with comedic intent as the duplicitous verse “…down by the riverside” was sung into the room. Down by the riverside indeed, Finne thought.

“Thank you, Madame Director.” Finne expressed with legitimate gratitude.

DCI Carol Thompson replied simply, “You’re welcome.”