Vanished

Content Warning: Mention of possible suicide

Vanished

D. A. Ratliff

I had come to despise fog.

Fog on the bridge to Cavanah Point didn’t creep in on “little cat feet,” as Carl Sandberg wrote, but arrived with a vengeance, sweeping across the bay below and enveloping the bridge in a thick gray cloud. It was a day like this one when Jason disappeared into the dense mist.

Driving across the bridge as fog rushed at me, I struggled to breathe. On sunny days, I could make the drive to see my parents without my chest tightening. On foggy days, the words of the man who drove onto the bridge behind Jason echoed in my head. My brother's car disappeared into the thick haze, and a few minutes later, the driver found his silver SUV rental stopped in the lane, the door open, and Jason gone. He had vanished. The police concluded he must have jumped from the bridge, but despite an extensive search, divers never found his body. As my tires rolled onto the asphalt on the peninsula side, I drew a deep breath and wondered when the pain would go away.

My parents' house sat on a bluff on the peninsula's ocean side, with a spectacular view of the Pacific. The warm late-afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the patio at the rear of the house. My parents, my sister Geri, and her husband, Ben, sat around the unlit fire pit. My two nieces, Olivia and Alexandria, chased each other around the yard, while my parents’ Golden Retriever followed. Their muffled voices grew louder as I approached.

“Daniel.” My mother, Rosalee, rose from her chair and rushed to me, her hug like a vise. She was a beautiful and vibrant woman at fifty-nine, but all you had to do was look into her eyes to see the haunting pain that lingered. She had carried that look from the moment we heard Jason was missing. She tried to be happy for my dad, Geri, me, and her grandchildren, but she didn’t fool us for a moment.

“Mom, you look gorgeous as always.”

“What a smooth lawyer you are. Sit for a bit. Dinner’s in the crockpot.”

I hugged my sister, then sat down. Dad poured a glass of Pinot Grigio and handed it to me. “I hear congratulations are in order. You got a promotion?”

“I wouldn’t call it a promotion. The US Attorney, Charles Winters, received a directive to form a cold-case unit to address unsolved criminal cases and clear as many as possible. DC believes there are too many unsolved cases. The unit will review old case files for evidence missed or overlooked when the cases were active. There are three assistant attorneys in the unit and a storage room full of files. Clay Furman, who joined the office about a month ago, and I are doing the initial scans. The others will take the first files we find and begin reviewing the evidence. Not sure if the unit will be permanent, but for now, I’ll be poring through a lot of dusty records.”

I steered the conversation to Geri’s newest art show, and Ben announced that a foundation had awarded him a fellowship in trauma and acute care at the hospital where he was completing his emergency medicine residency. I could hear my parents' unspoken groans. They insisted that Geri and her family live with them while Ben was in med school. Although it felt never-ending, I knew it was good for Mom and Dad. Jason’s disappearance left a huge void, but the children’s laughter helped ease the hurt.

As I entered the kitchen, the aroma of Mom’s pot roast wafted toward me. We sat at the kitchen table, as we always did on Sunday evenings. We savored the pot roast, salad, and crusty bread, then homemade ice cream sundaes. While Ben helped my parents clear the table, I wandered into the family room, memories flooding in. The Sunday evening meal was the standard of my childhood, and I could hear Jason, Geri, and me squabbling over the last of whatever toppings Mom had set out for the sundaes.

I stopped in front of the family photo wall, all my attention drawn to Jason’s law school graduation photo. Jason Clark, Esq., looked like Dad, while Geri and I looked like our mother. He had Dad’s square jaw, a straight Greek nose, and the same gray eyes. His face told his story, that of a strong, intelligent, inquisitive, and kind man. I fought back tears, as I always did. If I didn’t, I would give in to raging grief, which would do none of us any good.

“I miss him, too.” Geri stood beside me, linked her arm in mine, and rested her head on my shoulder. “There are times when Livi stands with her hand on her hip, head cocked, explaining things to Alex, and I see Jason. It hurts more than I ever imagined.”

I pulled my sister closer and rested my nose against the top of her head. “I don’t think the hurt will ever go away, but we owe it to Jason to live our lives. That’s what he would want us to do.” She answered, her yes more of a garbled sob, and I knew the loss would never heal.

~~~

Clay leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his head. “Whose idea was this?”

I took a sip of my once-warm coffee and shook my head. “Our fearless leaders. I'm beginning to think they're right. I know we’ve only been reviewing these files for a week, but there are more cases than I expected that don’t appear to have been properly investigated.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He leaned forward. “Dan, you’ve only been in the US Attorney’s office for two years, and two years before that as a Federal Court Clerk. You’ll find that not all career prosecutors in the DOJ ooze competence. Most do, but some political hacks get in, and some grow complacent. The workload can be overwhelming, and it takes a toll.”

“Growing up, I thought the FBI was the pinnacle of law enforcement. I even considered applying, but I ultimately decided to apply to the DOJ.”

Clay chuckled. “You’ve got the prosecutor’s bug. I had it too, and I don’t regret it.”

“I think I did, but I don’t want to get complacent. Off I go to get us hot coffee, then back at it.”

~~~

Five days later, my world changed.

Winters summoned us to a two p.m. meeting to review the cases we had identified so far. Shannon Parks and Jose Mercado, new assistant U.S. attorneys in the unit, had reviewed the evidence in the five selected cases, and together we had developed a plan to reopen them. Winters seemed pleased and ordered the cases reopened. Shannon and Jose were preparing a packet for the FBI, while Clay and I resumed reviewing additional files.

We decided to finish the last two boxes on the credenza in the conference room before leaving for the day. I started with the box that had only a few files, while Clay opened the second. Around five-thirty, Clay came across a file that left me stunned.

“Dan.”

I gazed at him over the file I held as a shiver of fear coursed through me. Clay’s voice was chilling. “What?”

“Your brother’s name… Is it Jason Patterson Clark?”

“Yes, why?” My heart pounded against my ribs, and my skin flushed hot.

“His name is in this file.” He slid the thin file across the table. “Read it. Don’t comment. As soon as you’re done, let’s get a drink.”

I read through the file, skimpy as it was, with mounting panic. Confusion set in, and I looked at Clay, who nodded toward the door. “Let’s go get that drink.” He slipped the file back into the box and turned off the conference room light as we left.

He suggested we meet at the Dauphin Restaurant and Lounge, an upscale place near the bay. It was six-thirty, too early for the regular patrons, so we had the bar to ourselves. We sat in two armchairs in the far corner, facing the door. It felt quite cloak-and-dagger to me.

A far too perky cocktail server took our drink order, and once she was out of earshot, I needed answers. “Clay, what is going on? I know the FBI joined the search for my brother, but the Sheriff’s office had the lead. The FBI only sent a search team. Why is there a file on him?’

He swept his hand toward the bar, and I saw the server returning. “Wait until our drinks arrive.”

I gulped down a slug of Maker's Mark, the bourbon warming my throat, then set the glass down with a thud. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I recognized a name in that report. I worked in the Office of International Affairs, part of the DOJ’s Criminal Division, which monitors overseas operations and legal matters at the CIA, until I transferred here.”

“Are you implying the CIA is involved in Jason’s disappearance?”

Clay shook his head. “All I can say is that when Roger Farmington’s name is on a case file, I don’t know what else it could be. Farmington is a big deal in the CIA's planning of covert missions. Last I heard before I left the OIA, he was working on operations in South America targeting drug cartels.”

“I don’t understand. Jason joined an international law firm right out of college and handled major cases overseas.”

“There are a lot of cover stories out there. That might have been one of them.” He downed the rest of his Manhattan and signaled for another round. “Tell me about Jason. What did he study in college, and how did he end up at that law firm?”

With a second round of drinks before us, I told him about Jason. “Jason was brilliant, and his teachers recognized a significant talent for computer science. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t program or build, whether hardware or software. His math scores were off the charts, and by fourteen he was taking college-level classes in anything related to computers. At eighteen, he entered college with enough credits for a BS in computer science. He only had to take the required general courses, and as soon as he had those out of the way, he went on to a master’s degree. We expected him to go straight to Silicon Valley, but he shocked us by saying he was going to law school. It was no surprise that he graduated Summa Cum Laude and at the top of his class.”

“Impressive credentials. You say he joined the firm in DC right after college?”

I could only nod. I felt overwhelmed by it all.

“Dan, there is something amiss here. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Clay joined the US Attorney's Office a month ago. I had worked with him on one straightforward case that we quickly cleared before Winters assigned us to the cold case unit. I liked him, thought he was ethical, and had to trust him. Something was amiss, as he said, and Jason was involved. Besides, I didn’t have anyone else to trust.

“Yes, I can do that.”

“I need you to keep the discovery of that file to yourself for now. Don’t talk to anyone, not even family or friends—only me. And we only talk about this outside the Federal building. If anyone asks you about this file, say you know nothing. Got it?”

“I do.”

“Good. You need to give me some time to look into a few things. It could be a day or a week, but I will get back to you as soon as I have any information.”

A sip of bourbon settled my nerves as I watched Clay’s taillights fade into the darkness. My thoughts spun like that Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons, and fear crept into my bones. What if Jason hadn’t committed suicide? What had my brother been involved in?

~~~

I decided I was a better actor than I had expected to be. How I managed to get through the next several days, acting as if nothing were going on, surprised me. The weekend was tough. I had a date on Friday night with a gal I met at the gym, but I canceled because I knew I wouldn’t be my witty self, not that I ever was. Olivia’s birthday was on Saturday, and since Ben had a shift at the ER, it was Uncle Dan to the rescue—morning at the zoo, afternoon at the nature museum, dinner, and cake at home. Did I enjoy the day? I did, but I felt uneasy around my family, hiding information about Jason. It was my sister who noticed my unease. She was the empath, always sensing when something troubled both Jason and me. After Olivia blew out the candles and Mom served cake, I retreated to the den with my slice. I wasn’t surprised that Geri followed me.

I smiled. “Great day. Olivia had fun.”

Geri plopped onto the couch beside me. “She did. I’m exhausted.”

“Not far behind you.”

“You’ve seemed preoccupied today. What’s going on?”

I sighed inwardly. My sister is far too observant. I didn’t like lying to her, but I did anyway. “We’re up to our necks in cold cases, more than we ever expected. We already have twelve to send to the FBI to reopen, and there are still many more to review. We’ve been burning the proverbial midnight oil.”

The look in her eyes told me she didn’t believe me, but she let it go for now. “Please rest tomorrow, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am, no plans. Home, pizza, and baseball.”

~~~

Nothing changed at the office until Wednesday. As we were leaving for the day, Clay stopped me in the parking garage. He kept his voice low and his words cryptic. “I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the week. I may contact you. If I do, follow my instructions.” He walked away without another word, leaving me more confused than ever.

The next two days were busy as the unit met with FBI agents to review the first two cases for possible reopening. We started with capital crimes and cases closest to the statute of limitations. I left the office on Friday feeling good about our work. As I pulled into my condo garage, Clay texted me.

You are booked on the 10:30 red-eye to DC. A car will be waiting. Follow the driver’s instructions. Your cover is that you are working on a DOJ project. You will return to SF on Sunday.

I stared at the garage wall, trying to make sense of what was happening. I don’t like being in the dark, and all this covert idiocy was making me angry. Patience has never been my strong suit, but I’ve learned to curb my urge to rush things. Not this time. This time it was about my brother, and I wanted answers.

~~~

The plane landed just before seven a.m. on a rainy, dreary morning. I found the driver holding a placard with my name, and I was surprised when he dropped me off at the Hay-Adams. He said he would return for me at noon and that I should not have lunch.

But I could have breakfast. I showered, ordered room service, and while I waited, I texted Mom to say I had arrived. I told her I would be in meetings all afternoon and that my phone would be off. After breakfast, I set an alarm for eleven and went to sleep.

The driver returned promptly at noon, and I expected we were going to the DOJ building. We were not. The car headed west on I Street, away from the Department of Justice.

“Where are we going?”

“To Langley, sir.”

Langley. The CIA. Maybe Clay was right. Jason was involved with the CIA.

My heart felt heavy in my chest as a chill ran through me. I dreaded what I might hear.

~~~

My pulse quickened as I entered the iconic CIA lobby. I don’t believe anyone could walk across the marble-inlaid CIA motif without feeling the specter of James Bond in the air.

Clay was waiting for me and escorted me through security. Once we were out of the guards' hearing range, I stopped him. “Why here? What does the CIA have to do with Jason?”

“I promise, Dan, we’re going to tell you everything. Come with me.” He headed toward the elevators.

The outer office was well appointed, but no one was at the desk on Saturday afternoon. We entered a spacious inner office with a conference table set for lunch. A man sat at the head of the table, typing on a tablet. He rose as we entered.

Clay made the introductions. “Dan, this is Roger Farmington, Deputy Director of Operations for South and Central America. Roger, Daniel Clark, Assistant US Attorney, Northern California District.”

As we shook hands, Roger’s deep voice filled the room. “Please sit, Dan, if I may call you that.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“And I’m Roger. I know this is very last-minute, and I’m certain you have many questions. I ordered lunch for us. My granddaughter had a soccer game this morning, so there was no time to stop anywhere.”

He tapped his phone screen, and a steward appeared with a cart and lunch. I lost my appetite when I realized we were heading to Langley, but I took a club sandwich and potato salad to be polite. Then I waited.

Roger took a bite of his sandwich before speaking again. “Dan, as a US Attorney, you hold a high-level security clearance, and I need to remind you of it before we continue.”

“I understand that anything I hear today is classified.”

“Good.” He continued eating, speaking between bites. “First, let me tell you that Clay works for the Office of International Affairs, which liaises with the CIA. On our request, DOJ sent him to the San Francisco district office. But before we explain his involvement, let me tell you about your brother.”

“Please.” I meant it more as a command than as a pleasantry.

“The CIA is constantly recruiting the best and the brightest we can find. Jason’s expertise in cybertechnology came to our attention while he was still in high school. We didn’t approach him until he had completed his bachelor's degree and was in his master’s program, at age twenty. We invited him to join our cyber unit and also put him through law school. We like our employees to be well-versed in the law and experienced in the demands and pressures of law school. It’s great training. He agreed.”

“The international law firm was a cover?”

“Yes. However, Jason wasn’t a covert operative until a few years later. He did travel, but he worked out of field offices. He became a covert operative when we needed someone physically present at a target’s location. He volunteered to go and we gave him a crash course in covert skills. He performed the job exceptionally well and continued to operate as an agent, often in clandestine assignments.”

“You mean a spy?”

“Yes. The last operation he was on was deep undercover, and it took extensive preparation to set him up with a background that fit our needs. We’re investigating a cartel member, Hernando Restrepo, in Colombia, who wanted to diversify his operation because drug trade volume had dropped. He decided that cybercrime was the wave of the future. He put out word on the dark web seeking an IT expert. Jason was the perfect candidate. He contacted Restrepo and joined the cartel.”

“As he became more deeply involved in the operation, he noticed that much of the drug traffic was routed through Northern California, and that whenever federal drug crimes were committed, many of those cases were dismissed or pled out with no time served. He became suspicious, dug deeper, and a name surfaced. That name is why we asked for Clay’s assignment to the San Francisco office.”

The hair on the back of my neck bristled as realization crept in. “Charles Winters.”

Clay nodded. “Yes, Jason traced contacts between Winters and Restrepo and followed the money trail. Winters is growing quite wealthy from this arrangement.”

“I don’t understand.” I shrugged. “How did he cover this up internally? I never worked on a case he intervened in.”

“Exactly, Dan. I’ve been there for almost two months, and I think he was either assigning or moving cases to incompetent prosecutors, or he is paying them off. We are investigating three likely candidates, but because this is an ongoing operation, we need to keep it under wraps. I was very cryptic about my role when we met at the Dauphin, but I needed to maintain cover until we had more information.”

I had picked up a sandwich section, then dropped it. “Are you telling me that Winters might have been involved in Jason’s…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Silence met my question as Roger and Clay exchanged glances. Roger answered.

“Jason became worried about you being in the office with Winters. Let me say this now. No one, absolutely no one, suspects you of any involvement. But unexpectedly, Winters came to Restrepo’s villa, and Restrepo introduced Jason to him. Jason convinced Restrepo that he needed to go to a company in Silicon Valley, where he had a buddy who would set him up with components for the super server he was building, but only accepted cash. Believing Jason could do no wrong, Restrepo approved and gave him access to all the cash he would need.”

I gazed at the rain pelting the window, speaking without addressing anyone. “Jason came to protect me.” I turned to Rodger. “What happened to my brother?”

Clay’s voice dropped as he answered me. “Do you have a photo of Jason in your office?”

“No.” But I realized he meant whether anyone had seen a photo of him. “Oh… When I got the call from Mom that Jason was coming home, Sandy Adams and I were working on motion briefs. I hadn’t seen him in nearly two years, and she noticed how happy I was. Sandy asked if I had a picture of him, and I did, on my phone. I pulled up the photo just as Winters walked up behind me.” I paused as it sank in. “I led him to my brother.”

“Did he ask you questions about Jason?”

“Yes. How long was he in town? He bet my parents were happy he was home. That kind of thing.”

‘When was this?”

“Two days before he disappeared.” As I spoke those words, my muscles twitched with anger as it welled up inside me.

Clay must have noticed. “Dan, please stay calm. We have some news.”

“What news? That the man I work for may have had my brother killed?”

Roger spoke. “We have no proof yet, but we think Jason may still be alive.”

His words left me speechless. I stared at him and finally managed to repeat his words. “Jason may be alive?”

“Yes. We also looked for Jason after he disappeared, but we had no luck. We spoke with the driver, Marvin Briscoe, who found Jason’s car abandoned. He was behind Jason, but not that close. As he approached the bridge, a car pulled out in front of him from a side road and stopped. He stopped to help the young female driver. She said her car had been acting up and that she was heading to an auto shop. She also said her father was right behind her. She asked if he would help push her car onto the shoulder. He did, then waited until her father arrived, less than a minute later. He continued onto the bridge and found Jason’s car abandoned.”

“How does that prove Jason is alive?”

“We pulled satellite imagery of the area, and it’s telling. The car that intercepted Briscoe parked alongside the ‘father’s’ car on the side road, while another car parked about a half mile from the bridge. We think that car was a lookout, directing the other cars to keep traffic from following Jason onto the bridge. Two cars had blocked Jason’s car on the bridge, and another car had parked along the road leading off the bridge. The two cars on the bridge took the longer road off the peninsula. We followed them until they were out of the satellite's range.”

“What are you doing to find him?”

“Everything we can.”

“Something I don’t understand, Roger. How did the file with your name and Jason’s end up in a box of cold case files?”

“An excellent question, and one we would like to know. The pages in that file were copies of a few pages from the original file, which remains here. We suspect a mole, someone on Restrepo’s payroll. That would explain some of the obstacles we’ve encountered in our investigation of his cartel. Believe me, we are trying to identify who copied the documents. As for how it ended up in the box in your office…” Roger nodded toward Clay, who continued.

“We can rule out Winter planting it in the box. I don’t think the man is that foolish. The only conclusion is that someone deliberately placed it in the box to be found.”

I took a deep breath, trying to process what I had learned. I wanted to believe my brother was alive, but I was pragmatic. If Restrepo discovered Jason was CIA, he would likely have executed him. I couldn’t allow myself to believe he was alive, yet I clung to a tiny glimmer of hope. I had questions, and it was time to get answers.

“Gentlemen, you brought me here for a reason. I don’t think it was to enlighten me about Restrepo or to tell me you believe my brother is alive. I’d like to know what you want from me.”

The two men exchanged resigned looks. Roger bit his lower lip. “You are perceptive, but I wouldn’t expect less from Jason’s brother. Yes, there is something we need from you. We need you to find out who placed the file there for you to find. That person must know about Winters’ involvement with Restrepo and could help us build a stronger case against him.”

“I’m not my brother. I don’t know if I can be a spy.”

Roger chuckled. “I have a feeling you’re a better spy than you think. We don’t want you to take any chances, so be very careful around Winters. He may be wary of you because he doesn’t know what you know.”

Roger walked me through a crash course on Restrepo’s cartel and on what they knew about the cybercrime he was interested in. After he left, Clay asked me to review the personnel files of all employees in the San Francisco office, saying it would help me identify the person we were looking for.

Looking through my colleagues’ personal data, background checks, and financial records disturbed me. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, as the role of a voyeur was never an aspiration. The good news was that there was no indication anyone in the office was receiving large sums of unaccounted-for money.

Around seven p.m., Clay said he had to get home to his family. I must have looked quizzical, because he chuckled. “My time in San Francisco isn’t permanent. My wife and kids are here in DC. I didn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t pertinent to my assignment there.” He rose. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel. Remember, all expenses are paid, so have a nice dinner at the hotel.”

“Why the Hay-Adams? That place is pricey.”

Clay grinned. “The CIA keeps rooms there.”

“Nice budget.”

“They can afford it. The CIA has more money than the Vatican.”

~~~~

I tossed the last file from the final box onto the conference table and leaned back in the soft leather chair. We uncovered twenty-six cases that required immediate review, seven of which dated to the past two years. Clay thinks the seven cases are ones Winters may have interfered with, and he is waiting to see the US Attorney’s response when we present them to him.

Nearly a month has passed since I was in DC, and I spent that time trying to find out who planted the file. I am not the kind of guy who goes with the crowd after work for a drink. However, not socializing after work kept me from getting to know my colleagues well, so I decided to join in.

Other than missing a few evenings at the gym, I didn’t learn much, but I did find out that some interesting people were working in the office. All employees’ financial dealings continued to be monitored, and thankfully, there was no change. If money wasn’t the motivation, then something else was, leaving revenge or ethics and morals as the reason.

I decided to focus on the people closest to Winters. When he transferred from the Sacramento office to San Francisco, he brought his executive assistant, Carol Lombardy; an administrative assistant, Sharon Cline; and a law clerk, Parker Watson, who is now an attorney on staff.

I had a private passcode to access employee data, and I reviewed what was on file for each employee. Again, no signs of unusual banking transactions, large purchases, or fancy trips, which was puzzling. Maybe I was following the wrong instincts, but I was running out of options. Someone had planted that file, and I had to find out who.

Friday night, I was invited to a colleague's birthday party and decided to go, mainly because it was at my favorite Italian restaurant in San Francisco. I walked into Fior D' Italia, my stomach yearning for the Lasagne Bolognese Al Forno. The party was in a private room, and though there were a few empty seats, I sat next to Sharon Cline, Winters' administrative assistant. Perhaps I could learn something from her. About halfway through the meal, I realized I might have sent the wrong signal by sitting next to her. Sharon was known for stalking unmarried attorneys.

It was during dessert that she confirmed my suspicion. Sharon slid her hand onto my thigh. I fought not to overreact, but I smiled and lied. “A nice idea, Sharon, but I’m involved with someone.”

She sighed, gave me a sideways glance, and took a sip of wine. “Worth a try. I had a feeling you were taken. The hot ones always are.”

I felt uncomfortable being called hot, but I could live with it. “How long have you been working with Winters?”

“I started in Sacramento about three months before he was appointed US Attorney for this district. Carol was a friend of my mom’s and got me the job. I asked to come along, and I got to. Love it here.”

“Good. You do a great job.”

“Thanks.”

The party was winding down, and as we got up to leave, Sharon suggested we go for a drink. “Friends only. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“A drink it is.”

We decided to go for the best and took an Uber to Top of the Mark, San Francisco's most iconic bar. Sharon grinned as we sat at a window table. The Transamerica Pyramid, lit against the dark sky, loomed in the view. We ordered a drink and watched wispy fog swirl around the tall monuments to commerce.

“The fog is so beautiful.” Sharon turned toward me, her face paling. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Carol told me your brother disappeared in the fog on a bridge. I shouldn’t…”

“It’s all right. The fog up here is amazing, one of the things I love about this bar.”

She sipped the Cosmo she ordered, and I noticed her hands shake.

“Are you okay?”

“I forgot you’re a lawyer for a second. Perceptive is a lawyer’s middle name.”

“We’ve been called that, among other things. I don’t mean to pry, but you seem on edge.”

“I shouldn’t talk out of school. She ran her fingers through her hair. “But something’s wrong.”

I didn’t say anything. She needed to tell me in her own way.

“Carol has always been like a mother to me. I don’t think she always liked my behavior, but she has always been there for me. Over the past several months, something has changed.”

“Something personal?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everything seems fine there, but she has distanced herself from me at the office. Not as friendly, and her relationship with Chuck has changed. They were so tight they could finish each other’s sentences.” She scoffed. “The proverbial work wife, but that has changed. And then Chuck changed.”

“How?”

“You know, he got divorced a couple of years ago. Carol took it hard. She and Madeline were close, and after that, things changed. Chuck changed, too. He became more arrogant and less tolerant. Well, I was at the 49 Club a few weeks ago. It’s a trendy bar known for its back room, where private members are said to have access to drugs and, well, anything else they want. We only went because of the band and stayed for one set, but while I was there, Chuck and his Colombian paramour showed up and went into the private room. That’s not where the Chuck I used to know would go.”

A realization swept over me. The file had to come from Carol, but why? I imagined she knew something, and that something might involve Jason. “What do you think is wrong?”

Her shoulders slumped. “There’s a rift between them, but I don’t think Chuck realizes it. He’s so wrapped up in his own life that he’s not paying attention. To be honest, I don’t know.”

We finished our drinks, and Sharon decided to stay overnight in the city with a friend. I ordered an Uber for her and another for me back to the office to get my car. On the drive home, I decided it was time to talk to Carol.

~~~

I found Carol’s address in the personnel files and decided to show up without calling first. I needed the element of surprise. Her house was a pale blue Victorian in the Noe Valley community.

It was nine a.m., a reasonable hour, and I didn’t want to wait. I pressed the doorbell. Carol opened the door, her eyes widened, and she smiled, though her rigid jaw betrayed her nervousness.

“I was expecting you. Please come in.”

She led me down the hall to a bright, spacious kitchen and family room. She introduced her husband, Gavin, who had a plate of pancakes in front of him. He shook my hand and nodded at Carol. “Get this man a plate of pancakes.”

I started to protest, but the pancakes and bacon smelled too good. Carol fixed a plate for me, and Gavin handed me a cup of coffee. Carol sat across from me.

“I know why you're here, and yes, I put the file in the cold case boxes.” She glanced at her husband. “Gavin knows everything. In fact, he convinced me I had to do something.”

I took a bite of the pancakes to keep my hands busy and to hide my nervousness.

“These pancakes are great.” I set my fork down. “Carol, what do you know about my brother?”

“Nothing more than what I saw in the file.” She exhaled. “Best to start at the beginning. Sharon and I transferred here with Chuck when he was named U.S. Attorney. The first three years were like those we had working with him in Sacramento. He cared about his family and his job. He was fair and honest, and I was proud to work for him. Then, two years ago, he went to Colombia on a Department of Justice trip to meet with Colombian prosecutors. He came back a different man.”

“How was he different?”

“Impatient, irritable, and no more small talk with people in the office. What had been an empathetic man became distant and uncaring. Within two months of his trip, he shocked everyone by divorcing Madeline. I became friends with Madeline, and I have never seen anyone so devastated. Her daughter came and took her to Tampa. She won’t talk to me now because I kept working for Chuck.”

“What do you think changed him?”

“That woman, that haughty woman who never speaks to anyone, is a member of a wealthy family in Colombia. Money doesn’t buy class.”

Gavin pressed her. “Tell Dan why you became suspicious of Chuck.”

“Oh, yes… Chuck, as you know, was usually hands-on only when the case was high profile or very serious. But he started getting involved in smaller cases, most of which were pled out almost immediately. I started seeing more of his directing cases against drug dealers on lower federal charges, including lesser money laundering charges such as structuring, illegal money transmission, and tax evasion involving illicit funds. I started looking closer. I found three different attorneys, not all in our office but in other regional offices, who were reducing charges and, in some cases, outright dismissing the cases. Dan, I know the law after all this time, twenty-eight years as a legal assistant. These were solid cases.”

“Do you think he was doing this at someone’s request?”

“I didn’t want to think so, but when he started dressing in more expensive clothes and is now wearing a platinum Rolex watch, I have to believe he’s getting money from somewhere.”

“When did you find the file containing my brother's name?”

“About two weeks before the cold case unit began working, Chuck had attended a meeting with local law enforcement and left an important folder behind. He couldn’t remember which drawer he’d put it in. I rummaged through his desk and found an unlabeled file. I thought it might be the file I was looking for—it wasn’t. I couldn’t fathom why he had any information about your brother. My gut told me something was very wrong. I decided to copy the documents and put the original file back in his desk. I brought the file home and talked it over with Gavin. Given the changes in his demeanor, the cases he was interfering with, and now a file with your missing brother’s name, we knew I should do something. When the cold case unit started, I sneaked in early one morning before anyone else arrived and placed the file in the box, hoping you would find it.”

I took a sip of coffee, giving myself time to gather my thoughts. I couldn’t tell her what I knew, but I needed to ask how far she was willing to go to help us.

“Carol, what’s been happening hasn’t gone unnoticed. We need your help. Are you willing to speak with the FBI about what you know?”

She glanced at her husband, then at me. “Yes, I knew from the moment he divorced Madeline that he was involved in illegal activity. I recorded all the cases I reviewed. I have proof, at least, that he was directing those cases.”

“I know it isn’t easy being at work with this looming. Are you comfortable keeping things as they are until it’s resolved?”

“I have so far. I can do it.”

~~~

The next few days were a total grind for me. Focusing was difficult as my mind kept drifting to worries about Jason and whether he was alive. Not knowing and keeping it from my parents and Geri was taking a toll. Sleep was elusive, and my patience was wearing thin.

I had passed along everything I had learned from Carol to Clay, who, in turn, contacted the FBI at Roger’s direction. Carol and I exchanged pleasantries as we passed, but it was best not to seem to be having a conversation. I had no idea whether the FBI had questioned her. I sensed that when the FBI was ready to swoop in and arrest Winters, I would be as surprised as anyone.

Three weeks later, I was blindsided again. Around four p.m. on Friday, Clay texted me. Meet me at the Dauphin at six. I drew such a deep breath that jagged pain shot through my chest. He had to have information about Jason. I prayed it would be good, but I feared it would not be.

The minutes crept by like Sandberg’s cat’s-paw fog. When I was finally on my way, I fought back the bile rising in my throat. If I found out Jason was dead, it would feel like losing him all over again.

Clay was already there, along with a man I didn’t know. “Dan, this is Ben Smith. Let’s just say he works for the government.”

“Dan, good to meet you.”

I was impatient. “What’s going on?”

Clay gestured toward a chair. “Sit. I ordered a drink for you.”

I sat, afraid to pick up the drink because my hands were trembling. “Clay, just tell me.”

I hadn’t noticed the file lying on the table. Ben picked it up, removed a photo, then handed it to me. “Do you recognize this man?”

Adrenaline flooded my body. My focus, which had been lax, sharpened. My breathing grew ragged, and my heart pounded. “This is Jason.” I swallowed. “When was this taken?”

“Two days ago.”

I downed the bourbon in front of me, pushed back tears, and stayed as stoic as I could. Jason was gaunt, his head shaved, and pale. My heart was bursting with joy and broken at the same time. “Where is he?”

Ben answered. “Restrepo has a compound called Casa Rafela, about 10 miles north of Cartagena. It’s well protected when Restrepo is there, but he is currently at his villa in Marbella, Spain. There are only a few guards at the compound at the moment.”

I caught his gaze. “Are you telling me you plan to rescue him?”

Clay intervened. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let them gather the intel they need, then decide whether it’s safe to go in. The last thing we want is for him to get hurt now.”

“Dan, at least we know your brother is alive. I promise you we will get him out, but we need more intel. We decided to tell you so you could identify him, but it would be best if you didn’t tell anyone he’s alive yet.”

From their intense expressions, I had to believe these men were telling the truth. Not telling my parents and Geri was a heavy burden, but one I had to carry for now.

~~~

Sleep proved as elusive as it had been for weeks. Restless, I gave up at three a.m. and headed to the living room for a drink. I opened the balcony doors and plopped into a lounge chair, watching the city lights stretch toward the bay. The smooth bourbon did little to soothe me. My brother was alive, and I couldn’t help him. I needed to help him.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sirens, so common in the city, trying to clear my mind, but with no luck. I had to do something. I sat up. I could do something. I could go to Cartagena.

I booked a flight for eleven p.m. Saturday night, then messaged the office to say I had an emergency and would return in a few days. Not a real issue, since I wasn’t actively working on current cases. I went to bed, but the image of Jason, so thin and pale, burned into my brain, making sleep elusive.

On Saturday, I ran a few quick errands to the bank for cash, bought a new carry-on, and headed home to pack. About halfway through, I realized I only needed a whip and Indiana Jones’ hat. I chuckled. I wasn’t a spy or an adventurer. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking, but I had to get to my brother. I debated seeing my parents before I left, but I knew I had to. Mom insisted I stay for dinner. Pizza was the girls’ choice, so Dad and I drove to pick up the order.

On the way back, he asked the question I didn’t want to answer. “You seem preoccupied. What’s going on? Is it about going back to D.C. again?”

“No, just a lot of work. We were surprised to find so many cases that had not been properly investigated.”

“What kind of cases? All kinds?”

“A bit, but a lot of drug cases. It seemed to be a pattern.” I might as well foreshadow what was coming. That seemed to satisfy him, and we talked about his latest pickleball match for the rest of the way home.

As I left for the airport, Geri walked with me to the car. “I get the feeling something is going on that you don’t want to tell us.” She hugged me. “Whatever you’re doing, I’m with you.”

She always knows.

~~~

A cross-country flight, customs at an overcrowded Miami airport, and another flight brought me to Cartagena at midday. I cashed in some frequent flier miles and reserved a room at the Hilton on the beach. A shower, some food, and a few hours' sleep helped, and I headed downstairs to rent a car and have dinner. I sat by the water, wondering how foolish I was to think I could free Jason. I hadn’t thought about how to get him out of the country. I’d have to take him to the US Embassy.

I might be on a fool’s errand, but I wanted my brother home.

~~~

Thank goodness for GPS. My Spanish was rudimentary, and all I could do was follow the little blue line to my destination. I checked Street View, which offered a bit of information, but not much. Restrepo’s villa sat at the end of a long, steep drive. I drove past, then turned around, looking for a place to park off-road and hike to the compound.

I found a worn path on the south side of the compound. About halfway up the steep hill, I was grateful for my gym membership. By the time I reached the compound wall, I was winded, more than I expected to be. I also felt my rage building.

When I was a child, I had trouble keeping my temper. I let small things escalate and lose control. Jason taught me how to manage that urge and not give in to anger. I still fight to squash those feelings, but I refuse to give in to anger. That wouldn’t help Jason.

I stayed close to the wall, trying to avoid any cameras. I couldn’t see any from the path, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I walked along a long stretch of concrete wall before I found a gate. It was made of rough-hewn planks, and I could see through the gaps. I could make out a large structure a short distance away, though I had no idea what it was. I shifted left for a better angle when, out of nowhere, a hand roughly covered my mouth, and my right arm was pinned behind my back.

A deep voice whispered in my ear. “Clark, don’t panic. Ben sent us. I’m going to cover your mouth. Don’t make a sound, or they’ll hear us.”

Another man stood behind him, and together they hustled me toward a clump of trees and scrub brush. Then they let me go.

My heart pounded in my chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jackson, and this is Roman.”

Jackson looked like a high school baseball coach, but I knew looks could be deceiving. Roman had to have been an offensive lineman in a past life. “How did you know I was here?”

“Clay Furman asked Ben to keep an eye on your movements. We knew when you bought a plane ticket.”

“You were spying on me?”

Jackson laughed. “Yeah, that’s our job.”

“Is my brother in there?”

“Yes. We caught sight of him this morning. They let him outside for a few minutes each morning and afternoon. We are here to get him out. Other operatives surround the compound. With only four guards here, this is our best chance.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. You wait here.” Jackson clicked on the radio in his tactical vest. “Report.”

One by one, low voices floated through the air, reporting they were ready. My senses heightened, and each breath I took roared in my ears. My brother was alive and inside that compound. They weren’t keeping me out.

Roman approached the gate with a miniature camera mounted on a flexible tube. He looked inside the compound and gave Jackson a thumbs-up. Jackson whispered “Go” into his mic, and Roman threw a grappling hook with a rope attached over the wall, then scurried up. He dropped to the other side, pulled the gate's bolt, and swung it open. Jackson rushed in, his automatic weapon pointed skyward. I ran in behind him.

It took him a minute to realize I was there. He rolled his eyes, then motioned for me to follow. “Listen, you stick close to me, and if shooting starts, drop to the ground.”

I nodded. My fight-or-flight instinct was teetering toward flight, but I couldn’t. I had to go.

A muffled shot rang out from across the compound as one of Restrepo’s guards ran out of a door in front of us. Roman took him down with a rifle butt to the face, then quickly zip-tied his hands and feet. He ducked into the building, looked around, and called out clear. Jackson went inside, and I followed.

His radio crackled. “Jack, two guards down.”

“Good. One down here.”

My voice cracked as I spoke. “Do you know where he is?”

“Intel says the basement. The entrance is in the next building.” He radioed the others. “Keep watch. We’re going for the target.”

The next building had an internet receiver mounted on the roof, and heavy-duty power lines disappeared into it. Roman knocked the padlock off the door with his rifle, and we entered. The room was lined with computer monitors, and as I glanced around, my gaze fell on a screen that stopped my heart. A security camera. My brother was on the screen. I fought back sobs. Time for that later.

He wasn’t alone. A guard stood in the room. Roman turned to Jackson. “You’re up, Señor.”

Jackson opened a door to a staircase and descended out of sight, Roman following. I heard him knock on a door, then speak in Spanish. My high school Spanish was failing me, but I think he said something about food. I checked the security monitor and saw the guard walking out of camera range. A door creaked, someone shouted, then silence. I held my breath until Roman’s voice made me gasp.

“Get down here, Clark.”

I wasted no time. As I reached the door, I saw Jason, thin and pale, but he was smiling. When he saw me, he grinned. “Well, little brother, didn’t expect to see you here.” I couldn’t speak. I rushed to him and hugged him as hard as I could without hurting him. He pulled away first. “I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting story.”

He turned to Jackson. “Good to see you, man.”

“You, too, but we need to go.”

“Not yet.” Jason sat in front of a large monitor. “I back up this data continually. Let me finish this last file.” A minute later, he unplugged two external hard drives and held them up. “Everything you will ever want to know about Restrepo and his cartel. I also planted a virus in the system. I need to activate it.” He entered a code, and the screen began to distort. He turned toward Jackson. “Now we can go.”

Roman picked up the guard while Jackson took the hard drives from Jason. We headed for the gate we had entered through. The other guards had been taken outside the gate and down the hill. Roman dropped the guard he was carrying next to the others.

Jason laughed at the barely conscious guards, who had been carried to safety. “Shouldn’t have bothered with the virus?”

“No. The Colombian Air Force is going to take care of the computers.”

Jason stumbled, and I grabbed him around the waist. “Let’s go home.”

~~~

The next seventy-two hours were a blur. We were flown to Washington on a private jet, where Jason underwent a full medical exam, received treatment for minor issues, and began his debrief. Roger allowed me to contact my parents and Geri via Zoom to tell them Jason was alive. I am not sure who cried harder. Roger arranged for them to fly to DC to be with him.

It was quite the reunion, and I was reluctant to leave, but I wasn’t about to miss what came next.

I walked into the U.S. Attorney’s office on Thursday morning, a bit on edge, but I tried not to show it. I was pouring coffee in the break room when Carol walked in. From the resigned look in her eyes, I was certain she expected what was coming. Neither of us knew when.

The FBI arrived at ten a.m. that morning and arrested Charles Winters on drug trafficking, bribery, honest services fraud, conspiracy, obstruction of justice, and other related charges. Winters paled and refused to make eye contact with anyone in the office. At the same time, one attorney in our office and two others in field offices were arrested.

The shock lingered for days. An acting U.S. Attorney arrived from Washington and began restoring order in the office. Clay agreed to stay to continue locating cases that had been closed due to Winters' intervention. When he returned from D.C., he told me that the Colombian woman Winters was involved with was a cousin of Restrepo’s, assigned to keep an eye on him until he became a liability. I asked about the mole at Langley. Clay said the mole had been caught and that was all he knew.

Jason came home for an extended visit, but the story was that the cartel had kidnapped him for his IT skills. He planned to return to his ‘law firm’ after he recovered.

Two months later, I was driving across the bridge as fog rolled in, and the heaviness in my heart had lifted. I was on my way to Friday night pizza and a movie with my family. What more could I ask for? I knew. I had felt restless since walking into CIA headquarters.

My phone buzzed, and my heart skipped at the caller ID. Langley. I pressed the green button.

“Roger, I thought you’d never call.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Resources: Robert Frost "Fog" https://poets.org/poem/fog