Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
Can't be the three stooges 24/7, competent antagonists are way more interresting
To be fair, except for one small insignificant detail, John Aleshire was a great hire.
But the turnaround in increasing the professionalism of the FBI started when Elliott Ness became the FBI Director after the still unexplained disappearance of J. Edger Hoover.
It just shows that it takes a long time and more importantly patience to reach a high standard for any institution.
But the turnaround in increasing the professionalism of the FBI started when Elliott Ness became the FBI Director after the still unexplained disappearance of J. Edger Hoover.
It just shows that it takes a long time and more importantly patience to reach a high standard for any institution.
Part 146, Chapter 2640
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Forty
24th August 1977
Staten Island, New York City
It was no surprise that Murphy had raised a lot of questions by dealing with the matter in Idlewild Airport himself. As Director he was supposed to delegate things like that. According to FBI Agents in the field, Marie’s older sister was suspected of having entered the United States with a fraudulently obtained passport. Making a case that could go to trial would be extremely difficult though and not just because she had apparently not left a paper trail, but because no jury would believe that a rich girl from Berlin would choose to wait tables in a Boston restaurant over summer vacation. There were many in the FBI who wanted to talk with Marie about that as well as many other topics. Murphy had ordered them not to go anywhere near her and had told them that he intended to conduct the interview himself. He had a couple of different reason for his course of action.
The first was simple enough. Many of those asking questions didn’t understand was that this wasn’t the first time Marie Blackwood had crossed the FBI’s radar. The first time, it had been during an informal investigation that had been trying to run down a rumor that Marie had not remained on her side of the Canadian border. James Grey, the Agent-in-Charge, had the car he and his partner were using commandeered by Marie so that the baby of a friend of Marie’s could be driven to the hospital. The destination had been fortunate because through a series of murky events, Grey had suffered a concussion bad enough to keep in the hospital under observation for the following three days. The Bureau had kept quiet as the entire incident had been blamed on the CIA.
The second was something that had come up due to the recent cooperation that President Nixon had forced on the Bureau and the Central Intelligence Agency. They were on the same side here and America had very real enemies out there in the world. While the CIA and FBI had clearly defined jurisdictions, it was long past time that they focused on those enemies who were most certainly not each other. The transcript of a recording that the CIA had gotten through a leak that they had in the German Government of a conversation between Katherine von Mischner, the Prefect of Berlin, and Marie’s mother, and Suga-no-miya, the Kaiserin of Germany had landed on Murphy’s desk. According to the transcript, Katherine was extremely concerned about her youngest daughter and how the girl had grown painfully shy. She worried that Marie had an undiagnosed anxiety disorder but had found it impossible to get it through to her daughter that she might have a problem. It seemed that Marie was a sworn friend and companion of the Kaiserin, so Suga was someone who Marie might be more inclined to listen to.
That transcript had revealed quite a few things when viewed in the context of the kidnapping that had occurred when she was eight years of age. The information about that incident had been readily available from public sources and it had led Murphy to believe that any attempt to detain her would end badly. At best, she would simply shut down and not say a word in the face of traditional interrogation tactics. While the Agents of the FBI were professionals, some of the attitudes that Murphy had been trying to stamp out were still prevalent. Among those was the tendency to assume that silence equaled insolence. With a young woman already petrified and not inclined to talk that already had the potential to be a disaster when whatever Attorney her mother hired showed up. If they were especially unlucky, Marie would have viewed the attempt to apprehend her like if it were another kidnapping. She had apparently taken a chunk out of the hand of man holding her the first time when she had bitten him. If Murphy had to guess, she had grown considerably more formidable in the years since. Having several of his men hurt, an international incident, and a torn-up airport was not in Murphy’s interest. So, Murphy had figured that he needed to approach Marie like if she were the survivor of a violent crime and he needed to let her tell her own story. After all, humans were social creatures who liked telling stories. Especially their own.
Watching Marie in Idlewild International had validated Murphy’s thinking. She was a surprisingly small woman, slightly below average in height and rail thin. They way she walked through the airport, looking around every corner and observing every detail. She seemed to have made every one of the surveillance teams but had made no effort to avoid them as she had walked from the Pan American Airlines arrivals to the gate where the Air Canada flight to Montreal was going to be boarding. That probably had something to do with her looking exhausted after having spent the night before on the long flight from Madrid to New York.
Murphy had found her in an Airport Café near the Air Canada gates of the sort that sold coffee, fruit juice, and what was essentially prepackaged food to passengers waiting for their plane to start boarding. Marie had turned her nose up at the food as Murphy watched, which was probably the reason she was so thin. All she had asked for was a cup of coffee, which she had been drinking black when Murphy had approached her. The conversation had been informative, Marie had told him far more than she had intended and that was something she had caught on to. She didn’t consider herself a Princess despite many people calling her that and this business with her grandfather… Murphy had looked up Otto Mischner and what he had learned was quite disturbing.
24th August 1977
Staten Island, New York City
It was no surprise that Murphy had raised a lot of questions by dealing with the matter in Idlewild Airport himself. As Director he was supposed to delegate things like that. According to FBI Agents in the field, Marie’s older sister was suspected of having entered the United States with a fraudulently obtained passport. Making a case that could go to trial would be extremely difficult though and not just because she had apparently not left a paper trail, but because no jury would believe that a rich girl from Berlin would choose to wait tables in a Boston restaurant over summer vacation. There were many in the FBI who wanted to talk with Marie about that as well as many other topics. Murphy had ordered them not to go anywhere near her and had told them that he intended to conduct the interview himself. He had a couple of different reason for his course of action.
The first was simple enough. Many of those asking questions didn’t understand was that this wasn’t the first time Marie Blackwood had crossed the FBI’s radar. The first time, it had been during an informal investigation that had been trying to run down a rumor that Marie had not remained on her side of the Canadian border. James Grey, the Agent-in-Charge, had the car he and his partner were using commandeered by Marie so that the baby of a friend of Marie’s could be driven to the hospital. The destination had been fortunate because through a series of murky events, Grey had suffered a concussion bad enough to keep in the hospital under observation for the following three days. The Bureau had kept quiet as the entire incident had been blamed on the CIA.
The second was something that had come up due to the recent cooperation that President Nixon had forced on the Bureau and the Central Intelligence Agency. They were on the same side here and America had very real enemies out there in the world. While the CIA and FBI had clearly defined jurisdictions, it was long past time that they focused on those enemies who were most certainly not each other. The transcript of a recording that the CIA had gotten through a leak that they had in the German Government of a conversation between Katherine von Mischner, the Prefect of Berlin, and Marie’s mother, and Suga-no-miya, the Kaiserin of Germany had landed on Murphy’s desk. According to the transcript, Katherine was extremely concerned about her youngest daughter and how the girl had grown painfully shy. She worried that Marie had an undiagnosed anxiety disorder but had found it impossible to get it through to her daughter that she might have a problem. It seemed that Marie was a sworn friend and companion of the Kaiserin, so Suga was someone who Marie might be more inclined to listen to.
That transcript had revealed quite a few things when viewed in the context of the kidnapping that had occurred when she was eight years of age. The information about that incident had been readily available from public sources and it had led Murphy to believe that any attempt to detain her would end badly. At best, she would simply shut down and not say a word in the face of traditional interrogation tactics. While the Agents of the FBI were professionals, some of the attitudes that Murphy had been trying to stamp out were still prevalent. Among those was the tendency to assume that silence equaled insolence. With a young woman already petrified and not inclined to talk that already had the potential to be a disaster when whatever Attorney her mother hired showed up. If they were especially unlucky, Marie would have viewed the attempt to apprehend her like if it were another kidnapping. She had apparently taken a chunk out of the hand of man holding her the first time when she had bitten him. If Murphy had to guess, she had grown considerably more formidable in the years since. Having several of his men hurt, an international incident, and a torn-up airport was not in Murphy’s interest. So, Murphy had figured that he needed to approach Marie like if she were the survivor of a violent crime and he needed to let her tell her own story. After all, humans were social creatures who liked telling stories. Especially their own.
Watching Marie in Idlewild International had validated Murphy’s thinking. She was a surprisingly small woman, slightly below average in height and rail thin. They way she walked through the airport, looking around every corner and observing every detail. She seemed to have made every one of the surveillance teams but had made no effort to avoid them as she had walked from the Pan American Airlines arrivals to the gate where the Air Canada flight to Montreal was going to be boarding. That probably had something to do with her looking exhausted after having spent the night before on the long flight from Madrid to New York.
Murphy had found her in an Airport Café near the Air Canada gates of the sort that sold coffee, fruit juice, and what was essentially prepackaged food to passengers waiting for their plane to start boarding. Marie had turned her nose up at the food as Murphy watched, which was probably the reason she was so thin. All she had asked for was a cup of coffee, which she had been drinking black when Murphy had approached her. The conversation had been informative, Marie had told him far more than she had intended and that was something she had caught on to. She didn’t consider herself a Princess despite many people calling her that and this business with her grandfather… Murphy had looked up Otto Mischner and what he had learned was quite disturbing.
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Hopefully, Murphy will also dig into the origins of the feud between US Intelligence and Kat von Mischner, realise that it was started by USN Intelligence and has been almost entirely one sided ever since. Especially since all that Kat has really ever done is smack them over the nose as if they were a particularly bad puppy.
Part 146, Chapter 2641
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Forty-One
27th August 1977
Potsdam
They had drawn lots that morning during the breakfast banquet with Emperor Friedrich and his brother Michael of Bohemia hosting. The first drawing had been to determine the Squadrons they would be assigned to and the second had been for the order in which they would appear. Kurt Knispel, Marshal of Bohemia, who had played a key role in the revival of Horse Cavalry with the Berlin Raid that was still conducted annually had announced the results of the drawings.
The International Cavalry Open was a competition that had been developed to help maintain skills that had fallen into disuse as technology had advanced. The Heer had discovered that old tactics and customs had a way of suddenly becoming necessary again. They had sent out invitations to every Cavalry unit in the world as well as individuals who they figured might be interested in taking part. Niko couldn’t help but notice that the Johanniter Order and the Teutonic Order, two rival Chivalrous Orders that operated in Germany mostly as social clubs who fought their battles in the realm of public relations these days were making their presence felt at this event.
Niko had been invited to the Cavalry Open in Potsdam after spending the prior four weeks at the Platoon Command School in Wunsdorf-Zossen. It seemed that the Heer had decided that he would command a Platoon of Dragoon Infantry in the Panzer Corps as soon as he finished University. It was hard to think of a time when Opa had been happier with him.
Opa had arranged to meet Niko in Potsdam with Zwei, so Niko was getting ready to head out the starting line in the first of the individual events on his own horse along with the lance and saber he had practiced with. Opa had arranged for Niko to have the Richthofen pennant on the light ash lance along with a black and grey Panzer Corps uniform modeled after the one he had worn during the early days of the First World War on the Eastern Front. Niko couldn’t help but notice that had included Leutnant’s boards on the should straps. It seemed that Opa had learned of Niko’s promotion before he had and had arranged for the uniform change as a surprise.
Bruce, the British member of Niko’s squadron who also happened to be the same age as he was, handed him his lance. “Thank you” Niko said to Bruce as he looked at Niko as if he were some sort of hero. Niko had learned that until now Bruce had never left his native England while Niko had traveled widely, served as a Cavalry Flag Ensign in the 3rd Hussars when they had been sent to Argentina, and had competed in the Montreal Olympics. He had never thought of anything he had done as being particularly interesting until he saw Bruce’s reaction.
Zwei had his ears perked up listening to everything going on around them as Niko guided him to the starting line. Niko sometimes wondered if Zwei found events like this fun. He knew that it was foolish to anthropomorphize a horse, it was not as if Zwei could tell Niko the answer to that. It was when the trumpet blared, signaling the event’s start that Zwei’s ears swept back, and his very posture seemed to say; “Let’s go!” Niko was certain that the horse loved the charge.
Zwei was off the line almost before Niko was aware that they were moving, and he fought to bring the lance into line with the first ring. The number of the rings and the course was meant to be random with the rider not knowing what it would be until he got off the starting line. Missing a ring resulted in a time penalty and if Niko managed to do all of it properly with the best time all he would win is bragging rights. Niko wasn’t stupid though. He had seen his grandfather among the gathered spectators and knew that there was no way that the great Manfred von Richthofen could attend an event like this without making it more interesting. There was probably going to be a great deal of money changing hands this afternoon and Niko just hoped that he beat the spread.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Manfred the Elder watched as Niko managed to spear all the rings including one that had required a sharp left-hand turn before hitting the target dummy square. The steel head of lance went right through it with Niko letting go before the weight could affect his balance in the saddle. Niko then drew his saber and blew through the target dummies. Crossing the finish line, Niko saluted the Emperor to the cheers of the crowd.
“Goddamn that boy is good!” Theodor Ferguson, who insisted that Manfred call him Ted, a Texas Oilman with an interest in Equestrianism exclaimed. He was seemingly unbothered by the fact that Niko’s actions had just considerably lightened his wallet.
“I should think so” Manfred replied, “I taught him to ride.”
Ted looked at the leader board as the score was posted and saw Niko’s full name.
“One of yours then?” Ted asked.
“Grandson” Manfred replied with a smile. For years he had been disappointed that none of his children and most of his grandchildren had not been interested in following in his footsteps. While Albrecht had eventually become a Pilot of note, the whole Naval Aviator aspect had cast a pall over the whole thing. While Niko had shown no interest in flying, he had proven himself beyond even Manfred’s expectations in other ways.
27th August 1977
Potsdam
They had drawn lots that morning during the breakfast banquet with Emperor Friedrich and his brother Michael of Bohemia hosting. The first drawing had been to determine the Squadrons they would be assigned to and the second had been for the order in which they would appear. Kurt Knispel, Marshal of Bohemia, who had played a key role in the revival of Horse Cavalry with the Berlin Raid that was still conducted annually had announced the results of the drawings.
The International Cavalry Open was a competition that had been developed to help maintain skills that had fallen into disuse as technology had advanced. The Heer had discovered that old tactics and customs had a way of suddenly becoming necessary again. They had sent out invitations to every Cavalry unit in the world as well as individuals who they figured might be interested in taking part. Niko couldn’t help but notice that the Johanniter Order and the Teutonic Order, two rival Chivalrous Orders that operated in Germany mostly as social clubs who fought their battles in the realm of public relations these days were making their presence felt at this event.
Niko had been invited to the Cavalry Open in Potsdam after spending the prior four weeks at the Platoon Command School in Wunsdorf-Zossen. It seemed that the Heer had decided that he would command a Platoon of Dragoon Infantry in the Panzer Corps as soon as he finished University. It was hard to think of a time when Opa had been happier with him.
Opa had arranged to meet Niko in Potsdam with Zwei, so Niko was getting ready to head out the starting line in the first of the individual events on his own horse along with the lance and saber he had practiced with. Opa had arranged for Niko to have the Richthofen pennant on the light ash lance along with a black and grey Panzer Corps uniform modeled after the one he had worn during the early days of the First World War on the Eastern Front. Niko couldn’t help but notice that had included Leutnant’s boards on the should straps. It seemed that Opa had learned of Niko’s promotion before he had and had arranged for the uniform change as a surprise.
Bruce, the British member of Niko’s squadron who also happened to be the same age as he was, handed him his lance. “Thank you” Niko said to Bruce as he looked at Niko as if he were some sort of hero. Niko had learned that until now Bruce had never left his native England while Niko had traveled widely, served as a Cavalry Flag Ensign in the 3rd Hussars when they had been sent to Argentina, and had competed in the Montreal Olympics. He had never thought of anything he had done as being particularly interesting until he saw Bruce’s reaction.
Zwei had his ears perked up listening to everything going on around them as Niko guided him to the starting line. Niko sometimes wondered if Zwei found events like this fun. He knew that it was foolish to anthropomorphize a horse, it was not as if Zwei could tell Niko the answer to that. It was when the trumpet blared, signaling the event’s start that Zwei’s ears swept back, and his very posture seemed to say; “Let’s go!” Niko was certain that the horse loved the charge.
Zwei was off the line almost before Niko was aware that they were moving, and he fought to bring the lance into line with the first ring. The number of the rings and the course was meant to be random with the rider not knowing what it would be until he got off the starting line. Missing a ring resulted in a time penalty and if Niko managed to do all of it properly with the best time all he would win is bragging rights. Niko wasn’t stupid though. He had seen his grandfather among the gathered spectators and knew that there was no way that the great Manfred von Richthofen could attend an event like this without making it more interesting. There was probably going to be a great deal of money changing hands this afternoon and Niko just hoped that he beat the spread.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Manfred the Elder watched as Niko managed to spear all the rings including one that had required a sharp left-hand turn before hitting the target dummy square. The steel head of lance went right through it with Niko letting go before the weight could affect his balance in the saddle. Niko then drew his saber and blew through the target dummies. Crossing the finish line, Niko saluted the Emperor to the cheers of the crowd.
“Goddamn that boy is good!” Theodor Ferguson, who insisted that Manfred call him Ted, a Texas Oilman with an interest in Equestrianism exclaimed. He was seemingly unbothered by the fact that Niko’s actions had just considerably lightened his wallet.
“I should think so” Manfred replied, “I taught him to ride.”
Ted looked at the leader board as the score was posted and saw Niko’s full name.
“One of yours then?” Ted asked.
“Grandson” Manfred replied with a smile. For years he had been disappointed that none of his children and most of his grandchildren had not been interested in following in his footsteps. While Albrecht had eventually become a Pilot of note, the whole Naval Aviator aspect had cast a pall over the whole thing. While Niko had shown no interest in flying, he had proven himself beyond even Manfred’s expectations in other ways.
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Part 146, Chapter 2642
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Forty-Two
5th September 1977
Tempelhof, Berlin
The wheezing voice of Professor Stenger as he introduced himself to the class reminded Sophie of fireplace bellows as he introduced himself to the class.
“I taught Classical Literature at this august institution for decades until I retired” Stenger said, before adding. “As I am sure that you have already ascertained, retirement did not agree with me. That also happens to mean that there is little you can say or do that will surprise me.”
He was an elderly man with mussed white hair and a face that looked like it was carved from the stone that the builder had refused, but only after several unsuccessful efforts. Kat had warned Sophie that many of the Professors who taught at the University of Berlin were not to be underestimated and Kord Stenger was one of them. The gold pin he wore on his lapel, a black enameled shield with the Roman numeral one on it was evidence of that. That probably meant nothing to the vast majority of students in this room, but Sophie knew that it the symbol of Abwehr Counterintelligence and it stated plainly what Stenger had been doing during the years that the secretive unit of the Military had been in existence.
“My purpose during this term is to prepare you for the rigors of University” Stenger said, “My fondest hope is that most of you will pass the entrance exam and I can help guide you into a rewarding course of study. The rest I am sure can avail themselves of the many opportunities that will be presented to you over the course of the term.”
Something about how he said that last part suggested just how much he thought about those who failed to advance from his class. It was then that the door at the back of the room opened and hit the wall with a clatter. Sophie heard someone out of breath running down the aisle of the lecture hall and taking a seat behind her.
“Sorry I am late, Sir” A voice all too familiar to Sophie said, “I had family business that ran long.”
“I understand your situation and will accept that excuse this once Herr Deisler” Professor Stenger said, “Never again, understand.”
“Thank you, Sir” Sepp said as Sophie tried her best to make herself invisible. Of all the places that she might have ended up, this had to be among the worst possible.
When she had been training to go to the Montreal Olympics Sophie had put every other consideration aside. Now it was painfully obvious that her neglecting her studies had come with a cost, and this was it. With that Professor Stenger started billowing again.
“Zoe?” Sepp whispered, when he noticed that she was sitting right in front of him.
Montreal, Canada
As Marie Alexandra leaned her green Schwinn Breeze bicycle against the garage wall and removed the panniers from the rear rack. She nearly fell over from the weight of the books that were required for this year’s courses that she had crammed into the bags. This was her Senior Year at University and the expectations had grown, especially because she was intending to further her education at the Post-Graduate level. Despite nothing having been made official yet, it seemed like all her professors knew that she had been accepted into Trinity College next year. The idea was that she would study International Law, but the reality was that Marie was still just as clueless about the rest of her life as she always had been.
Hauling the bags across the garden up the steps into the mudroom. Entering the kitchen, Marie could smell dinner cooking as she started rummaging around in the refrigerator for something to eat. She’d had toast and coffee as breakfast, but that had been ages ago.
“Mrs. Blackwood said that she doesn’t want you ruining your appetite” Olive said as Marie found an apple. Olive Lachance, the Cook who worked for Marie’s grandparents meant well but didn’t understand the complexities of the relationship between Marie and Margot. It shouldn’t have been a shock to Marie that her grandmother was back to disapproving of her. Oddly, it was because Marie had not lived down to her expectations when she had traveled though Spain. The prior Sunday, she had told the Parish Priest at the Church her grandparents attended all about the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Assumption in Pamplona, how beautiful it was. Something about that had been entirely too forward for Margot’s liking.
Marie knew full well that it wasn’t about whatever Margot was complaining about. She would have to wait to get the whole story at some later time. That was just how it was.
“What does she care?” Marie asked, “She barely notices if I am even there most nights.”
“She said that there were certain introductions she wants to make” Olive replied.
Marie knew better than to take her annoyance out on Olive. The Cook was just passing along information and didn’t deserve to be mistreated.
Her grandmother tended to do this every few months. Much to Marie’s personal discomfort and annoyance.
“Did she say which well-connected knucklehead she wants to throw me at this time” Marie asked. Her grandmother tended to do this every few months. Introducing her to the eligible son of one of her friends in Montreal’s polite society. As if her studying Law or going to Ireland next year were not going to be almost certain dealbreakers. While her grandmother had never said anything, Marie had suspected for a long time that Margot thought that a woman attending University was only doing it to meet potential husbands.
“I don’t know” Olive replied.
Marie just shrugged as she ate her apple. Picking up the pannier and feeling the weight of the books, she was reminded of what was truly important to her as she went up the stairs to her bedroom.
5th September 1977
Tempelhof, Berlin
The wheezing voice of Professor Stenger as he introduced himself to the class reminded Sophie of fireplace bellows as he introduced himself to the class.
“I taught Classical Literature at this august institution for decades until I retired” Stenger said, before adding. “As I am sure that you have already ascertained, retirement did not agree with me. That also happens to mean that there is little you can say or do that will surprise me.”
He was an elderly man with mussed white hair and a face that looked like it was carved from the stone that the builder had refused, but only after several unsuccessful efforts. Kat had warned Sophie that many of the Professors who taught at the University of Berlin were not to be underestimated and Kord Stenger was one of them. The gold pin he wore on his lapel, a black enameled shield with the Roman numeral one on it was evidence of that. That probably meant nothing to the vast majority of students in this room, but Sophie knew that it the symbol of Abwehr Counterintelligence and it stated plainly what Stenger had been doing during the years that the secretive unit of the Military had been in existence.
“My purpose during this term is to prepare you for the rigors of University” Stenger said, “My fondest hope is that most of you will pass the entrance exam and I can help guide you into a rewarding course of study. The rest I am sure can avail themselves of the many opportunities that will be presented to you over the course of the term.”
Something about how he said that last part suggested just how much he thought about those who failed to advance from his class. It was then that the door at the back of the room opened and hit the wall with a clatter. Sophie heard someone out of breath running down the aisle of the lecture hall and taking a seat behind her.
“Sorry I am late, Sir” A voice all too familiar to Sophie said, “I had family business that ran long.”
“I understand your situation and will accept that excuse this once Herr Deisler” Professor Stenger said, “Never again, understand.”
“Thank you, Sir” Sepp said as Sophie tried her best to make herself invisible. Of all the places that she might have ended up, this had to be among the worst possible.
When she had been training to go to the Montreal Olympics Sophie had put every other consideration aside. Now it was painfully obvious that her neglecting her studies had come with a cost, and this was it. With that Professor Stenger started billowing again.
“Zoe?” Sepp whispered, when he noticed that she was sitting right in front of him.
Montreal, Canada
As Marie Alexandra leaned her green Schwinn Breeze bicycle against the garage wall and removed the panniers from the rear rack. She nearly fell over from the weight of the books that were required for this year’s courses that she had crammed into the bags. This was her Senior Year at University and the expectations had grown, especially because she was intending to further her education at the Post-Graduate level. Despite nothing having been made official yet, it seemed like all her professors knew that she had been accepted into Trinity College next year. The idea was that she would study International Law, but the reality was that Marie was still just as clueless about the rest of her life as she always had been.
Hauling the bags across the garden up the steps into the mudroom. Entering the kitchen, Marie could smell dinner cooking as she started rummaging around in the refrigerator for something to eat. She’d had toast and coffee as breakfast, but that had been ages ago.
“Mrs. Blackwood said that she doesn’t want you ruining your appetite” Olive said as Marie found an apple. Olive Lachance, the Cook who worked for Marie’s grandparents meant well but didn’t understand the complexities of the relationship between Marie and Margot. It shouldn’t have been a shock to Marie that her grandmother was back to disapproving of her. Oddly, it was because Marie had not lived down to her expectations when she had traveled though Spain. The prior Sunday, she had told the Parish Priest at the Church her grandparents attended all about the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Assumption in Pamplona, how beautiful it was. Something about that had been entirely too forward for Margot’s liking.
Marie knew full well that it wasn’t about whatever Margot was complaining about. She would have to wait to get the whole story at some later time. That was just how it was.
“What does she care?” Marie asked, “She barely notices if I am even there most nights.”
“She said that there were certain introductions she wants to make” Olive replied.
Marie knew better than to take her annoyance out on Olive. The Cook was just passing along information and didn’t deserve to be mistreated.
Her grandmother tended to do this every few months. Much to Marie’s personal discomfort and annoyance.
“Did she say which well-connected knucklehead she wants to throw me at this time” Marie asked. Her grandmother tended to do this every few months. Introducing her to the eligible son of one of her friends in Montreal’s polite society. As if her studying Law or going to Ireland next year were not going to be almost certain dealbreakers. While her grandmother had never said anything, Marie had suspected for a long time that Margot thought that a woman attending University was only doing it to meet potential husbands.
“I don’t know” Olive replied.
Marie just shrugged as she ate her apple. Picking up the pannier and feeling the weight of the books, she was reminded of what was truly important to her as she went up the stairs to her bedroom.
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Marie going to Trinity for Law School is a great way for her to buy some time to figure her life out.
Even if she doesn't go for a career in law, she can still use the education and training that she gets in other ways.
Sophie and Sepp have a lot of awkward moments to get through before they can move forward in their lives together or apart.
Herr Professor Stenger could be a "Talent Scout" for the BND looking for potential recruits such as an intelligent, hard-working, and well discipline young man without any particular long-term direction in his life.
Even if she doesn't go for a career in law, she can still use the education and training that she gets in other ways.
Sophie and Sepp have a lot of awkward moments to get through before they can move forward in their lives together or apart.
Herr Professor Stenger could be a "Talent Scout" for the BND looking for potential recruits such as an intelligent, hard-working, and well discipline young man without any particular long-term direction in his life.
Abwehr was dismantled after the Soviet War, its functions split between the BND and the BII/Federal Police. Sort of like the split between MI5 and MI6 in the UK. So far we have mostly seen the part of the BII that deals with Interstate Crime, especially Crimes Against Persons, that is led by Sven Werth. Counterintelligence is handled by a different division.
I suspect that Kat would give him a warning instead. Look at how she has moved Heaven and Earth to get her own daughter away from the BND.
Part 146, Chapter 2643
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Forty-Three
16th September 1977
Dublin, Ireland
The pub looked like dozens of others in this neighborhood, something about it though made it clear that anyone without the right sort of introductions would be made very unwelcome. That was probably why everyone aside from the most adventurous or foolhardy tourist stayed away. Ed had been invited here which was why the bartender had served him to keep up appearances. Because he was technically on duty, he had ordered a cup of coffee which was quite terrible.
At least they didn’t throw a brick through the window of the small apartment that Ed was renting. Considering that it was on the forth floor that would have taken some doing, though he wouldn’t have put past them. According to the Embassy Staff they had people, or at least those sympathetic to their cause, everywhere. So, it shouldn’t have been in the least bit surprising that a note requesting this meeting turned up in Ed’s postage inbox inside what was supposed to be a secure section of the U.S. Embassy. He would have raised a big stink, pointing out that this represented a major breech of security, but knew that he was going to hit a wall of official indifference. This was Dublin, if not for the Irish Diaspora resulting in a large portion of the American public having roots in this country and the resulting tourism it would be about as much a diplomatic backwater as say, the Embassy in Reykjavík, Iceland. The people who said that had clearly not been read into the Counterintelligence effort that was centered in Dublin.
Ed knew that if the Irish were aware of this little detail then there was no doubt that their German friends were as well. The English had found out about that relationship the hard way in an incident that the Irish still celebrated as evidenced by the heavy artillery pieces that were part of the monument in Saint Stephan’s Green. The tale was that the infamous Jacob von Schmidt had been behind the effort to smuggle the Brits own artillery to Ireland after it had been captured following the ruinous Battle of Somme. Anyone who believed that didn’t have enough sense to read a history book, von Schmidt would have been a very juror Officer in the German Navy at that point and would have lacked the clout to pull an operation like that off himself. There were clearly others who were just as clever and cunning enough to sneak those guns as well as tons of small arms into Ireland in the chaotic final days of the First World War. That just wasn’t as good a story though. Ed supposed that there were several lessons to be learned about Ireland and Germany in the manner of the retelling.
“Mister O’Neill” Patrick Berne, the man who had asked for this meeting said as he sat in the empty barstool next to Ed and signaled the bartender for a drink. Berne was well known to the Boston Field Office because whenever he came to Massachusetts trouble followed, but they had never been able to actually get him on anything.
“What is this?” Ed asked in reply.
“Two men with a thirst who just happen to be in the same pub” Berne replied, “Nothing more.”
Ed almost said bullshit to that but knew better than to antagonize Berne too much in a place like this. He had no doubt that there were a thousand eyes on them. As Berne got his pint, Ed heard him mutter a soft toast out of long habit whose words marked him for what he was. He didn’t care if Ed heard, which spoke volumes about the nature of his invitation.
“Still fighting a war that ended decades ago?” Ed asked.
“Only a Yank would think that the old wars are over” Berne said, “We have gotten to the hardest part. Where someone needs to stand atop the wall watching for the barbarians.”
There it was. In Ireland it didn’t matter what his surname was, Ed was an American through and through. That was sort of ironic considering some of the attitudes that endured in certain circles within the United States.
“You seriously think the British would ever want to come back?” Ed asked in disbelief.
“You weren’t there when the Reisimint Ilchríochach was sent to fight next to the Brits in Russia. The things that their Officers said to us” Berne replied, “They saw what happened in 1918 as a temporary setback and still think they own Ireland because they think the sun shines out of John Bull’s arse.”
“That is all well and good” Ed said, “But it doesn’t answer the first question. What do you want?”
“To have a drink” Berne replied before taking a long pull on the pint glass. Beer here in Ireland was very different from back home and Ed had not gained an appreciation of it during the months he had been in this country. Room temperature stout that was thick as soup had limited appeal. Ed found that it was like drinking motor oil. “Reminisce about the grand old times.”
Cut the crap, Ed thought to himself, but didn’t say aloud. He knew that someone in Berne’s position would rather shoot himself in the head than admit to working with Law Enforcement. Irish or American didn’t matter, still someone like him hadn’t avoided getting jammed up for years without friends in high and low places. That included the Bureau if Ed had to guess. Ed figured that if he waited long enough, Berne would get to the point.
“Your friend, Thorson Greyson, came to a bit of a sticky end” Berne said, “And it happened in my patch, which won’t do at all.”
“You know anything about that?” Ed asked. Not that he was expecting a straight answer.
“I know who didn’t do it” Berne replied, “Me and my lads don’t like drawing that sort of heat on ourselves. And that business with the drugs, that’s not our style.”
“As opposed to beatings and the occasional kneecapping” Ed said.
Berne held up his hand as if to tell him to cut it out.
“Greyson was up in the North asking questions about a girl living in a neighborhood that is a Unionist shithole” Berne said, “The same girl attends a Teaching College that only allowed a certain sort in until very recently. Do I need to connect the dots?”
“No” Ed replied, “But that is sort of self-serving, you telling me that and pointing at your enemies.”
Berne let out a cynical laugh.
“That is only the half of it” Berne said, “The coordination, to discredit someone like that after they are conveniently dead. That is beyond the Orangemen. There’s a State Actor involved.”
That was something that Ed had suspected for months but had not been stupid enough to tell anyone. The rumors that had been floating around must have suggested to Berne that suspicion was pointing to the IRA, and he had called this meeting.
16th September 1977
Dublin, Ireland
The pub looked like dozens of others in this neighborhood, something about it though made it clear that anyone without the right sort of introductions would be made very unwelcome. That was probably why everyone aside from the most adventurous or foolhardy tourist stayed away. Ed had been invited here which was why the bartender had served him to keep up appearances. Because he was technically on duty, he had ordered a cup of coffee which was quite terrible.
At least they didn’t throw a brick through the window of the small apartment that Ed was renting. Considering that it was on the forth floor that would have taken some doing, though he wouldn’t have put past them. According to the Embassy Staff they had people, or at least those sympathetic to their cause, everywhere. So, it shouldn’t have been in the least bit surprising that a note requesting this meeting turned up in Ed’s postage inbox inside what was supposed to be a secure section of the U.S. Embassy. He would have raised a big stink, pointing out that this represented a major breech of security, but knew that he was going to hit a wall of official indifference. This was Dublin, if not for the Irish Diaspora resulting in a large portion of the American public having roots in this country and the resulting tourism it would be about as much a diplomatic backwater as say, the Embassy in Reykjavík, Iceland. The people who said that had clearly not been read into the Counterintelligence effort that was centered in Dublin.
Ed knew that if the Irish were aware of this little detail then there was no doubt that their German friends were as well. The English had found out about that relationship the hard way in an incident that the Irish still celebrated as evidenced by the heavy artillery pieces that were part of the monument in Saint Stephan’s Green. The tale was that the infamous Jacob von Schmidt had been behind the effort to smuggle the Brits own artillery to Ireland after it had been captured following the ruinous Battle of Somme. Anyone who believed that didn’t have enough sense to read a history book, von Schmidt would have been a very juror Officer in the German Navy at that point and would have lacked the clout to pull an operation like that off himself. There were clearly others who were just as clever and cunning enough to sneak those guns as well as tons of small arms into Ireland in the chaotic final days of the First World War. That just wasn’t as good a story though. Ed supposed that there were several lessons to be learned about Ireland and Germany in the manner of the retelling.
“Mister O’Neill” Patrick Berne, the man who had asked for this meeting said as he sat in the empty barstool next to Ed and signaled the bartender for a drink. Berne was well known to the Boston Field Office because whenever he came to Massachusetts trouble followed, but they had never been able to actually get him on anything.
“What is this?” Ed asked in reply.
“Two men with a thirst who just happen to be in the same pub” Berne replied, “Nothing more.”
Ed almost said bullshit to that but knew better than to antagonize Berne too much in a place like this. He had no doubt that there were a thousand eyes on them. As Berne got his pint, Ed heard him mutter a soft toast out of long habit whose words marked him for what he was. He didn’t care if Ed heard, which spoke volumes about the nature of his invitation.
“Still fighting a war that ended decades ago?” Ed asked.
“Only a Yank would think that the old wars are over” Berne said, “We have gotten to the hardest part. Where someone needs to stand atop the wall watching for the barbarians.”
There it was. In Ireland it didn’t matter what his surname was, Ed was an American through and through. That was sort of ironic considering some of the attitudes that endured in certain circles within the United States.
“You seriously think the British would ever want to come back?” Ed asked in disbelief.
“You weren’t there when the Reisimint Ilchríochach was sent to fight next to the Brits in Russia. The things that their Officers said to us” Berne replied, “They saw what happened in 1918 as a temporary setback and still think they own Ireland because they think the sun shines out of John Bull’s arse.”
“That is all well and good” Ed said, “But it doesn’t answer the first question. What do you want?”
“To have a drink” Berne replied before taking a long pull on the pint glass. Beer here in Ireland was very different from back home and Ed had not gained an appreciation of it during the months he had been in this country. Room temperature stout that was thick as soup had limited appeal. Ed found that it was like drinking motor oil. “Reminisce about the grand old times.”
Cut the crap, Ed thought to himself, but didn’t say aloud. He knew that someone in Berne’s position would rather shoot himself in the head than admit to working with Law Enforcement. Irish or American didn’t matter, still someone like him hadn’t avoided getting jammed up for years without friends in high and low places. That included the Bureau if Ed had to guess. Ed figured that if he waited long enough, Berne would get to the point.
“Your friend, Thorson Greyson, came to a bit of a sticky end” Berne said, “And it happened in my patch, which won’t do at all.”
“You know anything about that?” Ed asked. Not that he was expecting a straight answer.
“I know who didn’t do it” Berne replied, “Me and my lads don’t like drawing that sort of heat on ourselves. And that business with the drugs, that’s not our style.”
“As opposed to beatings and the occasional kneecapping” Ed said.
Berne held up his hand as if to tell him to cut it out.
“Greyson was up in the North asking questions about a girl living in a neighborhood that is a Unionist shithole” Berne said, “The same girl attends a Teaching College that only allowed a certain sort in until very recently. Do I need to connect the dots?”
“No” Ed replied, “But that is sort of self-serving, you telling me that and pointing at your enemies.”
Berne let out a cynical laugh.
“That is only the half of it” Berne said, “The coordination, to discredit someone like that after they are conveniently dead. That is beyond the Orangemen. There’s a State Actor involved.”
That was something that Ed had suspected for months but had not been stupid enough to tell anyone. The rumors that had been floating around must have suggested to Berne that suspicion was pointing to the IRA, and he had called this meeting.
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Oh, the possibilities... who did Greyson piss off so badly... let's speculate!
Option 1: The blatantly obvious, to the IRA at least; the British. Or at least Unionist sympathizers within the UK government and/or intelligence agencies.
Option 2: The next most likely culprit, as far as the US is concerned; the Germans.
Option 3: Considering where it happened; the Irish. Either the Irish government or a rival faction of the IRA. As O'Neal himself noted, they have people everywhere.
Option 4: For the conspiracy theorists; the Americans themselves, or at least the CIA side.
Option 5: The Russians. Because their main rivals on the international stage all have a significant presence in Ireland.
Option 6: A totally new, non-state player.
Option 7: The French. Because reasons.
Discuss!
EDIT:
Option 8: All of the above.
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While all good possibilities, the most logical answer is to look at someone or someone’s who has a personal grudge against the FBI and has the ability and resources to do a thoroughly professional job in making the death of Special Agent Greyson look like a suicide.
This has all the makings of being done by The Sisterhood led by Asia Lethwiki and Kristine Lernher of the BND.
This is payback for throwing Asia into Danvers State Hospital to get a Frontal Lobotomy and this is definitely not a sanctioned operation by the BND.
This is going to lead to the return of “Anne Morgan” who instead of carrying a Republic of Ireland passport, is now using a MA driver’s license showing her address is in Salem MA.
This has all the makings of being done by The Sisterhood led by Asia Lethwiki and Kristine Lernher of the BND.
This is payback for throwing Asia into Danvers State Hospital to get a Frontal Lobotomy and this is definitely not a sanctioned operation by the BND.
This is going to lead to the return of “Anne Morgan” who instead of carrying a Republic of Ireland passport, is now using a MA driver’s license showing her address is in Salem MA.
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Personally, I don't think Asia & Kristine would have anything to do with it. Partly because Gia's little raid on Danvers State Hospital ended up embarrassing the "hospital", the FBI and the entire US government on the international stage. The diplomatic repercussions for the US for snatching, imprisoning and torturing a German citizen who was openly travelling on a diplomatic passport will still be ongoing. And partly because Asia's kidnapping by the FBI lead to a German agent becoming the Director of the FBI. Not to mention that the people directly involved were most definitely punished for their actions.
That said, I am really looking forward to O'Neal finding out just what his late colleague was poking his nose into. Organized crime, with possible links to the Unionists, the IRA and the CIA would not surprise me at all. Remember that the FBI presence in Ireland is (officially) to liaise with the Garda in respect to international crimes that impact both countries and that, IOTL at least, the CIA has form smuggling drugs and weapons to further advance US interests.
What happened to Special Agent Greyson was TOO sophisticated for either the IRA and the Orangemen to pull off, and neither of them have the skills or resources to even THINK about doing something about it.
It has been presented by the author of this timeline that the current IRA and by logistical extension, the Orangemen are nothing more than criminal enterprises at this point in time.
As such, one Anne Morgan holds very little interest to either the IRA or to the Orangemen, and it is very possible that the Orangemen have checked out "Anne Morgan" and her background, only to find out that it doesn't add up.
If that is true, as long as "Anne Morgan" isn't working for the Irish government, then she is going to be left alone because something deeper is going on and it is healthier to not go any further in trying to find out what the real deal is.
As for Aisa and Kristine, I have the impression of them of not just hitting back harder, but to continue on hitting, kicking, bludgeoning, until there is nothing left but a shapeless, quivering blob barley breathing on the ground.
Asia and Kristine are not going to do something like this because it involves Tatiana directly, this was her cover after all in Boston, and they are too close to Kat to know not to do something like this that might make the Kat "Worried" about her Kitten by birth. This sounds like a combination of the CIA and the mob itself. Something along the lines of what they did IOTL.
While they have the knowledge to pull it off there are several good reasons why neither of them are allowed into the field. The first is that Asia's hatred of all things American is pathological, she loses the ability to be rational on those grounds. If Greyson had been found in a back alley with 50 stab wounds, Asia would be one of the prime suspects. The other is that Kris cannot travel or risk any potentially physical confrontation because of her poor health and brittle bones.
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