Sigma Division

Chapter 2

The office was on the sixth floor, facing south, and from its size it was reasonable to assume that its occupant had a fairly important position. While the highest level of the Central Intelligence Agency hierarchy was on the seventh floor, this particular office was the pride and joy of Doug Kilmer. Spicer remembered how he had smugly showed it off after landing it several years back.

And he had every reason to be happy. Offices with windows, especially one this large, were rare at the CIA where most people were herded into secure vaults. While Kilmer was at his sideboard, pouring two cups of coffee from his private espresso machine, Spicer stared through the glass. Virginia was a sight to behold, trees in various shades of red and yellow.

“That was outstanding work in Budapest, Gene,” Kilmer said as he handed a mug to Spicer.

The hitman nodded somberly, looking at the coffee and yet not even tasting it. Killing someone who sold state secrets and facilitated terrorism was no longer cause for celebration as far as he was concerned.

“I can’t do this shit anymore, Doug.”

Kilmer rounded his desk and sat down in his throne-like swivel chair. “Have you talked with Doctor Palmer?”

“What’s a shrink gonna tell me? Good going? Hang in there big guy? Come on, be realistic.” He finally took a sip and set the coffee down on the desk. “I’m beyond shrinks. I don’t believe in what I’m doing anymore.”

“Really?”

Spicer sighed. “We go back a long way you and me. I believe in the greater picture of it all but what I do is unreal, man. There should be other ways.”

He even had trouble understanding how he had gone from a well-adjusted teenager to a veteran government assassin. He remembered watching the Grenada invasion on TV in 1983 and how triumphant he had felt. In one swift military campaign, America had defeated communism. The next day he had joined the Army at the ripe old age of 17.

He took to military life like a duck to water and within a few years he had joined Special Forces. By Operation Just Cause, the invasion of Panama in 1989, he was in military intelligence. It was during this campaign that he got his start in wet work.

In hindsight, it was probably the easiest kill of his career but at the time it had been a big deal. He had been part of a recon mission in Panama City before US forces showed up en masse and there were reports that a local politician was actually working for the KGB, that he could make the transition of leadership difficult.

Citing his special ops background and since CIA personnel were under surveillance, Spicer was tasked with taking the subject out. It was sloppy, a back alley stabbing disguised as a mugging gone wrong, but it was successful and the Soviets never suspected anything. Soon after, Spicer was recruited by the Agency.

The work was sparse at first, the demise the Communist Bloc having softened the need for targeted assassinations. However, this soon gave way to the rise of Islamic extremism, especially after the first World Trade Center bombing in 1993. Spicer was instrumental in the integration of Special Activities Division’s SOG and JSOC operators after 9/11 for mission-specific kills.

He enjoyed the work in the beginning, it made him feel part of the good guys again, but before long he was moved back to his even more clandestine missions. Congress tacitly approved of the CIA’s paramilitary operations; what Spicer did was completely off the books. After all these years the loneliness was getting to him.

He had known Kilmer since he’d joined the Agency. A few years older — and looking at decade younger — he had always been his contact, if not his superior. He was the only real friend he had.

“Have you really thought this through?”

Spicer stared at a loose paperclip on the desk, unable to look at his friend.

“My hands start shaking, I throw up half the time. I don’t wanna lose my mind, Doug. I’d rather draw a pension than a disability check, you know?”

Kilmer quietly nodded. “God knows I hate losing a good officer but there’s no doubt you’ve served the company well. You still have a few years before you get the full retirement package, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I assume you’ll want a transfer.”

“If it’s possible,” Spicer said, finally meeting the other man’s eyes. “Something not too demanding.”

“Are you willing to move in town from Miami?”

“Sure. You have something in mind?”

Kilmer paused like he was unsure if he wanted to say what was on his mind. Then he went ahead. “There’s a spot available that I’ve heard about, it’s with Sigma Division.”

“Never heard of ‘em?”

“That’s the whole idea. They’re pretty much an officially non-official service.”

“How come you know?”

“Since you and I are almost as non-official, I always hear things I’m not supposed to hear. Basement creatures always wind up running into each other.”

Spicer couldn’t deny that. He asked, “What’s the job anyway?”

“Head of Security.”

“I wanna make something good of my life. That doesn’t sound too peaceful.”

“I truly don’t know. I’ll set up a meeting.”

That was a good start.

The next morning, Spicer was summoned to the office of Gerald Houseman and this time it was located on the seventh floor. The office was easily twice the size of Kilmer’s with a sitting area and small conference table in addition to the working area. Houseman himself was well into his 80s though he looked robust and spry.

“Welcome to Sigma Division, Mr. Spicer.”

Wearing a suit for once, Spicer shook his hand and then noticed another man standing in the corner. He was slightly less wrinkled, he was probably only in his early 40s.

“This is Dr. Michaels, my right arm and probably a bit of my shoulder too.”

“Hi,” Spicer said as he shook his hand as well.

Houseman invited everyone to sit on the couches by the window. No coffee was offered but there pastries on the low table.

“Mr. Kilmer sent over your track record, very impressive. I see that officially, you’re employed under the Directorate for Support.”

It was halfway between a statement and a question.

“Yes, Office of Security.”

Michaels asked, “You have an office there?”

“Never really used it, but I do.”

“Good.”

“Officially,” Houseman began, “I’m the Assistant Deputy Director for Science and Technology. But my main task is head of the Sigma Division.”

“And what is Sigma exactly?”

Both men exchanged glances as if they needed to be sure if they wanted to share this information. Dr. Michaels took the wheel.

“Sigma Division is about giving a handful of people the managerial power over the government’s most top secret projects.”

“Like DARPA?” Spicer asked, referring to the Department of Defense’s mad scientist chamber of fun.

“No, much more sensitive, secretive projects.”

“Smart, you minimize security risks.”

Houseman smiled with approval. “Precisely. We’ve got a higher clearance than the President. What we’re offering you is the position of Head of Security for the division.”

“Sounds to me like you got the security pretty much taken care of.”

“There’s always the possibility of leaks, mostly from the outside. People trying to find out what we’re doing, that sort of thing. We are able to keep cyber attacks to a minimum, thanks to our anonymity and devoted employees, but we're more vulnerable when it comes to human assets. You’ll also take care of background checks.”

“It’s a pretty restful job actually,” Dr. Michaels added. “You’ll keep your office and will still be formally affiliated with the Office of Security. Except that the work you’ll do will be for us.”

Spicer lowered his head, thinking it through. At this point, anything that didn’t involve sneaking into people’s homes to assassinate them was an improvement. He nodded.

“I’m interested.”

This made Houseman light up. “Great! That’s wonderful.”

Michaels stood and Spicer followed his lead.

“Dr. Michaels will get you your papers and proper documentation. I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“Thank you,” Spicer said to both men. He headed for the door before abruptly turning around. “One more thing: the guy who had the job before me, what happened to him?”

Michaels held the door and stared at Spicer, his eyes narrowing, sizing him up.

“A heart attack.”

Spicer chose to believe him for the time being.