The Gargoyle Trilogy

Chapter 7

CIA Headquarters

CIA HeadquartersThe Next Day

The Next DayMorgan headed down to the basement of CIA headquarters to meet Ms. McCulloch’s point of contact in the Global Services division, the Agency’s supply department. He opened the door and entered some sort of combination workshop/storage area. Walking up to one of the folks running around, he caught her attention with a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“Good morning. I’m looking for Joe,” Morgan said.

The harried young woman turned and cupped her hands around her mouth, “Hey, Chop!” she shouted. “You have a visitor!”

A Hispanic gentleman about 65 years of age with grey hair streaked with black and a pencil moustache came out from behind a stack of pallets. Looking at Morgan he said, “You must be Gargoyle. I’m Joe Acevedo.”

The two men shook hands.

Morgan asked, “Chop? Are you former Navy?”

“Retired Navy Supply Corps Commander. I started out in the Surface Warfare community before transferring to the Supply Corps in the mid-80s.”

“Destroyers?”

“U.S.S. Conolly and U.S.S. John Hancock.”

ConollyJohn Hancock“Outstanding! I served on Winston S. Churchill.”

Winston S. Churchill“Thought so. Coffee? Let me guess, black, no sugar?” Joe asked with a smile. “Come on, let’s head to my desk and we’ll see how I can help out a fellow tin can sailor.”

For the next few hours, Morgan and Joe worked out the details for his mission including weapons, transportation, communications, and other odds and ends. As they finished up, Joe took a critical look at Morgan’s eye patch.

“I understand your injury caused some problems during your last mission?”

“Yeah, one of my team was injured because I missed someone in my blind spot.”

“Hmmmm,” Joe said looking lost in thought. “One of my folks may have something for you. Let me take a picture of your right eye.”

Morgan leaned over Joe’s desk as Joe took a close-up picture of Morgan’s good eye. Joe continued, “Okay, that’s all for now, but here, you’ll need this if you’re going to look your cover’s part.” He handed Morgan what some consider the holy grail of credit cards, an American Express Black Card. A card so exclusive, it had no spending limit. This particular one had his cover name and employer embossed on it.

“It’s linked to your Agency expense account, so save any receipts,” Joe said with a smile. “I recommend obtaining the appropriate wardrobe.”

“I have just the thing in mind.” Morgan said. “Thanks, Chop!”

Morgan exited the building and started the Grand Sport. The ‘Vette’s 436 horsepower LS3 V8 engine screamed out of the parking spot and towards the headquarters’ outer gate while ignoring the indignant look from the gate guard.

Morgan walked through the tailor shop’s door and immediately came to the attention of the proprietor, Mr. Mark Levinson.

“Mr. Morgan. Haven’t seen you in a while. Still enjoying the blazer?”

“Very much. It lends a bit of class to my somewhat boring job,” Morgan replied. “Can you do a couple of bespoke suits and a tux in less than two weeks?”

Mr. Levinson’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, “No, sir. The patterns alone take two weeks. Will a made-to-measure garments work?”

“Sure. Let’s see what you have.”

Morgan and Levinson spent about 30 minutes going over available styles and took Morgan’s measurements. Morgan left the store with an appointment for his first fitting in 5 days’ time, and a few new ties to go with the shirts he also ordered.

I love expense accounts.

I love expense accounts.Morgan climbed in the ‘Vette for the trip home.