The Planner

  The Planner

  Robert Smith

  Robert Smith

  The Planner

  Chapter One: Initiation

  Planner’s wife urged her daughter into her husband’s shiny new SUV. They were running late for the daughter’s best-friend-forever’s twelfth birthday party. They had only decided earlier that afternoon to buy a new dress and it needed some extra tailoring.

  Their driveway was illuminated only from the house window, since the outside light had failed the day before and Planner had not had time to replace it. There was no moon and even starlight was hidden by a blanket of November cloud. Their luxury house, set in park-like woods upon a small hill in Maryland, featured floor to roof windows in the center section. Planner’s wife had left the lights on in their hallway allowing enough light for the trip to the car in the drive.

  She did not approve of the SUV, preferring something that was more ecologically friendly but her husband wanted a Ford Explorer in black and he usually got whatever he wanted. Her own car was in the garage but while Planner was away on one of his many business trips, Planner’s wife kept the car outside. She felt it was too big to fit into their garage. She had to admit it was a nice car to drive, good driving position, lots of power. It felt safe to drive.

  Through the automatic gate, she drove with her daughter chattering away about the party, for about a mile to the edge of the hill. There the road descended sharply through a series of hairpin bends to the valley floor.

  After the first hairpin bend, as they descended down the hill, there was sharp rasping sound and the steering wheel whipped dramatically clockwise out of her hands. She had no time to even grasp the wheel before the SUV plunged through the crash barrier that failed in its role of keeping the vehicle on the road. The daughter wailed, “Mom!”

  The SUV plunged down the slope about twenty feet before crashing into tree stumps with a metal-crunching thud. Airbags burst forth, knocking the daughter out, but preventing any serious injury to them both. Beyond the sound of the engine racing, there was the hiss of steam and creaking of metal and Planner’s wife wailing in pain.

  Then there was the smell of burning. It took several minutes for the flames to surround the car. Planner’s wife tried to reach out to her daughter. She was unable to exit the car. Her legs were pinned, stuck at 20 degrees away from vertical. She may have had a couple of minutes of despair and pain before her inevitable death when the fuel tank exploded.

  * * * *

  At the cemetery, Planner stood in the rain flanked by his younger brother and sister-in-law as a large and a small coffin were lowered side by side into a deep hole. Planner’s face framed by a hood, looked emotionless while the priest channelled his grief. On the opposite side of the hole, Planer’s wife and daughter’s friends and family, a large crowd, were in tears. Those that were not in despair glowered towards Planner, as-if he was somehow to blame. They probably had a right to be suspicious. He did not mix much with his wife’s friends. His work was something that was not suitable for polite conversation. His cover story was that he worked in the aerospace industry but whenever that generated interest from amateur enthusiasts, the topic of conversation was changed. Planner did not mingle too much with real people.

  * * * *

  Planner was also wearing a hood as he was being anointed as high chamber Mason. He was kneeling in a chamber lit only with candles and moonlight streaming from a huge gothic-style window to the south side of the building. There were eleven men inside the room, and the room still seemed empty. All the men were wearing brown robes but only Planner and Lodge Master were bare footed and bare legged. The Lodge Master continued his interrogation of Planner.

  “Name the Five Points of Fellowship,” he asked.

  “Hand to Hand, Foot to Foot, Knee to Knee, Breast to Breast, and Hand over Back”, Planner replied.

  “Explain them.”

  “Hand to hand, I greet you as a Brother. Foot to foot, I will support you in all your laudable undertakings. Knee to knee, the posture of my daily supplications shall remind me of your wants. Breast to breast, your secrets, when entrusted to me, I will keep as my own. And Hand over back, I will speak of your character in your absence as I do when you are present.”

  “Explain them fully.”

  “Hand to hand, when the necessities of a Brother call for aid, we should not hesitate in stretching forth the hand, to render the assistance, knowing him to be worthy. Foot to foot, tiredness should not cause our feet to halt, forgetting every selfish consideration, and remembering that man was not born for his own enjoyment alone, but for the assistance of his fellows, we should be swift of foot to help, aid, and execute benevolence to a Brother Mason. Knee to knee when we offer up our ejaculations to the Most High a Brother’s welfare we should remember as our own, for as the voice of children are heard at the throne of grace, so most certainly will the breathings of a fervent heart reach the dominions of bliss. Breast to breast, a Brother’s lawful secrets, when entrusted to us as such, we should keep as our own; for to betray the trust which one Brother reposes in another, might be to do him the greatest injury he could possibly receive. It would be like the darkest villainy of the assassin to do such. Hand over back, a Brother’s character should be supported in his absence or presence; we should not revile him ourselves, or knowingly suffer it to be done by others. Thus, by the Five Points of Fellowship, Brethren are united in fraternal affection, which will distinguish us from those who are strangers to our Masonic Order and that the word Brother, among us, is something more than a name.”

  The Lodge Master nodded. And the other lodge members chanted, “Hand to Hand, Foot to Foot, Knee to Knee, Breast to Breast, and Hand over Back.”

  After three verses, the Lodge Master held up his hand and the chanting stopped. “Please come with me to the inner chamber and become enrolled to the High Order.”

  Planner stood and taking the Lodge Master’s hand, was led into a separate chamber. The other 11 men were silently watching until the door closed with a thud. They then let out a collective breath and started chatting, clicking on their cell phones and removing their itchy hoods.

  * * * *

  The Inner Chamber was a misshapen, high ceilinged room with strangely angled walls, densely packed with books and pictures. The Lodge Master signed his large signature on two parchments. The wobbly signature and blotched hands revealed his age, since his cosmetically altered tanned face and black hair, could not. He pushed the parchment over to Planner standing on the other side of the Tudor Rose antique desk. Once Planner had signed and returned the papers, the Lodge Master rolled one of the parchments, wrapped a ribbon around it and sealed it with drops of wax from a candle and imprinted the wax with a stamp. The stamp had a motif with an interlocking quill and dagger. He handed over the sealed roll to Planner.

  “Congratulations on reaching the High Order,” purred the Lodge Master.

  “Thank you, Most Worshipful Master. It’s a great honour… I feel somewhat undeserving considering my recent circumstances.” Planner gingerly took the roll while averting his eyes.

  The Lodge Master continued, “Yes. Everyone in the lodge is so sorry for your loss… We were all very concerned for you… that it would affect your contribution. But we have been gratified by your commitment to our cause. Our greater cause, not only our Masonic duties.”

  Planner looked up at the Lodge Master and tried to smile.

  “How long has it been, now?” said the Old Man recognising his grief.

  “Six months now.”

  The Lodge Master rose from the desk chair and stood facing the window out into the moonlit night. “Tragic. Tragic. Your wife was from such a good family, such a caring and intelligent lady. And your daughter too. So, so sad. Nobody should have
to endure such loss. And we all feel it in the Lodge; your loss is our loss. I must say, though, you have controlled your grief well. I think that shows your deep strength of character.”

  “Thank you, Sir”, replied Planner, barely able to communicate on the subject.

  The Lodge Master turned slowly to face Planner. “Generally we don’t like to pressure our brothers; Especially in such circumstances; But we need your skills. Not just your technical skills in radar and aircraft, but also coordination skills. And the vision for our cause. Indeed, the Lodge Council all agree that you are ready for the Inner Circle, I think, by the end of year. You’ll be the youngest member of the Inner Circle in our history.”

  Planner was in his mid-forties, had never been the youngest anywhere, he stammered, “That is a huge honour. I am… not worthy…” Immediately biting his lip for the crass comment.

  The Lodge Master replied quickly, offering a friendly arm to Planner’s shoulder even before Planner had uttered his words, “Now, now. We are as one. Until death. Your success is my success”.

  And Planner repeated as if it was a mantra, “And your success is my success”.

  “…And you will be a success. We have a task for you, as you know. The Big Event!” The Lodge Master chortled. “Sometimes referred to as BE2 within polite company. Hardly an original code name, but reasonably apt all things considered. This has already been discussed with the Agency, I think you ought to know, we’re moving you up to a coordination role. For this you’ll be reporting directly to me. Your existing management team will only handle administration. Don’t worry, they’ve been informed.”

  Planner raised a single eyebrow.

  The Lodge Master continued. “You may have suspected as much, but you’ll discover that this Big Event is special. A lot hangs on it. You will need nerves of steel to see it through. There will be considerable unpleasantness…”

  “I’ve been involved in some pretty bleak activities in the past”, Planner replied in monotone.

  “Air crashes, yes. All for the greater good; as you are no doubt aware,” he smiled paternally.

  Planner was silent.

  The Lodge Master turned to a painting, the ruins of the Tower of Babel, and released a catch on the frame. The picture swung outwards to reveal a wall safe with a combination dial. The Lodge Master spun the dial with seeming inattention and continued, “But this is our lot, to safeguard our future we must secure that future, with no expectation of public recognition of our personal effort. And we are expecting something extraordinary from you. To deliver the event will be the dividing line between the twentieth century and the twenty-first. It will be a catalysing event to bring in the New American Century”.

  Planner nodded uncertainly.

  “You start tomorrow,” stated the Lodge Master returning to his desk chair. “The details are in this pack. The pass phrase is Operation Rainbow. They will be expecting you.”

  While watching the Lodge Master unwrap a package he had removed from the safe, Planner asked, “My terms of reference?”

  “Managing Rainbow and all the coordination for the other seven Big Event operations. Rainbow is the most technically difficult… but there are many important sideshows that need to be kept on track.”

  “How many staff? Budget?”

  “The Rainbow Team has just been expanded to thirty. Most will need to be indoctrinated and tasked. The technical preparations have been subcontracted. You just need to handle… er… the storyline. You need not worry about budgets, but if you could reduce costs it would keep the auditors off my back,” the Lodge Master winked. “Here is some light reading.”

  The Lodge Master had separated a slim folder from other papers in the package. On the front cover is a black and white picture of a city landscape with a sniper sight motif overlaid.

  * * * *

  Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. Planner leaned over and clicked off the alarm clock. 7am, still dark outside. Planner woke up alone in his king’s size double bed with finest Egyptian cotton sheets. He looks at a picture of his wife and young daughter and tried to remember good times past.

  After his shower, coffee and selecting the right suit (dark blue), Planner was ready to go. He drove the long way to Langley in order to avoid the hill where the accident occurred.

  At the gates of the CIA headquarters, his black Buick LeSabre is flagged down by a guard. Planner shows his identity pass.

  “Using a hire car, Sir?” asked the guard politely.

  “For the time being. My new car will be arriving this week”, Planner replied without enthusiasm.

  “Make sure you fill out the vehicle register form, Sir”, the guard added helpfully.

  “It’s on my To-Do list”, Planner replied without humour.

  Within the leafy campus, the CIA Headquarters stood like a white monolith, seven stories tall and clad gleaming limestone. Planner drove around the building to a car park at the rear. Overlooking the car loomed a 100 foot long, black, bat-like aircraft mounted on a single pylon; an A-12 Blackbird developed by the CIA in total secrecy in the early 1960s to fly reconnaissance missions. Planner looked at it with a wry smile; he always admired the aggressive lines of this iconic aircraft.

  Most staff and visitors to the CIA Headquarters walk pass the CIA Memorial Wall1 which honors CIA employees who died in the line of duty. There were over 70 stars carved into the marble wall, each one representing a CIA officer. Above them, in gold block letters, read the inscription: “In Honor Of Those Members Of The Central Intelligence Agency Who Gave Their Lives In The Service Of Their Country.” Below the stars, the black “Book of Honor” lay encased in an inch-thick plate of glass detailing their deeds. Although even in death, their names are still secret, most officers are not named in the Book of Honor. However, the message was clear, from the aircraft to Memorial Wall, the CIA was still at war while the rest of country seemed at peace.

  Despite the long walk from the car park, Planner arrived inside the office at the appointed grid-referenced office exactly on time. The only signs on the door were “G-2-93” and “No Photography. No Cell Phones”. Planner swiped his access card to receive a green light and happy-bleep.

  Once through the door, Planner was confronted with a largely empty open plan office, easily capable of holding a hundred people, with good views over the office campus. Most desks were empty, and few people were around. There were small, enclosed meeting rooms either side of the main office area. On the far side, a small bunch of people were huddled around a portable whiteboard in animated discussion.

  A slim, middle-aged man with thick, black, swept-back hair and gray suit was sitting at the desk closest to the door. He looked up Planner and beamed a smile.

  “Operation Rainbow?” asked Planner.

  The man rose from the desk and greeted Planner warmly. “You’re in the right place. You’re the planner, I presume? I’m Bates. I’m the P.A.”

  “I didn’t think we used names, well, surnames”, said Planner shaking hands.

  “We don’t as such”, Bates replied heartily. “I didn’t want to be called P.A. Don’t worry; the name, Bates, is just a private joke. Just consider it a new, imaginary color. When I introduce you around you’ll find we all have new handles of various er… shades.”

  “That’s great”, Planner said, feeling at ease immediately with his garrulous new colleague. “I hope I don’t get the colours mixed up.”

  “No, that would make a bit of a mess.”

  “So what part of the operation do we have here?” Planner asked, looking around.

  Bates led Planner around the office. “Operation Rainbow is divided into stages A, B and C. A is before the event, B is the event and C is the after-event clear Up. We have all Stage A and C teams here at the moment before we split them up. We’re flying out tomorrow night to see the Stage B team. But note there are parallel teams working on various sideshows. But we have the tricky bits. You probably know about that already.”

  “I know about
the Seven Operations.”

  “Eight Operations if you include Rainbow.”

  “Right. So do we have contact points for them all?”

  Bates led Planner to a white board with a seven-side logo. “I have the contact points. There are, at least seven other operations. Let me point them out: Nicholas, Las Vegas, Carrot, Hollywood, Eagle, GI-Joe and, er, of course, Snow White”. Bates pointed to various logos in turn. Only the pictures of Snow White, Carrot and Eagle were immediately obvious. Bates observed, “They haven’t spent too much time on the naming of these ops. Rainbow is in the center, of course.” The Rainbow logo appeared more like a multi-coloured jewel than a rainbow and Planner had not noticed it until it was pointed out.

  “So not Snow White and the seven dwarfs?” Planner suggested in an attempt at humour.

  Bates made a sarcastic sigh. “No, probably copyright problems with Disney.”

  Planner smiled. “I’ve been giving briefs on all the operations but not Snow White. It just has a blank page!”

  “Verbal briefing only on that one”, said Bates. “Actually, Snow White is probably the smallest of them all. Only worth a few billion.”

  “Billion?”

  “Billion!” Bates confirmed firmly but then backtracked. “Hey I’ve said too much. Officially, I don’t know that. Officially, and in most cases, in actuality, I know nothing about the other operations. What I do know is that all operations have an A, B, C stage. All of them. We are talking about a very big, Big Event. So do you know enough to brief the newbies? We have ten new starters today.”

  * * * *

  Planner was standing at a podium in a darkened meeting room about to talk to a set of powerpoint slides projected onto a screen behind him. His audience, the CIA Rainbow Team, was about 20 people. Some of the Rainbow Team wore military uniforms, some suits but the most just in smart casual dress, but all of them had a large label with a colored square and the color name underneath.