Undercover with FBI Counterintelligence
London, July 1994
Breakfast aboard British Airways from Moscow was without flavor though I managed to wash part of an omelet into my system with a quarter-bottle of champagne. A celebration seemed in order for an assignment well done.
"You mean has the eagle landed?" I said. "Yup."
This was John H's reason for being in the British capital and he was very excited about whatever he would learn about my visit with Edward Lee Howard in Moscow.
I let John H in, closed the door behind him.
"Really?" John H feigned nonchalance but it would have been a big deal if Howard had slipped in and out of New Mexico.
When we were done, he mentioned that some of his FBI colleagues were in town. Did I mind if they joined us for dinner?
"So how'd it go at the embassy?" I asked John H.
The three G-men climbed into the backseat of a Range Rover.
I got up front with Alpha 26, my driver, a Rasputin lookalike I call Mister Five because he enjoys all five symptoms of schizophrenia.
The maitre d' at Quaglino's led us to a table and I ordered a vintage Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
John H’s colleagues had a focused interest in Aldrich Ames, not least because Wiser and Milburn led the investigation that busted the CIA turncoat.
They lapped up what I'd learned from Edward Howard more hungrily than their spiced lamb and garlic mashed potatoes.
The others called out tunes: As Time Goes By, Cavatina. We drank single malt scotch whiskey, joked and laughed.
Best bass player I ever knew.
Modest, unassuming, kind.
Farewell, old friend.