Snow Wolf

It was later that I learned something ofmy father's death. They never told me where exactly he had died, only that itwas somewhere in Europe and it had been suicide. The body had been in water forweeks and it wasn't a pretty sight for a young boy, so they hadn't let me seeit. There was a funeral, but no more explanations or-answers to my questions,because no one bothers to tell a child such things, but years later thoseunanswered questions always came back. Why? Where? It was to take a long timeto learn the truth.

Ten days ago when my mother died I wentback to the rooms where she had lived and embarked on the ritual of goingthrough her things. There were no tears, because I had never really known her.We hadn't seen each other much over the years, a card or two, a brief letteronce in a while, because we had never been that close, not the way I had beenwith my father. My parents had divorced soon after I was born and my mother hadgone her own way, leaving my father to bring me up.

She had been a dancer in one of theBroadway shows, and knowing my father even the little I did as a child I alwaysguessed they had never been suited.

She rented a small apartment on New York's Upper East Side. I remember the place was in disarray. An untidy single bed, asingle chair, some empty gin bottles and a bottle of blond hair dye. Lettersfrom old boyfriends and some from my father, held together with elastic bands,kept in an old tin box under her bed.

I found the letter from my father. Oldand faded with years, its edges curling and the color of papyrus. It was dated24 January 1953.

Dear Rose, Just a line to let you knowWilliam is well and doing fine at school. I'm going to be away for a time andif anything should happen to me I want you to know (as usual) there's enoughmoney in my account to see you both through, along with my service insurance.Dangerous times we're living in! I hear they're building air-raid shelters onBroadway because of the threat from the Russians.

I'm keeping well and I hope you are. Onemore thing should anything happen to me: I'd be obliged if you'd check thehouse, and if you find any papers lying around in the study or in the usualplace in the cellar, do me a favor and pass them on to the office in Washington. Will you do that for me?

Jake.

I read through the other letters out ofcuriosity. There was nothing much in there. Some were from men, notes sentbackstage from someone who had seen her in the chorus line and liked her legsand wanted to buy her di

But I thought about that line in theletter about the papers. The house that had been my father's was now mine. Itwas an old clapboard place he had bought when he and my mother first moved to Washington, and when he had died it ran to ruin for a long time until I was old enough totidy it up. It had taken me years to get it back into shape. There had oncebeen a steel safe sunk into the floor in my father's study in which he used tokeep documents and papers. But I remembered him saying once that he nevertrusted safes, because they could always be opened by someone determined orclever enough. The safe was long gone, and the room refurbished. But I didn'tknow of any other place he might have used.

So the day I got back from sorting mymother's affairs I went down to the cellar. It was a place I hardly ever went,filled with long-forgotten bric-A-brac that had belonged to my parents, andboxes of stuff I'd kept over the years and had forgotten I promised myself I'dget rid of. Remembering the study safe, I shifted the cardboard and woodenboxes around and checked the concrete floors. I found nothing. Then I startedon the walls.

It took me quite a while before I foundthe two loose red bricks high in the back wall above the cellar door.

I remember my heart was pounding alittle, wondering whether I would find anything, or if my mother had long agoalready done as my father had asked, or ignored him as she so often did. I reachedup and pulled out the bricks. There was a deep recess inside and I saw thelarge yellowed legal pad lying there between the covers of a manila file, wornand faded.

There are some things that change yourlife forever. Like marriage or divorce or someone on the end of a telephonetelling you there's been a death of someone close in the family.

But nothing prepared me for what I foundbehind those bricks in the cellar.

I took the old pad upstairs and read itthrough. Two pages had been written on in blue ink, in my father's handwriting.

Four names. Some date@. Some details andsketchy notes, like he was trying to work something out, none of it making muchsense. And a code name: Operation Snow Wolf.

My father had worked for the CIA. He hadbeen a military man all his life, and had worked in OSS during the war,operating behind German lines. That much I knew, but not much else, until Ifound that old yellow pad.

For a long time I sat there, trying to figureit all out, my heart and mind racing, until I saw the date on one of the pages,and it finally clicked.

I drove to Arlington Cemetery. For a long time I looked at my father's grave, looked at the inscription.

JAKOB MASSEY Born: 3 January 1912 Died: 20February 1953

I looked at those words until my eyeswere on fire from looking. Then I went and made photocopies of the writtenpages I'd found and delivered the originals in a sealed envelope to my lawyer.

I made the call to Bob Vitali an hourlater. He worked for the CIA in Langley.

"Bill, it's been a long time,"Vitali said cheerfully. "Don't tell me. There's a school reunion, right?Why do they always have these things when you're just about getting over thosedays? The amount of money that place in Richmond cost me in shrink's bills..."

I told him what I had found and how I hadfound it, but not the contents.

"So what? You found some forgottenpapers of your old man's. Sure, he worked for the CIA, but that was over fortyyears ago. Do yourself a favor and burn them."

"I think someone should come andlook at them."

"Are you kidding? Is this what thiscall is about?"

"Bob, I really think someone shouldcome and look at them."

Vitali sighed and I could picture himlooking at his watch at the other end.

"OK, what's in there? Give mesomething I can work with, and I'll ask around, see if what you found isimportant. Remember, it's over forty years. I'm pretty sure whatever you'vefound has been declassified. I think maybe you're getting excited over nothing."

"Bob, please come and look at them.

Vitali said impatiently, "Bill, Ihaven't got the time to drive to your place. Give me something to go on, forChrist's sakes."

"Operation Snow Wolf."

"What's that?"

"That's what it says on the top ofthe first page on the pad."

"Never heard of it. What else?"

"There's more."

"Like what more?"

"Come over and look at thepages."

Vitali sighed. "Bill, I'll tell youwhat I'm going to do. I'll ask some of the old-timers here, or one of theArchives boys, and see what I can come up with. See if this Snow Wolf thingrings a bell." I could hear the impatience in his voice. "Listen,I've got a call coming in, I'll talk to you soon. Be good, man."

The line clicked dead.

I stood up and went into the kitchen andmade coffee, It seemed like I sat there for a long time, my heart stillpounding, thinking about those pages and what they might mean. I didn't want totell Vitali everything because I wanted to know what Langley knew. My mind wasablaze but I didn't know what to do next.

It must have been an hour later when Iheard the screech of car tires outside. I looked out of the window and saw twoblack limousines pull up, and half a dozen men step out briskly, Bob Vitaliamong them.