Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  6 - INSIDE THE FFAM

  WICKERSHAM CHEVROLET DEALERSHIP

  1400 SOUTH CUSHMAN AVENUE, FAIRBANKS

  4:18 P.M., 3 OCTOBER

  His hands somewhat sweaty, partly from nervousness and the rest from the long walk down here to the dealership, Clay was pretty sure why he’d been called by Mr. Wickersham and was asked to come by this afternoon. He’d been expecting the call, having not made one himself. He wanted to wait on the old Colonel but would’ve made the call in another few days. He simply didn’t want to seem overly-aggressive. But, as the last couple days went by, he began to wonder if he should make the call and his concern about the case began to gnaw on him. He never enjoyed this part of undercover work, waiting for the opening or for that matter, the long stakeouts that could take up an entire 3-day weekend. To get by, he continued to remind himself this was going to be his last Black Ops undercover assignment for where he was needed in such a role. Going in guns a blazing was one thing, but all this secret agent stuff should be for one of those three letter acronym outfits; CIA, FBI, ICE or ATF. He was also surprised to find how concerned he’d become over Emy, knowing this attachment was a major mistake. Their parting words at the barbecue and the silence between them since then really bothered him. He saw how embarrassed she was by her father’s intrusion, even though Clay had tried to calm her down outside with an attempt to explain how a father’s interest was to protect their child. But, that was the wrong move. Her right eyebrow shot up, she snorted, stomped her right foot, just missing his own foot by mere inches, and it caused all his bright shiny armor to fall to the ground.

  Her eyes flared, she then stomped off without a word, and he walked back to his apartment in silence, which was approximately a good 4-mile hike. He did have a chat with the Lord along the way, but that was all in his head. At too often he’d seen the strange looks people got when they walked down the streets when he had had verbal conversations with God. But, Clay was all alone this time, yet he didn’t want to take a chance on someone driving and reporting his rantings with no one accompanying him. It was safer to pray in his head, and during this walk, he was hoping the Lord would give him some understanding of women. Oddly enough, he actually imagined he could hear his grandfather’s laughter in his head, and then he gave up.

  Silas Wickersham’s office waiting room was a very nice affair; four walls in real light walnut paneling, with nice comfortable black leather couches on each wall, and the latest in various entertainment and car magazines sitting on two expensive-looking coffee tables. There were also two wall mounted shelving units that held yesterday’s and today’s Fairbanks News-Miner and copies of the Anchorage Times. From the ceiling and in the corners were two colored ceramic hanging lanterns, which provided suitable reading light, and the floor was carpeted in all-purpose gray matting. He was surprised by that at first, expecting a more expensive carpeting, but then he remembered this was a car dealership and mechanics, parts men and salespeople were probably coming in here all through the day to see the boss-man, bringing in grease and grime on the soles of their shoes and boots. The carpet needed to be steam cleaned probably every weekend, or even every night if a mess is made. There were large framed posters on the walls of the newest cars and even a couple classic cars. Clay really appreciated the one of this year’s black Corvette, which resembled more a racing car then a street model. There was a poster of the new Suburban and a silver mini-van. What also surprised Clay was the absence of a secretary’s desk or window to her or his office. There was also a lack of music being placed into the waiting room. Nor was there a coffee machine. Still, the room was quite comfortable, and he was able to relax.

  Clay had received the call for the appointment yesterday afternoon, only moments after he had awakened from a 6-hour sleep. Today wasn’t much better; he caught less than 7-hours of shut-eye. But, he was used to this when working an operation. Yet, going from one operation right to another without a short leave at least, the stress was wearing on him. At least he had one or two evenings at the Fairbanks Health Club, where he had gotten a steam and a swim in. Too much coffee or soda to stay awake for his lousy taxi shift, plus no time for long-distance running to giving way to his fast-food meals, his weight gain was starting to get out of hand. He had noticed his new ring of fat around his belt line. He was now expecting a chew-out from his weekend visits to the Doc on Post.

  Besides his physical health problems, he was also concerned about his spiritual health; he had missed every church Sunday since coming back to Alaska. Church fellowship, when possible, always helped him fight the stress of military life, but he was always working during Sunday morning services or mid-week night services. He didn’t worry about his attendance interfering with his undercover role, because a lot of Alaskans attended church, and veterans seemed to be drawn to services when coming home from the sandbox wars. Lots of questions to ask the various pastors, priests, rabbi, and even the imams.

  While in Egypt and on the operation to help rescue the Christian missionaries out of Cairo, he was able to spend some time with them in Bible study and prayer. This had surprised some of his teammates, seeing their gung-ho and fire-breathing Captain actually kneeling in prayer. Had it not been for a CIA agent turned traitor, the operation would’ve come off perfect and made the headlines as a successful rescue. Prior to this, the Christian churches were protected by the Egyptian dictator, but when he was overthrown by the Muslims in that province, they began moving in on the missionaries and Egyptian Christian churches. Sadly, one of the CIA agents; a man born and raised in Oakland, California, had turned to Islam without the knowledge of the CIA. These were the same people who didn’t know Communism had failed in the Soviet Union and the Berlin Wall had come down. The man had turned the team’s secret location over to a mob of Egyptian Muslims, not for money but for his new-found belief.

  Led by a fanatical cleric, the mob attacked the Delta Force safe house. A firefight broke out and during an exchange of automatic fire two missionaries and two of Clay’s teammates were killed. Yet, under Clay’s leadership and the Delta Force support system, the remainder of the team and surviving missionaries was able to escape safely. Several other Christian Egyptians also escaped Cairo in the days to follow, knowing they were now identified as troublemakers by the traitor. As a result of the CIA operative’s treachery and the fatalities that resulted, the operation was listed under a news blackout and highly classified. The surviving missionaries and Egyptian Christians were asked to refrain from commenting about it to anyone and with the support of the US State Department, the Egyptians were granted asylum and relocated into Egyptian neighborhoods in the USA. Clay wanted permission to go back and look for the traitor, but this action was refused, and he was sent to Kabul, Afghanistan for another Delta operation.

  The door into Silas’s office opened, and a very attractive brown-haired woman stepped out to welcome Clay and invite him into the office. “Please come in, Mr. Jefferson. Mr. Wickersham is expecting you.” Clay gave her one last look and then stepped through the doorway. She was just shy of being a 6-footer and had her shoulder length shiny brown hair worn loose. Her make-up was applied lightly, and she wore small silver loop earrings, two-sets to each ear, and a matching silver necklace draped around her long neck. She was attired in an expensive three-piece outfit; a long sleeve white shirt, royal blue vest, and skirt. Her shoes appeared to be very nice, but Clay always had trouble with describing woman’s shoes, unless they were tennis shoes or combat boots. He had heard in a movie it was always good to comment on a girl’s shoes when going on a first date and he always wondered why? Those are sure nice biker boots you got there, babe… or nice tennis shoes, honey. Whole thing sounds really stupid.

  He put her age at about 35 years old and quickly noticed an expensive wedding ring on the correct ring finger, and she wore a very attractive silver bracelet to match the rest of her jewelry. Being this good looking, Clay was sure she was approved by Mrs. Wickersham before being hired. Clay then noticed s
he had a separate office on the other side of the door he had followed her through, but the door was half-closed, and all he could make out was a coffee machine and a one-third of a basic office desk.

  “Clay, if you do not mind using your first name…we keep things pretty friendly here in the shop; I am so glad you were able to find time to meet with the boss today.” But, before he could reply, he was shown into an office half-again bigger than the waiting room.

  Mr. Silas Wickersham was standing-up from behind a monstrous wooden desk, his big hand being offered. “Thanks for coming by, Clay. I was hoping you’d take me up on my offer. As I said at the weekend affairs, I really like to employ veterans, especially young officers,” Silas said in a friendly fatherly voice.

  Clay thought his office was large enough to land a Blackhawk helicopter in and he had to lean over to shake the man’s hand. Silas then came around to the left of the desk and added a friendly-like left hand to place over Clay’s right shoulder, to add to a gesture of goodwill. Man, with a welcome like this he must think I’m lookin’ to buy one of those fancy Corvettes outside. Sorry, Colonel, I’m not interested in a car I can only drive up here 4-months out of the year and then put in heated storage for the other 8 months. I’m actually a Ford man, but I’d better not say anything yet and ruin the moment.

  “Take a seat, Captain… there’s some things I’d like to discuss with you, and one of them is your new job here at Wickersham Chevrolet. Would you like some coffee, maybe tea or a soda?”

  “No, sir…I’m just fine,” Clay replied. He glanced about the room and was surprised by the complete lack of military memorabilia anywhere in the room. He was expecting Army plaques, awards and an array of photos, even possibly a sword or two, some service trophies and a frame holding his well-earned medals. But no, he had nothing to show his time with the military, and that made Clay wonder, why not? He did have several expensive pieces of original Alaskan artwork; two well-known large wolf paintings by Jon Van Zyle and a third painting of a grizzly bear done by an artist Clay couldn’t read. There were several shelves on the far wall which held pieces of carved walrus ivory and half-a-dozen scrimshawed orca whale’s teeth. Clay could tell from the yellowing of the ivory how some of the pieces were quite old. The desk took up most of the room and was filled with photographs, though Clay couldn’t see them very well from his side and suspected them to be of the Colonel’s family. Otherwise, the only thing on the desk was an office phone set-up with multiple buttons, an HP computer system and a tall pile of blue folders. There was an office chair for the secretary to sit in while taking notes Clay believed and two very nice overly stuffed brown easy chairs in front of his desk. Clay was now using one of these and had sunk right into it. For additional space, Clay was to learn Silas had a large conference room behind his office and each sales representative had their own cubicle to work out of and as a really nice break room, which was used by all the office staff and sales staff. The parts department and mechanics had their own break room, which came with a full-sized pool table for during lunch hours and locker room, with 6-shower stalls.

  “Sir… or do you prefer to be called Colonel?” Clay asked.

  “Between us, Clay, you can use either one or even call me by Silas. But, out in front of people, I prefer, Mr. Wickersham… until people get to know you as a member of the Wickersham family. Now as to why I asked you here…” Silas sat down in his high back black leather swivel office chair and continued, “…as I told you at the barbecue, I felt it was poor use of manpower to have a former US Army Captain driving a taxi in Fairbanks. Not that I am faulting our city’s cab drivers in any way. They have a tough and often a dangerous job, but not for one of your education and training. I believe I could make better use of you down here with my company if you feel you could work for an old geezer like me?”

  “Sir, I appreciate the offer, but I am no car salesman. You’d probably lose money on me and Sir, let’s face it, I am an Alaskan Native and this could…” Clay couldn’t finish, he was shut off by Silas’s interruption.

  “Clay, I’ve noticed you seem to have a real problem with your heritage. You carry it around like 200-pound rucksack on your back or maybe better yet a flashing advertisement sign over your head, saying, ‘I’m a half-breed!’ You have got to let it go, man. You are who you are, and you cannot do anything about it. You can go around being a breed, or you can be proud of your Alaskan Native heritage. I know its been tough on you, I’ve heard the stories of others like you and what they and you have all gone through here in Alaska. But, it’s ending now, and people are changing rapidly. We’re learning to accept people for who they are, for what they produce in our current economy and to add to our lives. It’s how they get along with others, can they change and learn…oh, my spiel goes on forever. I use it for my new salesmen. But it is all true,” Silas sighed.

  “You’ve got to drop that rucksack and move on, Captain. You met two of my good friends at the barbecue, both Alaskan Natives and both either half-white or half-Afro-American. Talk to them, they’ve adjusted and are doing quite well in helping others. We still have a lot of Alaskan Natives who have a hard time dealing with alcohol. They have the same problem all over the United States. The only answer is Christian living and avoiding liquor and narcotics. It is not easy, and too many of our returning troops have come home with severe problems, much like what happened during and after Vietnam. It is up to us, the veterans to help our buddies…well, that was a mouthful, and I need to show you what I have in mind for you.”

  Silas stood up and directed Clay out of the office and back out onto the mechanic’s bay. Here Clay saw the massive bay, which was painted a very light blue and covered in grease spots and splotches of grime. It was lined on both sides with car lifts, and the structure was open and over two stories high, with windows at the top of the walls to let the sunlight in. Each side of the bay had 10 car lifts. The walls were lined with tool boxes, diagnostic machines, tires and tire machines, and an array of air and water hoses. There were batteries of various sizes, cables and mats, 55-gallon drums of assorted greases and people running around to and fro. At the time, 8 of the lifts were in use. Toward the front of the bay, where Clay stood, was a large brown painted wooden counter 4- feet high, where four men in coveralls were hustling about. They handled the paperwork, the phones and yelled out orders across the bay. Here the appointments were made for work, and parts were ordered. At the end of the bay was a massive garage door, which was closed for the moment.

  “Clay, we have a large parts department here…one of the biggest in Fairbanks. I have it split into two sides. One side is open to the public, which allows the customers to come in and purchase parts they need for home repairs. The other half is used by my mechanics to get the parts they need for the repair work they’re doing here in the bay or outside in my yard. At any one time, they can be working on 30-cars until the cold weather drives them inside and the numbers are reduced, and the work piles up outside. During the summer we can turn a vehicle around in about 4-days, quicker for minor jobs. But come winter… a vehicle can take up to 10-days or more once it's brought to us because of backlog. We simply don’t have the room. It’s too cold to work on them outside, and I have limited space. I can’t afford to build another bay for some time, so we listen to the customer’s complaints and do the best we can.” Silas then pointed toward the massive garage door and said, “I also have a body shop and paint shop outside, where I have another twenty men and women employed. The body shop people all work one shift in the summer and two shifts in the winter. Do you know why?

  “Winter brings on more accidents… people sliding on the ice and more fender benders.”

  “That’s correct. Our body shop makes a small fortune in the winter, but we’re always arguing with the insurance companies, and a lot of my money goes to my lawyers.”

  “Quite an operation you have here, Sir. This must bring back some memories of your Army days.”

  “Often does,” Silas said,
as he glanced around and made sure everyone was staying busy. “Altogether I have employed here a total of 143 employees, and that includes my secretary, of course.

  “Clay, I have a Parts Manager, a Sales Manager, and a combined Finance and Business Manager, but I need someone on this floor to make sure things run smoothly here. Now, I’ve heard about how good you are with tools, and I’ve done some checking into your service record…something I needed to do to ensure I was getting the quality I insist in my staff. Anyhow, if you’re offended by my background investigation, get over it and consider becoming my Shop Manager. My last Shop Manager resigned a couple weeks ago and headed south. I haven’t found a replacement until you came around. Based on what I’ve seen and what I’ve found in your records, I believe you are the right man for this job. The pay is good, you’ll start off at $42.50 an hour and the hours can be long, but it also comes with pretty good benefits. My employees have a great insurance and retirement package…. One of the best in the city. So, what do you say?”

  Clay sucked in a breath of air and glanced about the bay. Working full time with tools and on cars would be a sweet job, and he’d be close to the man he believes is a key player in this Alaska Defense Force. He brought his right hand up and said, “I need three days, Sir, to clear my contract with Yellow Cab and yes, Sir, I’d like to join your staff.”

  “Don’t worry about your contract. Yellow Cab gets their discount on vehicles and parts right here. I’ll call over and make things nice. You be here in the morning at 8 a.m., and I’ll introduce you to your team. We’ll issue you some coveralls, and you can get your hands dirty.”