-Chapter 32-
Alex didn’t allow us any more questions. I’m sure he wanted us to bask in the glow of what he had found or maybe it was just not explainable over the phone.
We raced to his house down near the beach which sat on a bluff overlooking the ocean and had an infinity pool in the back. Alex was not someone hurting for money. We parked in the circular driveway and let ourselves in.
“Alex,” Galveston called out.
“I’m back here,” a voice called from the recesses of the home.
We walked down a long, brightly lit hallway and entered a large room with a bank of windows that brought in the ocean view. The rest of the room was scattered with computers of every shape and size and a multitude of other equipment littered the walls. A tacky velvet Elvis hung over the spot where Alex was sitting transfixed to a large 27 inch monitor.
“Good Lord man, do you think you have enough stuff?” Galveston joked.
“You should see my garage. Come here, look at this.”
On the screen was a jumble of messages and characters. Alex had hacked into the email servers at Black Bear, no easy task. Big companies saved everything and Black Bear was no different. He had searched through all the messages and came up with two that matched the timeline we knew. All three were encrypted, so after running it through his encryption software, the grammar could be read. It was not completely legible, but the subject could be deciphered.
The first message was at the time of the break-in to Dr. Sloan’s lab. It was a cell phone message sent to an internal account. It read:
Items 2 acquired. Will transport now. Target not found. Area
neutralized clear. Transfer 0900 CMH.
The second message was more of the same language, and a reply to the first.
787VR arrival. Col Espinosa at 77M at 1700. Payment ready.
Return immediate. 27982 to 254010018 at 1340. Items intact.
Then the last line made our blood run cold.
Acquire target after delivery and eliminate.
“Hold it, there’s one more reply,” Alex told us. This one was much more explicit.
Big Green was not located and is missing. If found, eliminate.
“Big Green? Who is that?” I looking at Galveston and we shrugged our shoulders together. We thought about it a second and then it hit me from out of nowhere.
“Big Green. That’s considered the nickname of Dartmouth. I did a lecture there once. I remember I thought it was funny the University didn’t have a mascot, except for an unofficial one called Keggy the Keg.” I said, glowing in my revelation.
“That makes sense for it to mean Dr. Sloan, but it definitely isn’t good that they want him eliminated. They do mean business don’t they?” Galveston said, and I nodded in agreement. “Alex, good work. Can you print those out for us, and see if you can locate something on this Col Espinosa name.” Galveston wrote the name down and then peered at it thoughtfully. “Col Espinosa?” He questioned himself, not knowing the meaning. “What could that mean?” He continued to look at the words and then suddenly slapped the table. “He’s a Colonel I bet. Alex try Colonel Espinosa. We’ll see if we can figure out these messages.”
We spread the printouts on the desk next to Alex, and put on our thinking caps, which were tattered and soiled. We would see whose cap was largest. Galveston read through the messages again.
“Okay, we know the timeframe from what Dr. Sloan and David told us, and we know when the message was sent. Let’s see here. Two items acquired. That has to be the prototypes Dr. Sloan was talking about. The target is either Dr. Sloan, or the fully functional prototype, if they know it even exists. I would say it means Dr. Sloan since we now know he’s Big Green. Area neutralized, I don’t think I even want to know about that one.” He stopped and thought for a second before I interrupted.
“The break-in. I bet you they were talking about the break-in at Dr. Sloan’s Dartmouth lab that night,” I said proudly.
“Sounds good, we’ll go with that. Now this one, Transfer 0900 CHM. That looks like the time they were going to move it, 9 A.M. Dr. Sloan was already on the early flight to Memphis by then. It looks like he just missed them.”
Galveston thought hard. I was unable to give him any help and had no idea what the burbles on the page meant, but I was trying to think too analytically.
“Alex, what are some airport identifiers in that area. Look up KCHM.”
All U.S. airports were identified with a four letter code. Most of us knew them as three letters, LAX, BOS, ATL, but in the U.S. they were always proceeded with a “K”. In the Caribbean it was a “T”, and in Canada a “C”. Alex began pecking away at the keys.
“Looks like KCHM is Port Columbus International in Ohio,” Alex answered.
“So they were transferring them at the airport at 9 A.M. They wouldn’t have been able to drive it there from New Hampshire in time, they must have flown. Alex, look up N787VR on the FAA Airplane Registry site.”
“Okay, hold on.” We waited for our answer. “It’s a Rockwell Turbo Commander registered to Quantum Aviation out of Newport News, Virginia. It shows that it’s been pulled out of service and put up for scrap.”
“Okay, the plot thickens,” Galveston announced gleefully. “Where were they going? Alex, now look up 77M.” Alex quickly pecked at the keys again.
“Okay, hold on.” Alex began to look it up. “Looks like it could be Billings, Montana, Hespeira, Switzerland, or somewhere in Mexico.”
“The one in Mexico. Dirt field?” Galveston asked.
“Yeah, how did you know? Right across the border from Arizona.”
“There are a lot of small dirt fields in that area, and there probably aren’t too many Espinosas in Switzerland. Plus, the Turbo Commander has been the plane of choice for many an unscrupulous activity. You know, drug running, et cetera. It carries heavy loads, is fast, and it’s good at flying close to the ground. They probably stopped at one of the dirt fields on the Arizona border before they flew it into Mexico. I would bet someone put this tail number on it so it couldn’t be traced and flew it over the border. Roger write this down. ‘Flightplan for 787 Victor Romeo’.”
“Alright.” I fumbled around looking for a pen and when I found one wrote the words down on a piece of paper on the desk.
“Hey, don’t write on that,” Alex exclaimed.
“Why not?” I asked.
“That’s my order for lunch.” He told me, trying to grab it away. Galveston ignored us and read out his findings.
“They took it to this field in Mexico and met this Espinosa fellow at 1:40 P.M.”
The rest of the message was self explanatory. They would pay Espinosa and return immediately. The next message was a little more difficult.
“Okay Alex, check the registry for 27982.”
“I’m not getting anything for that one,” Alex stated, dejectedly.
“That’s okay, let’s keep going. We’ll get back to that one later. We may not even need it,” Galveston assured him.
Galveston continued on to the next portion of the message. “Now what does this mean, 254010018?”
We scratched our heads in unison, and Galveston moved over Alex’s shoulder, still trying to figure out the previous numbers. I sat staring at the numbers, hoping to contribute in some way. Was it an internal code that only Black Bear would know about, a combination, or time? It could be anything. I studied it closely and looked at it in the context of the message. 27982 to 254010018 at 1340. We knew the first group of numbers had to be an airplane, most likely, and the last group was the time. The message said to. Could it be a place? Maybe a code of where they were going? Then it hit me like a brick. I flashed back to my hiking days and my lessons in orienteering.
“Alex, do you have a globe or a map?” The pair didn’t turn from their work, but Alex managed an answer.
“Yeah, I keep a globe in my kitchen. I like to look at it in the morning over breakfast.” I didn’t get the sarcasm until Galvesto
n stifled a laugh.
“A map or atlas? Anything?” Still they didn’t pry from their work. Alex pointed to the adjacent bookcase.
“I think there’s an old National Geographic atlas there. Do you think this is really the time for a geography lesson?”
I ignored the comment and began searching through the bookcase until I found the Atlas. It was about ten years old, and still had the names of countries that were long since removed or renamed.
I began flipping through it until I got to the America’s page. I ran my fingers down the page and then across, stopping at a point on the map.
Alex and Galveston were now arguing about where to look next. I walked over and plopped the Atlas in front of them, right on the top of Alex’s keyboard. They both gave me a startled look.
“What the…” Galveston started, but I interrupted immediately.
“Right here. That’s where they went,” I said proudly pointing to the spot on the map as looks of confusion crossed their faces. “I mean this is the general area. I’ll bet you’ll find an airport there.”
“What are you talking about?” Galveston tried to say again.
“Those numbers,” I began, running my fingers across the page, “they’re lines of latitude and longitude. Twenty-five degrees, forty minutes north, one hundred degrees, eighteen minutes west.” They sat dumbfounded, more surprised by my success then by the information. “They went here.” I again pointed to the page. “Monterrey, Mexico.”
Galveston, realizing my coup, slapped me on the back. “Well done Roger! I knew you had it in you. Alex?”
“I’m already on it,” and he was, bringing up a map of the area. “Monterrey International Airport.”
I stepped back and basked in the glory. We had the general direction of where they took the devices, but there was much more to know.
“Alex, keep looking for this Espinosa character, we need to know about him. I just hope he wasn’t the target. Roger that was fantastic!”
I stood proudly. I had helped with one piece of the puzzle, but where did Galveston get all this aviation knowledge?
“Come on Roger, it’s time to take a break. Let’s see what Alex has to drink.” I followed Galveston to the kitchen and we eagerly peered into the refrigerator. It was organized by food type and use, all neatly aligned.
“Is there something Alex needs to tell us? This is the weirdest fridge I’ve ever seen,” Galveston said as he stuck his face in. “Look at this, camembert cheese, a tin of caviar? Who does he think he is, Julia Child? Who eats this crap, and Perrier? Who still drinks this?” He said holding up the beverage.
I looked in the door. All the jars were label side out, and were of an imported variety. I held up one of them, a jar of black currant jelly from France.
“He sure is some sort of dandy,” I retorted to Galveston, who stifled a laugh while sniffing the cheese.
“I think he might have a touch of OCD thrown in. I just want a beer.” Galveston sifted past the exotic fruit section until coming out with an imported Chimay Belgian beer in a huge, fancy bottle. “This will do, I’ll split it with you.”
I agreed, nodding my head, and searched for some glasses, which I found neatly arranged. We enjoyed our half beer while Alex continued his searching.
“Ahhh, nectar of the gods,” Galveston said, smacking his lips. We pounded our glasses just in time for Alex to give a yelp. He had found something and we raced back to the room.
“When you said Mexico, I searched a database of Mexican military officers,” he started as we arrived in the room. “Colonel Alfonso Espinosa, member of the Mexican Armed Forces stationed in Monterrey, and head of an artillery brigade.”
“Mexico has an artillery?” I asked seriously.
“Yeah, they use those air guns that fire T-shirts at sports events,” Galveston quipped. Alex continued his searching, ignoring our witty banter.
“I found a message about him in the BlackBear database. It looks like they hired him for a security detail.”
The message was hastily written, but was detailed. It simply said that Espinosa would,” provide security for the handoff”, and in turn, Colonel Espinosa requested, “to receive a certain piece of antiquity as an additional payment along with his monetary payment”.
“That’s strange, why would he want an antiquity?” I asked. Galveston was wondering the same.
“I don’t know, maybe he’s independently wealthy. I’ve heard that Mexico is a rather corrupt place.” He said this last statement sarcastically. Everybody knew that Mexican government officials enjoyed being bribed. “It doesn’t sound like they were giving the prototypes to him, but I wonder how much he knows. They could have stopped there and handed the prototypes off. We need to check this out.”
“And how do you propose we do this?” I asked.
“Well, he should be easy enough to find since he’s in the military,” Galveston stated before Alex joined in.
“You know, I have a Spanish speaking friend named Manuel. He owes me a favor. I introduced him to his wife, and then I helped him get a divorce. I think he still lives in La Paz. I’ll get a hold of him, and maybe you two can meet him wherever Espinosa is. He can be your official translator. The two of you don’t need to be traipsing around Mexico alone anyway.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Galveston said, as I stood by thinking, “that’s a terrible idea”. I didn’t want to go to Mexico.
“Let me get a hold of him. How much can we pay?”
“You decide Alex. Whatever will get him to Monterrey.”
“Will do,” Alex answered.
“Wake me up when you have an answer. I’m taking a nap.” Galveston was less than dramatic, and went into the living room and threw himself on the couch. I decided I would take a siesta by the pool since we were in a Mexican induced mood.
An hour passed and Alex woke us and had us gather back in his office, another debriefing.
“I have the answers for you and they’re not good. Manuel will meet you in Monterrey and he’ll do it for $1,000. I’ve already arranged him a flight and a hotel. The problem is, Colonel Espinosa was in the base infirmary, and they just transferred him to a Monterrey hospital. They don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
Galveston rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, that isn’t good news, but we have to see him. At least he can’t run out on us.” Galveston’s brain was working, because I could see the little veins popping on his forehead and the hamster running the wheel in his head. Either that or he was having a stroke. I almost hoped for the latter. His eyes got wide. “I’ve got a great plan.”
“Uh, oh,” I said softly.
“Looks like we’re going to Mexico! We leave tonight,” and he held up his hand in a number one pose.
“Can’t we leave in the morning,” I immediately implored.
“What the hell for?” He questioned back.
“Because,” I started, “I have a date.”
-Chapter 33-
The board room was immaculate. A majestic mahogany table filled the center of the room and the walls were covered with deep oak paneling. Large vases filled with various flowers dotted the corners of the room as the light poured in from the outside through floor to ceiling windows.
There were two men in the room, a few papers strewn before them as they sat at one end of the large table. They were both clothed in finely tailored custom suits and sat in large, leather back chairs. The environment was relaxed, but serious, and they continually looked through the papers in front of them.
“How we doing on this thing?” The larger man asked over horn rimmed glasses.
“We’re on schedule. The Adamanthea plan has been completed and the manufacturing process is ready. It’s going to take a little more time because we don’t have the final plans, but we have men working on that. How about the legislation?” The smaller man scribbled some notes on a pad.
“Those pods won’t know what hit them. We have to have public pressure for this to pass and h
igher oil prices will help. I can get the bill out of committee, and that will make your business procedure much easier.”
“That’s what we’ll need.”
“Everyone will be forced to vote for it, if not, it will be political suicide. We’ve worded it well, and it should pass easily as a rider to another bill. What about our little problem?”
“We’ve taken care of a few links in the chain, but we’ve lost Dr. Sloan.”
“You’ve got to get a hold of that guy. What about his family?”
“Nothing,” the smaller man answered.
“Keep your ear to the ground. We need to make sure he won’t talk until we can make an announcement about this product. I don’t want that little bastard to ruin this whole thing. You better take care of him.”
“We’re working on discrediting him. I want you to assure me that if we go to these lengths, you’ll get that legislation through.”
“You just worry about your end. I brought you guys into this, and I can take you out. In D.C. terms it’s deny, deny, deny.” There was obviously a power struggle between these two, with egos out of control. The larger man continued. “If you do what you say, you’ll be a very rich man.”
“I’m a little concerned about Weston Chase.”
“I’ll take care of him. That stupid bastard Chase doesn’t know what’s going on in this room. I hope you guys can keep quiet if we have problems.”
“I’m sure we can, but the more we do, the more questions arise. I don’t want Chase to suddenly change his mind.”
“Fair enough, but if it comes down to it, I’ll hope you’ll perform.”
“We’ll do what it takes to keep things quiet.”
“I guess we don’t have any more to discuss then, do we?” The larger man said sarcastically, and began arranging his papers. A knock came to the door. “Come in,” he said.
“Sorry sir, but you have a call from Washington, they said it was urgent.”
“Yes Susie. I’ll take it. Oh, and get that envelope for Mr. Placer, hun.”
Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack Page 14
