by Krakondack
“What?”
“Does ‘security to be maintained by any means necessary’ sound serious to you?”
“Yeah, sounds serious,” agreed John. “And it also sounds like something you should have left alone. Are you sure you want to stay involved in this?”
“It’s too late for that consideration now. The guy who faxed me the memo with the proof just disappeared. He was supposed to call tonight but never did. I called his wife and she says he never came home tonight.”
“That’s awful. Shit, I wish you had never gotten into this. I may have hinted at this over the years, but I don’t think I’ve said it to you plainly. I’ve always suspected the accident that killed Joanne and little Sarah was rigged. I stumbled on a scandal where the senior executives of a military contractor had loaded up on derivatives backed by shares in a small oil services company. Their timing was exquisite, because the company promptly announced a sweet deal to rebuild Kuwait’s oil infrastructure after the Gulf War. I tried to get the SEC to start an investigation and they refused. So I wrote a memo to the chair of the House Banking committee, explaining the issue. Not only was there no follow-up, but the accident happened shortly after that. There were other incidents that made it clear in no uncertain terms that I’d be better served not going down this road. This kind of thing is just not worth the tragedy it can bring you.
“I never knew you suspected it was a hit, John. That’s awful. You’d probably trade anything to go back in time and stay out of it. I don’t blame you in the slightest. But this is no financial scandal. I don’t know how I could live with myself if I did nothing. I don’t expect to be called a hero. I don’t care about that.”
“What are you on to? And what can I do to help? I’ve been out of touch with the process too long to be able to start any kind of investigation.”
“I’m not interested in an investigation. The FBI doesn’t seem interested at all. I need to develop a plan for what to do with the information.” Do you have any plans this weekend?”
“No, I’m free. Where do you want to meet?”
“I thought it might be good to come up to my camp in the Adirondacks. It would make for a nice weekend in any event.”
John couldn’t resist. It had been a long, sticky summer in Philadelphia and he hadn’t properly stretched his legs or breathed cool mountain air in a long while. And Robbie’s place on Silver Lake was just the place. It was right beneath Whiteface Mountain, which separated it from the slightly busier but still charming Lake Placid. He could almost taste the air already. “I’ll make my arrangements right away. Is Jess coming up?”
“No, she’s got a new job with some New York State Environment Department and they’re involved with testing for toxins in the Hudson River. She’s too busy to join us, and has been all summer.”
“Well, tell her I’ll miss her. See you this weekend.”
“Looking forward to it, John. I’ll head up late tomorrow, after I arrange for a little insurance for the information I have.”
Chapter 18: A Lucrative Deal
A beaming Derek Ellis walked out of the US headquarters of Helsing-Tilbury in downtown Chicago Monday morning. His life had been in turmoil since Torres had suspended him from any dealings with the US government. Then, when Torres himself made it clear the suspension was permanent and nonnegotiable, he was pushed into a new kind of arrangement. His financial problems were now over, likely forever. His long serving staff could be retained and he would be vindicated after all.
At the lunch table at the Perrin Gourmet, the maître d’ instinctively seated Ellis’ group far from the other guests, to keep others at a safe distance from his overwhelming perfume. Whether this was Ellis’ intent or not, he never let on. He filled in his three senior staff on their new roles, but made it clear that much of what was going to happen would be secret. “The operation is going to be compartmentalized, and you’ll only know your own compartment. After today and for the foreseeable future, you are not to communicate with each other at all, only with me.” The arrangement was nothing unusual, as they had done this in the past when sensitive operations were in the planning stages.
“Derek, you never fail to amaze me,” said Ian Rennson, chief of operations at Morningstar Security. “Time and again you pull a rabbit out of a hat, just when things are looking bleakest for us. You tried everything and failed before you managed to put this deal together.”
“This deal in rough form was available to me before, but it was a real departure from what we normally do. I tried everything to avoid doing it. I tried to stay with the government until it was clear Torres would have none of that.”
“What’s with him anyway?” asked Rennson.
“The administration just doesn’t appreciate what we do,” said Ellis. “They don’t want to deal with the serious problems that come up when they occupy a country, so they hire us to solve them. And then they don’t want to hear how we solved their problems. And when they can no longer ignore the fallout from their own invasion, they blame us for the blowback. If we had peace in the world, I’d gladly retire. But they’re the ones that keep starting wars and making messes. I’m tired of being the scapegoat when all I’ve ever done is to support their agendas and save them from failure over and over. This time, things will work differently. That Puerto Rican Episcopalian will live to regret the way he treated me.”
“Is there a government involved in this one?” asked Rennson.
“You can’t ask that question,” answered Ellis. “Only I can know the big picture until everything comes together. That’s the only way to maintain security.”
“You have my backing 100 percent,” said Rennson. “I trust you implicitly. You’ve always delivered in the past.”
“Thanks Ian,” said Ellis, less than overwhelmed by his obsequious sidekick.
As the group finished their lunch and prepared to split up, Ellis turned to Rennson and said, “Ian, I’d like to speak with you alone. The rest of you can go. I’ll be in touch.”
“What is it Derek?” asked Rennson.
“There are a couple of loose ends that have to be tied off. It seems Tilbury isn’t organized enough to keep their own secrets, so we’re going to have to help them out a little.”
Chapter 19: Confinement
After treating Cam Burrows’ leg injury, the medical staff at the San Gustavo facility gave him a narcotic that eased his pain but also put him into a deep sleep. He awoke in something like a brig. The room was clean, and there was a functional toilet and a bed. The door was locked from the outside, but there was a large window. It was glass reinforced with steel wire. Burrows quickly sized it up and realized he had nothing that could break the glass. In any event, the steel wire would hold it together. He had an unobstructed view of one of the runways, and could see some of the activity outside.
Such a large base on the doorstep of the United States had to be a major threat. If by any chance it had not been noticed, unlikely as that seemed, Burrows could possibly be the only American to know of its existence. General Kim seemed awfully cavalier when I said he’d be spotted before long. He’s got something up his sleeve, thought Burrows. He kept looking out the window and noticed that most of the people were probably Chinese, not Mexican. At least that tells me who’s paying for all this, and where the flights are coming from. A few days passed, and the flow of aircraft continued uninterrupted. One afternoon, the flow of cargo planes ceased. Within a half hour, a small private jet landed on the airstrip, and Burrows could make out Kim and several others forming a welcoming party.
A tall, well dressed Caucasian man stepped off the private plane, and the people waiting took turns shaking his hand and bowing incessantly. They made their way to the building that housed Burrows, and the private jet moved off the runway. The flights of cargo jets promptly resumed. So who’s in charge here? he wondered. This guy seems to be Kim’s superior, and I’d bet he’s American.
Burrows did not have to wait long for his answer. A group of
men walked down the corridor outside his cell, setting a slower pace than was typical for the guards. One of the men leaned against his door, which creaked slightly. They were speaking to each other and Burrows thought he might just be able to pick up the details of their discussion. He tiptoed to the door and put his ear up against it. It was an American voice, there was no doubt about that. It was probably the man he saw landing.
“Did he see the whole operation?”
“He saw much of it. We have to assume he saw it all.”
“Go back to his vehicle. Take it to the middle of nowhere and blow out a tire or two. To make it look like it was stolen by drug gangs, rip out the electronics and shoot out the radiator. Wait a week or so for his bullet wound to finish healing. Then cut off his water. Let him go about three days without water and take him out to the vehicle. Let him go and forget about him. It’ll be too late to change anything.”
“Yes, Mr. Ellis, we will take care of it.” Burrows could make out Kim’s voice very clearly.
So they want to make it look like I got lost and died of thirst. And in a week or so, whatever it is that’s going on here will have run its course. Burrows was glad for the advance warning of his presumed fate, and began planning an alternative scenario.
Chapter 20: A Clean Slate
As the Helsing-Tilbury corporate jet taxied for its turn to take off from Chicago’s Midway Airport, the senior executives of the company were already letting their hair down and drinking champagne. The flight was to an essentially meaningless conference in Las Vegas, yet 12 of the most senior managers were on the plane. CEO Shane Magnuson sat beside CFO Ken Drule. They clinked glasses and Magnuson said, “Well if we can no longer make any decisions on how to run the company, we might as well enjoy ourselves for a while. There’s no way they can keep things going like this indefinitely.”
“You got that right,” said Drule. “The money I’ve been forced to spend is staggering. I don’t know how I’m going to explain to another company how I allowed things to get so out of hand.”
Magnuson gave a laugh and patted Drule on the shoulder, then stood up. The rest of the passengers paused what they were doing and gave a listen to the Chief. “Folks, here’s to operating Tilbury the way we’ve been asked by the owners. You’ve all done a fine job and I’m proud to work with you. Remember that in the end, the preferences of the owners are what dictate the operations in a company. When you were asked to produce profits, you did so admirably. Today, profits are not asked of you, but you’ve been responsible nonetheless. So now we’re going to have some fun. My only rule is no cameras pointed at me in Vegas, and you’d also be smart not to point them at each other. This is going to be memorable.”
There was raucous cheering of Magnuson’s admonitions, and all returned to their drinking. Magnuson asked Drule as an aside, “Who do you have running the shop?”
“Scott Peters refused to come along, so I left him in charge. I doubt he’d be much fun if he came along.”
“He can sign the checks, and that’s all we really do anymore,” said Magnuson as he refilled his champagne glass.
The plane reached the runway and made a smooth takeoff. The brief quiet during takeoff was soon replaced by the loud party atmosphere that characterized this group on this trip. The explosion caught everyone by surprise for the instant they were aware of it. The small pieces of debris rained down on farms for several miles, and marked the end of the management group of Helsing-Tilbury.
…
“Peters here.”
“Scott, this is Derek Ellis. You’re about to be named the acting CEO of Tilbury.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s been an unfortunate accident. The plane bound for Vegas has gone down. All of management is presumed dead. You’re the highest ranking surviving manager.”
“So that’s why you told me not to go to Vegas.”
“Let me be clear, Scott. It’s not your role to question these things. As far as you know, you were simply lucky not to be on that plane. If you can’t follow my instructions and keep your opinions to yourself, I can’t guarantee I’ll keep you in the operation.”
“No problem, Derek. I understand.”
“Good. Now send me copies of all correspondence you’ve had on our operation. I want to know what everyone knows.”
“Sure thing,” said Peters. “Anything else?”
“Yes. All the research and reports on the oil industry that you’ve accumulated. I need all of it sent overnight. I want it all on my desk tomorrow morning.”
“It’ll be there.”
“One more thing. I need you to send a check for one million dollars to Joe Frattano. I’ll send you the details by email and I want it to be for ‘consulting services rendered.’”
“Isn’t that the brother of the Secretary for Homeland Security?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to ask questions, Scott? I didn’t just mean don’t ask with your mouth. I meant don’t ask inside your head. Can I count on you to make this adaptation right now?”
“Sorry, I’ll be completely quiet, effective right now.”
“I think you’ll live longer that way,” said Ellis.
Chapter 21: Silver Lake
John Corson set out from Philadelphia for Silver Lake at nine in the morning. He fought his way up I-95 and skirted New York City to the East. His mind was already savoring the promise of cool water and the scent of balsam fir at the end of his journey. He relaxed as he traveled through the pleasant but still highly civilized corridor through the Catskills. The air was still that of eastern seaboard summer, clean but humid.
As he often did while driving long distances, John’s mind returned to the accident. After all these years it still haunted him as much as the day it happened. The same questions arose in his mind. If only he hadn’t been so idealistic. He couldn’t help thinking the crash was rigged. Was he reading too much into it after all those years of remorse? No, he didn’t believe that. There was more to it, like that time just before the accident when he’d been held up in the alley. The assailant didn’t want his money. He only kept him in place at gunpoint for a moment, until a man in the shadows stepped forward and said “You need to keep your curiosity to yourself. People might get hurt.” It couldn’t have been a coincidence, coming just before the accident.
John’s thinking was interrupted by the end of the toll highway at Albany. After some minor traffic from Albany to Glens Falls, he entered the Adirondack Park, savoring his favorite stage of the drive. The road slanted perceptibly uphill. Before long his air conditioning began to blow uncomfortably cold air, so he turned it off and opened his sunroof. He could smell the balsam fir and the cooler, drier air with all the scents of the forest he had come to love so much. The sky was an azure blue. These days were ideal, he thought. There would be a beautiful warm day, followed by a cool evening and a crisp night. He finished his drive on side roads as he closed in on Silver Lake.
Feeling sticky from a day of driving, John pulled onto Island Road and saw the still prominent sun reflecting off the water. Pulling into Robbie’s camp, he quickly looked around, and seeing nobody, changed into his swimsuit in the car. He ran down to the boat dock and without slowing sailed through the air into the water. The cool water surrounding him and melted away the accumulated stress of the long summer.
John surfaced, turned onto his back, and swam out a little further, looking up at the house for any sign that Robbie was in. Seeing nobody, his glance lowered to the water. He recoiled as he saw something white floating in the water just beside the dock. He must have jumped right over it. He swam frantically to the dock, grabbed the still dressed body by the shirt collar and dragged it to the dock. It was a male. He was afraid to look too closely at the corpse, because deep down he knew what he would see when he did. Robbie’s body was now cold to the touch, dead in the water.
John pulled Robbie’s body out of the water and laid it on the dock. He thought to return to his car for his cell phon
e, but he remembered there was no reception up here. Instead he ran up to the cottage to find a land line. He opened the door and stopped in his tracks. The place had been turned upside down. It was a remarkable mess for such a sparsely furnished place. Robbie’s shotgun had not been touched. Neither had his wallet or the cash in it. His car keys were still there, but all cabinets, cupboards and drawers were dumped on the floor. The sofas were turned upside down with their liners cut open, and the sofa cushions were likewise cut open. There was a sweet, almost fruity smell in the cottage. It was somehow familiar to John, but he couldn’t place it. What were they looking for, and did they find it? was all John could think about. If they did not, he could expect some aggressive attention in the near future, as he would be surprised if his arrival had gone unnoticed.
…
The police arrived within a half hour and turned the quiet lakeside community into a scene of pandemonium. John was sure by now that Robbie was killed because of what he had wanted to discuss with him. The killers were probably professionals, so he was sure the New York State Police would find nothing useful.
John answered most of their questions forthrightly, but held back any mention of Robbie’s call or the panic he had obviously felt. He had no concrete information, and it was obvious in any case that foul play was involved. They had found a hypodermic needle mark on Robbie’s arm and signs of constriction on his wrists.
John stayed in a local motel that night, and underwent more questioning the following morning. He decided to go home, bitter that his memories of Silver Lake were now indelibly tarnished by the murder of his good friend. Jess had to be told, and comforted. And John himself was shattered. Robbie had been a constant in his life, going back to when their little girls played together. Even when he was the one helping Robbie through tough times, the friendship was what made John feel human. Now, he just wanted to hide himself away from the world.
