The Oshkosh Connection

by Andrew Watts

  Hugo shook his head but gave up his weapon. “I need to keep this,” he said, holding his camera. The guard looked at what Hugo presumed was his supervisor, who nodded.

  They were escorted through the main floor of the mansion and onto the back deck. Ian Williams stood in the backyard, tall and lanky, chatting with an eclectic group of men. The group sat on expensive outdoor furniture, cocktails in their hands, laughing and apparently enjoying themselves. Just a backyard cookout in Wisconsin. Surrounded by cartel gunmen. Hugo wondered what the hell was going on. Syed wouldn’t tell him who these men were, but to him it looked like happy hour for the United Nations. Every ethnicity was represented, and all were dressed in expensive business casual attire.

  Seeing Syed, Williams rose and walked to him. “Abdul. It is good to see you. Your men can wait inside.” He yelled something in Spanish to one of the guards. “They’ll take care of them.” Seeing Hugo, Williams pointed. “This is your specialist?”

  Syed nodded. “You may call him Hugo.”

  Williams said, “Ah. Please remain with us, if you would. I wish to speak with you.” Williams turned to the half dozen men enjoying themselves in the sun. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” Nodding heads and several held-up drinks in response.

  Williams and Syed whispered to each other as Williams led them east on the property, towards the water’s edge. The tip of the peninsula ended with a long wooden dock and over-water gazebo.

  Williams brought them to the gazebo and had them each sit. Then he said, “What happened with Miss Upton?”

  Syed recounted what he knew, and Hugo filled in the gaps. Then Hugo showed Williams the images he had taken with his camera. Ian Williams’s eyes went wide.

  “These were the people who apprehended Miss Upton?” His eyes locked on to Hugo.

  “Yes. I assume you know them?”

  “I do.”

  Syed said, “Who are they?”

  “You and I can discuss that momentarily.”

  “Do you want me to retrieve the woman? Upton?” asked Hugo.

  Williams shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Forget her for now. Your other work here is much more important.”

  “Very well.”

  “Have you made your preparations?”

  “I have been training for weeks.”

  “You understand the critical nature of the timing?”

  “I do.”

  “There will be an increased security presence. Will that be a problem?”

  “It will be factored in to my approach.”

  Ian Williams glanced at Syed and smiled. “Good. Tomorrow, then.”

  Jennifer Upton barely spoke during the car ride to the safe house. This was understandable, considering the abrupt way they’d taken her in the hotel parking lot. Max had explained that she was in danger, that they were moving her for her own safety, but she looked skeptical and was hesitant to cooperate. She hadn’t brought up why Senator Becker was involved, but neither had Max. He didn’t want to press his luck before earning a little trust.

  Wilkes had given them the address of a farm forty minutes to the west of Oshkosh. Now their sedan bumped along a rocky dirt road, beyond fields of sweet corn.

  “Knee high by the Fourth of July,” said Trent, looking out the window.

  “What?” asked Upton, seeming more angry than scared at this point.

  “Something my brother always used to say. If the cornstalks back home were knee high by the Fourth of July, it was going to be a bumper crop.”

  Upton looked at Trent like he was crazy.

  Max parked the vehicle in the driveway of a small ranch home surrounded by weeping willow trees. An old white barn stood next to a grain elevator one hundred yards to the south. A rusty charcoal grill collected dust in the backyard. The shrubs needed to be trimmed. The front door opened, and a serious-looking kid in his early twenties stuck his head out, evaluating them while keeping his right arm behind the door. When the kid recognized Max, he placed the pistol he’d been holding down on the coffee table by the door and walked outside.

  “Mr. Fend, Caleb Wilkes asked me to convey his apologies for not being able to make it here himself.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s otherwise engaged.”

  After an awkward introduction to Jennifer Upton, Max and crew headed inside the home. The CIA kid introduced himself as Mike Barnaby. By the look of him, Max figured he was maybe a year out of the Farm, if that. Wilkes was scraping the bottom of the barrel for this op.

  Mike showed them into the living room and offered them something to eat and drink. Still looking angry, Upton requested only a glass of tap water. Mike did a quick search of her person and took her phone and an e-reader device that was in her purse. “Sorry, Miss Upton, but this is for your own safety. We’ll give it back as soon as we know that you’re no longer in danger.”

  Trent and the CIA kid waited in the kitchen, watching the surveillance feed that had been set up around the house and eavesdropping on the interrogation that would soon commence.

  Max asked Renee to stay with them, hoping that a kind-looking female face might help to instill trust. Renee and Max sat on the couch, opposite Jennifer Upton, who plopped down on a love seat. The room was quiet, dark, and cool. They were miles away from the drone of aircraft engines and crowds of the air show here. But the clock was ticking. Tomorrow was the twenty-eighth. According to Rojas, it was the day of Williams’s meeting. Max needed to find out why Upton had gone off the grid. What had made her come up here? Was she connected to Ian Williams and the ISI? More importantly, he needed to know what was critical enough about this mysterious meeting for the ISI and the cartel to kill multiple Americans in a series of brazen attacks within the US.

  Upton squinted at him, as if trying to work something out. “You’re Charles Fend’s boy, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  Her expression softened. “I’ve met your father.”

  “Did you? When was that?”

  “Maybe a decade ago, at a fundraiser. He contributed to a campaign I was working on.”

  “May I ask who you were working for at the time?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Herbert Becker.”

  “You were on Senator Becker’s staff?” Max asked, already knowing the answer.

  “He was a congressman back then. But yes,” replied Upton. She looked out the window. It was getting dark now. “How long are you planning to keep me here?”

  “Since we have reason to believe your life is in danger, it’ll be at least a day or more, until we can find a more suitable arrangement.”

  “What if I want to leave?”

  “We’ll get you out of here if that’s what you want. But you need to be under our protection. It’s for your own good.”

  “Why am I in danger?”

  “Tell me, Jennifer, does the name Ian Williams mean anything to you?”

  Jennifer’s smile faded. So, she knew him.

  “It rings a bell, but…” She looked like she was searching her mind for a memory…or a lie. “No. No, I don’t think I know him.”

  “Really?” Max’s voice was even-keeled. His piercing blue eyes studied her face for the slightest microexpression that might give away the truth. “We received information that Ian Williams may want to cause you harm. Are you sure you don’t know him?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about a lobbyist named Dahlman?”

  “Who?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Your name was on a list. The only other name on that list was a lobbyist named Joseph Dahlman. A few days ago, he was killed in Virginia.”

  Jennifer went pale. “Killed?”

  Max nodded somberly.

  “You knew him?” Renee said.

  “No,” she said, her face twitching. “I’m sorry, but what is this list you’re referring to?”

  “What about Ronald Dicks? You knew him.”

  She looked down at the floor. “Yes. I knew Ron. I
was very sad to read about what happened.”

  “They’re calling that a homicide.”

  “I know.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Ron?”

  “Years ago. We’ve lost touch. I worked with him. That was all.”

  “What are you doing up here in Wisconsin, Miss Upton?”

  “I…I came to see Herb.”

  Renee said, “Becker? You came to see the senator?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  She looked away. “It’s somewhat embarrassing. A woman my age running around like this, trying to stay out of the limelight just to see a man.”

  Max said, “It was a social call?”

  Upton said, “Senator Becker is a very high-profile individual, obviously. And unfortunately, based on our past…and the feelings of certain members of his family…we need to be discreet about our relationship.”

  “So you and Becker are with each other? In an ongoing relationship?” Renee asked, as diplomatically as she could manage.

  Annoyance flashed on Upton’s face. “Yes, darling.”

  Max said, “Miss Upton, I hope you don’t mind if I pry, but it may be relevant…why do you feel the need to keep the low profile about the relationship? What do you mean about the family members? Do they not approve?”

  Upton’s voice grew ugly. “It’s mostly just his damned daughter, Karen. She has too much influence with him. Always has. When Herb’s wife found out about our little fling, she divorced him in no time. He wanted to be with me. At least the wife was reasonable. She wasn’t going to make a big fuss about it and ruin his name. The senator’s daughter, on the other hand—”

  “Karen Becker?”

  Upton nodded. “She was the one who caught us together in the first place. Our relationship had been easier to keep under wraps when we were traveling internationally, but our travel had slowed down. It was an election year, of course, and Becker was running a mere two points ahead. This was back before he switched parties. The girl said the only way she wouldn’t tell the press about the affair was if I agreed to leave his staff. I mean, the nerve of that little brat. Their marriage was in shambles anyway. What the hell did it matter to her?”

  Max said, “When was all this?”

  “That was a long time ago. It was when I was on his staff, so…2006? Yes, that was it.”

  “So you are telling me that you’re here in Wisconsin to see Senator Becker socially. And that you’re keeping a low profile because Karen Becker still doesn’t approve?”

  Max could see Jennifer Upton’s mind racing, trying to work out how to answer the question. Max knew this story was all bullshit, of course. If she was just hiding from the daughter, she wouldn’t have kept her phone switched off for hours at a time. No one does that. Not unless they’re worried about someone tracking their movements through their phone.

  “Karen Becker is a very opinionated woman. And Herb wishes to keep his family life and his social life separate. There’s nothing wrong with what we are doing.” Another flare-up in her tone.

  The conversation went on for another ninety minutes. Jennifer Upton continued to be evasive. She denied trying to avoid detection by turning her phone off. “Sometimes you just need to disconnect.” She also brushed off any meaning behind making her hotel reservation with a seldom-used account, under a fake name. “I told you, I like my privacy.”

  Upton claimed to have no idea how Ian Williams was connected to Senator Becker, or if he even was. She said she’d never met anyone from Pakistan and laughed nervously when Max asked about foreign intelligence services. “What, now you think I’m a spy? I don’t think so.”

  Eventually, Max suggested they take a break for the evening. It was getting dark, and they were getting nowhere with Upton. Max was ready to try more aggressive tactics, but first he wanted to check in with Wilkes.

  Jennifer Upton was given one of the bedrooms for the evening, and Mike the CIA operative was joined by his partner, who had brought them all food.

  On the ride back to the Oshkosh campground, Trent and Renee both verbalized Max’s feelings.

  “She’s full of it,” said Renee.

  “Agreed,” said Max.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Trent.

  “She was surprised that I knew the name Ian Williams. And she was pretty disturbed at the death of Joseph Dahlman. Rightfully distressed at the mention of Ron Dicks. I don’t know what worries her more—that we’ll figure out what she’s really up to, or that someone might be trying to kill her. Either way, let’s let her stew for the evening.”

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Max and Renee crawled out of the tent to see Trent doing push-ups in the grass, a steely-eyed determination on his face, his muscles rippling and sweaty, huffs of exertion coming as he continued to pump out perfect-form reps.

  “Morning,” he said to them as he switched to sit-ups.

  Renee smiled as she tied her sneakers. “We were going to go for a run. You want to come?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  She glanced at Max. Renee was worried about Trent. A veteran of multiple wars who had lost his brother to a drug overdose. He was strong, but she could see that he was struggling with his inner demons.

  “You sure?” Max said.

  “No, it’s alright. I was up early and ran around the perimeter of the field. Looks like they’re going to have a 5K there on the runway. Would have liked to do that one.”

  “Maybe next year. Wilkes sent us a message. He wants us to meet him this morning.”

  Renee and Max began their jog, winding through the grass parking lots, campgrounds, and groves of trees surrounding the airfield. Droplets of dew coated the grass. A buzzing flock of ultralight aircraft skimmed the treetops on a massive morning flight, the rising sun painting them with reddish-orange light. It was a peaceful scene, and it felt good to sweat.

  The pair ran for forty minutes, stretched, then showered at the campground’s public showers. It felt like a vacation, but Max kept getting reminders that it wasn’t. Everywhere he looked, he saw a potential conspirator staring back at him. A man leaning on his car, talking on a cell phone as he and Renee strode by. A middle-aged Latina woman, walking along the road next to the air show entrance. Everyone looked suspicious, and Max was getting twitchy.

  Trent had grabbed a few breakfast sandwiches and handed them out when they arrived back at the tents. Renee was drying her wet hair with a white towel. Max sat on one of the lawn chairs surrounding the ash from last night’s campfire. Renee sat on the chair next to him. She had taken out her computer again and was connecting to her sat link.

  Through a mouthful of bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, Max said, “You’re working now? We’ve only got about fifteen minutes before we’re supposed to meet Wilkes.”

  “I just had an idea come to me when we were running. I wanted to check it out really quick.” She hit a key and said, “Bingo.”

  “What is it?” Max craned his head around to see her screen.

  “Something Upton said to us last night was bothering me. She said that it had been easier for her and Becker to have a relationship when they traveled more. So I wanted to see where they were traveling to.”

  “And?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  Trent looked up.

  Max said, “Ian Williams was stationed there with MI6, right? I’d be very interested to know whether the two met. The ISI has a big presence in Afghanistan as well. Good work, Renee. We can grill Upton on this later.”

  Together they walked through the main entrance of the air show, under a tall blue sign with flags flapping on top. Even this early in the morning, the crowds were impressive. Groups of retirees in baseball caps, families with strollers, and young aviation enthusiasts walked over the expansive concrete walkway towards the aircraft static displays. In the distance, they heard the whine of aircraft engines starting up, then a rumble of thunder overhead as two dark F-15 Stri
ke Eagles joined the empty runway pattern.

  “Wow, they’re really loud!” said Renee, holding her ears.

  The twin-engine Air Force fighters were doing touch-and-goes—landing on the runway, rolling for a few seconds, and then gunning their engines and taking off again. Each time, they banked hard, exposing their underbellies in the turn, throttling their engines, tongues of blue-yellow afterburner shooting out, and then smoothly flattening out in the downwind.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Showing off,” Max said.

  “You’ve got that schoolboy grin again.”

  “Can’t help it. They’re magnificent beasts. Someday I’ve got to get a ride in one.”

  Trent said, “That him?”

  Wilkes was standing under the nose of a KC-10 aerial refueling tanker, its monstrous nose towering over him. Seeing Max, he motioned for them to follow.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, good morning.”

  They said their hellos as Wilkes brought them to a pair of motorized golf carts. Wilkes drove one and Max the other, and they scooted off down the taxiway, driving all the way to the opposite side of the field. It took them a good ten minutes to get to the area of the airport where the private jets were parked, but Max recognized his father’s personal jet from afar.

  They parked the golf carts outside the sleek aircraft and walked up the stairway. Max didn’t say anything to Wilkes about his father’s participation in this morning’s conversation, but he was a bit annoyed. Until now, neither Caleb nor his father had said anything about working with the other at Oshkosh. Add it to the list of actions that Caleb Wilkes had taken without giving Max a heads-up.

  “Renee, good to see you again,” Charles greeted her at the entrance to the aircraft, holding a glass of juice in one hand as they hugged. She smiled and said hello, but Max caught a questioning glance from her as the group walked to the central area in the jet’s cabin. She was also wondering how his father was involved.

  The inside of the aircraft was quite luxurious, and appropriately set up as the mobile office of a billionaire industrialist. A long leather couch on one side. A computer terminal with the latest communications. Several flat-screen TVs, each tuned to a different cable news business channel.