The Oshkosh Connection

by Andrew Watts

The maid was in tears when he entered, and the police officers stood by the door with awkward and curious looks. Not wanting to intrude, but also keenly aware that the man they were tasked to protect was still at risk and shouldn’t be left alone.

  “Gentlemen, you can stand watch in the front yard, but I don’t wish to be disturbed. Please keep off the property for the evening.”

  The police officers nodded and kept their vehicles where the long drive met the main road. The senator’s backyard was on Lake Winnebago, so that was secure. The policemen figured as long as they monitored the entrance, the security risk was low. The man was in mourning. Anyone could see the despair in his eyes. He deserved his solitude.

  “Your wife called, Senator.”

  The maid had been with the family for decades, although she was only asked to come occasionally now that the senator spent most of his time in Washington. She knew Karen’s mom from before the divorce, and Becker suspected that she liked her better than him.

  “No calls for now.”

  Senator Becker walked up the creaky stairs into his office, which overlooked the lake. He closed and locked the office door.

  Alone at last, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. His daughter was dead. It wasn’t his fault. It was her own. If she hadn’t been so stubborn and nosy, like her mother. He told himself that the feeling of guilt would pass. He willed it to pass. This had been the only course of action, he told himself. His was too important a career to sacrifice.

  Thankfully Karen hadn’t told anyone else about the annual meetings with the cabal. While this was her first performance at the show, Karen was at Oshkosh each year, often in his presence. Because of that, she had seen things she shouldn’t have. She had seen Dahlman, Dicks, and the senator together with Ian Williams. She might have even seen Syed there, once.

  Four or five years ago, Ron had told the senator about a conversation he’d had with Karen. After witnessing the group at Oshkosh, Karen had privately admonished Ron for the continued relationship with the international investors. Senator Becker had gone to her after that and apologized. He’d assured her that it was only a meeting. That no further partnership was underway. Becker partly blamed himself. He never should have told Karen so much. For a long time, Becker thought that Karen was like him. A future politician, sharp as steel and able to look past the rough spots of the game. But for that damned afternoon where his daughter had caught him with Jennifer Upton. The girl had changed after that.

  After Ron’s warning, Senator Becker had made Karen promise to keep what she had seen at Oshkosh to herself, and she had. But if scandal broke during a presidential election campaign, Becker couldn’t risk her stubborn streak showing itself again. Perhaps if she hadn’t threatened to go to the press about Jennifer Upton years ago, he would have been able to trust her. But no.

  That was why Becker had had dinner with her last week. One final check to make sure Karen hadn’t told anyone anything she shouldn’t have. Her accident wasn’t originally supposed to occur during the Oshkosh airshow. Until recently, it was to have been a target of opportunity. Scheduled to occur during any number of her summer air shows. But then Karen had been selected for this performance at Oshkosh. The other members of the cabal were to be eliminated at that time. So with all of Syed’s assets in the area, taking care of Karen here had been the most efficient solution.

  While he tried not to think about it, Becker couldn’t help but wonder how the sympathy vote might impact him in the years to come. His beautiful daughter, lost in a tragic accident. Tearful interviews recalling how much she had meant to him. Even better would be if Syed’s explosive residue was discovered by investigators. The cartels or some of the rogue agents the ISI was cutting loose would take the blame. Then her death would be seen as a horrific attack on the senator. A man beyond reproach, having paid the ultimate sacrifice in the name of our country.

  A grandfather clock ticked behind him. The sands of time. The endless prompt of ambitious men. As he grew older, the scarcity of time filled him with fear. Fear that he would not achieve his goals. Fear that he would not be seen as great. Fear that his competitors would discover him and take from him that which he had worked so hard to achieve.

  Senator Becker walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a tall glass of Bombay Sapphire gin. He then took a large cube of ice from the mini fridge, dropped it in, and poured in a splash of soda water. He sipped it and looked out over the darkening lake. Here he would be alone with his pain.

  And with his relief.

  The hard part was finally coming to an end. The witnesses were being removed. The loose ends tied up.

  Senator Becker took another sip from his glass and then placed it on the top of a knee-high black safe that rested next to his office desk. He spun the dial back and forth several times from memory, hearing a click as the final digit in the combination unlocked the safe. Then he slid the latch downward and pulled open the sturdy door. He reached inside with two hands and removed the small black device that the lobbyist, Joseph Dahlman, had given him three years earlier.

  The point-to-point laser communication was very secure, and the device wouldn’t store any traceable information.

  Dahlman had been Senator Becker’s only contact in Washington. They had rarely met face-to-face in the past year. Even the annual cabal meetings at Oshkosh were coming to an end now. Becker was getting too high up on the food chain. People were getting suspicious. Ian Williams had warned him that this might happen eventually if things went according to plan. Too much attention. Too many questions.

  Too many loose ends. Even Karen.

  He finished the drink and wiped his eyes, then poured some more gin in the glass. He took another sip, then put the glass down on the desk.

  Senator Becker placed the black box on his desk and opened the window the way he’d been trained, making sure that the transmitter was aimed at the gazebo across the small bay. The cabal acquired the property through a cutout over a decade ago, using it as a vacation spot for visiting members during the annual meeting, and renting it out during the rest of the year so as not to look suspicious. The communications device connected to the receiver and began flashing, and Becker was prompted to place his finger down on the scanner and enter a passcode. The double verification allowed the encryption key, stored in the device’s hard drive, to be transmitted to a similar device that had been set up on the gazebo.

  Becker picked up his binoculars and looked towards the gazebo. There were only two men sitting there, as he expected.

  Williams and Syed. Their final meeting. Risky, but they would have called it off if there were a problem.

  The link established, Becker put on the headset and listened to their voices for the first time in a year.

  It was Syed who spoke first. “We are sorry for your loss, Herbert.”

  “Thank you, Abdul.”

  “But your sacrifice and determination have once again proven to be unmatched.”

  “Yes.”

  He fought back the taste of bile in his throat, taking a moment to maintain his composure. “So, we are done now?”

  “Almost.”

  “Almost?”

  “Your government is under the impression that you are a target. Ronald Dicks is seen as the source of the intelligence leaks. But there is a complication. The CIA was interrogating Upton.”

  Senator Becker’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  “The CIA has a team here in Wisconsin.”

  “But I thought…how is that possible?”

  “Herbert, be calm. It has been taken care of. We instructed Miss Upton on what to say. After speaking to her, we can confirm that the CIA is unaware of our true relationship. They are now under the impression that Ian Williams worked through Ronald Dicks, and that you had no knowledge of illegal activities. All others with knowledge of our relationship have been terminated, with the exception of a few members here with us now. Upton is no longer a problem. She is dead, and her body will not be f
ound. You shall continue to say that Ronald Dicks was your only contact with Dahlman, and that you had no inappropriate foreign contact.”

  Becker simply said, “I understand.”

  He ran through the plans and possible options in his head. This was always going to be a complicated exit strategy. He simply had too many coconspirators and witnesses that were close to him.

  Jennifer Upton had been naïve enough to think her personal relationship with him would protect her. That was what Becker had promised her. Syed had taken care of her now.

  That she had spoken to the CIA was very worrisome. He should get off this device soon and get back to D.C. Syed would send a team into his house to empty his safe and clean up any evidence.

  There still remained members of the inner circle across the bay that knew of his participation, however. The group of executives and politicians, of lawyers and executives from around the world. The men who had helped to orchestrate the opioid boom and reaped the rewards. Cash payments to numbered accounts, with a final large bonus payment expected today, as the new contract terms were settled. Williams could just make out some of these men, sitting across the bay in the backyard of the Pakistani mansion. Surrounding a fire pit. Drinking and laughing.

  The final names on Ian Williams’s list of participants. The last of the loose ends that must be dealt with.

  Now it was Ian Williams’s voice. “Herb, it’s likely that you’ll be interviewed by American counterintelligence.”

  He took another gulp of his gin. “I thought we were doing all this so that we could avoid—”

  “It will be crucial that you maintain a consistent recollection of the facts. If you do this, you’ll come out of it unscathed. You knew nothing about any quid pro quo on campaign contributions. You only met me briefly in Afghanistan. You didn’t characterize your conversations with me as a recruitment, and you don’t recall the specifics anyway. It was almost fifteen years ago. Even if we did speak, you never went along with anything I said. Anyone who says anything other than that is a liar. Ron Dicks was the only one we ever worked with, and he didn’t tell you what he was doing.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “Yes. We have some housecleaning to do here tonight. But once that’s complete, you will be in the clear, Herb. We will no longer contact you through unofficial channels.”

  Becker rubbed his hands together. This was good. Finally, he would be free. With no ties to this cabal, he could run for president without fear of scandal. The deaths of those near to him were tragic, of course. But they wouldn’t be in vain. He would win the presidency and make this the greatest nation on earth. That was what mattered.

  And if he was unable to attain the presidency, whether it be due to scandal or luck, he would still have the hundreds of millions of dollars piling up in several numbered accounts around the world. The investors’ secretive dividend payments. Those financial updates were another reason the cabal met each year.

  Senator Becker had made a pact with Ian Williams and Abdul Syed years ago. Together their fortunes would rise or fall.

  Now it appeared their fortunes would rise higher than any of them had imagined.

  “When will you two be gone?”

  “In a few hours. We’ll wrap things up here and clean up. This will be the last time we speak. Good luck.”

  Becker didn’t need a handler anymore. He knew what Ian Williams and the ISI wanted. And they knew that if he ever decided to go back on his word, they could ruin him by bringing certain elements of the conspiracy to light. Perhaps someday, the other two would become leaders of their own nations. Someone always had leverage on you, Becker had learned over the years. But if your interests were aligned, it didn’t matter.

  Becker wouldn’t double-cross them. He was getting what he wanted and would push policy that helped them all. It took ambitious men like him to change the world. Bargains and sacrifices had to be made. Too many people saw the world in black and white. But not him. He was a visionary, and he was willing to do whatever it took to win.

  Max now stood in front of Wilkes under the CIA’s faux vendor tent. “You said Senator Becker went back to his home here in Oshkosh.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where?”

  Wilkes narrowed his eyes. “Max, the man just lost his daughter. What are you going to do, barge in there and confront him?”

  “At this point, I think that’s the best idea.”

  Max dialed up his voicemail and played it on speaker phone so both Trent and Wilkes could hear. They looked at him, shocked.

  “I think Becker knew his daughter was going to be killed. And I think this meeting might be here in Oshkosh. You said Syed disappeared. What if he’s here?”

  “He could be anywhere.”

  Max played the voicemail again.

  “Karen Becker asked her dad if they had come back here. Here. As in, Oshkosh. Ian Williams is here, Caleb.”

  “That’s insane. Why would they take that risk?”

  “Ten thousand planes and nearly a million people all coming in and out of the same place, at the same time, once per year. Sounds like a great place to hold a meeting you don’t want discovered.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “They took Renee, Caleb. Some of them must be here. Becker might be able to tell us how to find her. You said yourself that Ron Dicks was only a possible source of the leaks to Ian Williams. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was really Becker?”

  Wilkes lowered his voice. “The counterintelligence investigation is ongoing. It could have been twenty other people. We just don’t know yet.”

  “Let’s consider it,” said Max. “What if Upton only gave us half the truth? What if Williams and Becker met, just like she said, but Williams actually bought in? He’s been working for the ISI for more than a decade. He isn’t a target. He’s the mole. A traitor to our country.”

  “What about Ron Dicks?”

  “A fall guy. Someone types up a bogus letter and mails it to the senator, right after they kill him.”

  “Why would Ian Williams and Becker both be coming here? That’s crazy. And why would he let his daughter be killed?”

  Max said, “You said that Senator Becker is going to run for president next election cycle, right? What if this big meeting is to get rid of witnesses? They’re cleaning house so that they can get their man elected. Hell, even if he doesn’t win the presidency, running alone will give him huge political influence.”

  “And this secret society decided to meet here at Oshkosh? Why?”

  “I don’t know. But Becker would. And I bet he knows where Ian Williams is. We get to Becker, we get to Williams. And to Renee…”

  Wilkes looked unsure. “I can give you Becker’s address, but—”

  Max said, “Caleb, this isn’t me operating on your behalf. I’m doing this whether you want me to or not.”

  Trent said, “I’m coming.”

  Wilkes said, “Very well. But it’ll take you a while to get there. The traffic to exit this place is awful right now. Everyone wants to leave after witnessing that crash. There must be a hundred thousand people trying to drive out.”

  He was right. Max could hear the horns of static traffic in the distance.

  The overhead speakers came on with an announcement. “Oshkosh flights will resume at six p.m. Aircraft are allowed to conduct maintenance ground turns prior to that time. Contact Base Ops for questions.”

  Max looked at Trent. “Follow me. I think I have an idea.”

  Chapter 29

  The gyrocopter controls took a little getting used to. And Max was pretty sure that the King boys were going to catch hell from their father when he realized they’d allowed Max to take it. Max had received a five-minute orientation from the two boys.

  “It’s super easy,” said Jack.

  Then they set the destination GPS coordinates in the iPad, and Max and Trent strapped in. Trent had a bulky black duffle bag on his lap, which he had retrieved from their
car. Max promised the boys he would get them a private tour of Fend Aerospace headquarters someday, and they were off.

  Max started it up and saw Trent shaking in the seat next to him. “Will this thing really fly?”

  Max shrugged and yelled back, “Think so.” He pushed the throttle lever forward to add power, and they rolled forward in the grass, gaining lift at a very slow speed. Max banked left and headed towards the east, then tapped the button on the iPad to allow autopilot to take over steering.

  An Oshkosh air show official was waving and yelling at Max as they overflew the runway. It was still an hour before the airfield reopened, and they were breaking the rules. Max realized that there were probably fifty thousand people watching him, including FAA officials who could take away his prized pilot’s license. But he didn’t care. Ian Williams had Renee, and Max had to get to her.

  They puttered along, only feet above the power lines and treetops east of the airport, headed towards the huge lake on the horizon. Max scanned the iPad, careful to keep his hands on the controls in case the autopilot did anything unsafe. Even at the slow speed the gyrocopter was going, this trip would be much faster than driving.

  “Where are you going to land it?” Trent yelled.

  “There’s a farmer’s field about a half mile to the east. It looks like I’ll be able to land it unseen if that grove of trees is thick enough.” Max pointed at the map on the iPad. “I’ll put you down and give you five minutes before I approach the security detail. If it doesn’t look doable, just meet me out at the street and we can try to negotiate with them. If all else fails, I’ll call Wilkes and see if he can pull some strings with the cops.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Trent said with an air of confidence.

  Max gave Trent a look, then turned his attention back to the landing, the rotor whomping above them as they passed a flock of surprised-looking geese headed in the opposite direction.

  Ten minutes later, the dark blue expanse of Lake Winnebago spread out before them. A grassy peninsula jutted out to the left, with a two-story mansion capping the point. A row of nice lakefront homes was spaced out along the adjacent bay, each with long driveways and carefully manicured lawns. The street below had two police cars—one unmarked—parked at the gate of one of the homes. Max flew past them, hoping he was high enough that they wouldn’t recognize faces, and if they did, that they wouldn’t think about the fact that there were two passengers.