CHAPTER FOUR
The Old Ebbitt Grill was bustling on this Friday night when Harry stepped through the door. He returned the familiar nod of Teddy, the maitre d’ and checked his coat before taking the several steps up to the old, vintage bar that had long been a popular watering hole of the plain as well as the powerful in the nation’s capitol. He saw Bobby Lawson before Bobby saw him. A young lady with short cropped blonde hair and icy blue eyes seemed to have Bobby’s attention. Harry chuckled. This was not unusual. At six foot four and the youthful good looks of a high school prom king, Bobby often found himself engaged in conversation with attractive ladies. More often than not, it was they who initiated the contact.
Bobby turned when he recognized his friend’s voice ordering from the bartender. “Double Dewar’s on the rocks, Mitch,” Harry said.
“Good to see you back in town, Kincaid,” the bartender replied. “Seems the news of your demise was greatly overrated.”
“Any news about me is greatly overrated, Mitch,” Harry said, turning toward Bobby and his new friend.
“That’s a fact,” said Bobby shaking Harry’s hand. “Tracey Kendall,” he said to the young lady, “this is my old friend Harry Kincaid. Harry, this is Tracey. She’s assistant press secretary at that big white single family dwelling down the street.”
“Well, hello, Tracey. So nice to meet you. Have you begun your job search for next year, after the election?” Harry asked.
Tracey couldn’t help but giggle. “Wow, I need to ask my boss about a diplomatic post for you, Mr. Kincaid. You’ve got real polish.”
“Just kidding,” he replied. “I’m sure your team will win by a landslide.” He looked at Bobby. “How are things at our office, Pal? It feels like I’ve been gone for months.”
“Yeah, it’s been kind of blissful and quiet,” Bobby joked. It was good to see his business pal back in town.
“Excuse me, gents,” said Tracey looking toward the door, “my date just arrived.” She got down from her bar stool, revealing a long and perfectly shaped leg. She pressed a bar napkin into Bobby’s palm and winked at him. She said, “Nice talking to you, Bobby.” Then to Harry, “See you around, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Yes, I do hope so, Miss Vice President,” Harry responded. “Hey, there’s your solution. If the Prez would make you his running mate and just ditch that other guy, his re-election would be assured.”
Tracey looked back at Harry as she left, saying, “Oh, you are a real charmer.”
Bobby laughed. He glanced down at the napkin on which was written the ten digits of Tracey Kendall’s phone number. “I’ve got to agree, Harry,” Bobby said. “You’ve got a real way with words.”
The two watched as Tracey met a studious looking man dressed in pinstripes at the door. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. He motioned back towards Bobby and Harry, obviously asking her about them. They saw her laugh and shake off his inquiry. A moment later they were out the door.
Bobby turned on his stool back to the bar and leaned towards Harry. “Lawyer, I’ll bet. He had that look about him.”
“Probably so,” said Harry. “This town is full of them.”
Mitch came over to check their drinks. Bobby waved him off as he asked Harry, “So, how was Somalia? Is it the hip vacation spot we’ve all come to believe?”
“It’s just lovely, Bobby. Except for the accommodations, it kind of reminds you of Disneyworld.” Harry gave Bobby his world class grin. “They have pirates and everything.”
They chuckled knowing Harry’s trip had been anything but pleasure. Oceanic had been retained by a client to negotiate safe passage for certain ships travelling the waters off the coast of east Africa. Though the mission involved offering payment to a bunch of lawless thugs, the client, a certain Middle Eastern kingdom, had hired Oceanic knowing that if things didn’t work out using the friendly approach, they might be in a better position to take a more aggressive tack.
Oceanic Import-Export had few employees and each one was a Vice President by title. The small twelve hundred square foot office they kept in Fairfax, Virginia had a staff of two ladies and Bobby. Beth Handy was the receptionist and kept track of the various contracts that were being fulfilled at any given time. She was dubbed Vice President of Administration. Prin Howard handled most normal financial matters related to the office and employees expenses. Naturally this made her Vice President of Finance. Bobby was Vice President of Operations and coordinated all of the activities of the operatives, negotiated directly with clients and contracted operatives. On rare occasions Bobby would do some field work. But the founders wanted Bobby for his organizational and planning skills. Harry Kincaid was the only field operative who was employed by the firm. When others were needed, they were brought in as independent contractors. Harry’s title… Vice President of Recreation. His choice.
Oceanic Import-Export had been formed the right way, by good people. Three founding partners, all veterans of alphabet government agencies, CIA, FBI, NSA, and SEALs, started the firm on the third anniversary of 9/11. Harry Kincaid was their first recruit. The founders preferred to remain nameless and in the background. Their connections and influence reached the highest levels of the CIA, the FBI, the Pentagon, and the Capitol. In forming Oceanic, the founders’ purpose was not monetary, though their minimum fee was set at a million dollars. They were patriots who had seen, through the eyes of their own experiences that the best interests of the country were not always pursued. Whether it was politics, international opinion, or plain old human greed, there were those who had misplaced desires and interests. Oceanic Import-Export was available to fight terror, crime or corruption wherever it might be found. And it was well known that, due to the founders’ connections, no permission was needed. If a few rules had to be bent or side-stepped along the way… well, what was the real harm as long as the good guys won and the bad guys lost? The firm’s friends could cover for just about anything.
Kincaid had been a field operative for the CIA. He had spent some time with the Navy SEALs and Army’s Special Forces before he, and all of his superiors realized that he just wasn’t a team player. He flourished, however, when given a solitary assignment that most sane people would steer clear of. Need a tribal leader in Yemen taken out? Put Kincaid on it. Need to get the operational plans of an Al Qaeda cell in Brooklyn? Kincaid’s your man. Need someone to go sit in the Tora Bora region of Afghanistan and measure the snowfall for a month? Kincaid. Just don’t micromanage him or try to tell him how to do it.
It was after a botched mission that cost twelve of America’s finest fighting men that Kincaid submitted his resignation to the CIA. His reasoning was that when politics got to the tactical field level, it was time for him to work somewhere else. The Siren’s call of Oceanic came at the right time.
Bobby Lawson had come later. He and Harry had met one pleasant evening in South America when Warrant Officer Lawson was a helicopter pilot attached to an Army Ranger team operating out of Panama. Bobby had no idea why he was tasked to insert this lone CIA dude into a Colombian village just southwest of the city of Medellin. And he knew well enough not to ask. The flight was made during a torrential rainstorm. Bobby remembered being impressed with the fact that his passenger was so calm about the mission he was on; and Harry remembered being impressed with this pilot crazy enough to fly in such weather. He remembered seeing Bobby, out of the corner of his eye, yawning while the small two seat reconnaissance helicopter was being tossed and blown all over the sky. He actually seemed bored. A week later, it was Lawson again who extracted Kincaid from the same village. It wasn’t until they were back safely on the ground in Panama when Lawson learned that Kincaid had been shot twice. He probably never would have known if Kincaid hadn’t asked Bobby for directions to the first aid clinic to have the slugs removed. The two kept in touch after Kincaid left the CIA. When Bobby decided to leave the Army, his friend had a place at Oceanic waiting for him.
Over the years, particularly through their
association at Oceanic, Bobby and Harry had become fast friends. Though Harry was ten years older, they acted like fraternal twins. When both were in the same area code, they spent a good deal of social time together. Neither was, or ever had been married. Both, however, had steady female companions that made for an enjoyable foursome. It was these ladies, Penny Lane and Annie Wilcox, the guys would be meeting at Chez D’Artagnan later in the evening. Before that, however, Harry wanted to fill Bobby in on the phone call he’d received.
“Bobby, you knew Pete Von Karmenn, didn’t you?” he asked?
“You bet I did. I worked with Pete for over a year. Great guy.” Bobby’s face grew grim. “Sure wish he had come to work with us. I hated hearing about his murder.”
“Murder? What do you mean murder?” asked Harry.
“Well what the hell would you call it? He isn’t listed as a ‘KIA’ anywhere I know of. I heard he got blown up in some cheesy motel in Mexico. I don’t know the details.” Bobby shifted on his stool. “Why are you asking about Pete?”
“I got a call from his wife tonight before I left my place. Carol is her name,” he said.
“Why’d she call? What’s up?” asked Bobby.
“Seems the outfit that Pete went to work for has cut her off.”
“What do you mean, ‘cut her off?’”
“According to Carol, she was supposed to receive Pete’s normal paycheck for up to a year and a lump sum death benefit if it came to that. The paycheck stopped the month after he was killed and she never has gotten the death benefit. How much do you know about the Talon Group?” Harry asked.
“I know that General Jack Hastings put it together while he was still on active duty. He had all kinds of contacts. He’d been stationed in the Pentagon and had also been the military attaché to Mexico. From what I heard, he wanted to put together a company like ours and contract with the Mexican government. Thought he could pull in operative talent, like Pete, and then sell ‘security’ services… wink, wink.”
“Wink, wink?” Harry questioned.
“Well, yeah, Harry,” Bobby said. “Tell me something that goes on down in Mexico that you think is good? I mean, if it ain’t human trafficking, drug trafficking, or arms trafficking, what else goes on down there?”
“That’s a good point,” said Harry. “But in Mexico, no one knows who the good guys are. The government is about as corrupt as any on earth. Hell, you’d think they all came from Chicago.”
“Pete said they planned to expand to other areas, too. But Mexico was where the general thought they could get off to a fast start,” Bobby explained.
“So you talked to him? Pete, I mean?” asked Harry.
“Yeah. He called me last spring… March or April, I think. Said things weren’t looking all that good with Hastings. He was putting out a feeler to see if we could squeeze him in. He didn’t say it in so many words. He said that you had tried to recruit him early on.” Bobby finished his drink with one toss and put the empty glass down on the bar. “I wish I had asked him to join us right then and there.” He signaled Mitch for a refill.
Harry looked at his watch. “Yeah, we got time. One more for me too, Mitch,” he said. He looked back at Bobby. “So, what do you know about this General Hastings?”
“Not a whole lot,” said Bobby. “But, nobody thought it was right for him to be setting up Talon while he was still on active duty. I don’t think it’s illegal or anything. But, it’s that ‘serving two masters’ thing. Hell, maybe it is illegal. But what I wonder about is what he is willing to do with his firm? You know, at Oceanic, we still fight bad guys. Lots of times we end up on assignments going after the same ones we chased when I was in the Army and you were in the CIA. For some reason, I get the feeling that Hastings would take money from anyone who would give it to him. With us, it’s not about the money. I’ve got the feeling that with him, it’s not about anything else.”
“Hmmm. Do you know anyone else who went with Talon?” asked Harry.
Bobby thought a minute. “Maybe. A couple of guys that I know talked to Pete and Hastings. That’s been a while back and I don’t know if they ever signed on or not,” Bobby said.
“Well, think about it, will you? I want to dig into this. If Hastings is trying to screw over Carol Von Karmenn now with Pete gone, I can’t let that happen. Pete and I got to be pretty tight over in ‘Injun Country.’ He was a good guy. Always had your back,” said Harry.
“Yup, that was Pete. I never met Carol. But, I’m with you. We need to help her if we can. I’ll make some phone calls.” Bobby drained his glass.
Harry called Mitch over and handed him his American Express card. “Put Mr. Lawson’s beverages on my tab, please, Mitch. It’s ‘Be Kind to Lost Souls Day.”
“Lost Souls?” asked Mitch.
“Ah, whatever. It’s my treat,” answered Harry.
“Good. That includes the young lady, too?”
“Damn,” said Harry looking at Bobby. “You were going to buy that Democrat a drink?”
“Hey, it’s just a job to her, Harry. And besides, you’re buying it now.”
The Prosecution of General Hastings Page 5
