by L. J. Taylor
***
Back in his home office, Charles extracted the package from his backpack and slit it open with a letter opener. Inside were two CD’s, a manual on how to use the Concordance program and a handwritten note giving him instructions. He brewed some coffee, installed the program and uploaded the documents.
He skimmed the manual and then, with it open in front of him, experimented with pulling up documents, searching for them and reviewing them. Two hours later, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He must have reviewed at least five hundred pages without finding anything remotely useful. His eyes burned from staring into the computer screen for so long. He could see why Kathy and her people were taking so long to review the documents.
He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It was cold and down to the dregs. He got up to brew a fresh pot. He wasn’t concerned that it would keep him up all night. In the Corps you learned to sleep when you got the opportunity to. He’d drop off to sleep when he was ready no matter how many cups of java he consumed.
He seasoned a steak and put it under the broiler and threw a pack of frozen broccoli into the microwave. All the while his mind worked on the task at hand. There had to be a more efficient way of extracting the information he needed from Peachtree’s documents without reviewing each and every page. He thought about the types of documents that might contain information about the government agencies that hired Peachtree or mission details. He searched for documents containing the word “mission” and came up empty. He searched for the word “agency” and came up empty.
He thought for a moment. Peachtree and his employees were former military. They probably used military jargon in their protocols. He typed in the word “report” and came up with a thousand documents. He smiled. He was getting a little closer. His smile faded as he began to review the documents pulled up by the search. They were heavily redacted. He pulled up a report dated the day of the accident. The only parts of the report that were not blacked out were Wilkes’ name, the date, a report of the accident and the fact that the report had been sent to someone named “Manning.” Who was Manning? The name was vaguely familiar. Charles searched his memory. His eyes widened when the answer came to him.
He’d once run an op with a man named David Manning during his stint in the Corps. Manning was with the C.I.A. back then - a maverick who’d nearly gotten Charles’ whole team killed.
The name took him back. He remembered peering through the scope of his rifle out of the twenty-fourth floor window of an office building in Geneva and cursing at the circus taking place below. Swiss police vehicles blocked the entrance of the hotel across the street. From what he could see, the place was completely surrounded.
What the hell had happened? They had a foolproof plan. His men and the C.I.A. operative, Manning, were just supposed to make sure the mark left the hotel through the front entrance. They were to get in and out, undetected, and let him take care of the rest. Now, the Swiss police were on high alert. With all the big shots attending the conference at the hotel, they’d most definitely lock the place down and check the identity of every man, woman and child in there.
He wasn’t worried about his men maintaining their covers. But if they were arrested and photographed, their ability to perform future operations would be severely compromised. As team leader, he couldn’t allow that. It would be the end of their careers and his.
He pulled up the schematics of the hotel in his head. He and his team had gone over them dozens of times. There was no easy exit strategy once the building was cordoned off. The only way out was by air. Since there would undoubtedly be security on the roof of the hotel, they’d have to fight their way out.
“Rocking Horse to Royal Blue. Do you read me?” Keeping his voice low, he glanced over his shoulder. The Swiss executive whose office he was using for the operation was still sprawled across the couch where he had fallen after Charles had tranquilized him.
“Loud and clear, Rocking Horse. Go.” It was Tyler.
Charles breathed a sigh of relief. “Mission abort. Repeat, abort the mission. Swiss police have cordoned off the hotel and are blocking the entrance. Do you copy?”
“Roger that,” Tyler said. “What’s our exit strategy?”
“By air. Get the team up to the roof in fifteen minutes and clear the runway,” he said.
“Roger that,” Tyler said.
Charles radioed command to call in the chopper then he broke down the rifle and packed it away. He checked the area around him, pulled out a clean cloth and wiped down any surface he might have touched.
He looked at the Swiss executive sleeping peacefully on the couch across the room. The tranquilizer would keep him under for two more hours or so. He picked up his leather briefcase and left the office.
The Swiss executive’s assistant looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back at her. “Goodbye, Emma. Your boss took a call on his cell phone. He asked me to tell you not to disturb him.”
Emma grinned. “It’s probably his wife. She’s away in America on business. They must be having a romantic conversation. You know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Charles’ smile turned into a grin. “Yes I do. My wife and I have those romantic conversations sometimes when I’m away. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you Emma.”
“The pleasure was all mine. Have a safe trip home, Mr. White. Do you need for me to call you a taxi?” she asked.
“No need thank you. I have a car waiting for me downstairs.” He walked away and pressed the elevator call button.
The telephone rang on Emma’s desk. His heartbeat sped up as he watched her turn away to pick it up. He relaxed a little when he heard her tell the caller in French that Mr. Johansson was unavailable. As she took the message, the elevator arrived. He took it up to the top floor, exited the car and walked swiftly down the hall to the stairwell. No-one paid him any attention.
He climbed the stairs until he reached the roof access door. It was already propped open. He peered through the doorway and saw a young man smoking a cigarette on the roof. Charles stepped out onto the roof and joined him on the ledge. Apparently, it was a popular smoking spot. Ashes and spent cigarette butts littered the area.
The kid looked at him curiously. Charles smiled at him and used two fingers to make the universal signal for smoking a cigarette.
“Do you speak English?” he asked.
The young man nodded. “Yes.”
Charles feigned a sigh of relief. “Thank God. My German is dreadful, my French lousy and my Italian non-existent. I’ve been in meetings all day with Mr. Johansson. I’m dying for a smoke. Would you happen to have an extra cigarette? I’d be happy to buy it from you.”
The young man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket and offered them to Charles. “Here. You don’t need to pay me.”
“Thanks.” Charles extracted a cigarette, lit it with the lighter he found inside the pack and took a puff. Willing himself not to cough, he aimed a smile at his new smoking buddy. “That hit the spot. Thanks again.” He put the lighter back into the pack and handed it back to the kid.
“You are welcome.”
Charles scanned the roof for security. There appeared to be none. He could hear the faint whoosh of the helicopter approaching from a distance. It would be there in seconds. He turned to watch the young man. As the helicopter drew closer, the kid turned to look at it. Charles moved fast. He tossed the cigarette down and grabbed the kid in a chokehold, cutting off his air supply. He then gently laid his unconscious body down onto the rooftop.
He picked up his briefcase and ran to the helipad in the center of the roof. When the chopper landed, he climbed in and strapped on his headset. He then picked up the tranq rifle lying on the seat next to him, flipped off the safety and told the pilot to head to the roof of the hotel.
As they approached the hotel rooftop, Charles could see that his team was in trouble. They were pinned down in the northwest corner of the roof by Swiss police. He counted s
even hostiles. The helicopter distracted the hostiles for an instant. It was all Charles and his team needed. He put three of them to sleep with his rifle. His team made short work of the rest. They then climbed aboard the helicopter one by one.
The hotel roof access door opened and more Swiss officers began to pour out. Charles and those members of his team already aboard kept them at bay as best they could, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. The police offers shot live ammo instead of tranqs. Charles ducked as bullets bounced off the side of the helicopter. One of them caught Tyler as he boarded the chopper. He fell, his legs dangling outside. Charles pulled him the rest of the way inside.
“Get us out of here,” he shouted into his headset.
The pilot didn’t have to be told twice. The helicopter lurched violently as it took off and made its way into the air. The metallic ring of bullets ceased as they increased their altitude and put some distance between themselves and the hotel.
“Are you alright, soldier?” Charles asked. “Where are you hit?”
“My shoulder,” Tyler said, hissing through his teeth.
Charles extracted a pair of scissors from the helicopter’s emergency kit and cut away Tyler’s bloody suit jacket and shirt. He took a look at the bullet wound and smiled.
“The bullet went right through,” he said. “You’ll be okay.” He applied pressure to stop the bleeding, cleaned the wound as best he could and bandaged it tightly. He then grabbed a sweat suit from a small suitcase tucked behind the seats of the helicopter and helped Tyler get into it.
“What the hell happened in there?” he asked once Tyler was settled.
Tyler grimaced.
“Manning decided to take the mark out himself. A hotel maid walked in on him and screamed bloody murder before he broke her neck. Someone called security. They discovered the bodies and locked the place down tighter than a drum. It’s a miracle we got out of there alive,” he said.
Charles cursed. He looked at the men on the chopper. Manning was not among them. “And Manning? Where is he?”
Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know. The man is a ghost. He just disappeared.”
Charles returned to the present, his mouth tightened into a grim line. If the Manning referred to in Peachtree’s documents was the same guy who’d screwed up that mission and exposed his team, he’d have a lot of explaining to do. Peachtree Consulting would also have a lot of explaining to do. That is, if Manning was still C.I.A. A lot could change in eleven years. He could have left the C.I.A. and joined the F.B.I., the N.S.A., the D.E.A. or any number of government agencies authorized to operate domestically.
He picked up the telephone and made two calls – one to his best friend Tyler and the other to leave a coded message for Darryl to arrange another meeting.
***
The next day, Tyler sat at his desk reading a file on Peachtree Consulting. The Bureau was already investigating the company which was suspected of conducting rogue clandestine operations. However, every time the Bureau investigated a suspicious operation, some government agency would vouch for the company.
Peachtree had been sued three times in the past ten years. All three of the lawsuits were settled quickly and the plaintiffs refused to give and/or claimed not to know any helpful information. The Bureau had even sent an operative to infiltrate the company; however, he turned up dead, under suspicious circumstances, before he could make any headway.
This was not good. Reading between the lines, Peachtree Consulting was as tightly knit and as organized as the Mafia. It had powerful government contacts and it wasn’t above killing to maintain the status quo. What had Charles gotten himself into?
He picked up the file to look up the name of the case agent and grimaced when he found it. It was Michaels - the most rigid, by the book fool he’d ever met. He wouldn’t break protocol if it meant saving agents’ lives. He certainly wouldn’t stick his neck out for Charles.
Tyler sighed. He’d just have to get himself assigned to the case. He was sitting there wondering how to do that when he saw Michaels cross the hall and go into the break room. Speak of the devil. He got up, picked up his empty coffee mug and headed toward the break room. When he got there, Michaels was refilling his water bottle. Another agent kicked the candy machine in an effort to get a Snickers bar that had gotten stuck halfway down to drop.
“Hey!” Michaels said. “Tampering with that thing is illegal. I don’t want to have to arrest you, Stiver.”
“That stupid machine took my money,” Stiver whined. “That’s the third time this week.”
“You shouldn’t be eating that stuff anyway, it’s bad for your health” Tyler said. He stepped up to the machine and took some coins out of his pants pocket. “Move.”
Stiver stepped aside. Tyler inserted the coins and selected a Snickers bar. The second candy bar pushed the first one down and both candy bars dropped to the shelf below. Tyler retrieved them and handed them both to Stiver.
“Here,” he said. “Now, you’ve got two of them.”
“Thanks man,” Stiver said. He put one candy bar in his pocket, tore the wrapper off the other and took a huge bite out of it. Then he left the break room.
“You know you’re just contributing to his ever expanding waistline. If he doesn’t watch it, he won’t meet his weight requirements,” Michaels said.
“He is looking a little soft around the middle there, isn’t he?” Tyler said. “So, how have you been? I haven’t seen you around here much lately.”
“I know. I’ve been so busy working on the Peachtree case that I haven’t seen anyone. We’re not making much headway, but the Director wants this to be top priority in light of Agent Jenson’s death. I’m going to have to assign more members to the team.”
Tyler couldn’t believe his luck. “Oh yeah? Well, my workload has lightened up a little. You can count me in if you need me.”
Michaels looked pleased. “That’s good to hear. We could use all the help we can get. Hey, isn’t your friend Charles Morgan Jr. suing Peachtree Consulting? I saw it on the news.”
Tyler groaned inwardly. He knew that Michaels would try to get him to enlist Charles’ help. Charles was a lone wolf. He wouldn’t have any interest in assisting the Bureau in its investigation. He certainly would have no interest in playing by the Bureau’s rules. “Yeah, he is.” He walked over to the coffee dispenser and filled his cup.
Michaels followed. “How’s the lawsuit going?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to Charles since he filed it.” He had to buy himself some time to figure out what to do. He picked up his coffee mug. “I’d better go and clear my desk since I’m about to be assigned to the Peachtree case. From what you’ve said, it sounds like a hot one. See you later.” He turned and walked toward the door of the break room as quickly as he could without spilling his coffee. He’d almost made it out the door when Michaels called out after him.
“Wait up, Tyler.” Michaels hustled over. “I need to talk to you. Did you know that three other wrongful death cases were filed against Peachtree? We interviewed the plaintiffs who filed those cases but Peachtree’s got them so scared and so bound up by confidentiality agreements that we haven’t been able to get much from them. And when we threatened them with prosecution for withholding information, they lawyered up. We need to talk to your buddy Charles and see if he knows something that might help us.”
Damn. Tyler nodded. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”
“You do that Tyler. I know you can do it. I have faith in you, bro,” Michaels said.
Tyler pumped his fist in the air in a mock salute, rolled his eyes and left the break room. He heard Michaels laughing as he left.
***
Kathy sat on a bar stool at the Cuban coffee shop across the street from the Miami-Dade County courthouse waiting for Weisman. She’d asked to meet him there on the pretense of discussing the documents Peachtree produced. In reality, the meeting was part of her plan to get the government to back off
her law firm. She ordered a cortadito – a sugar-laden Cuban style espresso cut with cream – and knocked it back. She put the cup back onto the counter and watched the comings and goings on Flagler Street as she waited.
Lawyers, male and female, wearing suits and carrying briefcases mixed with hapless beggars, haggard looking parties, court reporters, court personnel and shopkeepers on the busy street. Cars moved slowly by to accommodate the throng of people crossing the street.
Stewart Weisman strolled toward her looking as distinguished as ever. He arrived at the stool next to her and set his briefcase upon it. “Counselor.” He extended a hand.
Kathy shook it. “Stewart. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“No problem. It’s always a pleasure to enjoy coffee with a colleague. Can I order anything for you?” he asked.
Kathy shook her head. “No thanks.” She put a hand over her heart. “I just had a cortadito and I think I’m having heart palpitations.”
Stewart laughed. “Yes, they do make them strong here. They’re not for the faint of heart.”
She chuckled. “I think I can handle it.”
He looked at her. “Yes, I’m sure you can.” He ordered an espresso. It came quickly. He knocked it back in a single gulp. “So, what are we discussing today?”
“I asked you here to talk about Peachtree’s discovery responses and objections. You objected to almost every interrogatory – even some of the standard ones - on grounds of relevance and national security. Is your client willing to drop some of its objections and provide amended interrogatory answers?”
