Frank Stromeltz was fifty-one years old and a former subordinate of Colonel Bataskya. He was personally recommended to Hawkins by Olga. His career path had paralleled Olga’s and he was a very promising young KGB officer until the Soviet Union came apart. Like Olga, he was fluent in several languages in addition to English, and the deep southern drawl he now used came very easily for him. Captain Gregor Dostovev, late of the KGB, now happily existed as Frank Stromeltz, nephew of the elderly widow, Olga Stromeltz.
Jimmy Stromeltz, aged fifty-five, had earned his living previously as an officer in the Stasi, the state security apparatus of the German Democratic Republic, also known as East Germany. Major Wolfgang Heinrich, as he was known then, was a counter-intelligence specialist who had a well-deserved reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness. Although he missed the cat and mouse game of discovering enemy agents he did content himself with the money and entertainment of torturing people and making them disappear from the face of the earth.
From all outward appearances the property looked every bit like a small family farm common to this particular part of Kentucky. Unseen to the casual passerby was the state of the art security system that monitored the complete perimeter of the farm. Even a rabbit crossing onto the property did not go unnoticed. Then there were the facilities underground. Beneath the newly constructed barn was a complex of six subterranean rooms, each with a purpose that would not normally be listed in the real estate offerings of the area. This complex was accessed through a hidden trap door in what appeared to be a woodworking shop contained in the barn. The two outbuildings deep in the wooded area of the farm were even more inconspicuous than the barn. The smaller of these structures was built over a twenty-five foot deep limestone pit and had a false floor that gave way to the opening of the pit. The pit contained ten feet of lye and was replenished from time to time, depending upon usage. The larger building contained a wood chipper and a mulching machine. Next to this building was a large pile of chicken and pig manure that was mixed with the product coming out of the wood chipper first and subsequently the mulching machine. This mixture provided a nutrient rich fertilizer compound that the Stromeltz farm used to produce such wonderful vegetables. This fertilizer was not sold in stores.
July, 2014, had brought the Stromeltz farm the blessing of some very profitable business from Mr. Hawkins. He showed up late one evening with a work order for one Milton Jernigan. Like all of the work orders from Mr. Hawkins, it was, of course, strictly verbal. Payment terms were cash upon completion. Since Mr. Jernigan arrived without a blindfold, the Stromeltzes were entitled to salvage and disposal rights.
Virtually all of Mr. Hawkins’ work orders conformed to this contract specification. From Mr. Hawkins’ viewpoint this bundle of services was very efficient and time saving. Within an hour of turning Jernigan over to Olga, Hawkins had the information he needed. Operation Indigestion was moving along nicely.
Jernigan was blissfully unaware of these contract specifications when he awoke on the evening of July 24, 2014. All he knew was that he had been hiking on the Appalachian Trail in northern Georgia during his annual two week vacation when everything went blank. Hawkins had Jernigan’s movements tracked since February and it was a simple matter of selecting a suitable spot in the wilderness to effect the abduction. The “dogcatchers” in Mr. Hawkins employ selected a spot near the intersection of the trail and a little used country road. They used the common diversion of one man pretending to have a foot injury while the other man tasered Jernigan from behind. Then it was into a special van and an eight hour ride to Bardstown via the interstates.
Milton Jernigan slowly regained consciousness and wondered what was going to happen next in the surreal world that had engulfed him in the last forty-eight hours. He could barely remember that he had been on vacation from his job at the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), happily hiking down the Appalachian Trail. Suddenly his world had turned into a nightmare which had made no sense to him. The details of his abduction were still foggy in his memory. What wasn’t foggy in his memory was the absolute hell that he had endured yesterday. He had awoken naked and bound to a chair in what looked like and smelled like some third world dungeon that he had only read about in spy novels. An elderly grey haired woman had introduced herself as Olga and informed him that he only needed to supply some information and that he wouldn’t be harmed in any way. Jernigan was asked for and provided information that would allow someone to access the personnel files at the EPA and also determine when employees would be on vacation within the department. As the Assistant Deputy Director of Human Resources, Jernigan had all of the access codes and passwords that his captors demanded.
Certainly he would be released as the kindly grey haired lady promised. After all, he was a GS-15 at the assistant deputy director level and an important executive within the EPA, and surely nobody would risk harming someone at his level. Then things turned terribly bad for Jernigan. The grandmother-like character named Olga produced several thin stainless steel needles and declared in her distinctive southern drawl that Jernigan would need to be “verified” by some old fashioned interrogation methods. He never conceived that so much pain could be inflicted by an old lady and a few needles. She seemed to know where every nerve ending in the human body was located and how extract the maximum pain response from those nerves. Three long hours of being “verified” had left the EPA bureaucrat exhausted and willing to do anything to keep from being “verified” again.
Now he was aware that in the dim light somebody was in the room with him and seated at a table only a few feet way. The EPA man was shackled by the feet to two metal O- rings imbedded in the floor and his arms were similarly bound by chains to O- rings in the cement ceiling. He was still naked except for a very tight form fitting panty girdle. His situation caused him a great deal of anxiety, as well it should have.
Slowly the lights began to get brighter as someone slowly rotated a rheostat. Sitting at the table a few feet away was a woman. She was dressed in tight jodhpurs, knee length black leather boots, and a military jacket which he did not recognize, having never been a guest at the Lubyanka. She had long black hair, black lipstick, and long black painted fingernails. Her face was made up into eerie pasty white. The table contained a CD player, a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes, an ashtray, a bottle of chilled vodka, a syringe with a small needle, several strands of what appeared to be small bells, and a coffee can.
After several minutes the woman spoke in a thick accent. “I am Colonel Elena Bataskya of the Committee for State Security of the Soviet Union. Most Americans know us simply as the KGB.”
Jernigan was dumfounded. There was no KGB presently and it hadn’t existed for over twenty years. Why would a mid-level bureaucrat at the EPA be of any interest to the KGB even if it existed, which it did not? These thoughts raced through his mind and then the woman confronting him spoke again.
“Mr. Jernigan, do not worry. You will not be interrogated further. Tonight is solely a social occasion. Tell me Mr. Jernigan, do you enjoy music and do you like to dance?”
Little did he know that the lady who held him captive was telling the truth, or at least the truth as she saw it.
“Well, I guess I like music ok, but I don’t know how to really dance,” replied the captive.
“Such a pity, purred the Colonel in the skin tight jodhpurs, “perhaps we can teach you a step or two.”
With a great deal of apprehension, Jernigan watched as Colonel Bataskya approached him with the syringe and needle. “Don’t worry darling, this little injection is just to increase your sensitivity to the pleasures that await us.” The injection was simply a small sting and Jernigan was a little relieved. The next event was a little more painful as the colonel attached the strands of bells with small clamps to his ear lobes and nipples. He could only guess what their purpose was.
Colonel Bataskya looked closely at her captive and smiled. She gently stroked his crotch and was pleased to find that the Viagra that had
been dissolved in his water bottle had done its work and he had an enormous erection. “Maybe you find Elena very sexy, no?” she whispered in his ear.
Bataskya returned to the table and turned on the CD player. The music was the old rock and roll classic, “Dance to the Music,” by Sly and the Family Stone. She put the CD player on repeat and turned up the volume.
The colonel then removed her long black wig and Jernigan was horrified to realize that the colonel was the same woman who had tortured him the previous day, Olga Stromeltz. She approached him grinning and carrying the coffee can. “Darling, my little friends from Texas are here to teach you to dance.” With that she pulled open the tight waistband of the panty girdle and dumped the fire ants from the coffee can into the airtight girdle.
Olga sat down at the table and lit up an unfiltered Camel. Then she took a big swallow from the chilled bottle of Vodka. The bells on Jernigan began ringing in tune with the music and Olga put her feet up on the desk. She had not felt a rush like this since she castrated and slowly skinned alive the Balducci brothers involved in the Lundquist kidnapping case.
As for Jernigan, it seemed that he knew how to dance after all; in fact he danced like a man with ants in his pants.
Having consumed half of the vodka and several more Camels, Olga turned off the music. She then picked up a spray bottle full of kerosene and walked slowly over to Jernigan. “I think that is enough dancing for now darling” she slurred as she lifted the top of the waistband of the panty girdle and sprayed a generous amount of kerosene onto the fire ants. Jernigan screamed in pain and Olga grinned broadly. She would let him dangle for a few more hours and then turn him over to Jimmy, one of her assistants. Jimmy was almost as sadistic as Olga and no doubt would introduce Jernigan into some activities that would make the dancing event seem rather tame. Noting the well-developed body of Jernigan, Olga was eager to introduce him to the “kennel games” that amused her and her assistants. Perhaps Jernigan could even break the record for endurance. In any event he would eventually wind up in the lye pit or the wood chipper located in the woods just behind the farmhouse.
Two days after Milton Jernigan was admitted as a guest to Olga’s farm Mr. Hawkins arrived with another guest. The guest was Kathleen Becker, an employee of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). She occupied essentially the same position at the BLM as Jernigan did at the EPA. Mr. Hawkins had his dogcatchers secure her as she was about to leave for a week’s vacation to the Bahamas. Ms. Becker would not be missed by her employer for over a week and then it would be discovered that a Kathleen Becker had rented a small boat in the Bahamas and never returned to the marina. The officials in the Bahamas would be inclined to find that a tragic boating accident had occurred. Kathleen Becker was able to provide Hawkins the same information on BLM personnel that Jernigan had supplied for EPA employees.
Kathleen Becker underwent the same “verification” procedure of stainless steel needles applied by an elderly lady that Jernigan had endured. Now that there were two guests at Olga’s farm there could be some competition involving the “kennel games.” These games were named for the accommodations of the participants. Guests at the farm were not kept in cells, but rather in kennel like compartments that did not allow for standing. A large pot sufficed as a toilet. The Ritz it wasn’t, but then again, management was immune to complaints from guests.
Olga, Frank, and Jimmy were in agreement that the competition would involve a riding contest. The winner would be fed that day and the loser would go hungry.
The contestants, Jernigan and Becker, were brought from their kennels to one of the large rooms built below the barn. In the center of the room was a type of mechanical bull that one often saw in country and western bars. This apparatus, aptly named “Lightning,” had certain modifications that were not seen on the standard commercial mechanical bull. This mechanical bull was equipped with handlebars with leather straps, stirrups with leather straps, and a bicycle seat with a ten inch metal prong. A huge ball joint connecting the saddle portion of the device to the base allowed a 360 degree movement of pitch, roll, and yaw.
Olga announced that Jernigan would ride first since he had been a guest longer than Becker. She stated that each contestant would be given one ride and scored by the three judges, Olga, Frank, and Jimmy. The highest scoring contestant would win.
Jernigan was hoisted onto the bull, strapped in, and the ten inch metal prong was unfolded and attached to his spine. He had no idea what the purpose of the prong was but he would soon find out. Jimmy turned on the CD player and selected Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf as the background music. Olga took a huge swig of chilled vodka and lit up a Camel. She nodded her head as a signal for Frank to activate the bull. Nothing happened since the mechanics of the bull required the rider to engage in motions of his own body to move the device. Then Olga pushed a button and five million volts traveled through the metal prong along Jernigan’s spine. The resulting convulsions of his muscles made the bull buck and sway violently. The electronic components attached to the prong had come from a picana, the type of cattle prod that was developed for use on humans. Several more jolts of high voltage with low current had given Jernigan the ride of his life and much amusement to the three judges. Becker would have to do really well to beat Jernigan’s score.
Kathleen Becker was a large woman who was also extremely buxom. The judges were wondering how she would fare in the competition. As Frank and Jimmy strapped her in and attached the prong along the spine, Olga selected Ticket to Ride by the Beatles as the music.
Gulping down another swallow of chilled vodka Olga ruminated on how the locals would be scandalized to see her right now, after all, Bardstown was the self-appointed “Bourbon Capital of the World,” and vodka just wouldn’t do.
Kathleen Becker stole the show. The voltage caused her to really thrash and convulse. The deciding points came when a violent pitch motion of the bull caused her huge breasts to hit her so hard in her own face as to blacken both of her eyes. The vote was unanimous by the judges. She was the winner and would receive a meal of rice gruel in molasses with a hunk of freshly baked bread. Jernigan would receive nothing as the loser. More games would follow in the next few days before Becker would have a date with the lye pit, never to be seen or heard from again. Jernigan’s presence would require him to be in the Washington, DC, area during the Labor Day weekend.
Olga was intrigued and excited by her last conversation with Hawkins. He advised her that a special program devised by him would be required for a very special guest in the future. Business would be good, in fact very good, for the foreseeable future.
Hawkins would put to work the information gleaned from Jernigan and Becker almost immediately.
CHAPTER 10 - ALPHABET SOUP INDIGESTION
Friday, August 1, 2014
The “Farm” outside St. Louis, Missouri
7:15 am
Hawkins was amazed at the treasure trove of information that Jernigan and Becker had provided as a result of the gentle urgings of Olga Stromeltz. The intruders that were part of the “Collective” had penetrated deep into the EPA and BLM computer systems. Not only were the intruders able to obtain all of the personnel information, they were able to garner internal emails, construction and maintenance schedules, and policy advisories. The policy advisories in particular were very instructive as to what the two agencies were most worried about and shed light on the specific issues that they themselves felt most vulnerable. Hawkins was determined to make their fears become reality. The Labor Day holiday on September 1, could provide some of the same opportunities that the recent Fourth of July holiday offered versus the IRS. Although some parts of Operation Indigestion would require a longer planning cycle, the recent data about the EPA and BLM operations offered some targets of opportunity that could be exploited within a short period of time. Hawkins muttered to himself, “IRS, EPA, BLM, OSHA, DOJ, FCC, FERC, our whole goddamn government is made up of an alphabet soup of letters, well I’m going to add SOL to t
heir vocabulary.”
Looking over the organizational chart of the EPA and eyeing the calendar, Hawkins grinned and decided to immediately travel to St Paul, Minnesota, and to Buffalo, New York. He had a work order for the two most talented intruders employed by the Collective.
St. Paul, Minnesota
11:58am
“So do you think you can pull this off during the Labor Day weekend?” queried Hawkins to the scruffy young man sitting across from him in an abandoned warehouse near the Mississippi River. Hawkins was speaking to a man known as the “Vulcan” within the Collective. The Vulcan was a hacker of unworldly talents and if he couldn’t accomplish this task, then it was likely that no one could.
Looking at the access codes and specifications of the EPA IT equipment, Vulcan thought for a long moment and replied, “Yeah I can do this if I start right away.”
Hawkins handed over a small briefcase containing one hundred thousand in cash. Another payment of one hundred thousand would be paid upon completion of the “work order.”
Leaving the warehouse Hawkins walked six blocks and hailed a cab that would take him to the airport. He had another stop to make that day and it was in Buffalo, New York. The Snyder Security Services corporate jet was airborne by 2:10pm and on its way to Buffalo.
Patriots Versus Bureaucrats Page 10
