Old Growth & Ivy
Jayne Menard
Old Growth and Ivy
By Jayne Menard
www.jaynemenard.com
Copyright 2015 © by Jayne B. Menard. All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without the express prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
International Standard Book Number ISBN: 978-0-692-47587-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, cases, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgement
My appreciation to my friends and family who supported my endeavors in writing this book, through encouragement, inputs and editing. My special gratitude to my niece, Cindy, for her never-failing enthusiasm for this project and for her insightful editing.
Table of Contents
Prologue
PART I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
PART II
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
PART III
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Prologue
If you think a career as an FBI agent is like watching a Hollywood action movie with lots of gadgets, spicy seduction scenes, and constant field action, then you should think again. In our electronic age, an FBI field agent can spend hours, days, weeks, and even months of desk time seeking the hard evidence that will break a case open. The work is often tedious, stressful, and intellectually frustrating. You spend years building your skills, only to find that your reputation is based on the results of your last case. Your life is on the line when you make an arrest or a vindictive perpetrator sends his hit men after you. Mostly your life as an agent is so demanding that you have little time for a personal life, not if you want to be the best at what you do.
The Bureau gives you a place to belong, although it can also become a place to hide from yourself and your emotions. I know because I was a federal agent for over 35 years. I have heard it said that my case success rate was exemplary. Working on Bureau matters damn near took my life now and again, both physically and personally. Don't get me wrong -- the FBI is the best. My career was challenging and satisfying. However it was not enough. This story is about finding the neglected parts of my life.
Steven J. Nielsen
Executive Field Director, Retired
Complex International Cases
Federal Bureau of Investigation
March 1, 2014
PART I
Chapter 1
At 7:15 in the morning Ivy Littleton tore out of the driveway of her home nestled in the hills over Portland, Oregon, turned left and zoomed along the street towards downtown where the offices of her company were located. She did not own the company but she ran her business unit of 100 people as if she did. She had been finishing up her usual morning routine when their receptionist called sounding rattled. Three FBI agents were in the lobby waiting to see her. Ivy knew this could not be good. Usually she liked Mondays. It was the one day of the work week when she felt recharged. She had just three more months of work ahead. Her replacement has been identified and by the end of the year, Ivy would be retired. Soon this sort of panic at the office would be some other executive’s problem.
As her SUV sped down the long hill where trees were beginning to show the golden edges of warming fall colors, she checked her appearance in the mirror. She knew that despite her advancing years, she was still an attractive woman, well-toned, with a vast amount of silver-streaked black hair that curled and twined no matter how she fought to tame it. Her hair was the one part of her that still had the energy to bounce along through her long days at the office. Ivy was 62 with a long, creditable career, working her way up from a college student with a load of student loans to her executive position.
Ivy pushed a tendril of hair back that escaped the quick upsweep she attempted that morning, turned into the underground parking lot at her office building with a squeal of tires and parked, bouncing against the curb. Grabbing her briefcase, she jumped out of the car and ran to the elevator to the main lobby. As she strode past the building security desk, the guard told her that she had three visitors waiting upstairs. She thanked him, hurrying to the main elevator and frowning.
Part of what kept her motivated was that on any day when she opened the door to their large suite of offices, she never knew what might happen, between clients, prospects, employees and their corporate owners. She was unsure what would be worse: a visit from the IRS, the DEA or the FBI. The CIA might be worse. She forced her shoulders down and back, tilted her head up, and assumed a calm expression. Whatever happened, she knew of nothing wrong that their company might have done in assisting companies and banks to comply with government regulations. In any case, she would not let the FBI agents see that she was flustered. Clearly they wanted to catch her off-guard by arriving unannounced so early in the day.
Ivy stepped out of the elevator, smoothed down her jacket, walked briskly over and opened the glass door to their reception area where three men in ominously dark suits were waiting. One was pacing and swung mid-stride to face her. Even though Ivy was six feet tall, she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eyes. He had to be six and a half feet and substantial, yet he looked trim, fit and about her age, with broad shoulders, a flat stomach and strong hips. He reminded her of a mighty giant sequoia which had needles with thick, sharp points and rough, stringy bark. Ivy tended to classify men as trees and the results were only sometimes flattering. Ivy sucked in her abs, resettled her shoulders and forced herself to retain a calm, friendly smile.
“Steve Nielsen. FBI,” the big man said without preamble. “You run this operation?”
“Ivy Littleton, the executive in charge.” She held out her hand.
He reached out and took it. His handshake was firm and brisk and his skin was dry, but not rough. His fingers lingered on hers for a moment causing an unexpected sense of warmth. She kept her eyes fixed on his. No way was she losing a stare-down with this brusque man. If he wanted to intimidate her, he would find that she did not give ground easily.
“May I see some ID?” Ivy forced her voice to be crisp and professional.
She looked at the big man’s badge – Nielsen, she said to herself. Steve Nielsen. Then she met the other two agents, checking their credentials also -- Agents Brian Tovey and Michael O’Leary, although he called himself Moll.
“What brings you here?”
“A court order for certain banking information in your possession.”
Nielsen had such a deep voice that the words came out in a low feral rumble as a warning not to mess with him. Three federal agents and a court order. Ivy knew this was going to be one heck of a day.
“Let’s go to my office,” she said, t
urning towards the door to enter their suite of offices. As she ushered the men down the hallway, her mind was racing to devise a plan to handle the situation. She settled the agents in her office and then buzzed her assistant for a coffee tray.
Nielsen looked impatient. “This is not a social call.”
She smiled at him, feeling that errant curl slide against her cheek. “I am sure we all will work better if properly fueled. Now, could I please see this court order?”
He clicked open his briefcase, took out a folder and handed a short document to her. Ivy read it quickly. The order requested that all data and any related documents received from three of her banking clients be turned over immediately to the FBI for analysis in conjunction with a case related to human trafficking.
“Why come here? We only examine specific time periods of data for our clients to assess compliance with banking regulations. You could obtain a much broader spectrum of data from each bank.”
Nielsen glared at her. “The why is not important. We have a court order and we want the data now.”
She glanced down at the business card he had tossed on her desk, looking for his title. “Director Nielsen.”
“Just Agent Nielsen, Ms. Littleton.”
“Agent Nielsen, you must understand that we take care to safeguard the client information entrusted with us. I must verify that you are indeed FBI. I need to confer with our legal counsel and obtain a certified copy of this document directly from the Court to ensure it is bona fide. You have clearly given me a copy. We also must examine this request in the context of our contractual obligations to our clients, where we are required to protect the confidentiality of their data.”
“We need the data now. The court order specifies the immediacy of the timeline.”
“I will call our Internal Counsel to start the ball rolling,” Ivy said firmly.
Her assistant came in with a tray of coffee, cutely supplying the three federal agents with bright white corporate logo coffee mugs, and asking if they would rather have tea, water or soft drinks. She included a plate of buttery shortbread cookies from the stash they always kept for guests. Ivy thanked her and requested that she clear a meeting room for the three visitors, then she swiveled in her chair, put the court order in her desktop printer/scanner and emailed a copy to Corporate.
Ivy invited the agents to have coffee while she dialed the phone, luckily reaching the man who served as their internal counsel after only a short delay. She explained the situation and asked how to verify that the men were federal agents. Their three cards were spread out on her desk. As she talked, she scanned in the agents’ cards and sent them off to the attorney. While the attorney read through the emailed court order, Ivy watched the three agents.
The two younger men were good-looking, in their late thirties, fit and well-dressed. Each seemed more agreeable than their big, pushy friend, who was clearly the hard-driver of the group. She noticed that none of them wore wedding rings. Ivy would never call the one named Nielsen handsome, although he did have a rugged appeal, silvered hair that was only slightly thinning, and intense, gray-blue eyes. Despite his demanding manner, Ivy felt a physical reaction to him that tingled along her torso. She noticed that notwithstanding his grumblings, he quickly tucked into the cookies and coffee, lacing his with sugar and cream.
The attorney came back on. “How long will it take to give them a working copy of the data and files?”
“Just a few hours.”
“That all? Here’s the way I see it. We could go to the Court and delay the process and then wind up in the same place we are now or we can comply at this time. I would prefer that we get it done while you are still there.”
“Understand. What’s next?”
“To be safe, I have to consult with our external attorney firm that has more experience with these situations than I do. Send me a copy of the contracts for each of the banks and any other agreements we have with them, particularly as related to safeguarding their data.”
“How long will that take? The agents have impressed upon me the urgency of this request.” Ivy was tucking the wayward lock of her hair back again when another one popped out on the other side.
“Gathered time was of the essence from the Court Order. I will call you back later this morning. In the meantime, keep them away from your staff, see if they will sign our standard confidentiality agreement, and have your folks prep the data. Don’t let them take any data or files offsite or even download them. Setup server space for them and demand they work onsite. I’ll draw up a quick agreement. They may not sign any documents. After all, they are the Feds.”
“Got it.”
“What a way to start the week. I hope they are at least good eye candy.”
Ivy had to smile. “Yes, I am lucky there.”
“Wish I were in Portland today to have a look -- back to you as soon as I can.”
Ivy put the phone back in its charging slot, stood up from her desk and went to pour herself some coffee.
“It will take some time to do the necessary research on our obligations and conflicts.”
“Time we don’t have,” Nielsen barked at her. He jumped up and moved closer, as if to coerce her into faster action by his sheer size.
Ivy put her hands on her hips, but she did not step back. “Agent Nielsen. I have dropped everything to address you and your court order. I am being cooperative, not obstructive.”
One of the other agents nodded. Ivy thought he was the one named Brian. He had warm brown eyes that showed a hint of amusement at the confrontation in front of him.
“Is there someplace we can work in the meantime?” he asked.
The big agent looked over his shoulder and glared at him.
“My assistant will show you to a room.”
“I am not leaving your office until we have the data,” said Agent Nielsen.
“For all three of you, please do not talk to my staff. I do not want them rattled.”
“And we do not want the banks tipped off.”
“Now, Mr., I mean Agent Nielsen, I am going to meet with a couple of my technicians.”
“Great. I will listen in.”
Ivy inhaled deeply. “I am going to tell them that you are here at my request to perform an audit of our data handling practices. The FBI is offering this new service to companies handling sensitive information. Got it?”
He regarded her for a moment. “Works for me. We don’t want the real reason getting back to the banks.”
For the next half-hour, Ivy met with her technicians, spelling out what data she wanted, its exact source and how she wanted access set up for the three agents. Nielsen listened intently but stayed quiet.
After they left, she said to him, “You will only access the data on-site for analytical purposes. You will not download it or take a copy.”
“If we find what we’re after, we will need to produce evidence in Court.”
“At that point, I suggest that you obtain the data directly from the banks.”
“And if for some reason, we can’t. Then what?”
“We will make a secure copy. It will be turned over to our legal counsel for safekeeping and your requests may go there directly.”
She watched the big agent considering that option and let out a sigh of relief at finding that he had a reasonable side, when he said, “We can live with that.”
She pulled out a big chart and placed it on the table in her office. It showed how the data flowed from clients into her company. She explained where the original source data from the banks was stored and then began to explain how they did their analysis work.
Nielsen leaned over closer and pointed about a dozen steps down in the chart. “I want copies of this version too.”
While Ivy was impressed by his quick comprehension of the complex chart, what he was requesting was outside the scope of the Court Order. His closeness was unnerving, especially as he seemed to be sniffing her perfume. She stepped a little to the side.
&n
bsp; “That data has been manipulated by my staff. There is a risk it could have been altered.”
“I’m interested in the notes on their findings.”
“Some of which are speculative – interim thoughts.”
“It may give us some pointers. Shortcut our time here. And the physical files?”
“All electronic. PDFs.”
“Notes from your team there too?”
Ivy rolled her eyes at him. “Yes.”
“I want your workpapers, reports and so on. Give me anything on these banks that will tell us what your staff has found.”
“The court order only specifies data and files from the banks. Provided I receive the clearance from our counsel that is exactly what we will give you.”
The big agent regarded her steadily, as if assessing her character. He went to speak, then stopped. He tilted his head to one side and then the other, as if debating with himself. After a few moments he said, “Let me tell you a little more about this case and maybe you will understand why time is so important.”
Ivy nodded. While she did not expect what he had to say would change her stance, she was curious.
“The humans trafficked in this case are children sold into sexual slavery. From what we have learned so far, they range in age from five to fifteen and are from Eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union and Turkey. Boys and girls. Every day that goes by, more kids are abducted, sold, and then go through disgusting experiences that ruin their lives. Every day the kids already sold are going through terrors you and I can only begin to imagine – they are drugged and abused in every way possible.”
Ivy knew her faced registered her horror. She had an expressive face and her emotions could sneak up on her. Agent Nielsen was focused and intent. Even though she might disagree with his approach, she could see that he was a good man -- a demanding man who was driven to fulfill the FBI’s role.
“How many children are involved?”
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 1
