by TJ Tucker
THE LAND OF THE FREE
TJ Tucker
Second Edition
Copyright © 2012 by TJ Tucker
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission. Brief quotations may be used in articles or other publications discussing this book or related topics. For further information, contact the author by email: [email protected]
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This is a work of fiction. I have created all the scenarios, characters and institutions portrayed here out of my imagination, or have used them fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or institutions is purely coincidental, and should not be construed as intentional. All events and scenarios are likewise fictional or have been used fictitiously.
Any background information I have chosen to footnote and link with a hyperlink is entirely for the reader’s entertainment. I cannot guarantee either the permanence of the links or the accuracy of information they contain. They may also expire over time and be replaced by other content, and I cannot take responsibility for that possibility.
THE LAND OF THE FREE
Chapter 1: Mid August
Chapter 2: A Meeting of Friends, June the Following Year
Chapter 3: On the Border
Chapter 4: President Jackson Torres
Chapter 5: Golfing with Stahl
Chapter 6: San Gustavo
Chapter 7: Visit from an Envoy
Chapter 8: The Scoop from Purchasing
Chapter 9: Analyzing the Motives
Chapter 10: A Close Call
Chapter 11: Formulating a Response
Chapter 12: A Leg Wound
Chapter 13: Closure
Chapter 14: Irregular Procedures
Chapter 15: Answers to Demands
Chapter 16: Fallout, the Day After the Response
Yellow Sea, Earlier That Day
South China Sea, USS Ronald Reagan
New York, Universal Investment Bank
Washington, DC, Federal Reserve
Beijing, the previous evening
Chapter 17: Reaching Out
Chapter 18: A Lucrative Deal
Chapter 19: Confinement
Chapter 20: A Clean Slate
Chapter 21: Silver Lake
Chapter 22: Investigating Morningstar
Chapter 23: A Late Night Call
Chapter 24: Snyder Goes to Work
Chapter 25: To Chicago
Chapter 26: Reaching Limits
Chapter 27: Meeting a Stranger
Chapter 28: Delivering the Report
Chapter 29: An Unfinished Matter
Chapter 30: Assessing a Response
Chapter 31: Clearing a Scene
Chapter 32: To Albany
Chapter 33: Meeting Jess
Chapter 34: Lyle Ferguson
Chapter 35: A Resignation
Chapter 36: The Ferguson Estate
Chapter 37: A New Threat
Chapter 38: The Memo
Chapter 39: Meeting with Havenstein
Chapter 40: A Forger
Chapter 41: Digging for Information
Chapter 42: Contadora
Chapter 43: Fred’s
Chapter 44: San Marcos
Chapter 45: Into the Desert
Chapter 46: The Limits of Power
Chapter 47: Jess’ Mission
Chapter 48: Ellis’ Place
Chapter 49: Lyle Investigates
Chapter 50: Warehouse
Chapter 51: Making Sense
Chapter 52: Unexpected Rescue
Chapter 53: Logistical Review
Chapter 54: Annapolis
Chapter 55: Returning Home
Chapter 56: Costa Rica
Chapter 57: With the Howes
Chapter 58: Dwight Crosby
Chapter 59: Reconnecting
Chapter 60: At Laughlin
Chapter 61: Dropping the Pretense
Chapter 62: A Stunt
Chapter 63: Langley
Chapter 64: A Change of Plan
Chapter 65: Basel
Chapter 66: Access Difficult
Chapter 67: Burrows Speaks
Chapter 68: Stahl Cautions
Chapter 69: At Sea
Chapter 70: Operation Commences
Port of Newark
Laughlin AFB
Lindbergh Field, San Diego
Miramar Marine Air Base, San Diego
Amistad Dam, Texas
Quantico, Virginia
South China Sea
Georgetown
The Pentagon
Chapter 71: Torres Informed
Chapter 72: The Situation Room
Chapter 73: Executive Session
Chapter 74: Decision Time
Chapter 75: Hollow Victory
Chapter 76: Kurdi’s Farm
Chapter 77: To Del Rio
Chapter 78: Basel II
About the Author
Chapter 1: Mid August
Colm Rowley was in a hurry. A senior analyst with the CIA, he had spent the last two weeks on a high priority report, and his family life was strained. Now that he had finished, it was time to make amends. Having submitted the report and finished work, he needed to gas up the car and get to that little league baseball game. All the trouble was going to be worth it. His wife would have to understand. This report would get him noticed in the intelligence community. There would surely be an upside for the family.
As instructed, he had delivered the report to the Director in person about four hours ago. By now he would have had a chance to read it. He kept replaying its conclusions in his head as he got out of his car to pump gas. The air in the DC area was thick and stifling, and his breathing tightened as he took in the heat and humidity. I should take better care of my health he thought. He was overweight, with high blood pressure and signs of diabetes. What good would it do to be a star in the intelligence community if I’m not around to enjoy it?
It had started with an assignment to develop a dossier on Helsing-Tilbury, one of the world’s largest shipping companies. They had been acquired by a mysterious holding entity with no public face, Smithfield-Warwick LLC. The Chief was curious about who was now behind Tilbury, so he assigned the Agency to look into it. As he started pumping gas, Rowley smiled as he considered the likely reason for the President’s interest. He probably wanted to know who to approach for his political fund raising. But what Rowley had found was deadly serious, and political donations would not be the Chief’s principal concern when he saw the results.
Tracking Smithfield’s ownership had been very tricky. Intentionally so, he thought. The Byzantine ownership structure was layered so deep with front entities that only a stroke of luck, combined with his considerable skill enabled him to identify the true owners. Once he had, he knew exactly why they had tried to hide their identities. This will be explosive he thought to himself. Heads will roll.
The sudden, searing pain in his chest literally took his breath away. He clutched his chest, blood now spreading rapidly across the front of his shirt. Was that a gunshot?
He realized he was dying. It isn’t fair. His family would never see the upside of what he’d done. He felt cold despite the summer heat, as his consciousness faded away. He collapsed and was dead within seconds.
The swarm of police converged on this the scene of the latest in a series of seemingly random shootings in DC. It had become a regrettably familiar pattern since the shootings began. First came the swarm of police vehicles, followed shortly by ambulances and television crews. The police cordoned off the area around the pumps while the paramedics retrieved the body. The cameras were kept at a distance, and the reporters filmed their segments against the backdrop of the crime scene. Th
e chatter from the scrum of reporters blended into a single sound, like so many chirping crickets, as the crews worked on the scene. But this time, shortly after the paramedics had loaded Rowley’s body on their gurney, a second ambulance arrived along with four unmarked cars. The door of one of the cars opened and a man in a dark suit stepped out, walked to the local crew and flashed his FBI badge. “We’ll take this from here,” he said, at which the local paramedics shrugged their shoulders while the local police grumbled among themselves. Rowley’s body was loaded into the FBI ambulance and whisked away. Meanwhile, the crime scene was cleared of anyone not with the FBI, and several vans of investigators quickly converged on the scene.
The investigators worked into the night collecting all possible evidence, including any fragments of the hollow tipped bullet that killed Rowley. By the following morning, all traces of the crime scene had disappeared, as had any chance the public would see any evidence turned up by the investigation of the murder of Colm Rowley.
Chapter 2: A Meeting of Friends, June the Following Year
Halfway between New York City and Albany is the old city of Kingston, a relaxing drive through the Hudson Valley with expansive views of the Catskills. John Corson made the trip to join his longtime friend Robbie Linssman for the weekend. Robbie’s daughter Jessica was graduating from the University of Albany the following day, and their families had once been very close. The girls used to play together, before the automobile accident that claimed the lives of John’s wife and daughter.
John arrived at Robbie’s house early Friday evening and the two men took a short walk, enjoying the smells of late spring and the sights of old Kingston on the Hudson. They settled into a booth at the Riverside Cafe, a comfortable place with an out of the way feel.
“It’s really nice to see you and again,” started John. “And Jess graduating. That touches me as deeply as if she were my own daughter.”
“I know,” said Robbie. “If it weren’t for you, she might not even be here.” John had once saved a four-year-old Jess from drowning. She had fallen into an icy river and John jumped in to save her. He managed to cling to her and to a tree branch until rescuers could reach them. After Jon’s loss, Jess filled the hole in John’s heart like a biological daughter.
To change the subject, Robbie said, “Helsing-Tilbury’s been bought out. I told you about that last fall.”
“Yeah?”
“The buyer was this shell company called Smithfield-Warwick, LLC.”
“I remember you telling me this. Have there been any problems with them?”
“None. You’d sort of expect to have fresh MBA jerks wearing their fake smiles and loafers, crawling up your ass looking to impress the boss by finding a few cents in efficiency. I first thought it was some equity fund that wanted to juice up our earnings and sell us off, or take us public again. But there’s been nothing like that. No visits from the bosses. Not here or any of the big sites around the world.” Robbie lowered his eyes and frowned slightly.
“Well cheers to that,” said John as he raised a glass. “You don’t like those punks any more than I do, so what else is there to make you look at me like that?”
“There’s a lot more, actually.”
They were interrupted by a news update on the television mounted in the corner of the cafe. Another financial crisis and scandal was brewing. This one was related to the settling of positions in the commodities markets. China had evidently purchased gold futures contracts on the COMEX, and when the settlement date came, asked for gold bullion as was specified in the contract. Most investors never invoke the right to claim bullion, preferring to take cash instead. As a result, many suspected that there was not sufficient bullion to back the contracts that changed hands. In this case it looked as though somebody had indeed been caught with their pants down, and had no bullion to settle the position. If this was not contained, it could bring down banks all over the world. Many banks had large short positions in gold, meaning that they had sold gold without owning it and now owed gold rather than currency. John had an extensive financial background, so he made a note to himself to look into this a little more deeply when there was time.
Robbie resumed. “Tilbury ships containers all over the world. Mostly, we ship full containers from China to the rest of the world, and then we scramble to fill them with anything we can on their way back to China. Even still, most go back empty.”
“Sure, the trade imbalance is atrocious.”
Robbie continued. “Most of what we do here in Kingston is compliance work, making sure that the paperwork that governments require is in place. The US government is the big problem for us. The public story is that they’re protecting us from terrorists. The actual wording in C-TPAT is clear though. It’s all about collecting duties. Nothing new there, and with my background, at least it’s a living.”
They ate and drank a little and John gave a knowing glance, which Robbie took as his cue to resume. “The big logistical bottlenecks for Tilbury as a whole are the branch points in shipping. Places like the Malacca Strait, the Suez and Panama canals. Panama’s the busiest for us, with so much US bound freight passing through. The exporters in China find it easiest to load the biggest ships as full as they can, with freight bound for either the big ports on the west coast or for the Panama Canal. Some years ago, the Chinese bought ports at either end of the Canal to serve as sorting stations. They combine available ships bound for individual ports in the Gulf, the Mississippi or the East Coast, with cargo bound for those destinations. Our office keeps track of what’s going where, ensuring all the forms are filled in, and all the taxes are paid.”
“Robbie, you’ve told me this story in various forms”.
Robbie raised an index finger to get John’s attention. “But Smithfield recently bought San Marcos Island. It’s an uninhabited member of the Pearl Island Archipelago off the coast of Panama, with a natural harbor. I don’t get it. The ports are not at capacity today, and the Chinese will never in any case allow their cargo to be diverted from the ports they already own. If they’re expecting an income stream, they’re badly mistaken. The investment could sink the company.”
That twist caught John’s attention. Irrational financial behavior from a large institution is suspicious in and of itself, he thought. He had left the Navy after training briefly to become a SEAL, becoming disillusioned with the ends for which the military was used. He joined the SEC with idealistic notions that he could weed out corruption in the financial markets. He quickly saw the politics that went into deciding who was prosecuted and who was not. Undaunted, he had been breaking open a financial scandal in the face of substantial pressure not to pursue the matter. That was when the accident happened. His wife Joanne, and his young daughter Sarah, were driving down a hill that turned abruptly at the bottom, next to a river. The brakes failed, and John’s life was never the same. Needing a change in his life, he joined a large investment bank and became independently wealthy by engineering the very transactions he had so loathed while at the SEC. John finally retired at age 47, now nine years ago. “What do you know about the ownership group?” he asked Robbie.
“Nothing. Not even a memo introducing themselves. Nobody I’ve spoken with could tell me anything about Smithfield, not even Magnuson, the CEO. I briefly spoke with him this past winter. Think about that for a second. The chief admits to a mid level employee that he’s out of the loop.”
“Do you have any reason to worry?” asked John.
Robbie shrugged. “If they fail, I’ll be out of work. If they start smuggling drugs or weapons through the San Marcos port, I might be linked to the paperwork and I’d have some explaining to do. But no, I’m not seriously spooked.”
“What about the Panamanians. Do they know who bought the Island?”
“They have no idea where the money came from, if you believe what I’m hearing. But you have to figure they were bribed in any case. I’ve made inquiries in a number of places, so maybe something will come back with subs
tantive info.”
“Sometimes Robbie, it’s best not to dig too deeply into things like that. Any one of the scenarios you described could get you fired, or worse.”
“That doesn’t scare me anymore.”
Feeling that Robbie had exhausted the topic, John felt comfortable changing the subject. “Have you been up to Silver Lake yet this year? It must be getting beautiful by now.” Robbie had a small camp in the Adirondack Mountains, and they had spent many vacations there together.
Robbie shook his head. “No, it hasn’t worked out for me. The place is ready but I’ve been tied up with all this crap. Besides, I like it best in August, when the bugs are gone and the water’s still warm. Would you like to come up later this summer?”
“You know you don’t have to ask twice. As soon as we have the date, I’ll clear everything else from my schedule” replied John.
Chapter 3: On the Border
Border Patrol Agent Cam Burrows was not in a forgiving mood. Not since visiting his friend and fellow Agent Jason Gilbert in the hospital that morning. His outrage was building over the events leading to Gilbert’s hospitalization. Gilbert had been patrolling near Sanderson, Texas, between San Antonio and the Big Bend area, when three armed pickup trucks crossed the Rio Grande into US territory. He knew the protocol full well. He was not to confront raiders with superior armaments. He was to stand back and report the incident rather than risk his life and possibly start an international incident. But he had a job to do, and he had his pride. He was disgusted at all the times he simply stood by while armies crossed the border unchallenged. Welling up inside him, his resentment caused something in his temperament to change on that day. He made toward the group and turned on his siren and lights.
The pickups swung their machine guns around and peppered Gilbert’s Chevy Tahoe with bullets from top to bottom. Gilbert managed to alert his team of the incursion in spite of his wounds. The sound of automatic weapons fire could be heard over the radio before the bullets destroyed its circuitry. When the helicopter reached Gilbert a half hour later, they found him near death. Burrows visited the hospital as soon as he heard, and was overwhelmed to see his friend lying there comatose, suffering major blood loss and systemic shock, battling for his life.
