The Land of the Free

by TJ Tucker

  “Nothing as of a few days ago,” said Connolly. “His frantic actions seem to reflect a lack of money.”

  “Thanks, Bill. I appreciate the update,” said a Torres in a way that suggested frustration with the lack of useful information. “Keep me posted on any developments. Based on his comments, I’m positive he’s planning some sort of revenge against me, possibly against the government. Oh, and I really need you to access his financial information. He’ll either have to shut down Morningstar Security or get access to cash from somewhere. I want to know where it comes from. That will be a lot more important than just who he speaks with.”

  “Yes sir, I’ll put someone on it full time.”

  …

  In his 23 years with the Agency, Roger Snyder had occasionally worked with Bill Connolly and knew him casually, but never closely. He always described the former operative and current Director as “that unscrupulous careerist asshole.” In retrospect, he could see how it all paid off for Bill, as he rose from operative to Director, but he was sure it “couldn’t be worth those years of eating crap, and having to compliment the crapper on its fine quality.” Snyder had a rough edge to him, both in manner and appearance. He was a tall man with some heft accumulated by middle age. He had short gray hair that somehow managed to always be out of place in a way that would seem deliberate on a young musician rather than an older CIA Agent. Snyder’s meetings with past Directors had been few and always on routine matters. So he was surprised to get the memo to meet with Connolly on an “urgent and confidential matter.”

  Snyder walked into the Director’s office and looked around suspiciously. “What’s the matter, Roger?” asked Connolly. “You’ve been in here before, yet you look as though my office makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, sorry Bill, I should learn to keep my nonverbal opinions to myself,” said Snyder, earning a chuckle from Connolly. “But it was really weird getting that memo from you.”

  “I concede that was a little unusual,” said Connolly. “But I have an unusual problem that could use your investigative talents. I need a complete dossier on Derek Ellis of Morningstar Security Services, and I’m appointing you to develop it. Regular reporting channels are suspended for the duration of this operation. I’ll send the memo to your supervisor as soon as we’re done here. You will report your findings to me, and only me. I will brief the President personally.”

  Connolly briefed Snyder on Ellis’ recent issues with the Afghanistan contract and the government’s embargo on business with Morningstar. Snyder remained expressionless but was thinking, confidential my ass. My name will never get mentioned. You’ll take all the credit.

  Snyder was beyond fighting these fights and was not going to let Connolly get under his skin. He was looking towards retirement with full government benefits. He finally muttered a simple “I understand.”

  “And Snyder, no mention of the name Ellis outside my office, got it?”

  “Okay Bill.” Snyder left the office and began organizing his thoughts.

  Chapter 23: A Late Night Call

  John Corson took the evening phone call from investigators in New York State expecting more invasive questioning. He was pleasantly surprised that the questions were few and impersonal. “Can you think of why Robbie might have been headed to Chicago?”

  “Robbie worked for a company headquartered in Chicago. He traveled there all the time.”

  “We’re aware of that, but nobody at headquarters was expecting him. Another strange thing is that he booked the flight on a personal credit card, the day before he was killed. He normally used a corporate card for business travel.”

  John told the police he had no idea what Robbie’s trip might have been about, but admitted that it struck him as strange. Even if Robbie had personal reasons to travel to Chicago, he would normally combine them with business and charge the trip to Tilbury. Here he was plainly concerned with ensuring Tilbury did not know of his travels. With everything else John knew, he decided that Robbie was probably investigating Tilbury’s San Marcos operation. You just had to get involved, didn’t you? he said to himself with some anger.

  Thinking about the matter most of the evening, John went through alternating moods of anger, depression and overwhelming regret that Robbie hadn’t listened to his warnings. Finally exhausted, he fell asleep around 10 pm, but was awakened within minutes by another phone call. Confused, he expected more police questions.

  “Mr. Corson, I saw you at Robbie’s funeral. I didn’t trouble you then because it was obvious you were in no mood to talk. That’s understandable, of course.”

  “Sorry, who are you?” asked John, still half asleep.

  “My name’s Frank Goworski. I work at Helsing-Tilbury, and I’ve known Robbie for about 20 years. I called you because I have access to what might be more information like what Robbie was pursuing.”

  “Frank, let me make this clear,” said John, now awake and indignant. “I warned him not to get involved. Do you understand me? I don’t want to get involved and I don’t want anyone else to get killed.”

  “More people are going to be killed regardless, John. That’s why I’m calling for your help. A colleague of mine, Evan Bozak, has disappeared and I fear he’s dead because he was feeding information to Robbie.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. But it doesn’t change my mind. The two of them were mistaken to do what they did.”

  “Bozak had a folder of incriminating papers on Tilbury’s San Marcos operation, and Robbie knew where they were hidden. He was supposed to come to Chicago to retrieve them before –.” Frank didn’t finish the sentence. He paused for a while then added, “Robbie had a copy of at least one of the documents. Until they find it, anybody close to Robbie is in danger.”

  “Jess!” exclaimed John.

  “She’s definitely in danger,” said Frank.

  “So where can we meet?” asked John, now willing to meet with Frank if Jess’ safety was at risk.

  “At Benny’s,” said Frank. “It’s in Chicago on Michigan Avenue, across from the Art Institute. There’s a patio outside. Meet me at the table at the north end of the patio against the wall of the building.”

  “When? And how will I know you?”

  “Two days from now, at 2 pm. You may not recognize me from the funeral, so I’ll have a Chicago Cubs baseball hat on the table beside me.”

  John couldn’t fall asleep again after Frank’s call. He went online and booked a flight out of Philly at 9:00 am that got him to Chicago by 10:30 central time. That would give him time to rent a car and scope out the area around Michigan Avenue where he was to meet with Frank. He could not be too careful responding to such a strange phone call from a complete stranger.

  John returned to bed and tossed and turned for the early part of the night, worrying whether he was dealing with a reckless fool who would get them both killed. And then there was the possibility that Frank was working with Robbie’s killers, fishing for information. But what troubled him most was the possibility that the same people might come after Jess. He was so burned out after the accident that he’d turned his back on any confrontation that came his way. He’d never investigated who might have had something to do with it, preferring to try to compartmentalize it out of his active mind. He had also never been at peace with himself over his meekness. Now, with Robbie dead and Jess possibly in danger, he was going to have to abandon his excessive caution. He would make this trip and follow what turned up wherever it led.

  Having decided on his course of action and accepting the risks, John felt a peace he hadn’t felt for many years. When accepted as such, the possibility of death lost its power over him. He felt free of his past, a new man.

  John spent the next day reviewing all the possibilities in his head and making preparations for his trip, including a side trip to meet with a computer and electronics ace he’d known for many years. He left with some gadgets that he felt might come in handy. He took them to a local FedEx office and had them shipp
ed to an office near O’Hare Airport. He would pick them up there to avoid questions from the TSA.

  Chapter 24: Snyder Goes to Work

  Roger Snyder’s favorite way to start investigating anyone was by looking up their airline flights and private airplane logs. The State Department also had complete passport histories, but Snyder knew that those contained nothing not already in flight histories. Flight histories also told of movements within countries and even cancelled trips. In no time, he had found the records he was looking for. But after examining them for several hours, Snyder was disappointed at the lack of useful information. The man had been everywhere. It was impossible to know which trips mattered. He decided it was time to follow the money, not aware that Torres had said the same to Connolly.

  Ellis’ private finances were easy enough to access, as the Patriot Act made looking at bank records routine. In no time, Snyder had access to a decade of bank records for Ellis, as well as credit card statements and tax returns. The volume of material was staggering, and Snyder realized quickly that he would need expert help if he was to make any sense of it. On a lark, he contacted the IRS case officer who had reviewed Ellis’ tax returns. The call was brief. After pulling up the files and acquainting himself with the material, the case officer said, “I remember this now. There were a lot of transfers of money between him and the company. It looks like he was making loans to the company at certain times and getting repaid at later dates. I never could understand all the complexity, so I just verified that any excess money coming back to Ellis over and above what he had loaned the company was properly taxed, and left it at that. I have too many other eggs to fry. Sorry if that wasn’t much help.”

  Snyder hung up and walked to his window. He looked out over the trees that would soon start changing colors, and the horizon that was finally free of the thick summer haze that plagued the DC area. As he gathered his thoughts, he realized that if nothing else, he knew that there were times when Morningstar had cash flow problems and Ellis wrote personal checks to cover matters. And there were other times when those loans were repaid. The specific times when loans were repaid might represent pivotal events in the history of Morningstar, thought Snyder. Surely, there would be some useful information in the records from those times. He would need to see where Morningstar was getting the money to repay the loans. He put in requests for Morningstar’s financials, so he could key in on dates around the times when they repaid Ellis. As he waited for those financial documents, he began to develop a profile on Morningstar.

  Snyder printed up large calendars spanning a period of 10 years and posted them on the walls of his office. In red ink, he marked up the calendars on dates when Ellis made loans to Morningstar. In green, he marked those dates when those loans were repaid, and appended notes where the amount repaid was significantly above the original amount of the loan. Then he put sticky notes describing headline events in Morningstar history on the calendars. Headline events included things such as losses or gains of contracts, alliances, formation or dissolution of subsidiaries, or public references to activity or its termination in foreign countries.

  One detail quickly jumped out at Snyder. The loss of the Afghanistan contract was followed immediately by a large loan from Ellis that was repaid just recently right after the formation of the subsidiary, Nightwatch Security. Nightwatch immediately secured a large contract to provide security at ports operated by the shipping company Helsing-Tilbury. Aren’t these the guys whose whole management staff was just wiped out in a plane crash? he thought. He put a star on that item as one to check out once he had financial records.

  Chapter 25: To Chicago

  John awoke at 5 am, and cursed when he looked at his clock. He was now aware that he had to be at the airport in a few hours. The anxiety that knowledge brought prevented him from falling asleep again. He slowly got up, packed, and made his way to the airport. Half asleep, he endured the screening gauntlet and walked to his gate with a cup of coffee and a muffin. He was beyond coffee this morning, but for some reason a strong cup of coffee too early would put him to sleep. It worked, and he was asleep before the plane even took off. He only awoke as the plane began its descent into Chicago on a clear, sunny day. He was close enough to being rested that adrenaline alone would keep him alert.

  On landing at O’Hare airport, John rented a Toyota Corolla in a bland shade of beige. Bland cars were impossible to track visually, and that could prove useful. He drove downtown and parked several blocks from the agreed meeting place. John then sat in Millennium Park for about an hour, checking for any obvious threats. At 2:00, he watched a middle-aged man only slightly shorter than himself sit down at the north end of the patio. The table was set for two, and the man placed a Chicago Cubs hat on the table. John was not sure if he recognized him from Robbie’s funeral, but he had not been paying attention. He walked into the restaurant and over to the table. “Hi, I’m John. Is this spot for me?”

  Frank stood and extended his hand. They shook then Frank motioned for John to sit down. “I’m glad to finally meet you, John. Robbie often spoke of you, almost like a big brother.”

  They made small talk until the waitress took their orders, when Frank then started to lay his cards on the table. “Robbie learned something about the shipping containers in the San Marcos facility acquired by Smithfield.”

  John interrupted. “Smithfield being the holding company that also acquired Tilbury?”

  “Yes,” answered Frank. “Robbie asked my friend Evan Bozak to check purchasing records, and everything destined for that location was bypassing the regular purchasing process on a special shortcut directly to top management. Robbie found something else, or else Hozie gave it to him. It was a document that he felt would expose something serious. Robbie decided to contact the FBI and died shortly after that, while Bozak disappeared before Robbie’s death. By the way, I’m very sorry. I know you were at the scene.”

  John frowned and gave his head a quick shake to indicate he’d rather not rehash Robbie’s death. “Did that document ever turn up?”

  “No,” replied Frank. “Not in his office or anywhere I could think to look.”

  “They tore up the camp looking for something,” added John. “At least now I know why. What do you know about Bozak’s disappearance?”

  “Nothing, really. His wife filed a missing persons report and it was totally out of character for him to go anywhere without telling her. I’m assuming the worst.”

  “Robbie mentioned something about that. I’m sorry about Bozak.”

  “There’s something else I have to tell you,” said Frank, almost interrupting John lest he say anything else. “I had precious few visitors stopping by at the office to express their condolences over Robbie’s passing. Only the old timers knew we were close. But earlier on the day I first called you, one of the new Smithfield guys who had only been around since the merger came by asking what I knew about Robbie. I told him I was an old friend from way back, and that we hadn’t spoken for some time. I didn’t want to say more, thinking he was digging for information. But he wasn’t digging, he was giving. He said that Bozak had discovered an arms smuggling operation that in his words had ‘geopolitical significance.’”

  “That sounds like nukes.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” replied Frank. “But neither Evan nor I knew what to do with the information. Robbie went to the FBI and now he’s dead. This Smithfield guy says he has documents to prove it. He may have found Hozie’s folder of papers. But he was worried about being linked to any information leaks, so he asked me if I thought there was a way to get the papers to someone who could use them properly. Robbie himself was going to come to Chicago to get them, so they’re probably important.”

  “And you think I can find a way to blow the lid off an arms smuggling operation when going to the FBI gets you killed?”

  “Robbie thought you could. I’m sorry if I was mistaken, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved.”

  “R
obbie always thought I could do stuff like that, but I couldn’t even get the SEC to do their job when I worked there. How do you expect me to pull off something like this?”

  “Robbie believed in you, John. If we don’t try, none of us is safe. Have you heard about the plane crash?”

  “Yeah, management from Tilbury was wiped out. You think that was suspicious, too?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” asked Frank.

  “Point made. When do I meet this guy?” asked John, still unsure why he was here or what he would do with any information he found.

  “This afternoon at 4 pm, in the Hancock building.”

  “And where will you be during this meeting?” asked John, slightly suspicious of Frank.

  “I’m not going to be there. He insisted on that,” replied Frank.

  “Well that’s nice,” said John with evident sarcasm. “Doesn’t this sound like a trap to you?”

  “I’ve thought about that and it might be a trap. I’m not asking you to give your life for nothing. I’ll gladly give you my gun to take with you, if that helps.”

  “That does help,” conceded John, now calmer than before. “Where is your gun?”

  “In my car,” replied Frank. “We can go get it as soon as we’re done here. It’s on the way to the Hancock building.

  “Where should I go when I get to the Hancock building?” asked John.

  “Take the elevator up to the top. Go to the south facing lounge with a view of the water and the Sears Tower. Sit in the second row from the window. Order a Goose Island 312 and put this pen on the table.” Frank handed John a bright purple metallic pen.

  “Frank, this is just too weird. I’m not some kind of secret agent, you know. And I still don’t know what I’m going to do if I find something useful.”

  “Again, I’m very sorry to do this to you, John. If I knew of another way, I never would have involved you.”