“Sure, but make sure you tell them we have evidence on the Milsap murder. I know Pops will remember me, but the evidence on the murder will surely get us in the door quickly,” Zach replied.
“They’ve got the elections rigged, they extort, even murder politicians who don’t vote their way. We have to focus on uncovering that ASAP. Hell, for all we know, there could be another assassination planned. What the hell else could they be up to, Zach?” asked Zeke.
“Whatever it is, we better find out before they implement it. America is at war with itself, gentlemen and, as we stand here today, we are the only ones aware that we’re in a war!” said Zach in a determined tone.
Chapter 28
“Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it.”
Thomas Paine (1737-1809)
Founding Father, Author of “Common Sense,” credited with stoking the American Revolution & the single most successful American title in history (proportionally)
Nils Ottosson walked down King Street in Alexandria, wearing a heavy wool coat, plaid scarf, and dark sunglasses. A cigarette hung loosely from the side of his mouth.
Three men stood outside a pub, dressed in too-skinny European suits incongruent for their body types. They spoke softly in heavily accented English. All were chain-smoking cigarettes until they spotted Ottosson walking down the street and, taking one last deep drag each, they quickly tossed the butts to the curb.
Ottosson walked right past them, not acknowledging the men as he strolled through the downstairs bar, which was already full of after-work happy hour revelers. The Swede moved straight through the bar and headed up the wooden steps to the second-floor bar, which was strictly a whiskey bar and had only a few patrons sitting on the bar stools.
The three Russian men waited a few minutes, then went in and up the same stairs and pulled up chairs to a corner table, furthest from the bar, with Ottosson.
“Gentlemen, it’s good to see you. All is well?” asked Ottosson, looking at all three.
“Aw, yes, all is very well,” said one of the Russians, who had a shaved head and looked like he could be the Russian version of a Special Forces operative or SEAL.
“Here’s a toast to Walrus! Very good work, gentlemen. You are true professionals,” boasted Ottosson, referring to the operation that assassinated Chief Justice Noyner. Two of the three men were on the boat with Ottosson that day as replacement crew.
“Do you have something for us, my friend?” asked the lead Russian.
Ottosson leaned over in his chair toward the Russian to let him see down into the deep pocket of his wool overcoat. Inside the pocket was a thick envelope full of cash.
“Oh, very nice. Very nice,” the Russian responded.
Ottosson took off his coat and placed it over the chair behind him. “We have set the date for Madison, my friends. I trust you have all the pieces in place?” asked Ottosson.
“Yes, of course, but first we must drink a toast to our victories. Some good Russian vodka, yes?” laughed the Russian, wanting to celebrate before any more business took place.
Ottosson motioned to the bartender to get his attention, and he promptly came and took their order. “We don’t have vodka upstairs but, for you, I’ll run downstairs and grab our finest!” he said, knowing from Ottosson’s frequent meetings in the same bar that he was an over-the-top tipper.
A few minutes later, all four were drinking toasts. “First, to the success of Walrus and to future success with Madison!”
“I would guess by now there are no suspicions about the outcome of the investigation surrounding Walrus?” the Russian asked.
“No, sir. In fact, America has already replaced him,” chuckled Ottosson, which was followed by nervous snickers from the Russians.
“We have heard that. We are so happy for you. We are good? Yes?” asked the Russian.
“Yes, you are professionals! Very good to do business with!” Ottosson reaffirmed.
The group momentarily stopped talking as the bartender brought another round of vodka shots.
“Do we have a date and location for Madison, my friend?” the Russian wondered.
“Indeed, we do,” said Ottosson in his Swedish accent. “September 7th.”
“And where will we be required to be, my friend?” pressed the Russian.
“You will receive explicit instructions soon as there is quite a bit of prep work needed to pull this off,” Ottosson stated as he leaned forward to speak more softly. “This is a more dangerous mission than Walrus, and it has to be executed properly. It is extremely perilous, my friends.”
“Yes, Mr. Ottosson, we understand. And your people will pay more, yes?”
“This is worth millions of dollars to your team,” Ottosson whispered.
“Standard terms, my friend? Yes? One-half when plan is approved and one-half when complete?” the Russian asked.
“Of course, and we will continue to pay the stipends you have been getting every month,” assured Ottosson.
“This is good, my friend. This is very good!” The Russian raised his vodka glass for a toast as Ottosson motioned for another round.
Suddenly, one of the Russians, who hadn’t spoken at any point, whispered something to the leader in Russian, glaring at Ottosson.
“It would seem we have had a friend join us. Mr. Ottosson, is he your friend?” asked the Russian. His entire tone, body language and facial expression changed. “Do not look at the bar, my friend. I just need to know if someone is with you.”
“No, there is nobody with me. You know you only deal with me. What are you talking about?” Ottosson forced himself not to look obvious as he tried not to look toward the bar.
“Nobody?” asked the Russian again. “You are sure, my friend?”
“Trust me, Vasily, nobody!” Ottosson insisted.
“My friend, if you ever say my name again in public, I will kill you with an ice pick through your skull. Do you understand me, my friend?” snarled Vasily, who was just short of being fully enraged.
“Damn, yes! Yes, of course!” Ottosson stressed. He knew he was very close to a disastrous situation.
“There is a man at the bar who was not sitting there when we sat down, my friend. If he is not with you, why is he so interested in what we are doing over here?” questioned Vasily.
“He’s not with me, I can assure you of that, my friend. Don’t look now, but I think the guy you are worried about is leaving.”
The conversation stopped for a few seconds as they waited for the man at the bar to pay his tab and walk out. Vasily motioned to his two friends, who waited until the stranger went down the stairs, then they got up, put their jackets on and strolled casually after him.
Vasily looked at Ottosson and announced, “We will find out who this man was that was looking at us suspiciously. Are you sure you were not followed?”
“No, I can assure you I wasn’t followed, and there is nobody in my organization who knows who you are, only me!”
Ottosson was a lobbyist, politician, opportunist, playboy and a wannabe cloak-and-dagger agent, but by no means was he trained in counterintelligence. He would never know if he was being followed by an intelligence professional.
“Well, I must be getting up and on to other business, my friend.” Ottosson was getting nervous and wanted to leave.
“No, my friend, you will sit here until my comrades come back,” instructed Vasily, while forcefully putting his hand on Ottosson’s shoulder to keep him from standing.
Ten minutes later, the other two Russians came walking up the steps, concerned looks on their faces. The three chatted in whispers in Russian. Ottosson was clueless about what happened.
“This man at the bar suddenly disappears? Vanishes like a ghost?” said Vasily, looking at Ottosson with obvious suspicion.
“They couldn’t find him?” asked Ottosson.
“Nyet,” came the Russian reply.
“Maybe somebody picked
him up on the street, like he had a ride or something,” reasoned Ottosson.
“That could be, my friend,” Vasily said to Ottosson, his tone disbelieving while he coldly stared at Ottosson as if trying to look into his soul.
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Ottosson said nervously. “What did he look like?”
“We got a very good look at him. We will know him if we see him again. It would not be good if we see him again when we are with you, my friend.” Ottosson found Vasily’s response chilling.
“Okay, gentlemen. It's time for me to go. We'll meet again in two weeks,” Ottosson told them, trying desperately not to sound rattled because he realized if the same guy showed up at the next meeting, Vasily would kill him.
“Maybe we should pick a different place, my friends. I will let you know.”
“Yes, my friend, maybe we should,” replied Vasily, the same intense look in his eyes.
Ottosson got up, shook their hands, and left without his coat.
Vasily picked up the coat, left purposely behind with the cash in the pocket, and draped it over his right forearm as he walked out.
Three blocks away, a former CIA counterintelligence officer sent a coded text to Zach Turner from the passenger seat of the car that picked him up:
Ottosson & Russians rendezvous at King Street Pub/Alexandria - Had to ditch
Chapter 29
“The liberties of a people never were, nor ever will be, secure, when the transactions of their rulers may be concealed from them.”
- Patrick Henry
Founding Father, Revolutionary Attorney (self-taught),
Orator, Five-Time Governor of Virginia,
famous for “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death” speech
Zach was elated that Pops Younger agreed to meet with him. He was even happier when the meeting was scheduled for Pops’ central Texas ranch instead of the dreary gray confines of the Texas Department of Safety headquarters building in Austin. Zach, Will and Beard left the outskirts of Houston early on a Friday morning for a noon meeting with Younger.
Zach had not seen or spoken to Pops since the governor’s funeral during the height of the Texas Crisis, but Pops was understandably preoccupied then and didn’t have much time for Zach.
Zach pulled into the Younger ranch and up to a pair of Texas Rangers waiting at the ranch gate.
“Are you Turner?” asked one of the Rangers when Zach rolled the driver’s side window down.
“Yes, sir, and this here is Turnbow and Beard.”
“You can go on up to the ranch house,” replied the Ranger.
The asphalt road from the gate was a winding half-mile road lined by live oak and pecan trees. A couple of times, Zach had to beep his horn to move some large longhorn cattle off the ranch road.
“There he is,” said Will. “He’s on the front porch.”
“Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day, do you, boys?” commented Zach, wryly smiling and indicating the unmistakable figure standing on the front porch that would make you think you were stepping back into the 1880s.
Pops wore a starched white pearl snap western-style shirt, cowboy-cut Wrangler jeans with a large silver belt buckle, and black alligator boots. He also wore his silver felt cowboy hat, and sported the thick, bushy handlebar mustache he was so famous for. That large mustache had made a worldwide comeback with twenty-somethings, baby-boomers and others sporting Pops’ look. The trend could be credited to the video footage seen around the world of Pops shooting charging Mexican federales with his two ivory-handled Colt revolvers on the International Bridge in Laredo during the most intense days of the Texas Crisis. The YouTube video of that scene had over six million views.
His Rangers were dressed much like Pops, but wore their silver star Ranger badges on their left chest pockets. Pops didn’t have to. Everyone knew he was the law just by looking at him.
“I’ve met the last three presidents before Bartlett, and I can tell you, I’m more anxious to meet Pops than I was of any of those dudes,” offered Beard.
“Well, you won’t be disappointed, Beard. He’s a helluva guy,” answered Will. “I haven’t been around him as much as Zach, but damned if I didn’t come away learning something from that man every time.”
As Zach, Beard and Will exited the truck, Pops stepped off the porch to greet them. Despite his fame, Pops wasn’t much for pomp and circumstance. Where many politicians or famous personalities would have waited for them to come pay homage to him, Pops went out of his way to greet people.
“Mr. Younger, this here is Will Turnbow and Beard,” introduced Zach.
“Beard, huh? That’s his entire name?” commented Pops. “I don’t think your momma named you that, did she, son?”
“No, sir,” said Beard, “but that’s about all anybody has called me for years. Very nice to meet you, sir,” said Beard.
“Mr. Younger…”
“Hell, call me Pops. Everybody else does,” interrupted Pops as Will was about to re-introduce himself.
“We’ve met a couple of times, sir, but you probably don’t remember,” chuckled Will.
“No, sir, I do remember. Last time we met was at the Capitol right before the last referendum vote,” Pops said.
“Damn, sir, you’re right. I’m surprised you remember. There was a bunch of us in that group that day,” answered Will, who was stunned Pops remembered him.
As they walked into the main ranch house, Zach whispered to Will, “Hey, Will, don’t think Pops doesn’t know exactly who he’s meeting with. Nothing gets by Pops.”
As they entered the main living area of the house, Zach was surprised at how much larger it was than it looked from the outside.
“Gentlemen, help yourselves.” Pops pulled out a small wooden cigar box, flipped open the lid, and grabbed one for himself before he passed it around.
“Thank you, Pops,” said Zach, taking a cigar before passing the box to the others.
Will remembered a saying attributed to Pops, in which he stated, “I don’t know nobody that don’t hunt, smoke cigars or drink bourbon, but not in any particular order and, if they do all three, chances are I like ’em.”
Beard didn’t smoke cigars, but he sure wasn’t turning one down.
Pops introduced three other senior Texas Rangers that were going to sit in on the meeting.
“Pops, we have come across some sensitive information that could help with your murder case of Senator Milsap,” offered Zach to start the meeting.
“Here, y’all need a cutter and torch?” One of the Rangers passed around the cigar cutter and lighter. It appeared that Pops couldn’t start the meeting officially until they all had their cigars lit.
“Okay, son,” he told Zach. “We know your background and we know some of the things you folks have been involved with in the past. Sounds like you have been in some tight spots. I speak for all the Rangers when I tell you we appreciate your service.”
“Thank you, Pops, that means a lot coming from you,” said Zach.
“What do you boys do now, exactly?” asked Pops with a piercing stare.
“Corporate security, sir,” answered Zach.
“And my momma is the Queen of England,” chuckled Pops as he looked at his Rangers, who were also laughing.
The three visitors were a little taken aback. Their militia participation and network was not widely known.
“You’re right, sir. In addition to corporate security work, we have an active militia organization,” Zach stated directly and without hesitation.
“Nothin’ to worry about, son. We know the work you folks do. Truth is, I wish more folks would take that same kind of interest in things going on today. I know Governor Cooper and his wife were very fond of you, and that carries a lot of water for me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, before you show me what it is you have about the assassination of this state senator, explain to me how you boys got whatever information or ev
idence you got.”
“We still have some strategically placed friends at the agency, sir. They brought us some information unrelated to this murder, and our subsequent research turned up additional evidence,” said Zach.
“I see. And in what official capacity were you doing this investigation, son?”
“Nothing official, sir. It’s just our interest as citizen patriots,” answered Zach.
Zach and Beard were quickly determining in their own minds that Pops already knew the answer to almost any question he was going to ask them.
“And how do you finance your investigations, son?”
“Well, sir, you…”
“Oh, yes, corporate security, right?” interrupted Pops as he drew in a big toke from his cigar.
Zach sensed Pops was testing him.
“As I’m sure you are aware, Pops, we have patrons that support our cause.”
“What is that cause exactly”?” asked one of the deputy Ranger commanders.
“We are committed to holding law enforcement, the military, and government officials to follow the Constitution, and to their constitutional oath to protect citizens from all enemies, both foreign and domestic,” stated Will proudly.
“So you’re a citizen militia then?” asked the Ranger.
“That’s one aspect of our membership group, yes. I’m sure you’re aware that, during the American Revolution, every community had a militia for the common good,” Will pointed out.
“What’s the name of your group?” the Ranger asked. “I can’t say that you or your friends here have ever shown up on any of our lists.”
“And what list might that be?” asked Zach, testing the Ranger right back.
“These boys are well within their rights to organize and hold government and law enforcement accountable, John,” said Pops to his deputy commander. “These boys have never presented us with a problem.”
“Free Texas,” shot back Beard, who hadn’t said a word so far after the initial introductions.
“Free Texas… from what exactly?” asked John.
“Keep it free. That’s all,” Zach interjected, attempting to shut down the direction of the conversation.
Purge on the Potomac Page 15
