USA, Inc. (A Mike Wardman Novel: Book 1)

by Larry Kahaner

  “No, but I—”

  “Let me review,” Burke said. “We have multiple murders that lead to Kane’s company, but no evidence of his direct involvement. We have this same company actually working with the FBI on special projects. Am I getting this all right?”

  Mike nodded.

  “And we have the governors. They were on a list in TAI’s office—”

  “Where an employee was murdered, and I was fingered for it by Hearst,” Mike added.

  “Okay. Wait, what?”

  “I forgot to mention that, too,” Mike said. “It’s all right, though. He changed his mind.”

  Burke slumped in his seat, exhausted at nine A.M.

  “Of course, that was before I clobbered Hearst’s two Bureau thugs and whacked him pretty good, too.” Mike smiled. “He got me back later, so we’re even.” Mike decided not to mention the blown-up car. “And just for full disclosure, Marilyn’s sister, Evelyn, knows Kane. I think he had a thing for her. That’s something, eh?”

  Burke stifled a laugh, swiveled his chair, and looked out the window at the cloudy sky. He focused on something in the distance, then turned back to Mike.

  “We’re done here.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asked.

  “I mean we’re done. It’s all the FBI from here on out. You’re off the case.”

  Mike stood up. “You can’t do that.”

  “Can. Did. Look, Mike. Don’t make me say this. There’s the FBI, and there’s us. We handle fishing laws, okay? Man for man, I will stack my guys against theirs any day, but it’s over. This order comes directly from the secretary’s office. My hands are tied.”

  “What happens now?” Mike asked.

  “You can take a few weeks off and cool down, or you can return to your normal enforcement duties. Your choice.”

  “I can use some time to myself,” Mike said.

  “You’re on your own for two whole weeks. And I do mean on your own.”

  Mike thought he’d caught a wink in Burke’s eye.

  Two weeks? That’s when Kane has all his dough. Now that’s a coincidence.

  Mike laughed. “You got it, boss.”

  Chapter 39

  Richard Kane felt the whoosh of the helicopter blades. The air pushed his clothes against his body as he struggled to stand upright. Men and women in dark suits with Uzis and determined looks ringed the landing pad.

  As the wind machine settled into place, the door opened and its passengers disembarked. More people with guns followed, then people with briefcases, until finally the person Kane was waiting for stepped into the sunlight.

  The passenger hesitated at the top step and saw Kane. Instead of a smile of recognition, as Kane had expected, the man’s mouth went tight. His walk down the stairs was stiff and measured.

  Kane tensed. He held out his hand for what seemed like a long time before it was grasped. “Good morning, Mr. Attorney General.”

  The cabinet head managed a polite smile.

  “Please, come inside.”

  They walked through the tall doors of Kane’s house into a marble lobby. Kane himself had overseen the house’s reconstruction some twenty years ago, after it had been burned and left for dead more than a century before that. Emancipated slaves had torched it after learning of their freedom. The owners fled north, leaving the grounds abandoned, buildings rotting, and tobacco fields overtaken by weeds, while the extended family fought each other over the wreckage. Kane had made an offer that satisfied everyone, and he set about restoring its grandeur, ever mindful of the horrors that had taken place there.

  “At some point, our country needs to acknowledge that our nation’s prosperity was kickstarted by slavery,” Kane said. “It would make a difference in race relations for us to recognize the contribution, albeit forced, that has allowed us to build the richest country in the world. Don’t you think so, sir?”

  The AG looked up at the domed ceiling, then back at Kane. “Are you talking about reparations?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible. What would be the amount? How would you distribute it? Impractical at best. No, I’m talking about an honest and public recognition of the work and sacrifice by slaves who brought wealth to this country. Certainly it was against their will, but it was a massive contribution nonetheless.”

  “Another time, perhaps,” the AG said curtly. “Let’s get on with the matter at hand.”

  “Of course. Please, let’s talk in the library.”

  Two men opened the doors and several others walked in, scanning the room even though they had checked it before the AG’s arrival.

  “Leave us alone,” the attorney general said as he and Kane entered.

  The protective detail filed out and the door shut. The two men sat facing each other.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” Kane said, pointing to the bar.

  “Scotch, neat.” Before he began, the attorney general peered at his phone and smiled. “My granddaughter got an A on her history test. Takes after her old man. I had to fight to keep this,” he said, shaking his phone. “The Secret Service doesn’t want me to have it—says it’s a security issue. I can’t see how my grandkids’ schoolwork can cause a terrorist attack. They worry too much. How about the money?”

  “Proceeding as planned. I’ve got about another five governors to go to reach our goal. It should be completed in less than two weeks.”

  “Any trouble from the IRS?”

  “Not that I know of, sir.”

  “Good. I can’t really keep them off you. As much as I would like to issue an informal memo to keep them away, even I have limits. All it takes is one low-level asshole investigator to make a stink, some GS-nothing to call the Washington Post, and the other party would be all over my shit. What about the FBI?”

  “I think we’re good there, too. We have a relationship with them on several levels.” Kane adjusted his tie. “There still is one issue. We’ve talked about it.”

  “Have we?”

  “Not specifically. To use your words, he’s a low-level asshole investigator, and we can’t seem to shake him.”

  “Who is this person and what’s his interest?”

  “His name is Mike Wardman, and he’s a law-enforcement officer at NOAA.”

  “NOAA? Are you kidding me? What’s he do, protect dolphins?”

  Kane squirmed in his seat. “Something like that.” He saw the attorney general’s eyes widen and his features sharpen. “His ex-girlfriend was murdered along with the crew of the Judy Bee. That’s the fishing—”

  The AG waved his hand. “How much trouble is he?”

  “I’m not sure yet, sir. Even though he’s what they disparaging refer to as a ‘fish cop,’ he’s no slouch. Former FBI.”

  “So get the FBI to keep him on a leash. Somebody there must know him.”

  “They’ve tried, but this Wardman fellow won’t play ball. He’s determined to find the killer.”

  “Why not find the killer and give him up? You have investigators. What’s the problem?”

  Kane thought for a minute. “The men who murdered the woman are dead.”

  “Why is he pursuing this, then?”

  “My sources tell me that he wants to find the killers’ boss. He doesn’t believe they acted without direct orders from someone higher up.”

  The AG finished his drink and slammed down the glass. “Would that someone be you, Kane?”

  “No, Mr. Attorney General. I have never ordered anyone to be harmed. Not one single person.”

  The attorney general stood up. “If you’re screwing with me, Kane …”

  “No, sir. I’m telling the truth.”

  “Then someone from your security company?”

  Kane pursed his lips.

  The attorney general paced in front of the bookshelves. He ran his finger over the spines, turned back to Kane. “If this plan works, the country will—”

  A knock on the door interrupted the meeting. “You’re due at the White House, sir,” a v
oice from the other side said.

  The attorney general walked over and put his face within inches of Kane’s. “I will not have this operation fucked up by one inconsequential pissant. Do you understand?” His warm breath hit Kane. “This is bigger than any one person. Even you. Do I make myself clear?”

  He opened the door and walked through without waiting for a response.

  Kane heard the AG and his entourage walk away on the tiled lobby floor. He laughed at the AG’s attempt at intimidation.

  Chapter 40

  “So let me get this straight,” Evelyn said. “You can’t rely on your boss’s help anymore. The FBI has put you on the expendable list, and if what Hearst says is true, you’ve got less than two weeks to find out what Kane is up to.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Mike replied. “Except for the fact that Kane’s men have been trying to maim or kill me, depending upon whose version of the story you believe.”

  “He seemed like a nice man. Generous and all.”

  “They always are.” Mike switched his phone to the other ear so he could open his fridge and snag a beer. “Somehow, I need to get into his mansion and plant some bugs.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “I suppose.” Mike took a deep gulp and stifled a burp. “But only if they find out. I’ve gotta talk Al into doing it. He’s good at stuff like that.”

  “Do you think he’ll go for it?”

  “He had a taste of action the other day. I think he liked getting out of his geek life, even though it scared the crap out of him. I think he’ll do it. He better. I’m running out of people I can trust.”

  “There’s one person you forgot about.”

  “You want in on this?”

  “You bet your ass I do. If Kane’s the bad guy here, I want to know about it. I don’t want to believe he’s behind my sister’s death. But if he is, I want a piece of him. I don’t like being fooled. Besides, like you said, you’re running out of people you can trust.”

  Mike took another swallow. “If Kane’s people catch us, it won’t be pretty. We’re not talking cuddly lemurs here.”

  “Do I need to go through my stories again? I talked my way out of a pirate roadblock in Somalia a few years back. After that, I stood my ground when a tribal warlord accused my team of spreading a deadly disease to his people. Do you think some rich guy scares me?”

  The line went silent.

  “Evelyn? Evelyn?”

  “Sorry, I’m back. I was making travel plans. Pick me up at National tonight, 8:30, US Air.”

  “Evelyn, I—”

  “See you tonight.”

  • • •

  As Mike opened the door to the Ocean Breeze bar, the smell of stale beer hit him like a baseball bat. Mike often wondered whether the owners produced the odor on purpose to discourage families from dining there.

  Brenda the bartender was holding court at the end of the bar with a few biker pals when she spotted Mike. She leaned her elbows on the bar and her red hair fell in front of him.

  “Long time, no see, sailor.” Her green eyes sparkled, even though the place was too dark to read the names on the tap handles. “What’ll it be?”

  “Jameson, neat. Double it.”

  “You got it. Where you been? Haven’t seen you since …”

  “Here and there. I’m looking for Al. He’s not answering his phone.”

  She placed the drink on the bar and tapped the wood twice.

  “Thanks.” Mike made it disappear and put the glass down smartly.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “A couple of gentlemen were looking for you.”

  “What’d they look like?”

  “They smelled like cops to me,” she said. “Or criminals. Sometimes I can’t tell them apart.”

  “I have the same problem. What’d they say?”

  “They just asked if I had seen you lately, and I said no. Then they asked if I knew where you were, and I said no.” She motioned toward the end of the bar. “Hey, Willy, come here for a sec.”

  Mike felt the floor shake as Willy moved closer. The man’s face looked like an open pit mine. He looked at Mike with black eyes that threatened to suck the life out of him and everything in the room.

  “Mike,” he said, smiling, grabbing him around the shoulder with an arm as thick a man’s thigh and pulling him in. “Long time, no see.”

  “That seems to be today’s theme,” Mike said after he’d stopped vibrating.

  “I was just telling Mike about those two jamokes who came in here the other day,” Brenda said. “Remember? They were asking about him.”

  “Sure, sure. Cops, definitely cops. Private, I’d say.”

  “How do you know?”

  He produced a brown wallet. “One of them kind of left this.”

  Brenda lowered her eyes at Willy. “You promised you wouldn’t do that shit in here anymore. Scares away the customers.”

  “They’re not regulars.”

  “Yeah, guess you’re right. Fuck it.”

  He handed it to Mike. The money pocket was bare, and the credit-card compartment was empty except for a Discover card.

  “Nobody takes that,” Willy said.

  Mike fished out a keycard with a Telecommunications Associates International logo on it. “Can I have this?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Keep the wallet, too. I just found it lying around.” Willy smiled.

  Mike put a twenty on the counter. “Give Willy what he wants.”

  Willy returned to his stool and began gabbing with his buddies as Brenda brought him another beer. She returned to Mike. “Another?”

  “Why not. About Al …”

  “Upstairs. You know the way.”

  He downed his drink, leaned across the bar to peck Brenda on the cheek, and walked to the backroom. He nodded to Willy as he passed.

  The backroom was even darker than the bar, and Mike ran his fingers on the wall until he felt a door.

  As he opened it, he saw a sliver of light at the top of a flight of stairs. He walked up cautiously. When he reached the top, he saw the back of Al’s head. He was sitting on a couch, staring at a gigantic screen. The room turned colors with the light from the television.

  “Al,” Mike said. Then louder, “Al!”

  “He can’t hear you,” said a voice from the adjoining kitchen. “He’s been this way for days.” The young man was holding a bag of Fritos in one hand and a beer in the other.

  “Who are you?” Mike asked.

  “Name’s Blaze.” He put down the beer, wiped his hand on his pant leg and extended it.

  Mike glanced over at Al. From this new angle, he could see a game controller in his hands, fingers and thumbs punching away. His eyes were still glued to the screen as animated warriors shucked and jived, holding longswords. Every few seconds, a head would be lopped off and roll down a cobbled street.

  “I needed a place to crash. We’re bros from way back, so he said, ‘Yeah, dude.’” Blaze offered the bag to Mike, who waved him off. He popped a few chips in his mouth while he talked.

  “He conked out on the couch, and in the middle of the night, like three or something, I hear this scream. I’m like … fuck, man … I don’t know. Ya know? I ran in, and he’s all agitated and shit. I’m like ‘What the hell,’ and he’s shaking like anything. I think maybe he’s having a seizure or something. He starts talking about some guy named Mike—hey, is that you? Anyway, he’s talking about guns, and cars blowing up, and I dunno. I couldn’t make out much. I figure he’s just trippin’, so I lay him back on the couch and he goes to sleep. About an hour later, the same shit happens, and I’m like ‘What the hell?’ He’s sitting up and saying the same stuff. This time, he’s shaking even more and shit. I get him a bowl and … You’re not a cop, are you?”

  “Just a friend. Go on.”

  “So he takes a hit and he’s like all mellow. The next day, I get up to go to
work and he’s playing games. I’m like ‘That’s cool, as long as he’s chill.’ I get home and he’s still playing games. I’m like ‘Hey, that’s cool.’ So I nuke a burrito and go see my babe. I get home like midnight and he’s still there. Now I’m getting worried. He’s been playing for like two days straight. My girlfriend thinks I should call 911, get him some medical attention, but I dunno. I figure he’ll get hungry or sleepy and stop. Sure you don’t want a beer?”

  Mike shook his head and sat next to Al. He shook his arm. “Al, can you hear me?”

  No response.

  Mike shook harder. “How do you turn this thing off?”

  “Let me do it.” Blaze grabbed a remote, fingered a button, and the screen went black.

  Mike took the controller from Al’s hand. He felt no resistance, and his head still faced the blank screen.

  “Holy shit, man,” Blaze said. “Is his brain fried?”

  Mike stared directly at Al. Nothing. He grabbed both shoulders and shook. No response.

  “Get me a glass of water,” he ordered.

  A minute later, Mike stood in front of Al and held the glass against his chest, winding up to throw.

  “Stop!” Al screamed. “I’m good.” He blinked a few times, twisted his head, and smelled his armpits. “I need a shower.”

  Blaze looked at his phone. “I gotta bounce, dude. No need to lock up. Brenda keeps an eye on things.”

  Mike strolled around the apartment, perusing wall posters, looking at the shelves of DVDs. He peered into the bedroom and saw an unmade bed, a bong on the nightstand, and an open book on the wooden floor.

  He heard the water stop, and Al walked out with a towel around his waist. “I’m hungry. Is there any food in the fridge?”

  “Are you okay, Al?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fine. That shit with the two guys and the car … that was epic, right?”

  “Your buddy says you’ve been incommunicado since I last saw you.”

  Al spied the bag of chips on the kitchen counter, shoveled the contents into his mouth, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash. He opened the fridge and closed it again. “I need some food. Wanna go out, Mike?”

  “Yeah, sure.”