by Moulton, CD
Tony laughed. He seemed to be the only one of them who didn’t take it seriously in the first place. “It has a lot of scientific backing in most ways. I’d call it science fiction, not fantasy. Seems a lot of science fiction is more prediction. Arthur Clarke, for instance.”
“Science fiction – like smoking cigarettes isn’t harmful to your health, it’s more about genetics? There are a lot of socalled scientists who were in on that crap. Big-deal ‘scientists’ are in court every day with bullshit ‘facts’ for the jury. You can buy them a dime a dozen anymore.”
He laughed again. “Ain’t it the truth? You don’t know what to believe. Too many use the net to find information, which means all you have to do is get some, as you say, ‘Socalled scientist’ to distribute phony facts and they become real in uninformed people’s minds.
“You think that’s behind this?” He seemed interested so it wasn’t.
Clint smirked. “I haven’t concentrated on it much. Using the net for actual facts isn’t hard to do anymore. You just have to know where to find the reality. Most things are kept in numerous places. You have to know where to look for the information that was put there before the socalled ‘expunging’ of the records was done. It’s still there and can’t be removed. You can go back and try to change a lot of it, but that’d mean fifty different sites and some way to enter and edit.
“Forget it! Not gonna happen!”
He was the only one who didn’t seem shocked at the statements. Clint grinned at the others and changed the subject. He’d let them wonder about what he may have found in older records on other sites.
“You know about the Mayan predictions ending the world next year? December or thereabouts?” Paco asked seriously. “I begin to wonder more and more if maybe there’s more to them than we know. Having all that information to hand ... things could get pretty bad for a lot of people.”
“For a lot of politicians and dictators,” Clint agreed.
“It’s frightening! I don’t scare easily,” Aumond said and shuddered.
“It makes your jobs as much as obsolete,” Clint agreed. “I’d never checked on Benton before. There wasn’t any reason to that I knew about. It took ten minutes to learn he was a language expert with the CIA for more than twenty years.”
“So! That was why he was used? He was a language expert?” Carter asked, clearly shaken. “What languages? Did you learn that?
“I’d like to know how you found that kind of information. Our organizations only knew he was mixed up in various things in various places where information was lost or intercepted in ways we didn’t know. It was connected to him, but we didn’t know how. All we knew was that he would go to a place and suddenly the CIA knew far too much about our ... projects.”
“I’d think you could have figured it long ago,” Clint replied. “What the hell did you think was happening?”
“We thought he had some way to get locals or our own people to give him information.”
“If I recall the information, he spoke French, German, Greek, Italian, Spanish, Arabian, Monrovian and several more in college.”
“Christ! He never finished college! He dropped out after two years and knew all that?” Friendly cried.
“He finished four years and had a degree in what amounts to political science,” Clint corrected. “He was known as the best interpreter of the decade at the University of Arkansas. Don’t try to tell me your organizations missed that! The bit about dropping out and as much as disappearing from the scene was the cover. He worked at embassies from when he was in the marines until two years ago when he came here when he inherited that place from his Panamanian spinster aunt who had moved to New Jersey when her husband of thirty years died. She had the place here rented out until he supposedly inherited it and moved in. That didn’t take half an hour to find! It’s a standard by-the-book cover!”
“How do you find them? Which sites? Why didn’t anyone in any of ... why weren’t those sites checked?” Carter demanded. “None of our, er, sponsors checked what you found in half an hour? WHY, DAMN IT?!”
“The university archives have copies of all the yearbooks. He went to the University of Arkansas for four years. He was in all the yearbooks for those four years,” Clint said condescendingly. “I would think that kind of thing would be completely checked first thing. I can’t picture an organization in the business you’re in not checking that kind of thing as routine.”
“You’d think they could think,” Aumond snarled acidly. “Apparently that’s not a prerequisite to the job. After all, it could get us all killed, not them!”
“We’re surrounded by incompetents, but that’s just par for the course. ‘It’s good enough for government work’ is true a hell of a lot of the time,” Friendly snarled. “You know, I think maybe the Mayans are right. They didn’t say the world would end, only that it would go through catastrophic change. With what’s happening in the world they have the timing about right.”
“C’est la vie! I’d better get going. I just came into town for a few groceries,” Clint said. “I’d advise you that a lot of your ‘solid’ information’s not too accurate and to be very careful. You’re dealing with people like you.”
Tony really laughed at that.
Clint went on to the China and home with the groceries. He called Sergio with his throwaway phone and told him much of what had been said and done and about Benton.
“I figured. Some idiot from the US consulate came and told me they would investigate it because he was an American citizen and may have been involved with drug smuggling or some such crap.”
“To which you replied?”
“It is a murder. It is in Bocas Town, Isla Colón, Bocas del Toro, Panamá. I am in charge of investigating violent crimes. I would appreciate his cooperation in my investigation. I would not turn it over to some stupid foreign agency I’ve learned through sad experience not to trust one millimeter to pursue.”
“To which he replied?”
“Blah, blah, blippety blah.”
“Typical.”
“Uh-huh. You found out one hell of a lot that we couldn’t find. I’d like to learn your method.”
“Go to the old records on the net. The newer ones are, shall we say, altered.”
“Yes. The problem is that I don’t know which older records to check.”
“Whatever occurs to you when you sit in front of the screen. On most subjects you can rely on what’s current in a lot of cases. On things like this you have to find the records made before the alterations began.” They talked awhile more, then Clint rang off and decided to see if he could find anything more about the proposed new project to move the oil tanker overland. He wanted to know what Ahmad’s connection was. That might mean finding a lot of facts about him.
An hour later he knew little more. This was a case of a man who seemed to be in the spotlight quite often in mostly unimportant ways for so-so reasons. His companies were in a lot of different places and dealt with a lot of different things. Mostly to do with oil production and distribution. He had a lot of power that he used judiciously. He made about two million per year if the records could be believed. He gave away about that much to various causes and charities.
Bullshit! That 230 foot floating palace cost him more than fifteen million! What was inside probably cost as much or more. He was known for collecting antique jewelry and had paid more than three million dollars for some old emerald tiara worn by some long-dead empress. He had quite a lot of things from the Americas with historical value. He had bought numerous items from the pirate cache Clint found four years ago. He had gone to Panamá City for the first time to bid on the treasure. He went through the canal and was impressed. He came back to Panamá a couple of times since, once in April, 2009.
Okay. Whatever, it had come about in the past couple of years.
Two or maybe a little longer. Benton had been in Bocas for that long. He was sent in a hurry so it was something that had happened fairly fast. He arri
ved in Bocas in early May, 2009. That timing had to mean something. That, plus the fact they hadn’t enough time to get the records in place to explain him. Something happened in late March or early April of 2009 that Clint would have to concentrate on. He also wanted to know, for his own edification, why the five were still here. That “why” had to do with a “who” – and it wasn’t Ahmad. He was here for the same reason they were here.
Clint sighed. He would have to go to Panamá City for answers. He didn’t like cities.
Clint took a flight. He wasn’t up to a nine hour bus ride at the moment. He arrived in the city at two thirty and checked into the Hotel California. He walked around a bit, then went to the police station for more information. He had worked on several cases in the city and they knew him well. They respected him and the fact he wasn’t a glory-seeking pain-in-the-ass violence freak like in the American novels.
Emilio Barca was the new head of homicide. He’d met him twice before and was impressed with his professionalism. He would cooperate in any way he could. Clint explained that he was working on an odd murder case in Bocas that had connections to several other countries. Benton was CIA, which the US wanted kept quiet. He also explained that the CIA wasn’t aware he was on the case or that he knew that’s what Benton was doing there.
He spent the afternoon looking through any information they had on when Ahmad was there. He had paid for extra security in the city, using off-duty police. They refused to allow him armed guards he brought with him.
Clint talked with two of the officers who were in the city on rotation (Panamá rotates the police every so often. It makes for less corruption if they don’t get too cozy with certain people in a given place) and had been paid, very well, for the approved security duty with Ahmad. They said he wasn’t the best employer, but he wasn’t at all bad. It was just that he seemed to think he was some kind of king or something who could order them around or to do things that weren’t legal here. They weren’t about to walk into a restaurant and order people at a table he wanted to move!
They didn’t know many of the people he met with, but he went to a big plush office by the causeway. Some kind of engineering firm. A lot of Chinese people and other foreigners. Scientific Solutions Innovators Worldwide, S.A. The guards had to wait in the lobby when he was there. They weren’t allowed to go inside to the offices. The elevator always took him to the 22nd floor, the penthouse suites. There was a helipad on top. They knew that because he had once gone in one for four hours. Hours they had to stay in the lobby to wait for him. At four bucks an hour they would wait weeks if he wanted.
Oscar said he saw a man there, maybe a gringo, who Ahmad met in the fancy club outside of town in the ritzy section. He believed he was called Ralph or Rolf.
Clint went to a very good restaurant, which Panamá has a number of, then to the hotel for the night. Tomorrow he was going to have to find out a thing or two about SSIWSA.
It was raining in the morning. Clint took a taxi to the SSIWSA building and went inside. He went to the receptionists counter and asked to speak with someone there, he didn’t have a name except Ralph or Rolf, to do with the oil tanker project. She said she wasn’t aware of any oil tanker project, but he may mean Rolf Samson. He didn’t work there, but was there a lot of the time to meet with clients to explain investments or research projects. He worked mostly with Mr. Chan and Mr. Moto.
Chan was Chinese. Moto was Japanese. Neither was on premises today and wouldn’t be until next Wednesday. They were in Mexico City. Samson had an office in the Edificio Whitehall. Clint had seen that one so thanked her and went outside to hail a cab to take him almost across town to the Whitehall Building. He found the Inversiones Samson Panamá offices and went up. The secretary said Samson would be in at two. Clint picked up some pamphlets and said he’d be back then. He went back to the hotel and looked over the pamphlets, which were mostly land sales brochures. One was about purchasing land for future projects.
Clint sat back to think. Any of the proposed routes for that silly overland route went through the comarcas. There was no way the Indios would sit back and let the government take anymore of their land. The one scheme Clint held against Martinelli had to do with what seemed a thinly disguised attempt to dispossess Indios of their property in the name of progressive land titling. So far, the Indios were holding their own and the president didn’t need the negative publicity over the rest of the world about it.
He studied the brochures about land acquisition. It was pretty well set that this was purchase of land from the Pacific to the Caribbean in a given area. It was something you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for that specific kind of thing. He noted very carefully which part of the comarca was on the end of the route. He had been there once before and knew some of the people in charge in the comarca. He might go there before he returned to Bocas.
He got a good lunch in the chicken place two blocks from the Hotel California and headed for Rolf’s offices at ten ‘til two. He was there and waiting when Samson came in at two ten. Rolf came in the door, saw him sitting there and greeted, “Clint Faraday? I’m Rolf Samson. Come on in and we can talk.”
He hadn’t spoken to the secretary. He wanted Clint to be impressed that he would have any information about him at all so Clint paid no attention to it and followed him into the plush offices.
“Some people who work for an acquaintance in Bocas said to expect you. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, you just did,” Clint answered. “I wanted to know if you were connected to them. You are.”
He grinned. “I think I like your cool. I played the trump card and you finessed it beautifully!”
“I begin to see what this is about. Leave the Indigenos out of your schemes. Only screw the ones who can afford it. I’ll stay out of it to that point.”
“The Indios aren’t involved. I promise you that.”
“Your routes – any of them – go through the comarcas. The Indios won’t allow it so they’ll be attacked by the government on some silly pretense and dispossessed. It ain’t gonna happen if I have anything to say about it.”
He studied Clint for a minute, sighed and said, “You figured this a lot better than I thought. I still say the Indios aren’t going to be affected. Trust me.”
“Oh? Who? Ahmad?”
He grinned. “No comment!”
“Yeah. He only makes a couple of million a year,” Clint said with his grin. “I don’t see how you can make anything on it.”
“There were about three zeroes left out of the official financial report. Printer’s error.”
“Benton’s dead. That’s a bit too far.”
“Benton had nothing to do with my part. There are four distinct parts to this puzzle. The closest to hand was behind that fiasco. It wasn’t even their representative who killed him. It wasn’t about this, either. It was because of something that happened somewhere and somewhen else that Benton caused. He caused it by turning on the ones he was supposed to be protecting. Somebody’s brother died as a result.”
Clint thought about that. “Friendly’s the only one big enough to have done that except in an insane rage.”
“Very true, but rage was part of it.
“Listen, Clint. I wouldn’t be a part of this if it weren’t about some things that were done to a lot of innocent people to allow Ahmad to get that much money. He’s a devil with an angel’s facade. I want to get it back. I only want what it’ll cost me.
“Panamá can be a very strange place, the way it affects your outlook on life. I’ll do things I never would have considered in other circumstances. It’s a matter of looking for the real source of things. In the states that wasn’t easy. It isn’t even possible in most circumstances. There, nobody’s exposed to the truth of a lot of things.”
“There, I agree. I’ll check a bit on what reason Friendly might have for the killing of Benton and maybe drop it, but that doesn’t include staying out of it if and when my friends or Panamanians get dra
wn into something nasty.”
Samson nodded. They chatted about little inconsequentialities for a little while. Clint found Samson was the kind of person he could be friend’s with. They shared a certain philosophy about pragmatism. Panamá affected a lot of people that way.
Still, he wasn’t sure he could trust Samson too far. He could be running a con on Clint Faraday as well as on others. He would have to go slowly and cautiously.
He was going to do one thing, certainly. He wanted to visit his Indio friends in a certain part of a certain comarca.
Checking Things
Clint greeted Nacio and Keno with hugs. He was welcomed with the usual Indio enthusiasm as he got off the bus. It was a beautiful day and this was in the lush rain forest area near the coast.
“How is Nita? Samuel?” Clint asked Nacio. Nita was his wife and Samuel was his six year old son. He said they were doing fine. It was a very good year for crops and cattle. The puebla now had dependable electricity, which was good for television and refrigerators. Keno said he preferred firelight, but you had to go along with whatever passed for progress among the gringos and Latinas. They didn’t have the brains to look around to see who was content and who was always looking for things they couldn’t have. “They lie and steal and work their butts off to get a thing, then it’s not what they wanted from the first.”
Clint laughed and agreed that’s the way of the socalled civilized world. Progress that leaves everyone further behind.
After a couple of hours of visiting and meeting with all his friends he brought up the planned project to put a highway for gigantic tankers from the Pacific to the Caribbean. Their part of the comarca was the only place nearly flat enough for that kind of stupid route.
“No. It would have to be in the mountains,” Miguel said. “The land on the flat part has nothing under it but sand and too much water. Even the footpaths that have been there for many centuries have to have new rocks put in every year. The old ones sink when there is a lot of rain in the mountains. The water flows under and the sand gets wet enough that you sink if you try to walk on it. The rocks sink. You can see that now. It’s not even the wet season and you sink over your boots if you don’t stay on the rocks. Even the rocks sink. You cannot get enough rocks to come up from the bottom. For all my life and the lives of my grandfathers and great-grandfathers we have put new rocks in every year and they still sink, just not as fast as where there are no rocks.”
