The Butcher's Bill (The Linus Schag, NCIS, Thrillers Book 2)

by Martin Roy Hill

  "But why would Gordias put a hit on you?"

  Butcher's tooth-filled grin stretched across his face.

  "Because I discovered it was Gordias that stole all that money from Iraq," he said.

  ☼

  They moved from the small desk and were sitting in chairs with renewed drinks in their hands.

  "How?" Schag asked. "Why?"

  "Gordias was making a fortune off the war in Iraq," Butcher continued. "But the people running Gordias got arrogant and started making errors. They spent megabucks buying a company without doing proper due diligence. It wasn't until after they completed the buyout that they realized the company was being threatened with a class-action lawsuit over an industrial accident that killed a few dozen workers. The value of that company nosed dived to less than half of what Gordias paid for it."

  Butcher sipped his Scotch before continuing.

  "About that time, the economy faltered and some of those companies Gordias had management contracts with went under. Gordias not only had a worthless new company, but the fee streams for the letters of credit used to buy it had dried up. They were facing bankruptcy, dissolution, criminal charges, who knows what else? That's when they decided to steal the Iraqi money."

  "Wait a minute, Bill," Schag interrupted. "Who is they?"

  "The SOBs who run Gordias."

  "And they would be?" Schag asked.

  "At the executive level, the CEO is a former U.S. Senator," Butcher answered. "The board of directors has a couple former prime ministers, a former U.S. president, and a variety of other well-heeled, influential political hacks."

  "What?" Schag exclaimed, stunned. "A president, a senator, and a prime minister?"

  "Two prime ministers," Butcher corrected. "A couple sheiks and what-not, too. It's part of their operation. They sell political influence more than anything else. Who says 'no' to a former president or prime minister?"

  "Okay, I'll bite," Schag said. "Which U.S. senator? Which president?"

  Butcher shook his head. With his drink in hand, he pointed toward the laptop.

  "It's all in there," he said. "But they don't matter because they don't actually run Gordias. There's a silent partner who prefers to stay in the shadows. He's the guy in charge."

  Butcher sipped of his drink, and smiled as Schag leaned forward expecting him to continue. Butcher loved being on stage, loved an audience, and he was soaking this up.

  "Well? Go on, damn it," urged Schag. "Who?"

  "Charles Bennett the Third."

  "Bomber Bennett?" Schag said, finding his voice. "The next secretary of defense?"

  Butcher nodded. Schag remembered the offer of an NCIS bodyguard Tom Riley made during their videoconference with Bennett, and told Butcher.

  "We wondered why he would prefer Gideon in light of . . ." Schag paused, choosing his words. "In light of current events. He said he wasn't assistant SecNav anymore and wouldn't take it."

  Butcher understood the euphemism and let it pass. "Bennett always uses Gideon, going back to when he was assistant navy secretary," he said. "Government bodyguards are required to log every place they go and every person their charge meets. Gideon doesn't do that. Bennett can go wherever he wants and meet whomever he wants in secret."

  "But how does he figure into the missing money?" Schag asked.

  "Remember, before he was assistant SecNav, Bennett was in the State Department," Butcher said. "It was his idea to send the Iraqi money overseas in cash. They could've done wire transfers, but he argued that would have left it in the hands of corrupt Iraqi officials." Butcher made air quotes around the word 'corrupt.' "Better to send it in cash that could be handed directly to the contractors doing the reconstruction."

  "And the State Department bought that?" Schag asked.

  Butcher shrugged. "Who could refuse?" he said. "Bennett likes to hide in the shadows, but he's got a lot of power. He pulls a lot of strings."

  After taking another sip of Scotch, Butcher continued. "Anyway, Bennett was in charge of organizing the money transfer. Surprise, surprise. He hired a Saudi financier named Awadhi to be his front man in Baghdad. Awadhi organized everything from the time the cash arrived in Iraq to its final dispersal, including all security for the cash. And guess who he hired to provide that security."

  "Gideon," Schag said flatly.

  "Bingo," Butcher said, raising his glass in salute.

  "Bennett's people determined a single Air Force C-130 could carry $2.4 billion in shrink-wrapped bricks of $100 bills. So once or twice a week, a C-130 loaded with dozens of pallets of cash landed at Balad and handed it all over to Awadi—that is, to Gordias. When the airlift operation was finished, so was Awadi. A vehicle he was riding in conveniently got hit with an IED."

  "You're saying Gordias simply walked off with nine billion in cash and no one noticed?" Schag said. "I can't believe that."

  Butcher leaned forward. "You don't understand, Lin," he said. "It wasn't just nine billion. It was more than forty billion." Butcher watched Schag's face go slack with disbelief, and nodded. "And most of it is unaccounted for."

  Butcher let that sink in before continuing.

  "Most of it probably did go to contractors, but there are no receipts showing who got how much and what for," he said. "Whether those contractors ever built anything to earn the money is another question. The corruption in Iraq was unmanageable. Hell, Congress approved $61 billion in taxpayer-funded reconstruction in addition to the $40 billion of Iraqi money, and most of it went into shit work. All that's known is that at least eight point nine billion magically disappeared. It arrived at Balad, then no one saw it again." Butcher shrugged and shook his head. "There might have been more, but no one knows how much. My hunch is some of it went to the insurgents to get a free pass out of the country without being blown up by IEDs. Hell, that's how we got them to stop blowing up our troops."

  Butcher referred to an Army program that paid insurgent leaders and their followers one hundred dollars per month per man. The program was more effective at reducing the violence in Iraq than the so-called Surge pushed by the White House.

  Schag nodded and sat quietly, thinking about what Butcher told him. "I admit, Bill, that's pretty convincing conjecture, but that's all it is. How do you know the missing money went to Gordias?"

  Butcher smiled again. "Because as soon as the cash transfers were complete, Gordias was flush. All those companies that had no money were feeding Momma Bear again. Even the companies whose failures caused Gordias's money problems in the first place started paying their fee streams, even though they were no longer in operation."

  "They were laundering the money through dead companies?"

  "Spotting that was what unraveled the knot for me," Butcher said. "It was just like Alexander the Great using his sword to cut the Gordian Knot. It all just fell apart."

  "And they found out what you knew and put a hit on you?"

  Butcher shook his head.

  "Not right away," he said. "Somehow they knew I was still looking into that missing nine billion. That's when things started going badly for me at NCIS. I kept getting called on the carpet for all kinds of minor things. Got bad evaluations. Given all the crap assignments. You know office politics. You become the goat and soon everyone is against you."

  "Mobbing," said Schag, remembering what the psychologists at the task force meeting had said about the phenomenon. Butcher looked at him questioningly. "It's what the head shrinkers call it when the people in an organization start harassing an individual."

  "Huh," Butcher said. "Mobbing. Yeah, well they did a mobbing on me, that's for sure. I finally resigned, under pressure."

  "Did you ever find out how Gordias knew what you were doing?" Schag asked.

  "Nah," Butcher said, shrugging. "Maybe it was a mole like we had in Iraq. Maybe even the same person. Alternatively, maybe they caught wind of all the Internet research I was doing. No way of knowing."

  "They figured you'd stop looking into them if you lost your ba
dge," Schag said.

  "Well, the fuckers thought wrong," Butcher replied. "It wasn't until I stumbled on those dead companies that Gordias sent Gideon after me."

  "Tell me how that all happened," said Schag.

  "I was up north visiting Yolanda and the kids," Butcher said. "You know we separated?" Schag nodded. "That's a whole different story. Anyway, I noticed these two goons following me as I started back south. I recognized one of them as a Gideon merc I knew from Iraq. They followed me as I headed up to the cabin. I didn't know if they were tailing me to see where I was going or whom I was meeting. So, I figured I needed to have a talk with them. That's when one of them told me about the hit. After that, well, you know the old saw—the best defense is a good offense."

  "Jesus, Bill," Schag said, "you killed and beheaded them."

  "Only one," Butcher insisted. He added more quietly, "I know. I know. But it seemed like a good idea at the time." He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know where I get these ideas anymore, Lin. It just happened."

  "And the man at the Gideon compound?"

  "Fucking Cavendish," Butcher spit. "I needed him to confirm what the other guy told me. Cavendish was the one who told me about that fake suicide letter on Facebook. Hell, I don't even have a Facebook account. Cavendish gave me the password and later I added to the letter."

  "What the media is calling your Bill of Demands."

  Butcher nodded. "Yeah, I hear they're also calling it The Butcher's Bill. Very clever."

  "Why?" asked Schag. "Why not just delete the damn thing?"

  "Nothing is ever really deleted from the Internet, you know that, Lin. At some point, someone would find it and it would just play into Gideon's and Gordias's hands. That's why I left it and added my demands. If something happened to me, it'd still be out there for people to find. You know, make them think a bit."

  Butcher paced the room. "Who am I kidding? I don't know what I was thinking." He patted his head. "Things aren't always right up here, Lin. They haven't been since I got back from Iraq. Yolanda mention that?"

  Schag nodded. "Why did you write my name on the wall?"

  "Because I need your help, Lin," Butcher said. His face look strained. "I don't think I’ll get through this." He turned and dipped his head toward the laptop. "I want you to keep that disk. Get it to the right people if I can’t. Someone who can do something with it."

  "Like the media?" Schag asked.

  Butcher sneered. "Did you know almost all major news outlets in this country are owned by five corporations?" Schag shrugged, shaking his head. "Well, they are. And guess who has some tie to each of those corporations."

  "Gordias," Schag said. "So the news media wouldn't do anything with it.

  "You figure out who can do something with it," Butcher said. "But not now. And don't let anyone know you have it. If Gordias finds out you know anything about what I found, they'll be after you next."

  Butcher stood, pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and tossed it to Schag.

  "It's a burner," he said. "Registered to no one and prepaid in cash. I have its mate. You need to get hold of me, use it, and I'll do the same. But don't leave it on. Power up every hour and check for messages, then turn the damn thing off again."

  Schag slipped the phone into his pocket. Butcher moved toward the door.

  "Bill, wait."

  Butcher turned back, and looked at Schag, waiting.

  "About the problems you've been having," Schag said, tapping a finger on his head. "There's a Navy doc I know who thinks it's because of some medicine you took to ward off malaria. It causes problems in some people."

  Butcher took a step forward. His eyes widened, hopeful. "Is there a cure?"

  "Honestly, she doesn't know. But she said she might be able to help you, but only if you're still alive."

  The hope in Butcher's eyes faded. "Oh," he said. After a moment, he asked, "You said she's a Navy doc?"

  "For now," Schag said. He explained how the private detective Gavin had uncovered Commander Clarke's love affair with a female sailor under her command.

  "Gavin? That's the guy you were following when you got shot?"

  "Yeah."

  Butcher fell silent a moment, then asked, "And you think what Gavin did was to discredit the doc's research into this … what'd you call it?"

  "Agueloquine."

  "Check those files I gave you," Butcher said. "Gordias has an interest in one or two pharmaceutical companies. Maybe there's a connection there."

  "I'll do that," Schag said.

  Butcher turned back to the door, stopped, and turned around.

  "If you're planning to call anyone to tell them about this meeting, Lin, just do me a favor," he said. "Give me ten minutes to get off base. Will you do that for me?"

  Schag nodded, and Butcher left. As soon as the door closed, Schag reached into the night stand drawer for his Blackberry. He opened the directory, but paused before dialing. After sitting still for a minute, he replaced the phone and slid the drawer closed.

  CHAPTER 21

  FRIDAY

  Naval Base Point Loma

  San Diego, California

  1415 Hours

  SCHAG SPENT THE REST OF that night and most of the next morning going through Butcher' disk, opening one file and reading through it, then the next. Some of the best law enforcement investigative work was based on the painstaking tracking of minute details in documents. Elliot Ness and his Untouchables didn't bring down the Prohibition gangster Scarface Al Capone. An accountant going through Capone's business ledgers discovered Scarface was not paying his taxes, and that put the gangster in federal prison.

  Schag had the television on low, half listening to the reports about the manhunt for Bill. Now and then he stopped his work to watch a report if it seemed to have new information. So far, though, Bill Butcher seemed to have disappeared. Throughout the day, Schag powered up the burner phone Butcher gave him and checked for messages. There were none, so he continued reviewing the files.

  The amount of information Butcher had on Gordias, LLC, was massive. The firm had its tentacles in everything—banks, manufacturing, trans-oceanic shipping, air cargo. It even owned an interest in a Middle Eastern port operations firm that had contracts to run a few of the United States' largest commercial ports. Schag wondered for a moment how, in the post-9/11 era, the country tolerated such a major security compromise. But he soon remembered what Butcher had told him about Gordias's board of directors—a former U.S. president, a couple of prime ministers, and an Arab sheik or two. Schag shook his head and moved on through the files.

  Gordias's financial records were just as interesting. After being drummed out of the Naval Academy for a deadly accident that wasn't his fault, Schag went to law school. He married a woman whose father was a controlling partner in a large Wall Street law firm, and Schag married into his father-in-law's business as well as his family. When Schag's wife ran off with a hirsute college professor a few years later, the Wall Street job went with her. While he regretted losing his wife, he didn't regret losing the job. Schag's sense of right and wrong was too well honed and his dedication to country too strong to work in a field where sociopathy and limitless greed were required job skills. Yet the time he'd spent on The Street gave him perspective on how the wealthiest corporations and persons conducted—and sometimes hid—their business activities. As uncomfortable as he had been with those machinations, the experience proved useful when he became an NCIS agent.

  As Bill had told him, Gordias was using a variety of purported revenue streams to back up letters of credit. It wasn't illegal, but it was dangerous—essentially a legal Ponzi scheme. That type of risky business activity was, in part, responsible for the worldwide economic collapse of 2007. As in a Ponzi scheme, when things went sour, the people at the bottom of the pyramid paid the price, not the schemers at the top. Even considering the corruption that led to that economic collapse, Schag had never seen an operation on such a wide scale as Gordias. The only reason no
one ever questioned Gordias's operation was the names of the men at the very top of the organization.

  Schag wondered if Bill had been correct about Bomber Bennett. Nothing in the documents on the disk showed Bennett had any role in running Gordias's day-to-day business. There was a news profile on Bennett that mentioned he helped found the firm, but beyond that, he seemed to have little or no connection with it. The same profile, however, described Bennett as a kingmaker and power broker, an Ozian man-behind-the-curtain who placed men in the spotlight of leadership but shunned it himself. Bennett had served as an assistant secretary of state and assistant Navy secretary. Both were powerful though anonymous positions. It struck Schag as odd that Bennett would now allow himself to be considered for the high-profile post of defense secretary.

  If Bill was right about Bennett's power over Gordias, and Gordias was linked to the missing Iraqi money, Bennett's future in politics and business—both in the spotlight and in the shadows—would be destroyed. That kind of motive could easily drive a man to order another's murder. Schag remembered what Bill said about the fates of Awadi, the man Bennett hired to handle the Iraqi money, and the official who discovered some of the missing money in a Lebanese bunker. Both died under suspicious circumstances. In Schag's mind, the first two deaths made Bill's story—including the attempt to make his murder look like suicide—more credible.

  Clicking through more folders, Schag found one of particular interest: Medico Pharmaceuticals. Butcher said Gordias owned a pharmaceutical company, and urged him to check them for any connection to agueloquine. Switching to Google, Schag entered the firm's name. Hundreds of hits came back. Scrolling through the pages, he spotted one that mentioned "anti-malarial" in the headline. Schag click on it. The article described the problems a few takers of the drug were having, and pointed out that most pharmaceutical companies had stopped its production—but not Medico Pharmaceuticals. It continued to make agueloquine for distribution throughout Africa, where it was much cheaper than other prophylactics. Despite being cheap, it was still profitable to Medico—and hence to Gordias— which appeared to have a monopoly on its sales in the African continent.