The Recruiter

by Roger Weston

  Harry squirmed in his chair. “I’ve got my editor to deal with. This is sensitive stuff, and we have to do our homework before we put it out there.”

  Chuck frowned. This was not working out. He was getting red tape and didn’t have time for it.

  Two hours after he’d left the reporter, Chuck found himself in an internet cafeteria, drinking another café con leche. He logged on to his email and found a disturbing email. “Back off or Lydia dies.” It was signed by Gavin Harker.

  Chuck closed the page and returned to the street. He caught the subway back to the hole-in-the-wall hotel he and Jeff had checked into and tried unsuccessfully to sleep while he waited.

  After awhile Jeff came in with sandwiches, but Chuck couldn’t eat. “I’ve packed your bag,” he said. “We’re going to the airport.”

  “I thought our flight was tonight.”

  “It’s now.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Waikiki, Hawaii

  From Waikiki, Karla drove up past Diamond Head to Black Point, an exclusive residential area with multi-million dollar homes and stunning views of the Pacific Ocean. She pulled up to an elaborate copper gate and pushed the call button. After a moment, she heard a buzzing sound, and the gate rolled back, revealing a brick driveway that wove through a stunning garden with palms and abundant flowers. Karla parked in the shade of a banyan tree.

  A Colonel Butch Green walked out to meet her.

  They exchanged the usual formalities and shook hands.

  “Nice digs you’ve got here, Colonel.” Karla scanned the lush grounds and the Italian-style villa that must have been seven thousand square feet. “Too nice for me. I’d get soft in these conditions.”

  “It belongs to a friend of mine. He lent it to me for the week. I’m on leave.”

  “Appreciate your talking to me about the solar satellite program,” Karla said. “Of course, I understand you can’t talk about classified elements.”

  “I’m glad to talk to you. The solar space problem has been a thorn of mine for years. If those sons-of-bitches are trying to run it under the radar, I’ll happily be the first one to deliver a boot to their corrupt asses.”

  “Why are you against the program?”

  Colonel narrowed his eyes. “That’s not my problem. The solar satellite program is brilliant theoretically; we could collect solar energy and beam it back to earth. If we used it, the people over at the DOE wouldn’t be contaminating our groundwater and public lands with their nuclear waste projects. Proliferation would evaporate, and we wouldn’t be sending our money to the Middle East where it’s used to pay for terrorism. No, I’m all for solar energy.”

  “So what’s your problem then?”

  The colonel narrowed his eyes at Karla. “What the hell does the Department of Defense know about space energy? It’s not their mission. Nobody’s really set up for this project—but what’s got a burr under my saddle is the sheer size of this project. The solar space program threatens to drain off desperately-needed funds.”

  “How expensive is it?”

  “It’s not just the expense. In theory the whole thing is sweet. We need a ton of power for our troops in the field, and we’d love to beam it to them from space. Hell, few people realize that the total cost of a gallon of fuel delivered to troops in the field can run between $300 and $700—for a gallon. When our convoys are attacked, it gets expensive.”

  “The tax payer is getting screwed,” Karla said.

  “That’s the problem,” the colonel said. “You know what it would cost to just send up a test satellite?”

  Karla shook her head.

  “Over a hundred million dollars. Meanwhile our veterans aren’t getting the health benefits they need because people in Washington are spending billions on these projects.”

  “Seems to me,” Karla said, “that if we act out of fear, we’ll never accomplish anything, and later we’ll be putting casts on our asses when the Chinese do it first or when the terrorists use all their oil money to cripple our economy to the point where we can’t afford to take action even if we want to. We have a window of opportunity now, but it won’t last for ever.”

  The colonel shook his head. “Don’t lecture me, alright. I’ve got other things to do.”

  “I’m not lecturing,” Karla said. “But the enemy takes action. We can’t sit around whining and making excuses.”

  The colonel raised his eyebrows. “To be honest with you, right now everyone is hot for alternative sources of energy, and everybody says nice things about corn fields and solar power. But it’s pie in the sky. The technology is so far off and nobody is set up for this kind of mega project. Pulling something like this off would take a massive collaboration between the public and the private sector, and right now nobody’s investing.”

  “So, I guess there nothing for you to worry about.”

  The colonel was quiet for a moment, then gestured and said, “Why don’t we sit down.”

  The backyard was a secret paradise of tropical flowers and palms and a swimming pool with a waterfall. A local pool boy was hard at work.

  The colonel sighed. “When I heard you on the phone linking the CIA and this satellite space power program, I could’ve smelled the stink from two thousand miles away.”

  “I don’t get it,” Karla said.

  “Look, it could take twenty years or even more to get this sort of program going.”

  “I read eight years.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve been busy, but I disagree. Everybody would have to be eager to collaborate. Right now those bastards don’t trust each other enough to front cab fare. You really think they’re going to float billions?”

  “Sounds to me like you’re another skeptic, Colonel. Same as we’ve had forever. They also said radio waves were impossible because they couldn’t be seen. Locked Marconi or whatever his name was up in a crazy house for suggesting that messages could be sent through the air.”

  The colonel winced and started to speak, but Karla cut him off and raised her tone of voice.

  “They laughed at Henry Ford for trying to make a horseless carriage. Now the solar satellite technology is impossible.”

  “Hell no, not impossible.” The colonel looked irritated. “But not likely to happen any time soon either. And that’s what I worry about. Those sons-of-bitches could get their hands on vast sums of capital, and they would. Turns out the whole thing is ass-backwards, but they don’t care because they own stock in the tech companies. They get rich, but nobody sends one damn satellite into orbit. When the company files for bankruptcy protection, it turns out a few hundred million can’t be accounted for.”

  “That’s a pessimistic scenario,” Karla said. “If Kennedy talked like that, we’d have never gone to the moon.”

  “Look, I’m on vacation. I didn’t realize you were going to come up here to bust my ass.”

  “Maybe you should extend your vacation—for a few years.”

  The colonel laughed, but his tan was getting redder by the second. “Let me tell you a little secret. If there was cooperation, if there was massive will, and if technology progressed a little more—it could happen. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could do more to secure the homeland than to eliminate our dependence on foreign sources of energy.”

  “Go on,” Karla said.

  “I will. Thank you. What branch did you say you were in?”

  “Marines. That’s where nothing is impossible.”

  The colonel shook his head in exasperation. “Right. As I was saying—No, let’s try another angle. What do you know about democracy?”

  “I live in one.”

  “Yes, you do. Low cost energy is essential to a democratic capitalistic society. Our way of life is at stake—our freedom and our quality of life.”

  Karla shrugged. “So why aren’t you more positive about solar space power? Last I heard the sun offered an unlimited source of energy.”

  “And an expensive one—until the technology moves further do
wn the road. And what about the associated risks?”

  “I thought solar was clean.”

  “It may be. But there are reasons to move ahead cautiously.”

  “If I talked that way in the marines, they’d kick my ass.”

  “At my level,” the colonel said, “we have to look at things from more angles.”

  “Maybe that’s why we’re in this mess.”

  The colonel laughed. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Karla. Just keep your guns pointed at the enemy.”

  She nodded.

  “Fact is,” the colonel said. “Nobody’s ever built anything as big as a solar satellite in space. It’s very risky and very expensive.”

  “There you go again, Colonel.”

  “Yes, you don’t like it because I’m not telling you what you want to hear, but that’s reality.”

  “They told Columbus that a flat earth was reality.”

  The colonel wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at his watch. “It’d take a coalition of the faithful and the deep-pocketed to bring off solar space power. Not gonna happen.”

  “So how much money is at stake here? It must be a lot if folks are so reluctant.”

  The colonel nodded. “Now you’re getting the idea. The alternatives presently under consideration would range between $25 billion and $90 billion dollars, depending on the number and the type of satellites deployed. A lot of dough, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. But we could afford our wars if we channeled our funds into solar power.”

  “If all went well.”

  “I can smell the B.S., Colonel. Why don’t you give it to me straight?”

  He chuckled. “I am, Karla. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.”

  “Thank you for your time, Colonel. I guess the time hasn’t come for solar satellite power then.

  “Now you’re getting the idea.”

  An hour later, Karla landed in the county assessor’s office where she hunted down the tax records on the home she’d just visited. It took a few minutes, but then she found what she was after. The owner of record was Colonel Butch Green.

  CHAPTER 55

  Sun Valley, Idaho

  Robert was sitting in a luxurious ski lodge, enjoying a glass of vodka on the rocks. The lodge was nearly empty. Half a dozen people sat outside, enjoying a warm summer afternoon and watching the chairlift, which was taking sightseers to the top of Mt. Baldy. Soon Robert would go back home and get some well-needed rest. His job was almost done. The stimulus bill had passed. Now all he had to do was take care of Brandt. Parcher better get it right this time. Of course, Curtis might take care of his problem for him. Where the hell had he been anyway? It wasn’t like Curtis to let someone cross him. Had somebody tipped him off? Well, that was his next project. He’d get to it in time. For now he needed to deal with Brandt.

  Two men entered the lodge, and Robert immediately felt uneasy. They stood side by side, postures straight, hands at their sides, unmoving. Robert’s first impulse was to unsnap the thong on his shoulder holster, but they were watching.

  “Damn,” he whispered to himself. “I’m a sitting duck. Stupid.”

  When they started walking toward him, he acknowledged them with a friendly nod but got no response. The two men wore the expressions of the dead and dying. Other than that, they were entirely ordinary looking for Seattle or D.C. Both were middle aged, dressed in blue suits and white shirts. One carried a briefcase. In Sun Valley, a sight like this was more out of place than to see Chuck Brandt himself.

  “You guys are too old to be Mormon missionaries,” Robert said. “So who are you?”

  “Mr. Fielding, we need to talk.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  The one with the thick eyebrows and the yellow tie stepped forward. “We were instructed by Director Law to find you. That’s all.”

  Vincent Law, CIA director. If he’d felt compelled to send these goons up here, it must have been important. Robert smiled. Now that the stimulus bill had gone through, the director was probably eager to ratchet up black operations—and that meant tripling the RUMAN budget. It also meant Robert would retain control of the SMW project, and his stock in Hale Industries would make him extremely wealthy. This was what he had been waiting for—although he hadn’t expected to hear anything so soon.

  “Okay,” Robert said. “You found me.”

  “You have a phone call. Let’s take a walk.”

  “I don’t think so. If I’ve got a call, give me the phone here.”

  “Mr. Law was very specific about this,” the one with the briefcase said. “It’s very important.”

  “Then start walking,” Robert said. “I’ve got better things to do than listening to your whining. Get it on.”

  The goon’s face contorted slightly and flushed. He turned and headed for the door, his sidekick one step behind. Robert followed the men, mentally rehearsing how he would respond when Mr. Law informed him that the CIA was tripling his black ops budget and elevating RUMAN’s responsibilities.

  Outside, they crossed the bridge over Big Wood River. The two men started down the bike path through a treed area, Robert stopped and looked around. Unfortunately, there weren’t many people around this lodge during the summer and fewer still out in the parking lot. There were a lot of trees around, and they blocked the views of any homes nearby.

  “Move.” The sidekick gestured with his gun.

  Robert froze for a moment, then obeyed.

  They walked maybe a hundred yards down the path, not seeing another person. They were crossing another bridge when a phone rang. The second man opened his briefcase and answered a phone, handing it to Robert. “It’s a secure line,” he said.

  Robert took the phone. “Vincent.”

  “I know you’re wondering what this is about, so let me get right to the point.”

  “Certainly.”

  “As you know, we worked a few miracles, and our bill passed through the Senate this week. Thank you for your contribution. However, we’ve made it clear to you that our continued support is dependent upon the success of your research project.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. You’ve got some loose canons out there, Robert. There’s no way in hell I’m putting any confidence in RUMAN if you can’t clean up your own messes. It appears your man Brandt—”

  “We’ve traced his flight itinerary to Madrid,” Robert interrupted. “We found out one of his identities. We have men on the ground, and it’s only a matter of time till we find him.”

  “You’re running out of time, pal. Brandt has flipped out, and he’s raining all over you. I’ve got media calling up the pentagon asking all kinds of questions about a secret agency called RUMAN and their mysterious director Robert Fielding.”

  “Shit.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. I was ready to put you in charge of an intelligence empire and entrust you with a crucial role in national security. My confidence is eroding by the minute. If you don’t clean your laundry fast, you and your group are finished.”

  “I understand. I will take care of this—soon.”

  “No, you don’t understand. You fix this, because your little chaos theory project has created chaos for us, not them. Brandt is out of control and he’s shaking your house by the foundations. You take care of him fast, or I guarantee that your house will fall.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Forty-eight hours, Robert. I’m counting on you. Brandt must be sanctioned in forty-eight hours. We need to get on with the SMW weapons test. After you take care of Brandt, get your ass up to Jin Mountain and bring that shrink with you. Get the Brandt job done now, or we will shift policy. If it were up to Alan Hale, you’d be at your own funeral right now, and I’m starting to see things his way. You’ve got two days to change my mind. I’ll see you at Jin Mountain soon.” The phone went dead.

  Robert leaned on the rail and looked at the rocks under the clear water. He coul
d see the sun sparkling off the surface of the shallow creek. He had worked too damn hard to get where he was. And right when the peak of the mountain was in sight, Chuck Brandt was canceling his whole future. Robert shook his head. He had underestimated Brandt, and now he was paying for it.

  Robert’s neighbors knew little of him, only that he was a businessman who dropped into town for two weeks a year. Now his business was in Idaho, but first he would take care of Brandt.

  Robert sat at the marble desk in his home office. The south wall was mostly glass, and he had the curtains closed. He thought about his neighbors—the actor and the surgeon. It seemed an appropriate metaphor for himself. In covert undercover operations, one always had to act. When Robert put on a private performance, his life depended upon success. Failure was not an option. There were no retakes. If Robert had such low standards of professionalism as a Hollywood actor, he would have been killed long ago.

  But it was his other neighbor that interested him more at the moment. Because when a cancer or a disease threatened the life of the organism, the offending virus or the hostile cell had to be surgically removed and quickly. That was when the surgeon played God, reaching down with the razor sharp scalpel and cutting away the unwanted tissue.

  Robert picked up the secure phone and dialed. “Parcher, this is Robert. Give me an update on Brandt.”

  “Good news. I was just going to call you.”

  “Go on.” Robert took a deep breath and glanced at his outstretched hands.

  “I figured Brandt is too smart to travel under his old aliases. So we contacted a number of the best forgers in the business. Jose Romero in Mexico City admitted that Brandt visited him about nine months ago. Brandt had worked out a new legend and disguise, and Romero cooked up the alias documents.”

  “You’re right about Brandt,” Robert said. “He plays his role well. The part of the average guy. But underneath, there’s nothing average about him. However, I’m surprised that he would use a forger who couldn’t be trusted.”

  Parcher cleared his throat. “Nine months ago, Romero probably was trustworthy, but we found him in a hospital bed where he’s dying of liver failure. He was in a very fragile state. We gave him a hard choice and I mean hard. I thought he was going to croak on me right then and there. Bottom line is he made the right choice.”