by Jim Magwood
There was silence for a long moment before Henry said,
“I’m sure you aren’t just trying to be funny, but what is this about? What do you mean their demise? And are you sure you can’t tell me who you are?”
“No, Mr. Baxter, I cannot. But, if I may, I would like to tell you a story. You are free to use it in any report you wish to file. In fact, that’s the reason I’ve called you. We’re considering using you as our conduit to the world on all future events such as this. And, I assure you, sir, there will be many more events. May I continue?”
“Sure,” Henry replied. “I have a recording device built into my phone and I’d like to record our conversation. Do you mind?”
“Thank you for asking, Mr. Baxter. And, no, I don’t mind.
We won’t be discussing anything you would be able to use to identify us, and your device won’t be able to pick up my location or phone number.”
Henry noted quickly that his phone was showing a blank for the speaker’s number, then pushed the button to turn on his recorder and the voice continued. “Mr. Baxter, the Hammershed Corporation does business on basically all the continents and has built a huge import and export clientele. I wonder, though, if you know they are also, other than actual governments, the world’s largest supplier of military weapons in the small to medium size range? And that they sell to most of the small, poor and struggling nations of the world?
“Nations that can’t afford food for their people are able to buy all the weapons they desire from Hammershed. Nations that have destitute people with no jobs and no incomes can purchase weapons to threaten and plunder their neighbors. In addition, the weapons purchased are usually hidden under the guise and invoicing of shipments of food and medicine, so the countries look as if they’re receiving materials they really need. Might this surprise you, Mr. Baxter?”
Baxter thought for a moment before replying, “Yes, it does. I haven’t heard of anything like this before. As I said, I’m not very familiar with Hammershed, so I can’t really comment on what you’ve said. But, does anyone else know this? Any of the governments, for instance? Is any of this public knowledge, or is it able to be found in research work?”
“That requires a yes and a no answer. It is not public knowledge and no simple or cursory amount of research would unearth the specifics. There are, however, several governments, and several private companies that do know these details because they participate in the ventures with Hammershed in one way or another. Hammershed just sells the products and arranges deliveries. They don’t manufacture, for instance. They buy the products from several private and governmental sources. I won’t begin to name those sources at this time, but we do have full documentary proof of enough of the transactions that they couldn’t be denied. Internal shipping records, for instance, from a major weapons manufacturer cataloging a shipload of weapons to a storage depot, but with a final invoice to Hammershed from a third party for the materials—listed as medicines and clothing. The ship’s manifest carrying the materials is also available and it has a destination of one of the Hammershed plants. It’s an intricate flipping of documents, for sure, but it still allows a trace of the actual materials being shipped to be seen. We have many other documents like that.”
Again, Baxter sat silently, wondering where this was going. Finally, he asked, “Why have you called me?”
“Earlier I said that the Hammershed Corporation was going to die. I used the words their demise. We would like to have you be the witness of that death and be the recipient of all the documentation of both their deeds and their destruction.
Would you care to be that witness and that recipient, Mr.
Baxter?”
Henry knew he had dozens of questions about what he was hearing, and he was concerned about legalities and so on regarding any participation with this outfit, but at this point he simply said, “Yes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. This will end our call for this evening. Early tomorrow morning, about 7 a.m. in your present time zone, you’ll receive an e-mail message telling you where to be and at what time tomorrow night. You’ll witness the destruction of the main Hammershed factory located where you are—a factory almost no one knows of and which is their main weapons shipping center out of Europe. By the time you return to your hotel tomorrow night, you will have received a package containing all the written materials I mentioned just now. In addition, you will later receive a series of messages and documents cataloging the destruction of the personal fortunes of all the owners and senior executives—all of those who know what the company is doing. You are free to use these documents in any way you see fit.
“Mr. Baxter, this is a continuation of the events we started more than three years ago. We’ve been expanding our activities and there will be many more of the same. We now want the world’s citizens to know what we’re doing, so we may come back to you with offers of this type as more events take place. That will depend on how you handle the materials you are given in this event.”
Something in Baxter’s mind suddenly clicked, and he jumped in with, “Wait. I just thought of what you said—
you’ve been doing this for a while now. Are you saying you’re the ones responsible for some of these unexplained terrorist activities over the past couple of years?”
“Yes, we are. We don’t happen to call them terrorist events, but we can discuss that later.”
“No, we need to discuss this now. You’re asking me to participate with you in this stuff, but you don’t think it’s worth talking about? And, if they’re not terrorist activities, then what are they? If we’re talking about the same things—government officials getting dumped, bank accounts getting emptied, businesses being shut down—they sure look like terrorist activities to me.”
“I understand how you feel, Mr. Baxter, but we are seeing things from a different perspective. What I would like you to do is go back and review every one of those so-called terrorist events and see what kind of background information you find.
In fact, I will send you a list of all the events we’ve caused so you can review them. You’ll see that every event was conducted against individuals or businesses that had been under suspicion of wrongdoing for a considerable time. At no time was anyone brought under fire that was known to be an innocent party to events going on around them. We are definitely not terrorists, Mr. Baxter. We are simply concerned citizens from around the world who wish to put a stop to the evil confronting our societies, and we have a very definite plan and a definite list of targets. Perhaps when the people of the world see what can happen if they will take back the control of their legal systems and legislatures, they will see the wisdom in what we’ve chosen to do.”
Baxter was silent for several moments, and the voice on the phone spoke again.
“I’m sure you are right now trying to make some decisions as to your participation, and I assure you, your hesitation is acceptable. We’ve come to the point in our activities where we feel the public needs to be specifically aware of what we’re doing so they can judge the results and, hopefully, pick up the reins they have dropped and begin working these problems out themselves. Right now, all I’m asking is whether you wish to go ahead with what I’ve told you so far? We may or may not discuss future actions at a later date. What do you say, Mr.
Baxter? Will you participate at this time?”
Again, Henry didn’t hesitate. He said simply, “Yes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. We’ll end the call now and I will contact you in the morning. I do wish you a pleasant evening.”
“Wait. You said the destruction would take place tomorrow night? Was that correct? What do you mean by destruction? And will it be here in Hamburg?”
“Yes, Mr. Baxter. Tomorrow night is correct, except the plant is located a little distance north of Hamburg. We’ll send full directions and instructions. As far as what we mean by
“destruction,” you’ll have that answer tomorrow. You will be able to attend?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Very good. Until tomorrow, then. Good night.”
CHAPTER 3
Baxter had been in Hamburg for several days, so he had broken the jet lag barrier for the most part. He was up by 5
a.m., had called for breakfast, showered and prepared himself for the day, and by 6:30 was on his computer reading his messages and sending some story material back to his office in D.C. At almost exactly 7 a.m., a message came on his screen headed Hammershed, and he opened it immediately.
Mr. Baxter,
Take Highway 23 out of Hamburg north to the Highway 431 exit. Go west on 431 and simply follow it through Elmshorn to Gluckstadt. Just before the circle entering Gluckstadt, turn to the left onto Am Rethovel. Then, just a short distance, turn left again onto Am Schwartzwasser. A short distance down that street, you will find it branches to the right and left. Stop at that intersection and park facing the direction of the road that continues to the left. As the road crosses the waterway ahead, you will see it turn to the right and then left again. If you can see those turns, you are parked in an appropriate place. Be at that location at nine o’clock tonight. Do NOT go any further down the street. The best view will be from exactly that position. There will likely be no other traffic on the street, but turn your car off and avoid being personally seen. Do not bother taking photos of the event; from that distance and in that light they will be of little value. We will, however, send you a complete set of photos in a package to follow. The event we have spoken of will take place at exactly 9:30 p.m. Following the event, simply return to your hotel. A package will be waiting for you when you arrive. You may tell anyone you wish about the event you have witnessed, and may share any of the materials in the package. As you have been chosen to be our publisher of this event, we do hope you will present to the world a careful analysis of the materials we have given you.
Good day.
Henry pulled up several maps on his computer and looked up the directions he had been given. They looked right and were fairly easy to follow. His map didn’t give any names of the businesses in that area, so he had no idea which one might be Hammershed. He guessed it would likely be in view where the Am Schwartzwasser road crossed what looked like a small river or estuary. It looked like a possible shipping pathway to the North Sea. He pulled the phone book out of the desk but found no Hammershed listed. With another thought, he quickly jumped into a search site in the computer and looked them up. Hammershed was listed in fourteen cities in various countries, with the headquarters appearing to be in Omaha, Nebraska, but there was no listing for them in the Hamburg area at all. He did see a small listing for an office in Amster-dam, but nothing to indicate what kind of operation it was.
He took the time to go into their website and review the write-up. He saw that their name really was as his caller had noted—A. G. Hammershed & Sons, Ltd. Import and Export—
but they were usually just noted as ‘Hammershed.’ Their main product was quite obviously a variety of meat products; mainly beef, pork and poultry in both carcasses and cut products for shipment to processors, and various meats already processed into sausages, specialty meats and so on. They also listed many other products of apparent lesser interest such as some packaged food products, clothing, jewelry, automotive parts, art works and home furnishings, all from different countries around the world. In addition, they stressed they had a large and very experienced export side of the business that could ship anything, anywhere.
Well, he thought, they appear to have almost everything covered. No weapons mentioned, though. I wonder how much of what I’ve been told is true? And, why in the world am I going out to a deserted part of a foreign country in the middle of the night because of a crazy story like this? However, then the words The Story rolled through his mind and answered his own question. In his life, it had always been The Story.
The Story was what had driven him since he had been eleven years old. His elementary school had decided to produce a small newsletter for the students and families, and he tried his hand at writing articles about school events. He was actually almost forced into joining the tiny staff because Janet had been there, but he quickly realized he liked doing the stories even more than he liked being around Janet. As the days went on, he started branching out on his own and writing little stories about some of the other kids, their lives and homes, and even stories about goings-on around town. He caused quite a stir when he got wind of a small scandal about missing library funds and wrote about it. That story, however, had been squelched. Even at that young age, The Story got into his blood and, from then on, had been a driving force in his life.
He had been on the news staff in college, then moved through several papers in Denver, Chicago and Minneapolis.
He broke into the big time with stints in Los Angeles and New York, and finally came to rest in Washington, D.C. After a few years, he joined the Washington Times, but finally went out freelance and had been a pen-for-hire for eight years now.
His investigative style of writing brought a streak of good stories and he had broken several large exposés in the political and business arenas. He was now followed by news organizations around the country, even the world, and his investigative skills and his ability with crafting his stories made him known to all. No Pulitzers yet, but close. He laughed sometimes, though, when he reminded himself that a Pulitzer was usually a one-time bang, while big stories every month regularly put big dollars in the bank. He decided dollars were more important, so kept his feelers out for lots of stories now rather than just The Big One.
Through the rest of the day, though, he kept wondering what this one was about. He had been in on many big, and secretive, stories. Many that had caused the downfall of politicians and business people. He had investigated national crime families, military coups, countrywide disasters and too many wars. But this was already sounding very different. An exposé on a business that was going to be brought down, purposely, by some outsider he had no knowledge of? More than brought down—destroyed? Followed by further action against the owners and managers? The word vigilante was not unknown to him, but this sounded bigger. Way more than just some lone gunslinger out to right some perceived wrongs. And again he wondered, Why me? Why not some national news organization; big names, guaranteed worldwide coverage? He knew he was good at what he did, and his circle of contacts was as good as anyone’s. And, people were standing in line for his stories. But, still, he wasn’t known for doing lurid exposés, and this one sounded as far out as anything he could imagine.
However, he knew his maxim was Never Turn Down The Story. His second guiding rule was Always Be Ready. Always have at least a mini-camera with you, plus a recording device (if nothing else, the one built into his phone), and a physical notebook for doing drawings and sketches and so forth. He immediately began inventorying his supplies, checked out his nighttime camera and extra film packs, and extra tapes for his regular recorder. By noon, he knew he wouldn’t get anything from the meetings going on downstairs, so he undressed and napped until his alarm went off at four. He showered again and got down to one of the quieter restaurants in the hotel for a simple meal, and was ready to head out by six-thirty.
It was beginning to get dark as he drove out of Hamburg and up Highway 23. Hamburg’s nightlife had started and the streets were sparkling. He saw the crowds of people as he drove through the entertainment district and wondered again what in the world he was getting into. But, this was The Story and it took precedence over nightlife, parties, sleep, relationships—it was simply first.
The location he had been given was several miles north of the city and then west toward the North Sea. As he got close to Gluckstadt, he could see the change into a manufacturing and warehousing area, and could occasionally hear the waterfront sounds. Boat whistles and foghorns sounded once in a while.
He went past several large trucks, obviously bringing cargo from the ships in dock to places inland. The smells changed now, also. He caught the shar
p tang of fresh lumber as he went past several factories that looked like furniture manufacturers.
He could smell different food products—spices, several raw-meat smells. The sewers out here were not the clean, tourist-friendly ones as in Hamburg’s downtown and hotel areas. The buildings got older and older the further he drove.
He recognized that the traffic had thinned out. He had left all of the city activity many miles behind`. Everything now seemed to be either deserted or shut down for the night. There were occasional lights in a building here and there, but there were basically no noticeable sounds, no vehicles and no human movements he could see. He wondered if this was actually a deserted area and questioned again, I wonder what I’m really doing here?
He finally came to his turn onto Am Rethovel Street, then Am Schwartzwasser, and noted that it did take him directly toward what looked like a small river. No ships were in view, and, like the last couple of miles, there was basically no activity of any kind. When he reached the intersection that had been described, he carefully pulled over to the side of the street. It was getting quite dark now and there were no other vehicles anywhere. He could see a large building a couple of blocks in front of him that ran left to right across the street, and he could see the street turning right in front of it, then apparently to the left around it. He thought for a moment of moving closer to the building, but then decided he didn’t know what was going to take place and that some distance from the building might be prudent. He rolled down his window and listened carefully, but couldn’t hear any sounds close. Far off, back where he had come from, he could hear a little vehicle traffic, but it was almost silent where he was.
