The Olympus Device: Book Three (19 page)

It took four hours, several phone calls, and direct intervention by the president of the United States before the two FBI men were provided a contact and phone number for the CAG.

“This is Major Smith,” answered the gruff voice after Monroe had placed the call.

“Major, this is Special Agent in Charge Monroe from the FBI. I have Agent Shultz on the line with ….”

“I know who this is. What can I do for you?”

With raised eyebrows, Shultz mouthed the words, “Not real friendly, is he?” at his boss.

“We’re investigating a kidnapping in Austin, Texas, Major. We have an eyewitness who has described a tattoo on one of the kidnapper’s forearms with the characters CAG and a lightning bolt. We were hoping you could shed some light on the subject.”

“We strongly discourage any identifying markings on our personnel, sir. Such a tag would be frowned upon by the men assigned to the detachment.”

“So you’ve not seen any members of your unit with such a marking?”

“No, sir. While what you describe sounds like our unit’s designation, in reality there could be any number of explanations. Unfortunately, we encounter what we call ‘posers’ all the time. These are typically rank and file soldiers or civilians who like to claim a relationship with our detachment, but in fact, have no association whatsoever.”

“Stolen valor,” Shultz said.

“Yes, sir. That’s another term I’ve heard used.”

“So you’re 100% satisfied that none of the existing members of the detachment have such a marking, Major?”

“Sir, I don’t know them all, so obviously I can’t state anything with 100% certainty. While our exact order of battle is classified, I am authorized to inform you that there are hundreds of operators in the CAG. In addition, I should inform you that it would be impossible to examine each man. We are conducting operations all over the globe.”

“What about former personnel? I assume some of your people retire or are reassigned,” Shultz suggested.

“That is always a possibility, sir. Some portion of our comrades retire or leave the service every cycle. I would have no way of knowing about men who worked with the unit before my arrival.”

The two FBI men were becoming frustrated, Monroe believing the major wasn’t being fully cooperative and hedging his responses. “Major, I’d like to come to Fort Bragg with a team of investigators and begin interviewing the entire unit.”

Smith grunted. “If you can get that authorized, then we would have no option but to follow orders, sir. But I wouldn’t count on it, Agent Monroe. We like to keep a low profile and having federal agents poking around and asking questions doesn’t support that objective. What I can do is ask around. I’ll spread the word, and if I hear anything, I’ll be happy to call you with the information.”

Realizing they weren’t going to extract any more information from the tight-lipped officer, Monroe left his cell number and disconnected the call.

Almost two hours later, a very exasperated Monroe dived into what had been a series of frustrating requests, trying to obtain permission to enter Fort Bragg and conduct interviews with the CAG. Looking up at Shultz, he said, “I’ve never been stonewalled so much in my life, Tom. It’s like I was asking to expose the inner workings of the CIA or some shit. Who the hell are those guys, anyway?”

“They’re pretty secretive, sir. ‘Mother Green’ won’t even acknowledge they exist.”

“Well, it’s the only clue we have. If the president is serious about finding Andrew Weathers, something has to give.”

Dusty awoke early, stepping gently through the model home so as not to wake Grace or Mitch. It didn’t work.

The Texan had just finished pouring his first cup of coffee when the sound of Grace’s footsteps shuffling across the kitchen floor announced her early rising.

“Good morning,” he greeted, smiling at the sleepy woman. “How did you sleep?”

“Not worth a shit, Durham… and it’s all your fault. Every time you moved, I woke up, thinking you might decide to seek revenge on your own. How are you doing?”

“I have a post-tantrum headache,” he admitted. “And I want to thank you and Mitch for settling my out-of-control ass down. I might have done something really, really stupid if you guys hadn’t been there to talk some sense into this stubborn, old Army mule.”

Grace padded to his side, wrapping her arms around the Texan’s chest and pulling him close. “I love you, Dusty… I truly do. But more importantly, I’m
with
you. I’ve got your back, and I know you’ve got mine.”

Her words brought a smile to his face at the same time he returned the embrace. “I am sorry about last night. I don’t usually get my dander up like that. It’s just, well, I’m worried about Andy.”

“I don’t blame you,” she responded. “But Lord have mercy, you do have a temper, Mr. Weathers. We’re going to have to talk about that after this is all over and done with.”

“It won’t do you any good,” sounded Mitch’s voice, the professor rounding the corner. “He’s always had a mean streak and always will. Dad used to get so mad at him. Dusty would lose control and break a tool or damage equipment, and our father would get so pissed. I am surprised they didn’t come to blows.”

“That’s not fair,” Dusty protested. “The old man would ask me to do impossible jobs with the wrong tools. When something didn’t work the way he thought it should, he’d start badgering me. Even the most reasonable man would get a little upset over being treated like that.”

“Upset?” Mitch laughed. “I suppose your throwing the spare tire through the windshield was a reasonable reaction? A lot of people do that I guess?”

“Now, Mitch, you know that was an especially bad day. Don’t be telling Miss Grace about all those old family skeletons. She’ll not want to share our company.”

“Oh, no!” Grace exclaimed with glee. “I want to hear each and every story, with all of the sordid details. I think they’re fascinating.”

“That, and you want ammunition to use against me later,” Dusty surmised. He then turned and gave his brother
that
look. “And just keep this in mind
Doctor
Weathers. For every sordid tale you spout about me, I’ve got two about you. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us today, so you’ll have plenty of time to yap your pie hole and entertain Miss Grace. But remember, paybacks suck.”

“What long drive?” Mitch asked, ignoring his brother’s threat. “Are we going somewhere?”

“News to me,” Grace added, resting her hands on her hips and throwing Dusty an inquiring look.

“We’re going to drive to Washington,” Dusty said coldly. “I’m going to persuade our government to listen to reason and return my son.”

“And when was this decision made?” Grace asked.

“I made up my mind last night before I dozed off,” Dusty proclaimed. “I can’t let them hurt my Andy, and if we wait until something bad happens to him, then my last little temper tantrum will seem mild. Right now, I’m calm, cool, and levelheaded. I am going to use the rail gun sparingly, only enough to get my message across and my son freed. But if we wait, and something happens to Andy, then all bets are off.”

Mitch surprised Grace by voicing his agreement. “I think that’s probably the best avenue, brother. You were right last night when you stated it was time to fight fire with fire. I laid awake thinking about how I would react if someone kidnapped one of my kids. Let’s go to Washington, and knock some common sense into those thick skulls.”

“Are you two crazy?” Grace stated with passion. “First of all, we can’t be 100% sure that the government had anything to do with Andy’s abduction. They’re denying it with a straight face. Secondly, even if they are lying, how many innocent people are going to die if you go marauding around the nation’s capital with that damned gun of yours? Please… both of you… think this through.”

Dusty just shook his head. “We were nice at Fort Knox. We gave them warning… let their people get to safety. And what did we get in return? An escalation. They upped the ante and kidnapped a blameless kid. Can’t you see what we’re dealing with, Grace? They aren’t rational human beings like you. They’re power hungry megalomaniacs who will only back down if forced to do so at gunpoint. We don’t have elected officials anymore… we have a royal, ruling class, and anyone who challenges their authority gets arrested and thrown in jail. Remember how many nights you were incarcerated? Tell me that would have happened 30 years ago, or 50 or 100. No, it’s time, Grace. Someone has to knock those assholes down a notch, and I know just the man to do it.”

Grace had to admit, she’d voiced much of Dusty’s argument while sitting in a federal holding cell. She turned away, wanting time to think.

She remembered how lonely it felt to lose her freedom without just cause. How the fear and isolation played on her mind while behind bars. She recalled the interrogations, lack of privacy, and most importantly, the loss of her dignity. Perhaps Dusty was right.

“Okay,” she said, turning to face the two Weathers men. “But I want to talk about how we conduct this campaign on the way to Washington. Like I said in the plane, if we’re declaring war, I want to be a part of the general staff.”

“Agreed,” they both said at the same time.

“Brothers,” Grace grinned, shaking her head. 

Shultz and Monroe were having breakfast when the call came in on the senior agent’s cell.

“Sir, this is Major Smith. I have some information that may be helpful.”

From across the table, his partner’s expression told Shultz the call was urgent.

“Go on, Major, what have you got?”

“Sir, there was a man who left the detachment almost two years ago, one Master Sergeant Jonathan Millard. According to one of our cadre, Sergeant Millard had adorned his right forearm with a tattoo similar to the one you described to me yesterday.”

“And where might this ex-operator be now, Major?”

“We have no idea, sir. He was a bit of a loner. And as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, he didn’t have many friends here at Bragg. There’s no next of kin listed on his service record, nor any forwarding address. His life insurance listed a local base charity as his beneficiary.”

“I need that man’s records as soon as possible,” Monroe stated with urgency. “Can you fax them to me at the Austin FBI office?”

“Well… sir… that is a problem. Like most of our personnel, the sergeant was involved in numerous classified operations. I would have to pass his jacket up through command, as well as JAG and have it redacted. That might take several weeks.”

“Several
weeks
?” Monroe blasted into the phone. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll have a judge issue an order to hand that file over to me in less than an hour. Save yourself the trouble, Major.”

“I don’t think so, sir. Our ops fall under various National Security Acts. Even if a judge did give you the order, it’s likely the Army would instruct me not to obey.”

In addition to hearing one side of the conversation, Shultz could tell his boss was about to lose his temper. Holding out his hand palm down, he signaled Monroe to “settle down.”

But the senior man didn’t appreciate the gesture. Covering the phone, he hissed, “These guys think they’re above the law, and you’re not helping any.”

“Could be,” Shultz pushed back. “But that guy on the other end of the phone is the only person who is going to quickly get you the information that may break this case wide open. You catch more flies with honey, sir.”

Exhaling loudly, Monroe started to snap back at his co-worker, but then reconsidered. “Major,” he began sweetly into the phone, “we’ve got our own national emergency in progress. But more important than that, I’ve got a kidnapped college kid who is probably scared to death and might be being tortured. Is there anything at all you can give me that might help us find the victim?”

There was a pause on the other end. Monroe braced for an outright rejection, but it never came. “I suppose I can send you the cover sheet and personal information if you think that would help. It’s only a few pages, and there’s nothing confidential there.”

“At this point, Major, anything would help. Let me give you the fax number.”

By the time the two agents had given themselves mild indigestion from wolfing down their eggs and driving to the Austin office, the Army officer had kept his word.

Alerted by a phone call from the diner, the local agents already had Millard’s picture, social security number, and description surging across the wires. Within minutes, every law enforcement agency in the country was looking for the suspect.

Next, came an urgent request to the NSA. Within an hour of the major’s phone call, the powerful facial recognition software at the agency’s data center was searching through every traffic camera, toll booth recording, and video feed available from the Austin area. A half hour later, a photograph of their first match appeared on the screen.

Millard, along with three other men, had been clearly recorded at the local airport three days prior to the kidnapping. Agents were immediately dispatched to interview the local car rental stalls.

Now the bureau had four photographs to circulate. It was clear to Shultz and Monroe that the men accompanying Millard were military, or recently ex-military. All appeared to be in peak condition, two of the individuals carrying what seemed to be government issued duffle bags.

The technicians at the Austin office began enhancing the video, zooming in on everything from jewelry and watches to the style and size of shoe worn by each subject. Powerful computer servers rendered, enhanced, and attempted to sharpen the security cameras’ poor quality images.

Next, the hospitalized eyewitness identified Millard’s picture as the man who had assaulted him. Monroe and Shultz felt as though they were finally making progress.

After the morning’s initial surge of activity, lunchtime saw a lull. As of yet, the NSA hadn’t found any additional video trail, and the car rental people were still searching their records.

The two agents spent their time reviewing every single detail of the day Andrew was abducted. While they were well aware that the people behind the abduction were professionals, even the best were known to make mistakes. They were determined to find any error, gaffe or blunder… no matter how small.

The next big break came in the form of a license plate number and rental car description. A fussy clerk from Hertz had been awakened by rude pounding on her door, only to find two FBI agents standing on her stoop. They hadn’t even allowed the woman to brush her hair.

Those new facts opened another entire universe of investigation. Austin had its share of closed circuit traffic cameras that monitored the freeways for disabled vehicles and rush hour gridlock reporting. Law enforcement now knew the date the suspects had arrived in town, and again the NSA was tasked with searching for a match.

By dinnertime, the rental sedan had been placed northwest of the city on the day before the kidnapping. Monroe rushed to a local wall map, pinpointing the locale with his finger. “Now what the hell were they doing way out there?”

Shultz and a few of the local men gathered around, staring at the location as if the map would answer the question on its own.

“There’s really not much out that way,” one of the Austin agents observed. “That’s what we call the Hill Country. It’s mostly residential and not densely populated. There are a few small towns, Lake Travis, and a couple of parks.”

“If you were a team of hired henchmen, where would you hide out with an abducted college student?” Monroe voiced, more thinking out loud than expecting an answer.

“There is no shortage of hideaways out there. I’d avoid hotels; everyone knows the cops can check guest lists in a heartbeat. They paid for the rental car with a pre-paid debit card. They leased it for a period of 10 days, which doesn’t prove anything, but might indicate they intend on using it for a while. The driver’s license used was a fake.”

“I’m going to call Washington, and request they assign surveillance drones to this general area. You never know when we’ll get a facial match with one of the four suspects.”

“That’s an awful big area to be searching. Talk about a needle in a big-ass haystack,” noted Shultz, still studying the map. “And as far as we know, they could be on the road heading east… or south…. Hell, they could even in be living it up in Mexico by now.”

“Too risky,” Monroe said. “These guys are pros. They have to know that being on the road with a well-known kidnap victim is just plain stupid. I don’t think they’d chance it, at least not for a while.”

“You’re probably right, sir,” Shultz agreed. “Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree with this. These guys obviously are well funded by someone. I know Washington suspects that senator and admiral are behind this, so perhaps we should be trying to connect Millard with his backers.”

The group of lawmen continued to speculate, the discussion fueling several ideas that needed to be chased down.

“Have someone check all of Senator Hughes’s major campaign contributors and see if any of them own property in the Hill Country,” Monroe ordered, adding to the dozens of ongoing tasks already under way.

“Have the Washington office search the senator’s phone records for any calls placed to local area codes,” was another.

“I hope these Austin boys have plenty of coffee in stock,” Monroe lamented, loosening his necktie. “I have a feeling we’re going to be here all night.”

The Four Seasons, San Francisco was a favorite meeting place among the world’s leading industrial and high-tech moguls.

The high-rise’s location, multiple secure entrances, discreet staff, and first-class accommodations met all of the requirements for clandestine gatherings. The fact that the facility was right next door to the Silicon Valley was convenient. Seattle and Los Angeles were less than an hour away by plane. 

Secrecy was as critical to big business as to any military unit or organization involved in espionage. Mergers, acquisitions, stock offerings, and even the recruitment of key personnel had to be conducted behind closed doors.

Competitors could manipulate product announcements, influence the stock markets, or steal designs. With billions of dollars on the line, countless corporations deployed a security apparatus that would make the counter-espionage units of most countries pale in comparison.

The global battle taking place in conglomerate boardrooms was often as hard-fought and brutal as any “hot” war on the planet. While high-velocity lead was rarely exchanged, the arsenal of weapons at the executives’ disposal was significant – and damaging.

Key suppliers could be gobbled up, ruining the just-in-time inventory schedule required to produce a competitor’s new product. Lawsuits, price manipulation, reputation defamation, and negative advertising were all commonly deployed.

The similarities between military and corporate organizations were many. Both were structured with a multi-layered hierarchy of progressive responsibility. Private companies used terms like executive brain trust and management teams, as opposed to the military’s general staff and strategic planning groups.

Instead of causality rates, corporations thought in terms of cash burn, and asset depletion. Other than the stark differentiator of the potential to have employees killed on the battlefield, both organizations functioned in much the same manner.

One area that received a significant level of resources by both the corner office and the command tent was threat assessment. Businesses were continually gathering and analyzing data on potential hazards and dangers to their corporate well-being.

Most of the time, these threats involved one of their own, another industrial titan or even a smaller firm capable of impacting profits and shareholder expectations. Now and then, it was a government stirring the pot. Proposed tax changes, new environmental regulations, or even healthcare reform could generate significant discomfort in the executive washroom.

Over the last few weeks, Durham Weathers and his invention had been the primary focus of these threat analysis teams.

All of this corporate attention was due to the Texan or his hijinks. It was the public’s reaction though to the situation that warranted alarm. The average Joe Consumer was glued to his television set, waiting for breaking news reports instead of spending money. People weren’t driving their cars, buying laptops, or investing in stocks. These carefully monitored spending habits impacted businesses large and small, sending shockwaves as powerful as Dusty’s rail gun throughout the world of enterprise.