Alpha Threat (17 page)

“How do you know he didn’t?” laughed Randall.
 
Dana turned grinning and shot him a bird as she walked over to check their tent.
  

The sun was beginning to set and the jungle was starting to get dark.
 
Manolo’s guys were building a nice firewood pile and a small cooking fire was already going.
 
Manolo always wanted a large bonfire going before darkness fell.
 
It was not a want but a need.
 
In the jungle it
really
gets dark, so dark you cannot see your hand in front of your face.
 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Downtown Miami, Florida;
 
3:00 p.m.

The thin man walked up to the door of the shop and rang the doorbell.
 
The sign on the window said “International Investments, LLC, Open by Appointment Only”.
 
He looked at the sign and rang the bell again.
 
Being Sunday, most businesses in downtown Miami were closed.
 
But he had an appointment.
  
He had business to do and he needed to get this over with so he could attend the ballet that evening with his wife.
 

He heard a stirring inside.
 
The blinds covering the door separated slightly and closed quickly.
 
He heard the lock click and the door opened.
 

“Please come in, Mr. Nader,” said Dieter Blocher, a young man of about 30 years.
 
“Mr. Jackson will be with you in a moment.
 
May I get you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you.
 
I’m in a bit of a hurry today,” Nader replied politely.

“Very well, Mr. Nader. Please be seated.”
 
The young man gestured toward two chairs off to the right and walked away through a back door leaving the man sitting alone.
 

The room was simple.
 
With the front window shades pulled down the room was quiet and dimly lit.
 
It had a faint cigar smell seemingly coming from the back room.
 
Oh, God, Nader thought, he’s smoking those nasty cigars again.
 
There were four large overstuffed leather chairs, two on each side of the room.
 
There were no tables, no magazines, just the large chairs.
 
In the center of the back wall was a single door.
 
In front of the door was a small desk with a telephone handset and a flat screen computer monitor; nothing else.
 
The simplicity of the room was welcomed by Nader.
 
He wanted to get his business done and get out.
 
He had no time to read anything.
 
This was not a doctor’s office.
 

As Mr. Klaus Nader sat down he placed the valise he was carrying at his feet.
 
He leaned over to straighten the identity tag attached to the handle.
 
The valise looked brand new.
 
It was made of the finest leather and had that rich smell to it.
 
As Nader straightened up, the back door opened.
 

“Mr. Nader, Mr. Jackson will see you now.
 
Please come this way, sir.”
 
The young man’s voice was very calm and precise.
 
He accompanied Nader down the short hall past several other offices and into a large well-appointed office.
 
It was Sunday, he thought.
 
Everyone else must be at home as he should be.
 

“Good afternoon, Klaus,” smiled Albert Jackson as he arose from behind his massive desk and walked around to meet him.
 
“I’m very happy to see you again.
 
I trust everything is well?”
 
Jackson’s warm welcome made Nader uneasy.
 

“Yes, very well indeed,” squeaked Nader.
 
“All is well.
 
But I must make this a short meeting.
 
My wife expects me soon.
 
We are going to the ballet.”

“Ah, the ballet.
 
I believe the performance is
Le Corsaire
.
 
Am I correct?”

“Yes.
 
My wife loves
Le Corsaire
.
 
Frankly, I’m not too enthused but one must keep the wife happy, you know.”
 

“And how is your wife, Lily?” asked Jackson attentively.
 

“Very well, thank you.
 
She had that bout with pneumonia, you know, but she is much better now.”

“Yes, the poor thing.
 
I am so glad she is better.
 
So better that she can now enjoy the ballet,” smiled Jackson.
  
“I hope she enjoyed the flowers.”
 

“Yes, she did very much.
 
Thank you, Albert.
 
That was very kind of you to remember her.”

“Oh, please do not mention it.
 
If Lily enjoyed the flowers then that makes me very happy.”

“Well, she definitely was pleased, Albert.
 
Thank you again.”

“Let us get to work, Klaus,” said Jackson, scurrying back behind his desk.
 
“We need to get you out of here and on to the ballet.
 
Blocher, please get me the Dornott files if you will.”
 

The young man nodded his head and disappeared down the hall.
 

Mr. Nader placed his valise between his legs and opened the bag, removing one single sheet of paper.
 
He handed it across the desk to Jackson.
 

“I believe this will suffice today,” Nader said confidently.
 
Jackson took the paper and looked at it intently.
 

“Yes, this will do nicely.”

Jackson read the note and reached into his desk to get his pen.
 
He opened the cap on the expensive Mont Blanc fountain pen and with a flourish signed his name to the document just as the young man re-entered with a large lockable file box.
 

“Blocher, please open the file box and place this inside,” Jackson said, handing a key to Blocher.
 
Jackson waited patiently for the file box to be opened and handed the document to the young man.
 
Without looking at the paper the young man placed the document inside, relocked it and handed the key back to Jackson.
 
Without a word, Blocher took the box and left the room.
 

“Well, it seems our operation is quite profitable, Klaus.
 
We are averaging 2.5 million every two weeks.
 
Everything is doing well?” asked Jackson.
 

“We are doing very well,” answered Nader with a slight smile.
 
“The Brazilian operation is well ahead of schedule and production is only at 26 percent.
 
We can increase it at any time.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.
 
We cannot afford to lose sight of our overall goals.
 
Slow but steady, like the tortoise, my dear Klaus.
 
Slow and steady.
 
I do not want to cause any market disturbances yet.
 
For now let’s keep the production low knowing we can ramp it up at will.
 
Once we decide to move forward, the market will not know what hit it.
 
This will be quite different than our predecessors.
 
They made such a mess of things.”

“I understand.
 
I trust you will relay your thoughts to Kaete in Brazil and continue as we are now,” said Nader.
 

“Yes, that would be best at this time,” Jackson replied.
 

“Imagine,” said Nader seemingly deep in thought, “a new beginning and new Fatherland.
 
This is a dream come true.”

“Not quite yet, my dear Klaus,” smiled Jackson.
 
“We are on the threshold of a new ideal world.
 
But we have much work to do to make it happen.
 
We must stay the course and be extremely careful in our thoughts and actions.”

“I will do my best to ensure my part is done well,” said Nader, sitting straighter in his seat.
 

“Yes, I’m certain you will,” said Jackson.
 

“Then our business today is complete,” stated Nader as he stood to leave.
 

“Yes, it is, Mr. Nader.
 
Your payment will be as always and available in the account by Monday.
 
Please let me show you to the door.”
 
Jackson escorted Nader to the front door, opening the door for him.
 
“I will see you in two weeks; yes?” queried Jackson.
 

“Yes, of course.
 
Same time, I presume?”

“Absolutely, that will do quite well.
 
Thank you.
 
You and your wife have a wonderful time at the ballet.” Jackson waved goodbye as he closed the door.
 

Jackson walked back to his office.
 
Within a minute Blocher joined him.
 

“Dieter, please contact our Swiss accounts and prepare the appropriate deposit.
 
Also contact our sources and relay the acceptance and deposit of these funds as soon as they have been confirmed in Switzerland.
 
I need to update the Führer.”
 

“Yes, Mr. Jackson.
 
I will take care of it immediately.”
 
Dieter turned and left the room.
 

Albert Jackson opened a desk humidor and pulled out one of his Cuban Cohiba Behike BHK 56 cigars.
 
He meticulously trimmed the end and lit the cigar with a gas torch lighter.
 
He relished his first puff and watched as the sublime smoke rose into the air.
 
He sat back and contemplated the future; his future and the future of the Fourth Reich.
 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Deep in the Amazon Jungle;
 
6:00 a.m.

Dawn broke with a beautiful purple sky as the sun peeped through the trees.
 
Sunrise in the Brazilian jungle was not the “Oh My God!” sight many people might think.
 
In fact, if the Finleys were not in a small clearing, they probably would not have seen the sunrise at all.
 
With a full canopy of trees, the jungle has a full-time umbrella over its head.
 

Manolo and his men expertly produced a filling breakfast and while the Finleys were eating broke camp.
 
As Randall finished his coffee, Manolo’s men doused the fire and packed the final items.
 

“We are ready to go, Dr. Randall,” smiled Manolo.
 
Manolo loved the jungle and always seemed to have a wide smile on his face.
 

“Manolo, what would we do without you?” chided Randall.
 
“You are the best!”

Manolo gave a wide grin and turned to his men.
 
After a few short words the crew hoisted their loads and was ready to move.
 

“Which way we go?” Manolo asked.
 

Randall checked his map as Dana stood beside him.
 
He looked at his GPS and rechecked the map.
 

“We go this way, Manolo.
 
We go this way,” said Randall pointing to the northeast.
 
 

The troop headed off for another day’s trek.
 

The Finleys were experts in early Amazonian history and the tribes therein.
 
It was important to them and to Princeton that this expedition be successful.
 
The study of the indigenous tribes led them here; the people, their customs and their artifacts.
 
They knew humans thrived in these ghastly jungles for centuries, but little if anything was known about them.
 
No white man ventured this far back into this part of the jungle.
 
The Finleys felt they were groundbreakers and indeed they were.
 

While exciting, it also carried huge dangers.
 
Not only the normal dangers of walking through a dangerous, wild jungle thousands of miles from home but also the danger of meeting tribes of natives that may have never seen a white man or, for that matter, a white woman.
 
One’s mind swirled with the images of being captured by natives, enslaved or worse, being killed either via a ritual execution or simply for dinner.