by Neovictorian
Report on activities and location of subject May 18-25.
Subject was at Company headquarters, San Francisco, from 0715 until 1950 hours May 18. Departed SJC 2200 aboard Company jet aircraft for rendezvous with leased M/Y Dawn Treader. Vessel arrived Sitka AK harbor approx. 1400 May 18 after voyage from Seattle. Subject scheduled to arrive at Sitka ETA 0630 May 19, with layover at SEA. Landed SIT 0623. Subject boarded yacht approx. 0700 local time (PDT minus 1).
Onboard vessel at time of departure were captain, crew of five and one guest. Crew was all same individuals that had given exemplary service on two previous motor yacht cruises taken by subject.
Dawn Treader cleared Sitka harbor approx. 0930 May 19, with loosely scheduled 10-day itinerary of port calls at Ketchikan, Hoonah, Juneau and Haines AK, returning to Sitka for scheduled aircraft departure on May 28, a.m. returning to SJC no later than 1500 local time May 28.
After cruise of six days, including calls at Ketchikan and Hoonah AK where subject went ashore for 6-7 hours each, and overnight anchorage in different bays and inlets along route, and on May 24 in Hoonah harbor, on May 25 vessel arrived at Auke Bay Harbor, Juneau, approx. 0800. Subject departed by rental car with guest for hike on mountain trail in the Juneau historical mining district approx. 1230. Subject declined accompaniment by yacht crew member armed with .50 caliber handgun. Crew member had previously accompanied subject when there was possibility of brown bear encounter during landside activity.
At 1423 captain received call from guest that guest and subject had become separated after subject retreated off trail to take “bathroom break.” Guest became concerned and searched area frantically for 5-10 minutes before running back down trail to cell coverage area. Guest encountered no other persons. Guest did not see subject backpack or any signs of struggle. Captain phoned Company security chief (per protocol) at 1432. Captain was ordered to retrieve guest aboard vessel and stand by. Guest returned to vessel by car approx. 1530. Chief ordered captain not to notify authorities, secure all crew aboard, anchor vessel off harbor dock one mile and stand by.
At 1558 May 25 text message was received by Company security chief: “WE HAVE HER. SHE IS SAFE AND SECURE. DO NOT NOTIFY ANYONE AT ALL, OR SHE WON’T BE. INSTRUCTIONS FOLLOW.”
All efforts to trace location, sender number, network provider and other information regarding text message have failed, indicating a very high degree of communications sophistication by sender. There has been no further communication regarding subject whereabouts as of this report.
END
I look up from the paper, and to her credit she looks not to have moved a muscle while I read.
“From now on, Ms. Hart, why don’t you call me Cal. May I call you Lisa?”
I know what she’s expecting me to ask after reading the report, and I’ve wrong-footed her, but again the surprise only shows on her face and in her body for a split second.
“Sure, Cal.”
“All right, Lisa. You know everything there is to know, yet, about what’s going on, and I’m sure you read this, so you know my question is…”
“Who’s the guest?” she says, with the faintest hint of amusement in the set of her mouth. “And next you’re going to say you need to know, or the deal is off.”
“Before you tell me, I’ll tell you. It’s a lover; given who your mother is and the reaction by the company, he or she is either a politician, another Silicon Valley billionaire or a famous entertainer. I’ll give you a hundred to eight one of those three.”
“Well, yes. It’s the entertainer. Rance Mason, the actor. They met at a charity event about two months ago, and they kept it very, very quiet.”
“Yeah, no doubt. Your mother is CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and he’s not only a 20 million dollar a picture guy, he’s also the leading public face for ReHumanism—which is the biggest cult, or religion, in Hollywood and on Wall Street right now.
“He’s also around 26 or 27. Your mother is, if I remember right, 45.”
She gives up a real smile this time. “If you think that’s too big a hill to climb, well, you don’t know my mother.”
38. 3 years ago, Fairfax County, Virginia April 25, 9:44 am
After a parking garage car switch we’re out of the truck and driving an older brown sedan with a small white scrape on the front right quarter panel. As boring and invisible as you could want. A little before Centreville Jack turns left on a secondary road and ten minutes later we pull into the driveway of a neat, modest two story house. The nearest neighbor is about 500 feet up and across the road. Jack opens the compartment between the seats and hits the button on a garage door opener at just the right time so that we drive in without stopping.
In seconds it’s closed behind us and we’re sitting in the dim. A small overhead lamp above a workbench is the only light in the windowless garage.
“Cal, there are a couple of things we’d better get coordinated before we get out and go in the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not your commanding officer, but I’d strongly advise you to take the Smith out of the glove compartment again. There are holsters, ammo and all that inside.”
I push the latch and take out the revolver. It’s an old Model 19, blued instead of stainless, and it has a dark-colored replacement grip that’s hard to see in the low light, but feels nice and rough and tacky. With my good hand and a very minor assist from my left I unlatch the cylinder and inspect it again. There are still six hollow-point rounds inside. The brass gleams in the dim light, brighter than anything else in the car. I make a fist with my left hand and push the cylinder closed against it with my right holding the piece. It clicks shut but the operation sends a wave of new pain through the throb in my shoulder.
“Okay, now what, Jack?”
“I have every reason to believe that this place is clean. But from now on, until we decide it’s done, I strongly advise that we go armed, 24/7, that we treat any uncleared area as uncleared. I’m going to take my pistol out of its holster, because it takes up to a full second, or more, to present it once a threat is recognized. If it’s clear here, we’re going to rest you up and get you healthy, at the same time finding everything we can and, I think, everything the government can deliver, on who, what and so on.
“Then we’re going to do something about it, if that’s the wise course of action. I dunno, maybe they end up prosecuted or something, but I’ll tell you this, we will come to a resolution.”
He pauses, looks over at me.
“It’s like you said, Cal. I don’t think they knew who I was, just that I was there and convenient cover for their op. If I hadn’t had my .40, five seconds later they would have been shooting us both a few times more. To make sure.
“So you got shot, and in the process I had time to shoot. In a way I owe you one, and you owe me one, and we’re already even.”
I laugh at this. “Okay, it’s a deal. Now when the hell are we going to get this house cleared?”
He smiles. “In 30 seconds, we open the doors quietly, leave them open so the car light shines out toward the back. We clear this room. Inspect your side for anyone, or anything, that looks wrong. After that, I’ll lead into the house. You’ve got to be my eyes for the whole 180 behind me, from straight to my left and straight right, all the way to our backside. Check out the backside every few seconds, depending on what’s going down up front.
“That’s 30 seconds. Let’s go.”
39. Today, Office, Third Street, Reno, Nevada May 27, 12:08 pm
I’m thinking about the best way to start this investigation: A few hours on the computer, finding out everything available on Eve Hart, Rance Mason, Summa, Dale Anders, Lisa Hart, the Yacht leasing company and crew? I have a few people to call, too, people with more inside stuff than any web site or message board. Visit the scene as soon as possible, start nosing around town, talking to people, getting the lay of the land? I’ve only been to Alaska once, on a “fact-finding” trip with the Senator
, but that was to Anchorage. I have the general knowledge that Juneau is the state capital, that it’s pretty small and isolated, that you can’t get in and out by road. Just ships and planes. Which would seem to make it a completely insane place to snatch a semi-famous public figure and hold her, unless you had a perfect hide set up beforehand. So gotta get up there and see it, sniff the air...
“Cal?” I’m looking up and left, visual recall eye position, and I swivel around to look at Lisa.
“I realize that once you put that check in your pocket you think of this as your investigation. You’re used to operating by yourself. Or with your associates. I’d like to know who they are. But of course all of our resources are at your disposal. I figured you’re going to want to get on site. I called for one of our aircraft to standby here—it will be landing in about 20 minutes.”
Of course. I’m going to have to think of logistics in different terms. I’m not used to having a jet at my disposal. Summa could provide just about anything, besides a fast ride. Logistics, contacts…intelligence. But I still don’t believe everything I’ve heard, just because it was told by a beautiful woman. I can’t completely trust any intelligence coming out of the black box of Summa security, either; not 100%.
But I’ll ride their plane versus flying commercial.
“Good call, Lisa. I want to get to looking around on the ground up there immediately.”
I glance at my watch. “I’ll pick up some necessary items and be at the airport in 60 minutes.”
I give her a good visual once-over, for an instant imagining what those long legs would look like without the black hose, those hips without the skirt…
I look her in the eyes, not trying to hide anything, my aesthetic appreciation nor the fact that I know she knows what I’m thinking.
“I’m coming along on the plane,” she says. “I’ll tell you everything I know, and we have secure comms with the main office, high-speed internet and cell service.”
She doesn’t add, “And we’ll be recording every keystroke and conversation” but I’m going to proceed as if that’s a certainty.
“Good. Have someone meet me at the private aviation terminal with a shuttle out to the hangar. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I’m already thinking of a list of what I need to get at my house. Second spare mag for the .45, box of ammo, suit bag with one good suit and a couple of dress shirts, cold and wet weather gear, backpack…
Big fixed-blade knife. The Bowie. And some bear repellent, pepper spray.
And not just for bears.
I open the office door for her, start to follow her down the hall, and she gives one little extra sway of her tight-skirted hips, confident that I’m looking.
Which I am, because nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting.
40. Today, Aboard N916F, Reno Tahoe International Airport, Nevada May 27, 1:26 pm
The pilot, who’s wearing a uniform exactly like a guy from United right down to the four stripes on his shoulders, walks back to us through the open cockpit door, a professionally neutral expression on his face. He does favor Lisa with a small smile when he gets closer. The Summa corporate jet has six larger than first class seats up front, two two-seat dining/work tables aft and, I’m guessing, some private quarters behind the rear bulkhead.
“We’ll be taxiing in a moment, Ms. Hart.” He finally looks at me, puts out this hand.
“I’m Captain Karl Johns. Your co-pilot is Kevin Alston. Welcome aboard.”
I stand up to shake. I wonder if he’s going to try the gorilla grip on me, and I’m ready to respond in kind, but he gives me a brief, firm, professional handshake and turns back to Lisa.
“Is there anything we can get you before we close the door, Ms. Hart? We didn’t pick up an attendant for this trip.”
“Oh Karl, don’t be ridiculous. I know where everything is. We’ll be fine. ETA in Juneau around 1700 local?”
“If we don’t care about fuel consumption, which I was briefed that we don’t. So yes, about four and a half hours flight time.”
“Great. Well, we’ll be working most of the trip. Give us a shout when we’re 30 minutes out, will you? Otherwise, we’ll see you when we park.”
He looks slightly miffed for a second, but puts back on the professional mask and heads back to the cockpit. There’s an audible click as he secures the door.
Lisa unwraps the string tied neatly around the fat brown bellows folder on the table. I’ve been eyeing it since I came aboard. Someone slapped a wide piece of moving tape across the closed flap before they tied it up. When she opens it it’s going to tear the hell out of the folder. Which is the idea.
“Please secure your seat belts. Taxiing in a moment,” comes over the intercom. We do, and Lisa reaches down out of sight into the bag between her feet, feels around for a second and comes up with a Tanto style knife. A seven- or eight-inch blade. A mini Samurai sword. My right hand makes the tiniest motion toward my right hip before I recognize what it’s for…she slits the tape without effort, licks her forefinger and thumb, rubs them along the edge, carefully, to remove any residue, reaches into the bag again and comes up with a soft cloth, carefully polishes the blade with a couple of base-to-tip passes, puts the knife and the cloth back in the bag.
“That’s quite a letter opener you’ve got there.”
She smiles briefly, then gets a far-away look, head and eyes going up and right.
“My father gave it to me when I was 14. He said, ‘You’re a fair shot Lisa, but a good knife, well, it never runs out of rounds.’ He said that when my first-born, daughter or son, got to be 14 I should give it to them, ‘if they’re ready.’
“Then he smiled and said, ‘And they’d better be ready, sweetie.’ And he handed me a sheath for this thing and told me to finish up my homework and then make sure the blade was secured in a place where only I could get it.”
She purses her lips, thoughtfully. “Since he died, I keep it with me, all the time. Whether it’s legal or not.”
There’s a slight squeal, brakes being released and the plane begins to roll forward.
“Let’s get started on this,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but I told Dale to put everything hardcopy that he had that might be useful in here and put everything electronic in our secure dropbox on the company network, which I’ll download as soon as we get to cruising altitude.”
“So that means you had this packet in this plane and on the way over the hill at a while before noon—before we get back together at my office,” I say.
“You were pretty confident I’d take the job, no?”
“Well, I got everything you needed printed by 1115 and I knew you were going to take it, that you’d want to go to work immediately, and that you’d sure as hell rather fly up in this than going commercial and getting there tomorrow morning.”
The whine of the engines raises pitch and I’m pushed back into my seat as we begin the takeoff run. We stop talking and enjoy the feeling of power. She’s facing aft and has to make an effort to keep from being pushed hard into her seat belt. We look at each other’s faces, silently, for what seems like a long time as the plane rockets up, definitely at a steeper angle than commercial jets. It levels off some and there’s a chime on the intercom and Karl says it’s okay to unbuckle and move around.
“Before we get into this packet, would you like something to eat or drink?” she asks. “I managed to scrounge a quick deli sandwich while I was rushing around meeting your demands, so I’m not hungry.” She smiles to show no hard feelings.
“I had a steak and three eggs at 11,” I tell her. “What have you got to drink?”
“Probably anything you can think of. I’m going to make myself a martini.”
“A martini, eh. Is that legal?” I tease her.
“I’m 22.” She smirks. “And it’s afternoon, and I make the best martini, better than anything I’ve ever had at a bar.”
“Normally the only things I drink are Scotch,
Irish and if I’m in the American South, bourbon. But I’m willing to make an exception. Is it going to be gin, or vodka?”
She wrinkles her nose. “For Christ’s sake, do I look like James Bond? It’s going to be gin so good you’ve never even heard of it.”
She unbuckles and walks forward, opens a large cabinet door on the right side of the aircraft, turns toward me. “This will take a few minutes. No looking in that folder until I get back!”
“Alright.” I pull my laptop out of my bag. I downloaded all emails and messages on to my hard drive that had come in up to the minute I left for the airport. It wouldn’t surprise me if Summa could read every byte going in and out of the aircraft. Jack got back to me on one of the encrypted messaging services. I click the link:
Cal,
Dale Anders retired from NSA five years ago. Last 12 years at the agency in CI (counter intelligence), upper management level. I’ve heard of him—his team busted two of the NSA’s most famous leakers in his last couple of years at the agency. Has never appeared in the media whatsoever.
This is a great opportunity for us to accomplish this phase of Big Picture, but I agree the story has holes big enough to fall into and never return…watch your six, buddy.
I look up. Lisa turns away from the cabinet with two clear glasses in hand. They look more like what I’d drink my whisky from than martini glasses. They’re half full of clear liquid, faintly seen through the frost that covers them. I carefully close the laptop.
“There weren’t any olives on board, so we’re going to have to do without,” she says. “The plane did a quick turnaround and galley service didn’t make it on.”
“Oh, my God.” I tease her. “Just hand me the thing.” I reach out and she does, it feels incredibly cold, like it been in the freezer for an hour. I shrug my shoulders and take a big sip.