Misled

by Anderson Harp

  “I’ll take the flight out tomorrow.”

  “There’s one to San Diego tonight.”

  Paul seemed to be testing Caldwell’s loyalty, as if he knew that the man had another kids’ soccer game that evening.

  If so, he was correct. And the soccer game was the first in the playoffs that would end his son’s season at Witter. There would be the postgame pizza party. His child would be the only one absent a father.

  “Yes, sir.” Caldwell knew one thing regarding the Alexander Pauls of the world: Any answer other than “yes, sir” would be a mistake. Better to submit his resignation than plead for a delayed order.

  Caldwell also knew that when he went home to pack, his wife and he would discuss what he was going to do next. A bad reference from Paul would end it for Caldwell in DC, but perhaps the successful completion of this mission would provide him the opportunity to move jobs.

  “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  * * * *

  The armored Escalade let Frank Caldwell out near his vehicle then headed in the direction of Dulles Airport.

  Paul opened the small window in the partition between his driver and him: “Jet aviation at Dulles.”

  The aircraft would arrive a few minutes after his SUV pulled up to the FBO on the far side of Dulles Airport. The private jet was one of several owned by the company Paul’s firm was consulting for. The 737-model Boeing Business Jet came with a conference room and a chef’s kitchen that could keep the company’s board members entertained wherever.

  “This could be it,” Paul had told his wife of twenty years the night before. She was his second wife and had been his secretary when he rose to brigadier general in the Army. She had become an asset in his move up the ladder after he’d initially earned his first star. It was a different game when one achieved flag rank. Flag rank, a nickname for generals and admirals, took its name from the flag and star embroidered on the uniform. Paul’s first wife had raised the children. His second wife had helped him climb the ladder of power. And now the opportunity had arisen to take the next step.

  The invitation he’d received was for the retirement dinner of Herman Worth, who was retiring from the Baker Alexander board after reaching the mandatory age of seventy. As per tradition, Worth was invited to select any place in the world to hold his retirement dinner. Since Worth was from New Orleans, he’d chosen the French restaurant Galatoire’s. And while the wine cellar at Galatoire’s carried more than a thousand bottles of high-quality wine, Worth’s favorites were being brought in from France. More important, Worth was granted the power to invite the individual he thought should replace him on the board. Alexander Paul had received an invitation to the dinner, which meant that—at least theoretically—he was being considered as Worth’s replacement. Tonight’s dinner would be a job interview that came with the reward of being admitted to the most exclusive club in America: a board of directors of a major company.

  Finally getting past that shit with Ridges.

  Paul would never be allowed to completely forget his past at the DIA, but at least his insubordinate assistant’s conduct seemed to be fading into the mists of time.

  Paul glanced at his watch as the big SUV approached Dulles. All he needed now was for his wife to show up in time with his Oxxford tuxedo.

  Chapter 23

  The Marine Corps Base North of Oceanside, California

  The office of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service resident agency was marked with a sign just off De Luz Road on Camp Pendleton. It was a part of the Marine Corps west coast field office. Will Parker knew his Marine identification card would get him at least through the front door and hoped that it might get him more.

  “I served in the Marines and am looking for the agent that was handling the AWOL case of Lance Corporal Todd Newton.”

  The agent in the dark blue polo shirt who had front-door duty looked up from a desk piled with manila folders. His shirt was monogrammed with the badge of NCIS.

  “Newton?” The agent didn’t hesitate, which caused Will to take note. The agent picked up his telephone and asked the person on the other end to come up front. A densely built man, also in a dark blue polo shirt, 5.11 khaki trousers, and black tactical boots came out to the front. His Glock was attached to his web belt.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m Will Parker.” Will showed him his retired identification card. The agent took it, looked at it carefully, and invited him to come into his back office.

  When Will had taken a seat, the investigator said, “You’re the second one this week.”

  “Sorry?” Will leaned on the arm of the chair.

  “A former Army Ranger was just here.”

  “Really?”

  “He was connected to some high-end government computer-consulting firm.”

  Will wanted to know a lot more, but made a point of hesitating. He wanted the agent to give what he would willingly.

  “And what’s your tie to these Marines?” the agent asked.

  “I’m helping Newton’s father. He’s a retired Marine as well.”

  “Yeah, he was here last week as well.” The agent rolled a pencil in his hand. “The man was torn up.”

  “Nice to see someone still uses one of those things.” Will pointed to the pencil, the suggestion being that the agent was old-school. He got the reaction he hoped he would get: a smile and a chuckle.

  “I came through here on a tour with First Recon Battalion and First ANGLICO,” said Will. He’d spent time, at Pendleton and in the Gulf, with both units.

  “I’ve heard of you.” The agent was clearly warming up to him. “You were at Khafji.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was just behind you. Part of the follow-on.”

  The follow-on units had secured the area after the battle and seen firsthand the destruction. The burned-out shells of vehicles, with the corpses still huddled in them, covered the battlefield. The investigator didn’t say more about the battle of Khafji or the Marines’ first engagement with the Iraqi army, but Will now knew the man was a Marine as well.

  “Well, how can I help?”

  “Who was the Army Ranger that came for a visit?”

  “Here’s his business card.”

  Will studied the card with the name of Caldwell and Alexander Paul’s company.

  “You mind?” Will held up a cell phone he had.

  “No problem.”

  He used the phone to snap a picture of the card.

  “I understand a body’s been found down in Mexico.”

  “We don’t know much about it yet. I know that the torso had a tattoo of 3/1, but there hasn’t been any positive DNA identification. You know both hands and the head were missing….”

  “Someone didn’t want the identification to be too easy.”

  “Yeah. Stupid, wasn’t it?” he said, referring to the identifying tattoos that remained on the body. “I guess they were hoping the sharks would finish the job.”

  “Any idea as to where?”

  “No, we’re talking about over a thousand miles of coastline. And there’s the mainland on the other side of the Gulf as well. My guess is the Baja.”

  “Why?” Will only knew of the Baja by word of mouth.

  “The Baja’s gotten much worse over the years. The First Marine Division’s issued several warnings about not going down there, particularly to the east shore. Not much law there.”

  Will detected an undercurrent of disapproval from the man, who had clearly grown tired of young Marines spending long weekends in the Baja and running into trouble. The agent also didn’t seem convinced that the female Marine’s murder hadn’t been anything more than the result of unwise behavior on the part of two stupid, young Marines.

  “Here’s my card.” He wrote on the back of the card with his pencil. “And my
cell, if you need any help, twenty-four-seven.”

  “Thanks.”

  “They did find Newton’s car. His computer was still in the backseat.”

  “Oh? Did you get in it?” Will wondered if the computer left any clues.

  “No, pretty sophisticated security.” The agent put the pencil down. “They don’t think they can.”

  “He knew what he was doing.” Will was learning about Todd Newton with every fact.

  “Might mean a lot more than two AWOLs.” The agent seemed willing to at least consider that this might have been more.

  “Sure.”

  “But the command wasn’t crazy about where they found the car.”

  “Why?”

  “They’d clearly gone to Hackfest in the Bay Area. Basically, a DARPA-run convention for hackers. Which meant they’d disobeyed a direct order.”

  “I see.” Will started to get out of the chair.

  “Oh, the Army Ranger, Caldwell…he mentioned something in passing. Not sure if it means anything, but the two were tied somehow to Michael Ridges. They came up through the same cyber schooling together.”

  “Do you mind if I stop by Newton’s barracks?”

  “No.” The agent picked up the telephone on his desk. “In fact, I’ll call the CO and let him know you’re coming.”

  * * * *

  The barracks stood in the middle of the Pendleton base near the beach. It was called Area 41 or Las Flores. Will traveled the long road that wound through the center of the installation. Pendleton covered some of the most expensive, undeveloped land in the United States. But for the occasional convoy of brown vehicles and the separate camps, the area remained untouched. He passed Las Pulgas, with its artillery pieces lined up on the tarmac behind heavy military trucks. Will had taken his ANGLICO team to Las Pulgas in preparation for deploying to the Gulf. 1st ANGLICO had also been stationed at Las Flores. ANGLICO, or Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company, teams were dropped in well behind the enemy’s lines and called in artillery and air fire on the unsuspecting enemy. It was on this field that he’d first gotten to know Kevin Moncrief. Marines who were sent here went on to receive several purple hearts.

  Right there. Will looked at the building where he was called one day to meet with the senior enlisted man of the 11th Marines. The first sergeant pulled him into the office at Las Pulgas.

  “Sir, I am assigning Moncrief to you. He’s like a puppy. Treat him right and he’ll follow you anywhere.” The first sergeant had enjoyed a reputation for being gruff and to the point, but also with a touch of humor. “Also, he knows his stuff. It would be best for you to listen.”

  Will had followed the advice and never regretted it.

  Las Pulgas took him somewhat out of the way, but Will quickly turned back onto Las Pulgas road toward Area 41.

  The barracks was a new structure that looked more like a hotel than the old Quonset huts that still dotted some areas of the base. Solar panels covered the roofs. As he pulled into the parking lot, Will noticed yellow tape across a door to one of the rooms. He didn’t need to go inside. He had seen a Marine’s barracks room a million times. There were two bunks, each made up with a tight hospital fold in case the first sergeant did a walk-around inspection, and a load of electronics. The local exchange store kept the young enlisted men fully equipped with the best Game Boys, computers, and devices.

  Will put his hand on the door and imagined the last day Lance Corporal Newton walked through it. It felt odd to think that only some short time ago the young man had passed through this same space. Another Marine walked by in his utilities—ordinary brown desert camouflage, but perfectly starched and shaped in the essential Marine style. His hat tilted down, almost covering his eyes. His arms bulged out of the sleeves. He’d clearly spent many an hour in the gym pressing the iron.

  “Sir, can I help?”

  “Thanks, no, just a friend of the family and a prior Marine.”

  “Squirt was good.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry, sir. Just a nickname. Not a very big guy, but he would do anything for you. He was the guy that could fix all of our shit. Sorry, sir. I was his roommate until this hit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. They put me on the ground floor with Squirt while I rehabbed my leg. Bad jump from a CH-53.” He was noting a parachute drop that ended poorly after he jumped out of the back of a Super Stallion helicopter. It was the largest and heaviest in the Marine Corps inventory and often used for jumps by the special operations teams.

  “Squirt?”

  The Marine smiled and shrugged shyly.

  The name probably fit the kid’s image, Will thought. And his ability to “fix” stuff matched up with what Todd’s father had told him.

  “Did he hit the gym a lot?”

  “Not once. Newton liked the run, but bitched about the rest of the PFT.”

  “Really?”

  “He could go sub eighteen minutes on that run. Left us in the dirt, but the rest of the physical fitness test was shit.”

  The best score on the Marine run was eighteen minutes for three miles. It also included crunches, or a version of sit-ups, and pull-ups.

  “How did he score?”

  “Third class. Good guy, but he’s an Xbox Marine. Sir.”

  “How about the WM?” Will was using the short vernacular for woman Marine.

  “She was assigned to 3/1. She was a geek too, but not like Newton. She could max the PFT, but they both were into IT. When they were together, it was like they were talking German or French.”

  “Thanks, Marine.”

  Will Parker had become convinced of one thing: Newton and his fellow Marine hadn’t intended to be absent without leave. They might have gone to Hackfest despite orders, but there was no way they’d intended to miss roll call that following Monday.

  * * * *

  After leaving Las Flores, Will headed north on Interstate 5. He hadn’t stayed at the San Clemente Inn since he’d left for the Gulf years before. After Operation Enduring Freedom, he spent time at Bethesda and after Bethesda, his active duty had ended. He pulled into the inn and paid cash for a room. That rattled the desk clerk a bit, but soon he had a key and confirmed checkout for the one-night stay. It was close to the same beach where Will had run every day before shipping out to the Gulf. After dressing down, he headed out on Avenida Califia, which took him toward the beach. There, he crossed under the Amtrak rails through a tunnel and headed to the water’s edge, where the sand was firm. He headed to the pier and then reversed directions to the south. As he sped down the beach, the occasional wave would reach his feet and break across his shins. Starting to feel the burn, he headed further south for San Onofre Beach and the nuclear power plant. Surfers lined up offshore waited their turn to catch the perfect wave home.

  The sun was blinding as its rays reflected off of the waters of the Pacific.

  The run gave him a much-needed chance to think. After putting in ten miles, he walked back north on the beach and made a call on a burner phone he’d brought on the trip.

  “Wade?”

  “Hey, Will. I really want to thank you for looking into this.”

  Wade Newton had become a humble man. Will might never forgive him for what happened at the Basic School, but the man was missing his son.

  “He didn’t go AWOL.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Though it gave the father less than full comfort, Will could tell that Newton had hoped to hear this from a fellow Marine.

  “Have you ever heard from a man named Frank Caldwell?” Will thought he knew the answer before asking the question.

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I found something in an email he sent me,” said Newton, raising an issue he had not mentioned before. “Todd said if he ever got into some
kind of trouble I needed to talk to the female Marine and Michael Ridges—you know, that guy in Russia.” The woman Marine was out of play, so that left one possibility.

  Everything seemed to be pointing toward Michael Ridges. Will remembered the gunny’s conversation regarding both Ridges and the DIA.

  “Now I have only one choice, and I don’t know how to get in touch with Ridges.” Every turn that the father made seemed to lead to a dead end.

  “I have some thoughts. We need to meet.”

  “Anywhere, any time.”

  “All right,” said Will. “Make it Memphis, tomorrow night.”

  * * * *

  Will Parker had another suspicion. Back at the motel lobby, he Googled the company listed on the Army Ranger Caldwell’s card. What he found convinced him that there was much more to the disappearance of Todd Newton than a pair of Marines on a dangerous lark.

  The business that Caldwell worked for was a Baker Alexander–type of defense contract that worked in the IT field. It was too close to be purely incidental.

  The name Alexander Paul surfaced as Caldwell’s employer. Moncrief had told Will about Ridges’s connection with DIA; a bit more Googling yielded news articles and op-ed pieces published at the time of Paul’s resignation that all pointed to Ridges as the cause of Paul’s fall from grace.

  He called the NCIS agent and asked for a favor.

  “Can you call the Ranger and let him know another inquiry was made?”

  “Sounds like you’re baiting some kind of hook, eh?”

  Will sensed a smile on the other end of the call.

  “Just let him know that I inquired about the lance corporal.”

  Will had a feeling. Perhaps it came from his days working as a district attorney, but a company representing Alexander Paul sending a man to Pendleton without ever talking to the father of the missing Marine seemed odd to the prosecutor that still lived inside Will Parker’s head.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, that should do it.”

  Chapter 24

  FinCEN Headquarters

  “What’s up?”