Gary checked the street in the mirrors one last time and left the car to cross the street. He climbed the steps to the tall glass door, from inside he could see movement and he went for his pistol, then saw it was Finch. Finch looked just as Gary remembered him from a decade ago, Finch unlocked the door from the inside and extended his hand, “Mr. Cannon.”
“It’s just Gary Mr. Finch, how have you been?”
“I’m getting old Gary. Too old for these midnight rendezvous that some of my clients are so fond of. However I do them none the less. Mr. Degrassi is in my library, if you remember the way I will leave you two be.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday Mr. Finch, thank you very much.”
Finch nodded and sauntered down a hallway, and out of sight. Gary watched him go and then made his way to the library. Inside he was flooded with memories, the books, the smell, the feeling of September air, and of Neil. Neil ever the tactician sat in a chair to the left of the door but out of sight to anyone entering the library, his venerable .45 in his lap.
“Hello Gary,” Neil said.
“Neil,” Gary responded pulling out one of the chairs around the table to have a seat.
Neil looked around the room, then at Gary, “Does this room bring back as much for you as it does for me?”
“It brings back a lot, there has been a lot of water under the bridge since the last time you and I were here.”
“Indeed there has...” Neil trailed off, he seemed lost in his thoughts, he cleared his throat, “I have some stuff for you to look at.”
“Should I be concerned Neil?”
“When you read these I think you will be.”
“Not just the files.” Gary said as he glanced at the pistol on Neil’s leg
Neil holstered the .45, “That wasn’t for you, I am afraid this may more complicated than I anticipated.”
Neil came to the table and took a chair next to Gary placing a stack of folders on the table, “The top four of these should look pretty familiar, I’m guessing they look pretty much like the files you were given before leaving Budapest.”
Gary thumbed through them, “I’d say these are nearly identical, they are missing some advance team photographs but they are close.”
“Hmm, yes. Well, those files are pretty detailed, however, they are not complete. I’ve had Dean do some digging back in Dallas.”
The mention of Dean brought to mind a Greyhound. Dean was Neil’s assistant, he was a tall slender gaunt man, but even if he looked like Greyhound, he was more of a ferret. Dean had a knack for digging up information the best kind of information, the kind that's been buried, “Let’s see them.”
Neil sifted through the stack and produced four more folders. Gary started reading.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” Neil said.
“I can read.”
“I know you can read, let me just hit the high points after that if you want to read the files you can read them.”
“Sure, fine, let me hear it.”
“The first one that flagged us was Pringle, if you hadn’t called we never would have started digging. Pringle has been recruited by the CIA in his first year in college, eight months passed from the time he was recruited, and suddenly he joins the Marine Corps, but not as Ed Pringle. He signs up using the name Reginald Galloway.”
“I knew it, had to be ex-military.”
“It gets better. Even though he’s been noted as a problem a Paris Island, right after he leaves boot camp and goes directly to scout sniper training, and then gets deployed to Vietnam. Records show Galloway hitting the ground in Saigon then nothing for twenty months. I thought that was a little odd so I had Dean check other scout snipers who were operating at that time and in his battalion and even guys who had high numbers of top secret missions had records of movement, commendations, something.”
“So what happens after twenty months?”
“Nothing, Galloway is reported KIA.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. Similar to a story I’ve heard before. But this was just the tip of the iceberg.”
Neil lit a cigarette, Gary could see for the first time how old Neil was looking, his skin bathed in the yellow light of the Zippo, it exposed every crevice and wrinkle on his face. Neil’s dark eyes settled on Gary’s, “Meir, CIA also, though her path is much more of what I would call traditional. She was a college grad out of Stanford, her family was an affluent one in Boston politics, there have always been questions but no confirmations that her father had been quietly contracting for the CIA.”
Gary’s thoughts turned to Julia for a moment, her awareness, her inquisitive nature, how she acted around him, he wondered if she saw him as some means to an end, a piece of her job. A small voice in his head reminded him, had he been seconds faster she would be dead by his on hand, “What’s the CIA doing in Omaha?”
“Wondered that myself. Seems that five years ago the Eastern European division had noted a plan the Russians had as part of a first strike was to disable the facility at Offutt. The FBI had been alerted but from what we found the CIA didn’t feel totally comfortable with that and nested two agents in Omaha to root out anything suspicious, the way the CIA likes to.”
“Meir and Pringle.”
“Bingo.”
“What about Garcia, and Hanson? And why the fuck am I killing these people, why aren't these files complete?”
“I don't have answers for all of that yet but, Garcia and Hanson, FBI. They were the special agents inserted after the CIA report, Garcia was out at the base, your file showed him as part of a re-sealing crew at the base but he was full time in the maintenance crew. That gave him access almost every area of the base. Hanson was at the law firm as an information gathering mole. The firm has long worked with Russian expatriates in the area.”
“What’s the connection Neil? I don't see how Sanford got mixed up in all of this, did we get hired by the Russians through a second?”
“Our sources are saying no, what I do see though all of this is some posturing by the CIA to build an operational arm something that would take money off of our plate. It’s something Donovan tried back in the forties, our emergence during the blockade pretty much killed that. Ever since it has been something that’s been widely discouraged from the executive branch, but that's not the connection I’m seeing. The European office head when Meir and Pringle was assigned was Ray Flockstein.”
“Okay, but these agents weren’t in Europe.”
“Again this is out of the norm, somehow they reported through the European division and back to Flockstein.”
“That still doesn't prove any connection, he had to have dozens of agents that reported back to him.”
“You're right, that doesn't prove anything. However, Garcia and Hanson they reported back to a man named Frund, at first he looked totally clean. Yesterday Dean contacted someone he knew from his time, Frund is on the CIA payroll. He’s an agency mole, playing the role of an FBI agent who happens to head up Russian suspicious activities in the States. More of the CIA not trusting the FBI.”
“So, let me guess, he reports to Eastern Europe?”
“You’re damn right he does.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Better believe it. And the final knot that ties this up is when Frund was inserted into the FBI he was reporting directly to Flockstein, and only months before Flockstein took his seat on the Sanford board.”
“Mother of God.” Gary said looking at the files, “What the...why would Flockstein...do you think he was the one that sent the files to me?”
“He’s the CEO, he has the ability to make all of these things happen, and I think it’s a likely possibility, we’ll have to be certain.”
“But Neil, even if he did want all of those agents dead, and wanted that whole operation brought to its knees. Why the stadium explosions, what’s that gain him? And furthermore why expose me, why pin that on me?”
“I don't know.”
Gary stood
, he began to pace the room his mind working looking for a solution. He rubbed at his temples as he looked at the titles of the books on the walls. His next actions would be critical, if Flockstein was the one pulling strings he could easily have the full might of Sanford to bring down on him. On the other hand, this could all be a smokescreen for something bigger. Either way Gary decided that Flockstein was the key that would put his puzzle back together.
Neil sat rather than paced, his knees were not what they had once been and at this time of night he did not feel like enraging them. Neil thought about Ray Flockstein, he tried to think when Ray had come to Sanford. He was appointed straight to the board so it was after a vacancy. He closed his eyes, Huff had been CEO, so it was after ‘67, he remembered now it was in ‘73 when Tom Smoot had left the board.
Ray Flockstein was unique to everyone who had served on the board. Ray was not the first replacement, there had been a few before. What was different was that Ray had been with the CIA before Sanford. He was the man to have not come from the inside to have ever sat on the board.
While in charge of the Eastern Europe office, Flockstein had been running ghost accounts for the CIA, and had received an MBA from Yale, and he was sharp. Ray could invent money, he had singlehandedly kept the eastern European operations group flush with cash. He would conjure up a company with no employees, no real assets, and no product. Through his investments and speculation the companies that Ray created were nearly printing money, money that was not coming from Washington, money with no oversight and no restrictions.
Ray had been recruited for that reason, or did he approach us? Neil could not remember how it had happened, that had been a tumultuous time. Neil always assumed it was the large salary that Sanford International offered that pulled him from the CIA, but if a man could invent money for the agency the way he had why would he not have been doing that for himself? The fact that Flockstein had never operated in the field also had made him an anomaly amongst the board, and Neil had never quite felt right about that, but they needed a businessman at the time.
Neil had little use for Ray, he was all too much a bureaucrat. But Ray had been the right choice at the time to be CEO, more and more Sanford International was a company, and its operating capital was as important as its assets.
When Ray came to the company they had just been through one of their most profitable periods, but work had turned down to some degree, and the company needed to continue to build. The men they had needed plane tickets, cars, weapons, and they needed cash to keep them in the game until jobs were complete. The ever expanding complexities of non-existent companies and imaginary names on bank accounts were a nightmare to keep track of, and Ray was running the nightmare.
Even more now, Neil felt Ray was running the nightmare, he was almost certain of it. He needed to know why, he needed something, some piece that would let him make his next move.
Gary was going to want to kill everyone, he had seen him with the safety off and he would burn the world down around him. Neil needed to set him on a path, and to do that he needed information.
***
June 3, 1947
He pulled up to the house and shut off the car, and turned off the headlights. It had been a long trip and he was ready to see his new friend again.
They had made plans after a fun outing in China only six weeks earlier. The two had hit it off immediately after a chance meeting at the airport. Their plans had been very similar for their trip and they were surprised they each shared the same first destination.
At their departure they had made plans to meet up again right here at his friend’s home. The trip had been long and he was exhausted. He was happy classes were over for the year and the plans he had for summer had kept him going through his finals. He opened the car door and felt the fresh air, he stood up and stretched shaking off the stiffness of travel.
He checked his watch and looked at the house, he was surprised the lights were off but had been told that if he arrived and found the place empty to make himself at home, but it was late and he was still surprised. He climbed the steps to the porch and tried the door knob, the door swung open.
Immediately he was hit with a stench, it was rotten. His stomach turned over and he vomited there at the threshold. He stepped back onto the porch spitting and hacking, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth and nose, and went back into the house.
With the lights on inside he still could not find any cause for the smell. He began going through the rooms, even breathing through the handkerchief the smell was almost overpowering, after two rooms in there was no sign of his friend or the source of the smell, two doors left, he opened the third door, and reached in to turn on the light switch.
Fluorescent lamps flickered to life, their ballasts humming, and he had found the source of the smell. A body was suspended from the ceiling of the room, the naked body’s legs were purple its midsection was bloated and swollen fluids and gore were spilling from a wound near the rib cage. He would have retched right there again had his stomach not already been empty. He knew this was his friend Heir Brandt. Who could have done this he wondered? He fled the room, running back the freshness of the night air.
On the porch he collapsed, between gagging and coughing he was crying, never before had he felt such a connection with a person, never had anyone understand him the way that Brandt had. He felt he had so much to learn from this man and now he was gone. How this had happened was beyond him. They had so many plans he had traveled so far. He sobbed on the steps until he was exhausted.
When he pulled himself together, he stood and went to the car, he opened the door, pulled the keys from the ignition, and a .38 caliber pistol from the glove box. He looked at the pistol for some time turning it over in his hands. He checked the cylinder, he was satisfied and he closed it. He tucked the pistol into his belt and walked to the back of the car, and opened the trunk.
Inside lay Christina, he had picked her up in a bar in Santiago five days ago. She was part of their plan, he could only assume Heir Brandt had prepared that room for the plans they had made, and he teared up again just for a moment. He looked back and Christina, and reached down and slapped her face a few times and he stirred. She opened her eyes and looked around and then up at him.
“Ray?” she began to struggle.
He heaved her from the trunk grabbing her by the hair, she began to kick at him, and he hit her in the stomach she doubled over. He drug her up the steps and to the door. At the door she protested again, it must have been the smell.
She braced herself against the door frame, he pulled against her once, and she did not move. He pulled the pistol from his belt and pressed it behind her right ear, she stiffened for a second like she might comply but he pulled the trigger. Her head exploded onto the floor like a broken melon and her body went limp and he let her fall to the porch.
He went back inside and to the kitchen. There he found some brandy above the sink, three bottles, and a bottle of pure grain alcohol. With the brandy he poured tracks around the living room and out to the porch. Into the top of the grain alcohol bottle he stuffed his handkerchief. He tipped the bottle over and let the linen soak up the clear liquid fire, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it. He watched the flame for a second and heaved the bottle into the open door watching the room slowly build flames until it grew to a raging inferno.
He turned and went back to the car, looking at the house and the light it was casting into the night sky. As he started the car he felt more determined than he ever had about anything. Ray Flockstein drove off into the night, visions of revenge as hot as the flames behind him.
***
July 5, 1976
As the sun broke the horizon Neil called the Dallas office, Dean would already be there. Dean had been instructed to be in before the rest of the staff arrived, he needed two things from the man. Neil needed Dean to check Flockstein’s schedule, and he needed him to get out of Dallas, Dean would be no good to th
em dead or locked up.
Gary was making another pot of coffee in a small break room off of the library, he haphazardly smoked as he scratched at the stubble on his neck. He yelled back into the big room, “Neil did you get him yet? Neil?”
“Hold on one second,” Neil covered the handset on the phone and raised his voice to answer, “I’ve got him on the line now.”
Gary came back into the library a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a day old Danish in the other, he was straining to try and hear the other end of the conversation Neil was nodding, the color was gone from his face.
“Dean, it’s time for you to get out of there.” Neil nodded again, “No no, you’ve done well. I think I understand this now. Get clear of there and you stay clear until you hear from me again. If you don’t hear from me, well you’ll know what to do. Thank you for everything.”
“What?” Gary stood he was stunned at the expression on Neil’s face.
“Ray had gone to El Comienzo, my guess is he is expecting we will be putting pieces together and he needs somewhere he can lock himself into and hide.”
“Goddammit, that bastard, that miserable shit. Wait, so you’re sure? Sure that it’s him? You’re sure he’s not heading there as a precaution, thinking there could be more of us uncovered?”
“No. it’s him. Somehow all of this is him.”
“So this comes back to some kind of CIA pissing contest? Have we got a mole, has that fucker Flockstein been playing us to fold Sanford so the CIA can do its own work fill someone’s ego?”
“I don't think this is CIA, I think this is personal. I need to tell you a story.”
***
October 6, 1966
Killing Sanford (Gary Cannon Book 1) Page 16