“Yes sir,” she answered and left the room. The larger man got up from the table and leaned over to Mr. Placer.
“Find that Dr. Sloan and make sure he’s quiet and out of the picture, immediately.” Placer didn’t answer him and looked straight ahead. “Hey Susie, get me a cup of coffee, will you girl?”
The larger man left the room leaving Placer alone. He placed the papers in his briefcase and got up.
“Thank you Senator, you asshole,” he mumbled.
-Chapter 34-
Galveston agreed to my request. If he had not, I might have injured him in some way. He had sensed my pending insanity and gave in; we would leave for Mexico in the morning.
I left Alex’s home and returned to my own, as Galveston stayed behind and formulated our impending plan, the next step of our unending quest. The information we were getting now was massive. We had movements of Black Bear, financial transactions, and messages, all from the ingenious and utterly frightening touch of our resident computer geek.
I got home and readied myself for my date. Galveston had given me only one piece of advice, fake an injury and garner sympathy, rule 107. I decided to completely disregard his advice since his history with the opposite sex was not all that stellar.
Elizabeth had arrived with Dr. Sloan, safe and sound. She put him up in a downtown San Diego hotel and instructed him to stay put.
Elizabeth arrived at Alex’s house just as Galveston was finishing up a talk with David May. Galveston’s heart leapt when he saw Elizabeth. He bounded over, but stopped short so as not to look too eager.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, giving her a hug, as if he had any worries over her capabilities. “Everything is good?” He asked.
“Lovely, just tired. I’ll never get used to American driving.”
“Yeah, we drive on the correct side of the road, and we do the speed limit, for the most part,” he joked, alluding to the stereotype that the English were rather aggressive drivers.
“Quite,” she answered, “may I have a drink?”
“Certainly, I have a lot to tell you.” Galveston left and got her one of the Perrier he had derided before, and filled her in on all the new information.
About this time, I met Jane at her house. She looked beautiful, decked out in casual wear, her hair up in a pony tail. My heart quickened and my knees got weak. We exchanged small talk in her place before we started off to the restaurant. Not two minutes into our date my phone began to ring. I looked at it and it was Galveston. I pushed the ignore button. “Not tonight buddy boy”, I thought. Whatever it was could wait until morning. I didn’t have the heart to turn it off completely, and instead I set it to vibrate. If it got bad enough I would talk to him.
Jane and I talked like old friends. The conversation was easy and fun, and flowed from one topic to another. I had never felt so comfortable before, and she had such an air of ease. She seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, which I found shocking for some reason.
Back at the house, the information train steamed on. May had given Galveston information on the Board of Global Energy and he and Alex busily searched the web, while Elizabeth snoozed on the couch.
“None of these guys have the power to pull off something like this. They’re either academic types, or the head of some foundation,” Galveston told Alex.
It was true they were striking out. None of them would have been able to coordinate all the pieces, that was until they got to the last name. Senator Edward Eastman, the newest member of the Board. He was the only politico and the only one with power, but would his biography support the motivation?
As Alex pulled it up, indeed it did. He was a staunch environmentalist and socialist leaning senior Senator from Connecticut. He wasn’t that terribly well known, or well-loved, but he had an enormity of power in the Senate. He was the Chairman of the Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources, and a member of the Senate Finance Subcommittee on International Trade, Customs, and Global Competitiveness. He was also a career politician, serving most of his adult life as a moderate economist, and was courted and lobbied heavily by trial attorneys. He sat on two boards, both non-profits, the Global Energy Consortium and Center for Democratic Initiatives. He had been investigated five times by the Senate over the course of his career, and twice by the General Accounting Office because of fundraising infractions.
Eastman was known in Washington as a hardnosed Senator who would often berate junior members to vote his way on sponsored bills. He hadn’t introduced a meaningful piece of legislation in his career, but managed to sneak through some pork barrel projects to his state. He was married with two children, both adults, and had accusations, more than a few times, of marital infidelity. A news report they found described him as being very engaging, polite, and very manipulative, with a hot temper and a fire brand style of politics. He was often absent from votes, but managed to easily win every six years due to an aggressive political team. Eastman was no saint, but what politician is? Out of all the names, he stood out like a sore thumb.
Eastman’s environmental stands were radical. He saw nothing wrong with eco-terrorism and was staunchly against oil exploration. He was a strong advocate against “Global Warming”, or what it was now so lovingly referred to as “climate change”, and was an opponent of anything related to consumerism. Ironically, even with these beliefs, he often flew in a private Gulfstream V jet, had an 8,800 square foot house, a beach house in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and an upscale townhouse in the swank Washington D.C. enclave of Georgetown.
“This guy doesn’t practice what he preaches,” Galveston said aloud. “Look at this one.” Galveston pointed to a link on the screen. Alex brought it up and the pair read it over. “He has heavily invested in ‘green’ companies. This guy is one big walking conflict of interest. I would say he has some motivation on being involved in all of this,” he said, referring to our current situation.
“I agree. This reads like a rap sheet,” Alex acknowledged.
“I guess he’s well liked, though. This editorial says, ‘Senator Eastman has the panache to counsel a mother and baby that everything will be alright, while stealing the mother’s purse and the baby’s pacifier, all at the same time.’ I would say that seems to sum him up in a nutshell.” They continued to pour over the wealth of information from the internet. “That reminds me,” Galveston said, grabbing his cell phone, “I have to make another anonymous call.”
The phone began to vibrate in my pocket just as I was eating my swanky pork chop. I let it continue until it stopped. A few minutes later it went off again; and then again after that. Jane sensing my distraction stopped eating her pasta primavera.
“You might as well get that, you know he won’t quit calling.”
“Yeah I know.” Just then it gave another annoying vibration. “I’ll be back in a second.” I walked to the outside of the restaurant. “What!” I yelled in the phone.
“How’s it going hot stuff? Made it to first base yet?” Galveston’s voice boomed over the phone.
“No, but my phone has. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”
“I just wanted to tell you to meet me at the airport at 8 A.M. We’re taking a flight out of Montgomery Field.”
“8 A.M.? Isn’t that a little early?”
“No. Just be there.”
“Can I go now?”
“Oh, just one more thing. I think we found our mole.”
“Mole? What do you mean?”
“Possibly our guy behind this thing, a Senator Edward Eastman.”
“A Senator? A U.S. Senator?” I asked naively.
“No, a Roman Senator,” Galveston answered sarcastically. “Yes a U.S. Senator. Pretty dirty guy. We don’t have a definitive link, but we’re working on that. The other Board members just don’t add up. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
“That’s mighty nice of you.”
“Oh, and another thing. Did you fake an injury yet? Make
sure you do it in front of her house.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” I replied incredulously.
“Have a good time, sunshine.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said and hung up the phone. I made my way back to Jane.
“What did he want?” She asked.
“Nothing important, of course. We’re meeting at the airport tomorrow. We’re going to Mexico for a day or so. The rest of his conversation was filled with yapping.” She smiled brightly, and we were finally able to finish our dinner in peace for once during the night.
We spent the rest of our date strolling in the moonlight along the wharf. I took her back to her place, and we exchanged pleasantries at the door, gave each other a nice kiss, and said our goodbyes.
“Would you like to come in for a while?” She asked me softly.
“I better get going. I have to meet Dan early.”
“I understand.”
“I had a great time,” I said, giving her a long hug.
“Me too,” she said.
I turned and started to return to my parked car, and then sensing my folly I thought quickly and immediately grabbed my leg.
“Ouch, my hamstring. It’s acting up again,” I said hamming it up.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, just an old football injury,” I joked. I had never played a day of organized football in my life. “Can I come up and get a drink of water, that usually clears it up.” Jane smiled, obviously seeing through my ploy.
“Sure, follow me.”
-Chapter 35-
I arrived late to Montgomery Field the next day, an airport north of downtown San Diego, disheveled and tired. Galveston was already waiting for me in the parking lot.
“So how’d it go, Stud?” He asked right away.
“Fine, fine,” I said, getting my bag out of the back of my car.
“Looks like you could have used a little more freshening up.”
“No, I’m good. Ready to go.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Galveston said, smiling. “A friend of mine is going to fly us. Come on.”
We made our way to the security gate where Galveston punched in a code. We walked across the tarmac to an awaiting Cessna 400 Corvalis aircraft.
“Where’s your friend?” I inquired.
“I don’t know, he said he would be here. I’ll get the plane ready for him. Put your stuff in the back and get in the passenger side.”
I placed my things in the cargo hold and stuffed myself in the passenger right seat. Galveston climbed in the pilot’s seat and looked over the controls.
“Pretty complicated, huh?” He said to me.
“Yeah, I’ll say. Lots of knobs and buttons.”
“Ah, it can’t be that hard. You know, we can’t wait for him forever. I bet we can get it going for him.” Galveston started pushing buttons and moving knobs. “That looks about right, I bet.”
“Don’t mess with that,” I shrieked, clutching my seat.
“He told me he keeps the keys under the seat.” Galveston reached down and pulled out some keys.
“Hey, what are you doing? Put those down!”
“Relax. Let’s see what this sucker does.” He put the keys in the starter, moved some knobs, and turned the key, starting the engine. “Wow, just like when I play that game on my computer.” I was petrified as I looked out the front at the spinning propeller blade. “You better get your headphones on, it’s going to be loud,” he yelled. I nervously stuck the headset on my head and reached for my seatbelt, following Galveston’s lead.
“Okay, that’s good,” I yelled back, “turn it off! That’s enough playing around.” Galveston was clearly amused.
“Ah, let’s just move it a bit.” He moved the throttle forward and we began moving toward the taxiway. “I just hope this thing has brakes,” he exclaimed through the intercom. The plane jerked to a stop, right before the taxiway leading to the runway. “Whew. I thought I’d never figure that out,” Galveston said to me. I was not amused.
“Just shut it off, before we get into trouble.”
Galveston was now laughing hard and could barely keep his headphones on. He composed himself and keyed his microphone.
“Montgomery Ground, Cessna two-zero-one-victor-tango with romeo, taxi IFR.” The radio chattered with instruction.
“Cessna two-zero-one-victor-tango, Montgomery Ground, taxi to Runway two-eight right via taxiway Alpha and Hotel. Hold in the run-up area for a release time.”
Galveston read back the instructions verbatim and was still stifling laughter while he taxied the single engine airplane toward the runway.
“When were you going to tell me you could fly?” I questioned him.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t figure it out until we were in the air.”
“How long did you have this planned?”
“About five minutes before you got here. I had already got our instrument clearance, and thought I would have a little fun with you,” he said as he negotiated the plane down the taxiway.
“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Are you kidding? It was great! I’ll never forget your white knuckles on the dash. That was priceless.”
Galveston changed to the tower frequency and got a takeoff clearance almost immediately. Galveston pushed the throttle forward and we lifted off quickly into the air. We made a turn to the south before being transferred to SoCal Approach, the air traffic control for the area. We would pass over San Diego, the border and Tijuana, and then a turn to the southeast to track our way to Monterrey, Mexico. It was a clear day, and we cruised at 11,000 feet. I finally began to relax more and more as the flight progressed, somehow trusting Galveston’s flying skills as we travelled farther south and into the Mexican interior.
I watched as the ground changed from the city of San Diego to the roughness and chaotic outline of the city of Tijuana. Eventually, all I saw was light brown ground dotted with scrub brush, winding dirt roads that crisscrossed in every direction, and alternating terrain that changed from mountainous to sprawling desert. I silently ruminated over the cost of this little sojourn, and was privately peeved Galveston didn’t consult me, but this sure was an easy way to travel.
We caught some mountain turbulence as we crossed over the Sierra Juárez Mountains and left the Baja California peninsula behind. Monterrey is situated in the interior of the country near the east coast of central Mexico, about 1,100 miles from San Diego, and 400 miles north of Mexico City. The Corvalis is a fast airplane and travels at a maximum speed of 235 knots which allowed Galveston to calculate us at a flight time of four and a half hours. I quit looking out the windows too often, and pushed the thought back that if the plane went down, there was nothing around but desert.
During the enroute phase of our flight, Galveston briefed me on the newest member of this little fiasco, Senator Edward Eastman. After he was finished, I used the remainder of our time to broach the subject of the cost of this flight.
“When are you planning to let me know how much you spent on this flight? You know you’re not supposed to try to make any financial decisions.”
“My friend said we could use his plane for free. He owes me a favor. We just have to pay for fuel.”
“That’s some favor.”
“Well there is a catch. We have to help his kid sell all of his candy for his baseball fundraiser.”
“And how much candy would that be?” I asked.
“Oh, about twenty cases. See aren’t you proud? I figure we’ll get Alex to buy them all. We’ll just tell him they’re fine French chocolates.”
“From now on though, tell me about all the expenses.”
“Yes Dad,” Galveston said sarcastically and I smiled. Galveston had worked out a good deal, and it didn’t mean schlepping bags through security with all the other cattle.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, and we were afforded a nice tailwind from the west that sped our progress. We flew over Monterrey about 2 P.M. Central time. Ga
lveston set the plane down gently while fighting a nasty little crosswind blowing over the runway. As we taxied to a tie down spot, we were met by a Mexican customs agent who was nice enough to rifle through our bags. We tied down, prayed the plane would be in the same place when we got back, and made our way to the front of the airplane terminal. A short, skinny, young man approached us.
“Hola Senors’. Are you names Dan Galveston and Roger Murphy?” He said in broken English.
“That’s us,” Galveston answered. “You Manuel?”
“Si Senor, that is me,” and Manuel pointed to himself.
“Excellent. You know where we’re going?”
“Jes, I know where the Colonel Espinosa is. Here I have a car.”
Manuel led us to a rental, an old Volkswagen Beetle, slightly destroyed. Manuel drove us through the streets as he used the horn religiously and cursed the other drivers. He must not have been a day over 22 or 23.
“So how do you know Alex?” I asked.
“He stay at the villas where I work. I help him many times. He got me a promotion, and now I have nine people work under me.” He pulled both hands off the wheel to show us the number on his fingers. “He is big help to me.”
“That guy sure gets around,” I told Galveston.
“I think he spent a good amount of time in Mexico. You know, when he had to lay low,” Galveston informed me.
We arrived at our destination, Universidad Autónoma de Nuevo León Hospital, a large, white stone building on the campus of a university. Manuel parallel parked the Volkswagen skillfully between two other non-descript cars on the street, making sure to tap the bumpers of the other cars with his own as he angled in.
“We here,” he announced proudly. Galveston then explained to Manuel why we were in Monterrey, and laid out our plan.
“Were you able to find out his condition?” Galveston asked him.
“Jes, the Colonel is in very bad shape. He in the main medical ward.”
Galveston had thought out the plan carefully. He pulled a bag toward the front of the car and set it on his lap. From it he pulled two white lab coats and a stethoscope, placing it in one of the coat pockets. He then pulled two cards from the bag, one for me, which he handed to me in the back seat, and the other one for himself. On it was my driver’s license picture, a picture he knew I was not fond of. On the I.D. I had a cheesy, pencil thin mustache. I didn’t remembered growing one, ever, but upon further inspection, I could see it was added in. “Dr. Joseph Rogers, Epidemiologist, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Atlanta, Georgia”, it read.
Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack Page 15