The Ericksen Connection

by Barry Becker

  wanted to establish a democratically-elected government in Iraq to encourage other Arab governments that democracies can be attainable.”

  “Hank, sorry, but that is pure bullshit! The administration at the time didn’t understand tribal rivalries. Shi’a versus Sunni.” He lifted his Bud Light beer and took a swig. “The two reasons the administra- tion pushed for the invasion and occupation rested on the stupid belief regime change would strengthen the US Middle East policy position, and assist the military-industrial complex with very lucra- tive business contracts.”

  “I disagree,” Hank said.

  Sullivan took a deep breath. “We need to cut the bullshit, relax and enjoy the ballgame.”

  51

  yzhkov propped his body up against the headboard at the Brenner Guesthaus in Hamburg, Germany. He took a drag on his cigarette, and put the cigarette back in the tray. The

  room had a musty odor. He thought, what does one expect when staying in a seedy guesthouse near the harbor?

  He held his secure smartphone to his ear and spoke slow- ly:“Watchmaker, the shipment is on the Gudrun Maersk, departing Hamburg Monday, on August 17. Arrival date at the Port of Baltimore is Tuesday, August 25. The international freight forwarder, Bach and Tittl, prepared the shipping documents: commercial invoices, ship- per’s export declaration, and a bill of lading. You will find two cartons of ice chest-freezers on each pallet, eight pallets total. Another order called for ten refrigerators packed on pallets. The best brands are the ice chest-freezers. I’ll email you the information.”

  He coughed and continued, “The BIC code is JARZ 362859. The manufacturers’ code is on the outside of the forty-foot container: Duppelstein GmbH, Leipzig, Germany. The destination is Schultz Furniture Store, New Orleans, LA. The customhouse broker has a storage facility near the harbor called Dundalk Marine Terminal. All containers can be subjected to portal screening monitors which

  employ sensors to pick up Gamma radiation. Once customs cleared the contents of the load, they’ll place the containers in the storage facility on Thursday, August 27. Heimlich Transport will pick them up on Friday morning, August 28. They have reserved the appoint- ment for 8 am. You’ll be in control when the truck leaves the terminal.”

  Sergei picked up his glass of vodka, took a hefty swig, and with his left hand picked up a cigarette and took a long drag, “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” said Beltermann.

  52

  Hank Lucas’s Residence

  he Lucas Estate fronted on Old Dominion Road in McLean, Virginia. They had five acres of land surrounded by an eight-foot high steel fence connected to a four-inch-thick

  steel electronic gate. Two security officers monitored the entrance to the gate from their black SUVs. They wore ear mics, and their Glock pistols were lying on the passenger seat. There was a guard house inside the gate, where two heavily armed security officers monitored the premises and opened the gate to guests after they presented a passcode to the officers.

  The square footage exceeded ten thousand and comprised seven bedrooms, seven baths, an elegant home entertainment room, family room, game room, living room, dining room, large kitchen, and a study. In the foyer of the two-level mansion, standing off to the right of the door to the house, stood additional security officers.

  Henry Lucas had grown up in Santa Barbara, California. His father built custom homes, and his mother managed the household and raised both him and his two sisters. After graduating from West

  Point in 1974, he was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army and retired as a major general after twenty-seven years of service.

  In 2003, President Ridgeway appointed Lucas to the position of Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence, overseeing the DIA, NSA, Defense Security Service, and the National Geospatial-Intelli- gence Agency. He left that agency in 2006 and became an executive vice-president of government affairs for a major defense aviation company. After spending two years there, he was appointed Secretary of Homeland Security by the President.

  Sullivan, Geiger, and Lucas were playing poker with three of Lucas’s friends. Lucas and his wife, Charlotte, had been married for almost thirty years. When Sullivan arrived with his wife Ann, Char- lotte took her into the family room to join three other wives for an evening of bridge.

  At nine o’clock, the grandfather clock’s chime played Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and struck nine times. Sullivan looked at Lucas, “I didn’t realize you were a fan of classical music.”

  “Beethoven’s my favorite composer. When our kids were growing up, they bombarded us with the noise they called music. Thank God we can now enjoy classical music in peace.”

  At eleven o’clock the gentlemen finished their game, stood up, and waited to join their wives. Hank and his wife hugged their friends and said their goodbyes. Geiger and Sullivan joined Lucas in his study. Sullivan couldn’t help but be impressed with Lucas’s large room. There was a strong Japanese influence with pictures of Samurai warriors in battle. He had one photo of being awarded a trophy in a karate tournament. Another photo showed him with Chuck Huntington sparring during a karate event.

  On the wall of the study hung a picture of Lucas in his military uniform along with three officers standing on the tarmac at Bagram Air Field. The two-star general smiled in the photo.

  “What year were you in Afghanistan?” Geiger said.

  Lucas immediately answered, his square jaw jutted out like a commander to a subordinate at roll call. “I spent two weeks touring Afghan bases in April 2002.”

  Sullivan remembered Lucas when he had headed up the Defense

  Intelligence Agency in the 2001–2002 period. “Did you know Colonel Dawkins?”

  He calmly leaned his head toward Sullivan. “Yes. I briefly met him on my tour and in the following year in Iraq when I became the Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence. He supported the Office for Iraqi Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance.”

  Geiger stepped closer to Lucas and paused. He glanced at the general’s picture on the wall.

  “Did Dawkins do a good job?”

  Lucas’s face tensed up with the question. “The DoD appeared satisfied with his work. Personally, I never liked the man. Why do you ask?”

  “We’re investigating a huge fraud and corruption case that took place between 2003 and 2005. Many military and State Department contractors were involved in billions of dollars of fraud and bribes. The auditors did a piss-poor job. Dawkins, along with a few other names, surfaced and the government will soon bring him in to help with our investigation,” Geiger said.

  “I heard he retired and joined Chuck Huntington’s private secu- rity firm and made a bundle of cash,” Sullivan said.

  Lucas nodded. “Well, it sounds like the man had good connec- tions. Glad someone else is making money instead of Blackwater.”

  53

  bdullah and the Albanian, code name Casino, drove to the Las Vegas airport. After parking their vehicle, they entered the terminal, surveyed the ticket counter area on the first

  floor, and went up the escalator to the shops.

  An hour later they met two men who were part of the Alpha Team at a coffee shop off Flamingo Blvd. Two hours later they drove to the Las Vegas Convention Center and met two men from Bravo Team and walked around the convention center complex.

  Houston, Texas

  Beltermann met the Chechen, code-name Cowboy. They drove to the George H. Bush International Airport to conduct recon at the airport. They entered the terminal and walked throughout the public areas of the airport. They met two men from the Charlie Team at a coffee shop near the airport.

  Two hours later they met two men in a Houston bar wearing Bauer Transportation uniforms. They came from Delta Team. They

  talked briefly and then drove out to the Galaxy Oil Company’s refin- ery, checking out razor wire fencing, guard towers, and the general layout of the facility.

  At six at night, Abdullah sat down in Starbucks in Henderson, Nevada.
He drank tea, and read an email from Khalid. He replied to the email, shut down his laptop, and took out The New York Times newspaper to read. Thirty minutes later he left the coffee shop. In the parking lot, he saw two vehicles with men dressed in sports casual clothing pull up. He got back into his car and waited. The men entered Starbucks, and five minutes later they left with their coffee. He noticed all the men had something peculiar bulging beneath their sports shirts, which were draped over their waists. They got into their vehicles and took off. He thought They all had concealed guns. Is this a coincidence or are they following me?

  At eight-thirty in the evening, Beltermann activated the computer through his biometrics log-on while seated at Starbucks at the Galleria Mall in Houston. He sent Abdullah an encrypted email bstallion @ planetearth.com: “Finished last phase of research and will go over final plans with the team this weekend. Watchmaker.”

  Then he sent an email to Khalid at fdancer @ swisstelecom.ch: “Per your instructions, all targets have been analyzed and evaluated for efficiencies and capabilities with teams. Watchmaker.”

  54

  ricksen arrived at Geneva International Airport on the 28th at 1:30 pm on British Airways flight #726 from London. After he retrieved his luggage and cleared customs, he proceeded

  to the passenger arrival lobby and took a taxi to the Swissôtel’s Métro- pole Hotel.

  Jurgen Reiter ushered him into his fifth-floor executive suite office at 3:30 pm. “How are you doing these days, Monsieur Ericksen?”

  “Fine, thank you. And you, Mr. Reiter?”

  “Life is good.” Reiter escorted him to a leather chair across from where he sat. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee please.”

  He picked up his intercom: “Please bring Mr. Ericksen a cup of coffee.” He took a drink of coffee from a Banque Matthias Reiter mug. “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “I would like to check my account.”

  Reiter attempted to check Ericksen’s numbered account on the computer, but it froze. “Shit, something is wrong.” He stood up. “Please wait here. I will check your file and make a copy for you.” He left his office. Ericksen thought Jacobson told me he would try to pene-

  trate Reiter’s computer system. Perhaps he planted a bug in Reiter’s computer.

  Five minutes later Reiter returned with a copy of the most recent activity. “You have two million dollars in your account.” He handed the copy to Ericksen.

  “Thank you.”

  An hour later he entered Caldwell’s office. She gave him a hug. “We’re working on a sensitive black operation. Besides our primary task, our team gained access to Jurgen Reiter’s computer attempting to collect evidence against key Americans who are involved in fraud, corruption, and tax evasion. One of the targeted individuals is your old JSOC Commander, Shane Dawkins. Unfortunately, we can’t link the numbered accounts to any official names of people or companies. More than likely these Americans have set up holding companies in other private offshore banks.”

  Ericksen nodded and kept calm.

  “When you met with Reiter to open your numbered account, what was his demeanor in his office?”

  “Initially I didn’t meet him in his executive office. He escorted me to his conference room and told me to sit toward the front of the table. He excused himself for a few minutes. When he came back, he sat across from me.”

  “Conference room?” “Yes.”

  “Anything unusual about the conference room.” “I can’t recall…just a nice conference room.”

  Gstaad, Switzerland

  Ericksen and Caldwell arrived at the Chateau Rosenberg at seven in the evening. The valet parked his Audi rental while the bellman brought their luggage to the registration area in the lobby. The front- desk manager handed Ericksen two room keys, “We hope you find

  214BARRY L. BECKER

  your stay at Chateau Rosenberg most enjoyable. Mr. Al-Bustani reserved an elegant suite especially for you.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  The bellman escorted them up to their suite. Ericksen noticed two bottles of Carlsberg beer in the ice bucket, a bottle of Pinot Noir from Oregon, and a card. “Please join me and several of my colleagues for dinner at eight in the main dining room, Khalid.”

  He heard a knock on the door. He looked through the door viewer and opened the door.

  “Hello.” A very attractive, tall blonde woman appeared.

  “I’m Svetlana, compliments of Mr. Al-Bustani. I’ll be your companion during the time you’re here,” she said in English with a Russian accent.

  “I don’t think my girlfriend would approve.” “Honey, did you say something?” asked Caldwell.

  The Russian woman heard a woman reply and left abruptly.

  Sitting around the dinner table were Ericksen, Caldwell, Khalid’s call girl, Moritz’s girlfriend, and Ziad. Khalid glanced at Caldwell and turned to Ericksen, “I didn’t know you were bringing a lovely lady. Elizabeth, what brings you to Switzerland?”

  She turned to Khalid, “I work for Prentice and Aubert, an execu- tive search firm in Geneva, and Mark’s company has retained us to conduct a search for a European General Manager.”

  “How’s the search going?”

  He interrupted, “Elizabeth has scheduled three candidates for me to interview on Monday in Geneva.”

  “You certainly have good taste in selecting professionals.” Ericksen nodded. “Thank you.” After dinner, both he and Cald-

  well returned to their suite. Elizabeth swept the room for bugs. She detected two bugs, one located in the light fixture on the ceiling, and the other inside the vent on the wall. She pointed them out to him. They went into the bathroom, and she turned the faucet on to drown out the sound.

  He asked, “Do you think they suspect us?” “I doubt it.”

  “Is our cozy arrangement standard operating procedure during clandestine operations?”

  “This is the first time,” she said. He nodded and smiled. She entered the bathroom and changed into a nightgown. He went into the bathroom, closed the door, and took a shower. He opened the door wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts. She pointed to a bug. “I’ve got a headache. Let’s make love tomorrow.”

  “Good night, honey.” He thought she was the complete package: brains, beauty, and mental toughness. He tried to focus on going to sleep, but sleeping next to Caldwell kept his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: he wanted her right now.

  Khalid’s Suite

  Khalid plopped on the couch in his suite. He took a drink of orange juice.

  “I believe Ziad knew Omar followed him and called me the moment he lost him,” Moritz reported.

  Khalid’s face tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “You can’t be seri- ous. Abdullah and Bin Laden have total trust in Ziad. Furthermore, Ziad has demonstrated countless times his loyalty to me. Omar proved to be a traitor. So don’t bother me with your paranoid tendencies.”

  Moritz and Khalid were control freaks. As head of his protective security detail, Moritz enjoyed being in the loop on Khalid’s major security issues, but he also knew Khalid liked to compartmentalize operations. Khalid shared the big picture with only his son Faisal and with Abdullah.

  55

  Fredricksburg, Virginia

  andy served as a private contractor for Dawkins at Stealth Dynamics. He had an excellent background: ten years as an SAS British Special Forces operative and he had proved

  to be a reliable hit-man for Dawkins, especially when he needed to terminate individuals. Dawkins had contracted him to warn Ericksen with two well-placed shots on the jogging trail in Hyde Park. Randy only wanted to know who needed to be killed, details on the target and the fee for the job. He would do the rest without leaving any speck of evidence linking him to the murder or murders.

  Marwan headed south on Highway 95. As he passed the Tele- graph Road overpass in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Randy had a clear target. He fired three shots from the brush on the wes
t side of the freeway. The first shot penetrated the windshield and hit Marwan in the forehead. The second and third shots pierced the left front and rear tires, spinning the Ford Taurus out of control. His vehicle went off the road and hit several trees in the brushy area.

  The FBI undercover officers in the vehicle two hundred yards behind slowed down as they approached the Ford Taurus. They got

  out of their car and saw Marwan’s bloody body trapped between the seat and the steering wheel.

  One of the FBI officers put on a pair of latex gloves and checked his pulse. He couldn’t feel a pulse. Marwan died at 9:00 pm.

  In the meantime, Randy had a good two minutes during the time the FBI checked Marwan’s vital signs. He ran back to his rental SUV which the trees off the road partially blocked from view. He started the ignition, drove the car up Telegraph Road to Russell Road, headed south to Hot Patch Road and on to Montezuma Avenue before stopping at a shopping center. He got out of his vehicle. He walked into Starbucks, purchased a latte, took a seat, and enjoyed his drink.

  He took out his secure smartphone and texted Dawkins: “Yes, happy to report the George project is completed. Randy.” After several minutes he stood up and left the coffee shop, heading north on Highway 95.

  Abdullah finished an email to Khalid and noticed a beautiful woman seated two tables from him at Starbucks in Henderson, Nevada. He was married, and his two wives lived in Jeddah along with four children. Being a dedicated terrorist operations leader left little time for romancing a woman. The woman had long black hair and the look of an Egyptian model. She couldn’t be more than thirty years of age.