by Rob Buckman
"You can inform our associates I have decided the man will be terminated," he said without looking up. "I will decide the time and place later. Just keep the man occupied for the time being on something unimportant where he can do no harm."
"Yes, sir." Edward Mason didn't need to be told who or what that meant.
"For my own satisfaction, tell me just how we managed to lose this particular business transaction?" The soft sound of his voice was chilling. More so than that his hand had crashed down onto the oak desk to make his point.
"Well, sir... we... I..." his secretary stammered. There were no female secretaries in Roland Hawkins inner circle; females were only of use in the bedroom, for pleasure.
"Stop stammering and explain to me what happened!" There was coldness in his voice that even men of power had learned to pay close attention to. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, his mind running through different possibilities to see if there was a better or safer way of telling the story. There wasn't.
"Our Denver office didn't check the county records. They assumed the property in question would pass to the next of kin after the untimely death of the present owner, all without complications, I might add. None of our people thought to check for an outstanding tax lien, or knew the property was up for public auction."
"Didn't any of our people see the notice of public sale, or read the newspaper?" He asked. "Possibly, they can't read?" he said sarcastically.
"Apparently not" Edward answered, sweating a little more. "All our efforts were directed towards orchestrating the timely death of the owner, and purchasing the property from the legal heir."
"So all the time and money spent towards that end was wasted?" The thought of losing money sent a shiver up Roland Hawkins spine.
"Yes, sir." Edward said, feeling sweat trickling down his armpits. "So it would appear, sir." The moment this meeting was over, he knew he'd have to change his shirt.
Roland Hawkins pondered the problem for a few moments, his agile mind mulling over one probability after another. Edward waited, endeavoring not to sweat any more than he already had. Someone was about to pay the price for this problem. That didn't guarantee he was out of the line of fire.
"Who finally purchased the property?" Roland Hawkins asked at length.
"We have been informed that a man by the name of Michael Grainger now owns the property. Some no account local man who just happened to be in the right place at the right price."
"What about the property’s once and legal heir, Edward?"
"Ms. K. Ballard of the law firm of Ballard and Crossman is or was the heir apparent."
"What was her reaction upon learning of the sale?"
"Consternation."
"I would imagine so." He muttered. For a few moments, Roland Hawkins said nothing, thinking of all the carefully laid plans, now hanging by a thread.
Standing up he walked across his office and looked out of the window, seeing the city laid out before him like a giant map, as if it was his private domain, to do with as he willed. It also represented twenty years of double-dealing, as well as the untimely demise of people who got in his way. Such as businessmen who made the mistake of turning down one of his offers. Each had died in a bona fide accident, having the seal of approval from the local police, coroner, and at least two upstanding eyewitnesses. That he'd arranged to have each of them killed didn't bother him at all. The city also represented dirty deals with political figures through bribes, extortion, outright threats, and the expenditure of several hundred million dollars. The money had returned ten times over in government contracts and business opportunities, but it wasn't enough. The prize was within his grasp and he wasn’t about to lose it because some fool hadn't read the local paper. On the surface, he ran a multinational corporation, dealing in arms manufacture for the U.S. government, import and export, land, oil, banking, mining, and a multitude of lesser industries. It was the other aspect of the corporation, the one unknown to his investors, shareholders or the IRS that he was more concerned with. This enterprise would garner him a thousand times more than all the other businesses put together. At last, he turned to face his secretary, looking grim.
"Run a background check on this law firm. I want to know everything there is to know about Ballard and Crossman, down to what size shorts and panties each wears. Also check with our associates in New York, Mexico City and Las Vegas as to their feelings about this matter."
"Yes, sir." Edward knew what that meant. Roland Hawkins was going to get his pound of flesh.
"Use one of our intermediaries and find out who this Grainger person is. Also, get me the name of the officer investigating the death of the late Ms. Ballard’s father." He sat down, lighting an illegal Havana cigar, puffing a fragrant blue cloud into the air.
"I'll see to it at once, sir." Edward said, hoping the meeting was at an end. He needed to change his shirt badly.
"It might not be a bad idea to call the local sheriff and inform him we are having more difficulties with Mr. Grainger," he paused a moment, then. "Say that he's been harassing our game management people, or something along those lines." He leaned back in his chair, feeling satisfied. "Do we have any other urgent business?"
"At the time, there is nothing, sir."
"Good. Carry on then." He said, as a way of dismissal.
Edward exited, breathing a sigh of relief only after he'd closed the office door behind him. One of the bodyguards gave him a mirthless smile, as if to say it would be his turn soon. Edward ignored them and walked across the hallway to his office. Someone had screwed this up royally. Now that it had now been dumped in his lap he was going to ensure the same thing didn't happen to him. Straightening his shoulders, he quickly changed his shirt and picked up the phone to make the first call. He'd managed to stay out of the line of fire this time, so it was with a newfound sense of urgency and deep dedication that he worked on the problem. Edward sweated through a week of investigation, fearing his boss might call any moment for an update. He did find a few items of interest in the background of Ballard or Crossman. Confirming it with endless telephone calls to associates in Las Vegas. By the weekend all the data was catalogued and filed. Next, he turned his attention to Mike Grainger, oblivious to the chain of events Roland Hawkins had set in motion. He was the butterfly in the Congo that with the beating of its wings caused the hurricane in the Caribbean. His calls did elicit some interesting fact on one Michael Grainger, but nothing that appeared to help them in acquiring the property by any known legal means. He duly reported his finding to Roland Hawkins the following Monday.
"Yes?" Roland Hawkins asked with a raised eyebrow as Edward walked into his office.
"Good morning, sir," politeness and servility were traits that Roland Hawkins insisted on.
"Good Morning, Edward." Roland Hawkins replied. "Do you have something for me?"
"Yes, sir, the information you requested on Ballard and Crossman, and the present owner of the property at 'Peregrine Creek'."
"Good. What have you managed to find out?" Roland Hawkins asked, anticipating good news.
"Nothing that could help us from a legal point of view sir. I did however find one or two items of interest on Ballard and Crossman. I took the liberty of contacting our associates in Las Vegas to confirm them." He placed the file on Roland Hawkins desk and took a step back. "I also contacted our informant in the FBI concerning Mr. Grainger," he saw Roland Hawkins face light up in anticipation, “he made the usual inquires, and to his surprise discovered the FBI has an extensive file on the man."
"Excellent! A criminal type?" He exclaimed.
"No, sir, not exactly. Apparently, Mr. Grainger worked for the U.S. government, and the usual security check was instituted." Roland Hawkins sat back, a mouse of displeasure evident on his face. Edward winced inwardly, starting to sweat again.
"Go on." Roland Hawkins sighed.
"We now have a copy of that file, but so far there is nothing criminal in the man's background. Nor any other item w
e might use, except one odd fact."
"What might that be?"
"As you are aware, Mr. Grainger purchased the land at a tax sale after the death of the owner. The disinherited, Miss Ballard has been asking questions, trying to reopen the investigation into her father's death. Even going so far as to call the local police and FBI. There is a footnote added by the field agent in Denver. Ms. Ballard is trying to find evidence that her father paid the property tax. This was what led to the sale of the land in the first place."
"What interesting information did you find out about Ballard and Crossman?"
"It's in this file Sir." He said, thinking it would be better if Roland Hawkins read it himself. Leaning forward in his chair, Roland Hawkins flipped the file open, and began to read. A thin smile crossed his face, but it never reached his eyes. Edward's strategy had paid off, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"This might work out very well, very well indeed." He said at length. "The first item of business is for you to find people who do cash and carry work. Do not use any of our own people."
"Yes, sir."
"Then, find out more about what this Grainger person is doing up on Thunder Mountain, and any friends, male or female, and what their connection with Grainger, direct or indirect. Also addresses and background information on each of them as well." He added, smiling at some inner thought. "You never know, we might have to pay one or two of them a visit."
"Yes, sir." Edward shivered slightly in anticipation, knowing what that meant.
"Then call the local police and inform them that we are having more difficulty with Mr. Grainger. Say he's molesting our survey teams this time." He gave Edward a chilly smile.
"It might also be wise to drop a hint that Mr. Ballard's death might be somewhat questionable." He chuckled at the thought. "I think that we might be able to maneuver Grainger and Messrs Ballad and Crossman into a similar situation."
"In that, both might need a large sum of cash in the near future?" Edward interjected.
"Correct Edward. Both might be more amenable to an offer to purchase the property, or sign a quit claim deed, if the price was just right." Roland Hawkins delighted in laying complicated plans.
"A very sound idea, if I might say so, sir." Edward echoed his boss's smile, but it had none of the coldness.
"All other business can wait, Edward. You are to place this at the top of your list. I want to get my property back one way or another as quickly as possible."
"I should be able to have that for you in a week or less."
"Good. Do so. As soon as that's done, I'll decide on a course of action. If Mr. Grainger still proves difficult, we might just have to use other methods of persuasion."
It took Edward exactly one week to gather the information. Duly reported this to Roland Hawkins. It took longer to find the men for special work, especially ones with the necessary credentials. Two week later all Roland Hawkins plans started to come together, and Edward reported to his boss.
"How are affairs progressing with Mr. Grainger?"
"Very well sir, everything is in readiness."
"I read the FBI file with interest, yet it tells me nothing about the man."
"Yes Sir, I noticed Mr. Grainger has led an exemplary life, and appears to be a paragon of virtue."
"I agree, not even a parking ticket. It makes me wonder if this file might be a pack of lies."
"Oh?" That remark worried Edward. What had he missed?
"I can't believe that someone has led such a virtuous existence. Everybody’s life has a little dirt in it."
"I agree, Sir. Usually, the FBI performs a very thorough check, and I doubt they would miss anything significant." Roland Hawkins nodded.
"This whole file feels wrong to me somehow." Edward started sweating again having the uneasy feeling he'd missed something critical.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir." Roland Hawkins gave him a sardonic smile, increasing Edward's uneasiness.
"Let’s just say that I think that Mr. Grainger is too perfect to be true. He reminds me of someone you see on television, the perfect American male, full of rugged individualism. It's as if this man lived his whole life at Disneyland." Roland Hawkins chuckled at his own joke.
"Could he be an agent or something?"
"That's one possibility."
"Should I still send the men to 'Peregrine Creek', sir?" Roland Hawkins nodded.
"By all means, if we can persuade him to sell, so much the better. If not, a little fear might do the trick just as well."
"If that should prove ineffective, or he is an agent and some kind?" Edward left the question mark hanging in the air.
"I that case, you will taken steps to ensure that our wayward employee meets with a fatal accident. Preferably on Mr. Grainger's property, instead of Louisiana. All evidence should point to Grainger as the culprit."
"Very good sir, I'll arrange it at once."
"If that should fail, we will have to ensure that Mr. Grainger meets with an untimely accident himself."
"Yes sir, I'm sure I can arrange the accident, paper-wise at least, to occur one year after signing the property over to us."
"Excellent Edward, now you're thinking. One way or another Mr. Grainger is going to sell me that property." That cold smile Edward was so familiar with crossed Roland Hawkins face. "Is there anything else?"
"Our investigation did find out that Mr. Grainger is a very secretive man. He likes to go up into the Mountains for extended periods. He has no friend we can identify, and little is known about him by the local people."
"Very good, very good indeed! That should make this much easier. If an accident should befall him, there would be no friend, or relatives asking awkward questions and all that." Roland Hawkins nodded to himself. The fact that Grainger was a loner would make his disappearance that much easier to explain. "I trust you have instructed your people to take no preemptive action against him?"
"Yes, sir, I was very careful in my instructions." Roland Hawkins nodded, thinking how this matter affected his overall plans.
"I want this matter handled in the most expedient manner. All other business, except recovery of my property is to wait. Is that understood?"
"Very good, sir, will that be all?"
"Yes, for the moment, get on with it then." He said in dismissal.
CHAPTER THREE:
Neither sheriff Napa, nor Roland Hawkins were aware of the chain of events they had set in motion. Within minutes of the calls coming into FBI HQ in Washington alarm bells began ringing. No one inside FBI headquarters heard them, or would know what they meant if they had. They were all inside the computers. As fate would have it, both requests for information on Michael Grainger arrived within minutes of each other. Both treated as routine requests from authorized parties. The duty supervisor in records authenticated the request, and then processed them as usual, relaying the information back. The moment he entered the query for information, a search routine in the core program activated itself, triggered by the name of Michael Grainger.
Unbeknown to the FBI, the program queried the central processor, copying the request and source as it triggered a bypass sequence. This shunted the information to the microwave transmitter on the roof, silently relaying the information to the duty operations officer at a small office in Langley.
Late night traffic was slow, with nothing but routine information popping up now and then. Most of it was handled automatically by the machine, and duly recorded for later analysis. Half sleep, the duty operations officer yawned, checking his watch. “Two more hours.” he thought, “then I can go home and get some sleep”. Placing his feet on the edge of the desk, he made himself comfortable, preparing to spend the rest of his watch dozing. The mole program at the FBI downloaded the information to his hard disk, then vanished as if it had never been, hiding itself in the core. A sub routine at Langley scanned the incoming data, searching for key word, tripping the alarm the moment it came across the name 'Michael Grainger'. T
he insistent 'beep' from the computer brought him awake fast, his feet hitting the floor with a thump.
"What the hell!" he muttered, stretching his eyelids open. By the sound of the alarm, he knew this concerned a field operative.
One look at the screen confirmed that someone was poking their nose into his, or her, background. What puzzled him was, he didn't recognize the name, or the prefix code. Quickly, he checked his daybook, finding nothing. Again, he checked the screen, looking for clues. He found it, whistling in surprise. A dusty operations manual gave him the next step, and he simply entered a code. Hitting 'enter' when he completed it. To his surprise, the screen went blank. The tiny green light on the hard drive flickered off and on. It showed something was going on. He found out what when the computer came back on line. There was nothing on the hard disk to indicate the call had ever come in. He looked around the silent operations room, more to reassure himself he wasn't asleep than anything else. He wasn't. It was no illusion, or a bad dream. It was no good entering the incident in the log either, as according to the computer nothing had happened. Not even a blank spot in the time log to prove anything had occurred. All information had been erased. In six years that had never happened; and he had never been told it was supposed to.