by Nick Vellis
Properly chastised, I caught up and my guide led me further down the corridor and around a corner.
We stopped at what must have been the sixth set of double doors I’d seen. Norris knocked twice, opened the doors, and said, “Captain Everett, sir.”
I stepped into a spacious well-equipped gym where the Pointer Sisters Jump for My Love was blasting. The Florida sun reflecting off two chrome universal machines was nearly blinding. There were racks of free weights, dumbbells, flat benches and a variety of specialty machines. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined two walls of the room and another held expansive windows. A treadmill and a rowing machine in front of the windows provided a view of the pool and the lake beyond. The guy working out didn’t look up, but continued pumping out a set of dips, loudly breathing out with each rep. I began assessing the man working so vigorously in front of me.
My host was a muscular barrel-chested man. His regulation high and tight was pure white. As I watched him push out his last ten reps without slowing, it occurred to me he must be on the downhill side of seventy. A man half his age and still on active duty would be proud to have his trim waist, thick arms and broad shoulders. I’d learned there were two sorts of men who got to be generals in the army, serious driven hard asses, and political players. It was clear I was dealing with the former. He could have long since gone to seed, but the intensity of his workout reflected a special discipline. He kept himself in shape and he remained a tough customer. His face, a map of the world, spoke of hard work and hours in the sun. Two brilliant green eyes flashed with an inner fire.
When he finished his last dip, he landed lightly on his feet. I stood easy before him wondering if he’d call me to attention. He grabbed a towel, ran it over his face, then, throwing his shoulders back and coming to his full height, gave a great sigh. He slapped the towel down on the dip stand and turned to me. This was a formidable man.
I knew about him, even though we’d never met. Martin Hunt had commanded the Eighteenth Combat Military Police Brigade in Viet Nam. He was a major then. His unit was in country from early ‘66 until the evacuation in ‘75. The unit’s crest, a green sword over a gold double-headed ax, hung in a frame on the wall behind him. I had worked with a bunch of MPs in the sandbox and any discussion of military cops always included Major General Martin Hunt. He was a legend.
“You made good time, Captain Everett,” he said as he approached me, his hand outstretched. “I appreciate punctuality and I don’t stand for tardiness.”
The strength of his grip and the firmness of his voice confirmed my assessment. He walked with a noticeable limp, but it took nothing away from his strength. I suppressed a grimace and the urge to pull my hand back and I sucked it up. If his hand was one of welcome, his face displayed something all together different.
“It’s good to meet you, sir. How may I help you?”
“How long since your separation?” he asked.
Since I’d never been married, I assumed he wanted to know how long I’d been out of the service. Old army guys never forget their time in uniform.
“It’s been a while, sir.” I replied.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look so good, son. Having trouble reintegrating? You look tense and…”
Really Sherlock? You are clever. The general’s words didn’t come out as criticism, it was more as if he was concerned, but it stung nonetheless.
“I’m not tense, just terribly, terribly alert,” I snapped. The joke didn’t even fall flat. The silence that followed was uncomfortable for me, but the general just looked at me with his mocking smile. He looked down and to his right, an indication of an internal dialogue. He was asking himself questions, I guessed about me.
“I’ve been going to the VA for a while now,” I said at last. “It’s getting better,” I replied, not sure I believed what I’d said.
“We’re going to play it like that, are we?” he said. “ ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it, is not wise,’ Proverbs twenty, verse one,” he said. “I’ve looked after troops a long time. I’ll give it to you straight. You look like shit unless that’s the style now.”
“I’ve had my ups and downs, sir. Like I said things are getting better.”
“None of my business, but settling back into civilian life can be tough when you’ve seen action.”
"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go," I said.
The general snorted, but didn’t smile. “Oscar Wilde isn’t one of my favorite people. I prefer Lincoln, Stonewall Jackson, Edmund Burke, those sorts of men, more historical figures, and the most important book, the Bible.”
The immortal words of Frank Sinatra came to mind, ‘Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the Bible says love your enemy’, but I thought I’d sit on that thought. I nodded and tried to muster a disarming smile. I don’t think it worked.
“If you need help you call me, you hear?” he said. His face didn’t change as he said this and I had the feeling he’d made the offer before, maybe too many times.
“Yes, sir,” I said with a little nod.
Turning to the butler he said, “Norris, a couple iced teas if you please. We’ll take them by the lake.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’d like something stronger I can sweeten that for you,” General Hunt said looking at me.
“No, thank you, sir, I never mix my drinking with my work,” I replied. “Sweet tea will be fine.”
“Good man. A southern gentleman drinks his tea sweet and his intoxicants slow. I respect a man who knows how to control his liquor. You can control your liquor?”
“To me controlling my liquor means don’t spill any. My work and my drinking are two separate things. I take them both seriously,” I replied.
“That’s all, Norris.”
He gave the butler a nod and Norris was gone like a faded echo.
When Norris was gone, the general spoke again. “ ‘The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers’, First Peter, Four, verse Seven.”
The general nodded a few times more times, pursed his lips, holding me in an intense gaze. He was sizing me up. Finally, he said, “You’re quite the smart ass, aren’t you?”
My host grabbed his towel and ran it over his face again.
“I’ve heard that before, but better a smart ass than a dumb ass. You didn’t call me all the way for some a lecture on reintegration. What do you want from me, sir? I’ve got a couple cold ones waiting for me at home.”
“There’s a fine line between being smart and a smart ass. You’re about to cross it. You always try to talk yourself out of a job?”
“Not usually, I just don’t like surprises. Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if I can do it and how much it’ll cost.”
He hesitated a couple beats longer than was comfortable trying to look through me, then said, “I’ve got trouble, son. Let’s talk.”
Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Come on,” and led the way out of the gym picking up a red folder from a shelf. He led the way through a door toward the pool. We walked into the August heat, past the pool, where only wet footprints leading to a cabana house hinted someone had been there. We went down a wide gravel path toward the lake until finally we came to a large gazebo sort of affair built at the water’s edge.
“Have a seat,” my host said as we entered the open wood frame structure. “This is my favorite place on a summer afternoon. No matter how hot it is, there’s always a breeze here.”
I had to agree with him. It was sticky and hot, but out here by the water, it was downright cool.
“You do much fishing out here, sir?” I asked. I was well past breaking the ice with this guy, but it never hurt to try. I could use a fresh start.
“Most every day, I have a little Jon boat. Don’t catch much, but it’s a good way to relax and forget the past. History is a memory. You’d do well to forget the past.”
I was about to give him an argument but thought better of it. Sitting there at a table, he gave me another hard stare. I’d had about enough.
“Look General, I get that you want to size me up, but I need to know what you want of me.”
“Hold on a moment, Captain Everett,” the general said as Norris appeared on the path.
Norris came down the long path with a tray then served the iced tea.
“You said you like it sweet, right?” He said as Norris finished.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“That will be all, Norris.”
“Very good, sir.”
We watched him go and when Norris was out of earshot the general said, “Tell me what you think of these.”
He handed me the red folder. The rising afternoon breeze off the lake felt cool on my face. Spanish moss rustled in the trees and fluttered like ten thousand flags. I opened the folder to find three sheets of white paper. I held them down with the flat of my hand to keep them from fluttering away in the breeze. Each had letters cut from magazines. The first one read:
WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE NEED TO BRING YOU DOWN. ASK YOUR SON.
It wasn’t a direct threat, but was certainly a problem for a wealthy man like Hunt. Ah, the troubles of the rich, I thought. The second note also made from cutout letters said:
YOU WILL PAY. HAS YOUR SON CONFESSED
The threat still wasn’t specific, but involved the general’s son. There was no demand for payment. That was in the third note.
WANT THE SECRETS KEPT … 25 MILLION IN RANDOM UNMARKED BILLS … DATE AND INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.
Now I was scratching my head. Maybe I would need that drink, twenty-five million for some unknown secret. General Hunt had a problem all right.
When I looked up, I said, “Phew…. 25 mil! That’s a boat load of money, any idea what it’s about, sir?”
I watched him closely and saw worry and something else, something he was suppressing.
“Norris uses a golf cart to collect the mail every day. He goes down to the box by the road and then brings it to me. All three of these letters came in plain white envelopes with nothing written on them. They were about three or four days apart.”
“Did anyone see who left them?” I asked.
“After the second one, I installed a video camera over the mail box,” the general said. “The third note was left by some brat on a bicycle. Norris recognized him from Campbell, but when we asked the little snot about it, all he could tell us was some woman gave him $25 to put the three notes in the box.”
“Any description of the woman?” I asked.
“He couldn’t tell us anything except she drove a ‘fancy car’ and wore a big hat and sunglasses that nearly covered her face. It’s a damn dog’s breakfast Everett. What do you make of it?”
“What do I think?” I said. I hesitated for a moment then plunged ahead. “I think someone’s trying to put the screws to you. Pardon my French, sir.”
The general waved my concern aside and said, “Go on.”
“What’s your son say?”
“Never mind that for now,” the general replied. “Tell me about the notes. What do they tell you?”
“The paper is common, twenty-pound multiuse bond probably, nothing special. These cut out letters have a shine to them and there’s some weight to the paper. I’d say they were from a glossy magazine, maybe a women’s fashion, or art magazine.” I paused, but the general didn’t ask a question. “Whoever is behind this,” I continued, “is probably watching you. They knew about the camera. They didn’t care if you found out who did the delivery because they used a local kid who wouldn’t know anything useful,” I replied. “What’s it all about, general? I’ll help you but I have to know what’s going on.”
“Who said I need help?” he shot back. His dark eyes flashed with heat and emotion.
His eyes flashed down and to the right. His pupils dilated despite the deep shade. Now he was lying. I could see it plain as the nose on his face, only I saw the lie in his eyes and the twitches around his mouth.
“You called me and …”
“And I asked you to tell me about these notes.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze bored in on me again. He was trying to read me. He didn’t realize that was my game. I could see fear in his eyes and he wasn’t a man used to fear. He hid it well. He was afraid, afraid for his family and himself.
This is just what I need, terrific! “Thank you for the tea, General Hunt. It was a pleasure to meet you. I should be getting back to Orlando,” I said as I got up.
“I can pay you whatever you want,” he said.
“If I had a dollar,” I replied, “for every time I needed the dollar, I’d never need a dollar. Thanks for the tea.”
“Hold on, hold on,” the general said holding up both hands in surrender. “I like to be in charge. Too long in the army, I guess.”
“Sir, I know a little about your military career. You were a good cop. The MPs still talk about your Nha Trang serial killer investigation.”
“How do you know about that? You weren’t an MP.”
“No sir, G-2, an interrogator” I replied, “but you knew that. That’s why you called me, isn’t it, sir.”
“Your assessment of these messages, what do they tell you?” the general asked, his tone softening a bit.
I took a deep breath, suppressed a weary sigh, and began, “Kidnappers and blackmailers more often than not use a computer printer. Printers are so generic any more that unless there’s a major flaw, the font is more or less untraceable, except for the printer’s type, brand, and in some cases the model. Notes in well-known cases like Son of Sam or the cryptograms left by the Zodiac Killer or Unabomber Ted Kaczynski’s manifesto were hand written, or typed on a typewriter. There are other examples. None of these cases had cut out letters pasted onto a piece of paper. I’ve only seen that in movies. Your mastermind is an amateur. He or she is teasing you with minimal information and may or may not know something damaging to you or your family. The glue or the glossy paper’s surface could have fingerprints. That is if no one has handled it to much. It should be possible to determine which publication uses this paper and print type. If we find magazines, well, a good lab could match the paper. Is that what you were looking for?”
I was about through with the general’s game, no matter how much he wanted to pay me.
“Was sure you’d be sharp.” General Hunt said, “even if you are a little rough around the edges. Sharp and that you’d know about my background and have a quick handle on the situation.”
“I know your background, a little about your family and that you are the wealthiest man in the area, if not the state. Sir, if you called me all the way out here to play twenty questions…”
“No son, as you can see, I’m in a bit of trouble. Someone’s trying to cancel Christmas. This dropped in my lap and I don’t know what it’s about. I can’t go to the local police, not until I know more. There are always things…”
“There are always secrets. The owner of a secret should decide when to let it come out, if at all,” I said. “There are three kinds of information about people General Hunt, public, private, and secret. With the internet, today, none of it’s safe.”
The general looked right through me yet again, and then said, “Told you an ex-army Intel man would be sharp.” Turning to me he said, “I’ve beat my brains out trying to figure this one, Everett. Will you help me?”
“I go where the evidence leads General, no glossing over the rough spots. I don’t stick my neck out for anyone. I’ll keep your confidences and it just happens I’m not working on anything now so I can give this my full attention. I have one question first though, why me? I haven’t exactly been on the cover of PIs of the Rich and Famous. You can afford to hire anyone in the state.”
“I’m active in RMOA, the Retired Military Officers Association.”
“Never heard of it, but I wasn’t a Boy Scout either.”
“D
oesn’t matter, they have access to Official Military Personnel Files. I found your name through the RMOA database. You were Intel, you grew up in the Orlando area so you know the lay of the land, and you were an effective, decorated officer.”
“You got my OMPF, well I guess money talks General.”
My host’s eyes narrowed again for a moment, the sparkle disappeared. He didn’t like my crack. The general had a temper, but he had it reined in pretty damn well.
Maybe I should zip my lip.
“What that file doesn’t tell you is I failed as a local cop…”
“Yeah, so you got fired, so what. You beat them in court,” he replied.
He had done his research. It should have been my second red flag. The first one being he’d called me at all.
“I wasn’t fired. I resigned,” I bristled.
“Have it your way,” the general said. “You think you can handle this on the QT, son? ‘Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets, but he who is trustworthy in spirit keeps a thing covered, Proverbs eleven, verse thirteen.’ ”
I didn’t care for him spouting scripture, but I knew what he wanted to ask. He wanted to know if I could stay off the sauce long enough to do my job.
“Look General, the army was good to me,” I replied, “until Iraq. I came back with some citations and a footlocker full of bad memories. I’m going to the VA. Is that enough for you?”
“But can you handle this, captain? Stonewall Jackson said he feared alcohol more than the enemy’s bullets. Do you have the personal courage to…?”
“Yes, sir I do and I remember my Army Core Values too.”
“You remember them…, but do you still live by a higher standard. Do you… never mind,” he said. “We won’t talk about your… issues.”
“I was always big on the integrity, general,” I said. “Separating right from wrong, acting according to what you know is right and saying openly that you’re acting on your understanding of right versus wrong.” I knew I didn’t need to quote the Army’s values to this man, but I did it anyway. I wanted him to understand. “I think that’s the one that messed me up. I did what I was ordered, but …”