by Bobby Akart
A look of concern came over Gunner’s face. “What is it?”
“Colonel Robinson is dead.”
Gunner studied Jackal’s face as his mind raced. U.S. Army Colonel Maxwell Robinson was the Department of Defense’s appointed liaison between NASA and Roscosmos, the Russian Space Agency. He was the man who’d helped cover up Heather’s murder.
An inner debate had raged within Gunner since the moment he discovered the truth about her death in space. The mention of the man’s name sent him into fits of rage that had to be suppressed to prevent Gunner from brutally murdering the man himself.
He’d had conversations with Jackal, the ex-FBI agent, about what his options were. In the end, he’d decided to leave the man’s life up to fate just to put the issue out of his mind. Now this news had brought it back, front and center.
“How?” he asked.
“Robinson took a leave of absence from his position at NASA to visit Hawaii. He’d recently sought counseling for his depression, and he visited doctors there to discuss life-ending medications. When he found out about the twenty-day waiting period, he visited Mount Kilauea, which has been erupting lately. He flung himself into the lava and burned to death one night.”
Gunner seemed skeptical. “Did he leave a note?”
“No, but the FBI investigation confirmed his depression from his coworkers.”
“Family?”
“Nope. Sadly, he died very much alone.”
“Jackal?” asked Gunner, stretching out her name.
Before she could answer, a member of base security appeared with Professor Bale in tow.
She greeted them first. “Hi, guys. I’m sorry I’m late.”
Jackal turned away from Gunner to address her. “Your timing is perfect. I believe Gunner and I just closed out another case. Didn’t we?”
She turned to him and raised her eyebrows. It was obvious to Gunner that Jackal, who was now a trusted friend, had helped him solve the problem he’d wrestled with for years.
“Yes. Case closed.” He smiled and winked at Jackal before turning his attention to Professor Bale. “So, did they tell you about the thumb?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Den
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
“What we are proposing to do is the equivalent of a massive DNA or genealogy project,” began Jackal after she and Professor Bale laid out what they’re extensive research had generated thus far. “The gathering of the DNA samples would have to fall under our purview and the Department of Justice. Kala will handle the genealogy side of it.”
Dr. Bale expounded on Jackal’s introduction. “What I envision is basically the construction of the Odessa family tree. Something similar has been done by Nazi hunters for years, but their focus has always been on locating former guards or employees of the concentration camps. This endeavor would be different. We now know Odessa is real. And, with the thumb, we can begin to study the bloodlines that may somehow connect Gruber to high-ranking members of the Nazi Party.”
Gunner relayed Gruber’s final words. “Before his death by cyanide, he mentioned the vision of his grandfather, Himmler. Something about rising from the ashes. Could he be Himmler’s grandson?”
“That’s possible, but let me remind everyone of something,” said the professor. “The Lebensborn, the so-called fount of life, especially in Norway, could all lay claim to being the descendent of Himmler. There could be dozens of them. I mean, those who participated in this Nazi program to breed a blond-haired, blue-eyed master race may have fathered hundreds.”
“All connected by their DNA,” added Cam.
Jackal stepped in. “Now, that’s not to say they’re all guilty of being Odessa.”
“Very true,” said Professor Bale before issuing a caution. “The Nazi hunters, those who made it their life’s work to uncover former prison guards or employees, crossed the line many times by associating family members with the misdeeds of their parents or even grandparents. We can’t go that far.”
“Exactly,” added Ghost. “As Jackal pointed out, this is our equivalent of pursuing a RICO case against the mob.” RICO was an acronym for the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, commonly used to take down organized crime syndicates using both civil cases and criminal prosecutions.
“We can use it as a cross-referencing tool between these corporate holdings and Odessa, right?” asked Gunner.
“Absolutely,” replied Professor Bale.
“Let me add one more thing,” said Jackal. “The popularity of DNA-harvesting companies like 23andMe have now become excellent resources for the DOJ to investigate crimes. Recent court rulings have given the FBI subpoena access to those genetic results. Through our government’s ability to reach into the databases of these thousands of health and ancestry services, we can begin to construct the Nazi family tree.”
“All starting with Mr. Gruber’s thumb,” added Professor Bale.
Cam laughed. “I always wondered why people would voluntarily submit to a DNA analysis that was then stored in a database.”
“Heck, they pay to do that,” added Jackal.
Bear shared something from growing up. “It reminds me of the women who sat outside grocery stores, urging parents to have their kids’ DNA taken to put into a database in case they were kidnapped. Man, I grew up in a bad neighborhood. These moms were unknowingly providing law enforcement a DNA match to any crime their kids committed fifteen or twenty years later. Don’t get me wrong, we want criminals off the street. But given the choice, I think most mothers would think twice about snitching their kids out. By volunteering up their DNA, they unknowingly did it years in advance.”
Ghost checked his watch. Dr. Randolph was due to arrive shortly, so he had to wind the meeting up.
“Professor Bale, I can’t think you enough for the help you’ve provided us and our country. I want you to know that because of your involvement in this investigation, we’ve been required to conduct a thorough background check on you. You passed with flying colors. As we proceed, of course, as an adjunct member of this team, you’re sworn to secrecy. I take it you agree?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’m a patriot.”
The group said their goodbyes, and Professor Bale was escorted out of the building by Jackal. While they waited for Harper’s arrival, Ghost relayed what he’d learned about two men Gunner had overheard speaking while in Salzburg.
“Before they get here, let me follow up on one thing I forgot to mention. At the Bilderberg conference, you relayed bits and pieces of a conversation of a man named Herbert who mentioned Coca-Cola. You also reference the person he was talking to was possibly a South American named George or Jorge.”
“That’s right,” said Gunner. “They seemed to be discussing politics and a possible candidate, if I remember correctly. George seemed to think his group, whoever that might be, would be pleased.”
“Okay, good. We’re still working on the George side of the conversation. That’s gonna be part of Jackal’s task.”
Jackal raised her hand. “My theory is the man is Henry Jorgensen Gruber Jr. Our dead man’s son. He goes by Jorge. Not confirmed, however.”
“Understood,” said Ghost as he continued. “I knew who the other man was when you mentioned two key points, his name and business. We confirmed the gentleman was also on the conference’s list of attendees.”
Ghost walked away from the group and pointed to several new photographs attached to the wall. He tapped his knuckle on a black-and-white photo of Herbert Brittain.
Gunner turned to the group. “I remember seeing him milling about during the cocktail party. I never heard him speak, so I couldn’t place his voice. I definitely remember seeing him.”
“He’s Herbert Brittain, CEO and majority shareholder in Coca-Cola. He lives in Atlanta, but he has residences around the globe. You could call him Mr. Moneybags and it wouldn’t be inaccurate.”
“He fit in with all the others from what I could tell,” said Gunner
with an eye roll. “He must have a politician on the take and ready to insert into the White House.”
“Don’t all rich guys claim they’re responsible for getting a president elected?” asked Cam.
“Yeah,” replied Gunner. “It makes them feel like big shots.”
“I think they also convince themselves their money made the difference,” Cam added. “There is always a quid pro quo.”
Ghost heard voices in the hallway, so he wrapped up the loose end. “Anyway, he and George may or may not be Odessa related, but Herbert made the wall of shame until he’s excluded.”
“Everybody,” Jackal announced loudly as she opened the door in case classified information was being shared, “Dr. Randolph is here, and she brought her husband, Congressman Joe Mills.”
Gunner stepped away from Ghost and walked up to Joe. “Long time no see, Congressman.”
“Hey, Gunner! You’re the covert guy, not me. They all know where to find my hiding spots.”
The two men shook hands and then gave one another a bro-hug with a hearty slap on the back. After they finished their animated greeting, Gunner said hello to Harper.
“I’m glad you brought the ball and chain so he can see what real work looks like.”
She took a playful slap at her husband, a powerful congressman who chaired two of the most important committees on the Hill.
“I know, right? He sits up on his perch on Capitol Hill and beats the poor opposition party over the head with his fifty-four-percent-majority gavel.”
“Colonel, very few people are aware of what you and your team did for our country, but those who are send their hearty regards,” said Joe as he pumped Ghost’s hand.
“Please, Congressman, call me Gregory. But I’m only the guy who barks out the orders. Let me introduce you to the rest of the top members of the Gray Fox team.” Jackal introduced herself as Theodora. Cam waved hello, as did Bear.
Congressman Joe Mills had a larger-than-life, infectious personality that dominated most conversations. He had a casual way about him that made him approachable while at the same time, he commanded the respect of everyone he met. He continued heaping praise on Gray Fox.
“Well, let me say that come budget-appropriations time, your unit will never be on the list of cuts, and I will always make sure you have more than you need. Your bravery and capabilities to thwart an even larger terrorist attack will be unsung, but appreciated by every American.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jackal. “Harper, may I show you something?”
Jackal, Cam and Bear pulled Harper away to look at the photos of the sarin canisters and the satellite images of Castle Bariloche after it had been destroyed. While they spoke, Ghost and Gunner showed Joe around the room.
“This is very impressive,” commented Joe. “Maybe I can get you guys a larger facility? Private offices. A bigger space to work. Your own armory.”
“All of the above,” said Ghost with a laugh.
“Sir, may we borrow you for a moment?” asked Jackal, who was hovering over the conference table with Harper and the others.
“Gunner, fill Joe in on where we’re headed with this,” Ghost imparted as he walked away.
Gunner and Joe made their way around the room. He provided Joe a little more detail on how the events unfolded, and then he relayed what had led to the encounter at Castle Bariloche. The old acquaintances had a hearty laugh at the expense of Henry Gruber’s thumb just as they arrived at the start of Jackal’s wall section devoted to the Odessa family tree.
“We’re in the early stages of trying to fill in who the players are. Some of these faces are upper-echelon corporate execs of Knight Gruppe, the company we think may have been formed by the Nazis who were part of Odessa at the end of the World War II. Others are people who might be closely related to Odessa. Again, all of this is preliminary. We’re still catching our—”
Joe gently pushed past Gunner to point to the photo of Herbert Brittain. “Why is he up here? Is he Odessa?”
“Well, we don’t know,” replied Gunner. “As I mentioned, we had to infiltrate the Bilderberg conference to gain access to the Knight servers at their offices in Salzburg. While I was waiting on Cam to secure the building access and that thumb for the biometric locks, I overheard a conversation involving this man. His name is Herbert Brittain, and apparently he’s the CEO of Coca-Cola.”
“I know who he is,” said Joe dryly.
There was an awkward silence for a moment. Joe turned to observe the others, who were still huddled around the conference table. He grabbed Gunner’s elbow and led him farther away to the other side of the room. As he did, he leaned in to Gunner and spoke in a low tone of voice.
“Gunner, I need you to tell me exactly why this man’s photo is on the wall with the rest of these people.”
“Joe, it may be nothing.” Gunner tried to calm his friend, who was clearly nervous.
“Please, just tell me.”
Gunner explained what he could recall. “I overheard a conversation while we were inside the Bilderberg conference between two men, one with an American accent and another with a Spanish accent. Maybe South American. They referred to each other as Herbert and George. Joe, it was hard to hear, and that’s not what we were there for.”
“How do you know it’s the guy on the wall?”
“He mentioned Coca-Cola. We confirmed the CEO, Herbert Brittain, was there. I confirmed that I saw him in another part of the gathering.”
“So that’s the only reason he’s connected to Odessa?” asked Joe.
“We don’t know. The only reason we’ve decided to look into him is because he told the fella with the Spanish accent that he was grooming a replacement for Taylor, and the other guy, George, said his associates would be pleased.”
Joe dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly wandered away, deep in thought.
Gunner glanced over his shoulder and saw that Harper, Ghost and the team remained preoccupied. He caught up to Joe and touched him on the shoulder to force him to stop.
“Come on, Joe. You and I have the kind of relationship built on years of trust. I know you. What’s the matter?”
Joe looked Gunner in the eyes. “This replacement he thinks he’s grooming to take on President Taylor? You’re looking at him. He’s talking about me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Broken Hart Raw Bar
Tangier Island, Virginia
The Gray Fox team, including Ghost and Jackal, descended upon the Broken Hart Raw Bar later that afternoon. With beers in hand, they spilled out into the parking lot of Sammy Hart’s new place to watch the sun set over the west side of Tangier Island. As the orange ball disappeared over the marsh, they returned inside, where a raucous crowd was slamming down shots chased by pints of Sammy’s Suds or tearing into Chesapeake Bay clams and oysters. The restaurant had become a huge hit on Tangier Island, and the Gray Fox team had declared it to be their official hangout.
Cam and Bear had a great time shooting pool on Sammy’s new outdoor pool table installed on a deck adjacent to the building, which resembled a lean-to in a MASH unit. The ceiling consisted of camouflage netting, and the sides had roll-up curtains of mosquito screening.
Jackal struck up a conversation with one of Sammy’s bartenders, a fellow techno-geek. The two spoke in a language of their own, one that could’ve belonged in a Star Wars movie.
Meanwhile, the three adults in the room, or the old guys, as they referred to themselves, made their way up to Sammy’s Crow’s Nest, a private deck on top of his building that had a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of Chesapeake Bay and Tangier Island.
Now that Sammy was able to hire additional staff, he wasn’t required to micromanage the restaurant. He spent his time slapping backs and getting to know his customers. Plus, he had a never-ending supply of interesting stories to tell that kept the locals and tourists coming back for more.
The three old guys took up seats on the deck
of the Crow’s Nest and sipped their beers. Gunner mentioned to Ghost that Sammy had been in the Navy.
“That’s right,” said Sammy. “Spent five years of continuous service before I decided to move on to greener pastures.”
“Where were you stationed?” asked Ghost.
“Matter of fact, just down the bay in Norfolk. I enlisted for four years initially, proudly starting on the ground floor as an E-1 seaman. After four years, I decided to give it another go for a year to see how it went.”
Ghost took a sip of his beer and said, “Well, by then you should’ve been around an E-5, heading toward petty officer status.”
Gunner laughed, choked and spewed out some of his beer. He began to laugh so hard his eyes watered.
“What?” asked Ghost, who truly didn’t understand what Gunner found so funny about such an innocent statement.
“Theoretically, right, Sammy?” Gunner burst out laughing and had to set his beer down to keep from spilling it. He wiped his eyes as tears sprang out.
Sammy addressed Ghost. “Well, um, here’s the thing. You know, all things considered, if you do as you’re told and pay your dues and pass a few tests and all of that, you’re gonna come out of the Navy with an E-5 or so. I had a couple of hiccups along the way.”
This caused Gunner to lose it once again. He couldn’t control his laughter. Twice he tried to speak, and he gave up on himself.
“What kind of hiccups?” asked Ghost. “Did you get court-martialed?”
“Nah, that would’ve been too much work,” Sammy replied. “The thing is, I received an honorable discharge, but I came out as an E-2.”
“E-2?” asked Ghost, who was confused. “All you have to do is complete boot camp and you’d be an E-2. Why didn’t you advance?”
“Oh, I did, but then they’d bust me back down,” said Sammy. “Hell, they would’ve made me the first E-0 in the history of the Navy if they could’ve.”
Gunner recovered. “Tell him what you did. No, not all of them. We don’t have time for everything. Tell him about the hookers.”