Como is only a stone's throw from the Swiss border as well. Escape would be an easy matter if it was ever needed. The years passed, Vietnam dominated the nation and soon the events of the '60's paled. New Presidents, with new agendas, and time marched on. Harmon Wells was relegated to the dusty files of the past that few wanted to open. The country needed to heal.
With the Regan and Bush eras a new feeling of family and moral value seemed to be settling over the country. There would always be new and bitter issues. In general; however, the country was able to aspire to the lofty goals it had set for itself since the beginning of its inception. America was the world leader.
The trend continued until....BAM. The personal rights of the few started to replace the moral rights of the rest. The louder the mouth, the more 'rights' seemed to be granted. The era of 'blame everyone else, but me', swept across the land like a plague. 'Politically correct' replaced 'morally right' and the sleeping powers behind the scenes were awakened again. They were enraged. It was not going to happen again they decided.
Harmon Wells was resurrected and a new sinister and dangerous plan was hatched. Harmon was reluctant to enter into the muddy waters of his past again. The problem would have to be grave indeed for his involvement. It didn't take him long to realize that it was more than grave. In his mind, it was cataclysmic. The 'Fixer' was back.
He revived old contacts and made new ones as well. Soon he had done again what he had done so well in the past. He had made the arrangements. He took the name of Jon Zimmer, and set in motion a plan that would see him end up as the Chief of Security at the Unitech Laboratories.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The first adjustment for PJ and Sean cropped up early. Neither man had a high regard for the other's agency. Since they were being forced to work together, they decided to make the best of a strained situation, and try to overlook their differences. They had agreed that their first course of action was to start with the three potential suspects.
Sean was to take care of working out the arrangements since the F.B.I. was conducting the initial surveillance. They had decided to start with Atlanta and work their way from there. All had gone well and seemed to be smooth sailing.
Sean made reservations for the 5:30 flight from Dulles to Atlanta's Hartsfield Airport.
"I'll drive. How about if I swing by and get you around 4:30 so we can make it to the airport in plenty of time?" Sean said.
"Sure, that should be good. I was thinking, maybe we should start a little earlier than that so we could get some of the background work out of the way before we took off. Does that work for you?" PJ had asked.
"Uh, sure. Well, I guess I could pick you up around 3:00."
"Great. I'll be out front and we can just book."
"Alright, I'll be by at 3:00 A.M. then and..."
"Whoa," PJ sputtered almost spitting his Diet Coke on the desk as he came forward in his chair, "What in the hell are you talking about? I want to get an early start but not at 3:00 A.M. What the hell time did you book or flight for?"
"5:30 A.M., Delta Flight 329."
"A.M.? A.M.? I thought you were talking about P.M. You know, as in evening? Hell, I don't even have any hands on my watch until 10:00 A.M. Why in the world would anyone want to get up at 3:00 A.M.?" PJ said looking at Sean like he was from outer space.
"Gee, I love getting an early start on the day. I get up some days and take pictures of the sunrise. It’s so peaceful and quiet."
"Shit. If I wanted a picture of a sunrise I would just take one at sunset and have the damn thing reversed when it was developed. That’s what digital programs are for. Sunrise my ass."
"So, I guess picking you up at 3:00 A.M. is out of the question?"
PJ just looked at him.
"Okay fine. I'll see you at 4:30 then."
Sean waited for almost a half hour while PJ fumbled with getting dressed and ready to leave the next morning. It was not a pretty thing to see. It took PJ two Diet Cokes to even acknowledge that Sean was in the same car with him.
They made it to the airport with only minutes to spare but PJ refused to be hurried. How in the hell could you trust a pilot who got up this early anyway? He immediately fell into a deep sleep once he settled in his seat. Sean had to shake him awake once they arrived.
They were met at the terminal by an agent from the regional office. His name was Beau. True to form PJ thought. He was a tall, good looking kid that had obviously not been with the bureau very long.
He navigated them to the East Point office under a non-stop barrage of small talk aimed at Sean. Mostly because PJ glared at him when he directed talk his way.
They were brought up to date by the regional chief on the comings and goings of Mr. Ronald Hamlin. He was under around the clock surveillance and had been so for the past ten days. So far there was little to report in the way of suspicious activity.
After the briefing they headed out towards Marietta, a suburb of the 'Big A'. It took almost an hour in heavy traffic to get through the 'spaghetti bowl', before they were able to make decent progress. Once they hit I-75 things got a little better.
"This place is a zoo. How in the hell do you stand this traffic all the time?" PJ asked Beau.
"You get used to it. After a while you learn to allow an hour and a half to get anyplace."
"I mean, it's just now 10:45 A.M. Is this rush hour?"
"Not really. In Atlanta it’s always rush hour. It can take you twenty minutes to just cross the street on some days. You get used to it. Sort of," Beau answered.
Beau turned off on Highway 5, Canton Highway, and headed into one of the non-stop housing developments that was full of what PJ called, 'screaming pines'.
California contemporaries according to Beau. He stopped across the street from what appeared to be a two, three or four story house, depending up on the angle.
"Alright Beau, give me the run-down on this guy Hamlin one more time. I'm just now starting to function," PJ said.
Beau began reciting the background, "According to our reports this guy is one of, if not the best, long rang shots in the southeast. He has won every major match shooting contest he entered. He can shoot anything. He was on the US National Skeet Team for a couple of years. His long range skills are what sets him apart. Sniper School in 66'. Sent to Chu Lai. Had 88 confirmed kills. Instructed at the school upon his return, until his discharge. We confirmed that he was in at least three of the cities that the suspected assassinations took place.
I arranged to accidentally run into him out at the target range he goes to all of the time. He seems like a regular guy except for the fact that he bleeds red, white and blue. Very conservative."
"Off the deep end?"
"I don't know about that. Hell, aren't most of us in the agency somewhat off the deep end? Heck, I like the guy. Seems like a solid citizen."
"Unless he is going around killing people," PJ said sarcastically.
"How do you want to handle this?" Sean asked PJ.
"Well, he's home, were here. Let's just go up and ring the doorbell and see what happens. KISS."
"What's kiss?" Beau asked.
"That's when you pucker your lips up and smooch someone" PJ answered.
"Haw, it means, keep it simple stupid," Sean interjected.
"Let’s get this over with, I'm getting hungry."
"Beau, you cover the back. Sean and I will stroll in the front. If you hear shots you just blast whoever comes out the back way. None of this stop, F.B.I. bullshit. Just blow em' away. Got it?"
"So shall it be written," Beau said.
"What? What the hell does that mean?" PJ wanted to know.
"So shall it be done. You know. Moses and the Pharaoh. The movie?"
"Whatever. You just make sure you shoot anyone that sticks his head out that back door, got it?"
"Got it. Let’s go."
Beau went around the back of the house and took up a covered location that gave him a view of the back deck and door. PJ and Sean w
alked up the massive front steps to the front door. Sean stood on one side of the door and JP on the other. Sean with his .357 Python and PJ with his
9mm ready in his hand behind his back. Just as Sean started to knock on the door, PJ let lose with a loud passing of gas. Sean jumped back and pointed his gun at PJ.
“What in the...."
"Easy man," PJ whispered.
"What the hell are you trying to do, make my eyes water?"
"Sorry man. My stomach churns every time I do something like this. Let's get this over with okay?"
Sean glared at him for a second longer, then started to knock again. He stopped and glanced at JP quickly, just to make sure he wasn't going to repeat the ritual. PJ just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
Sean knocked and stepped back from the door. The door opened and a man in a khaki shirt appeared.
"Yes? What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Hamlin? Ron Hamlin?"
"That would be me. Who are you?"
"Mr. Hamlin, I'm with the F.B.I. My name is Sean Parker. We would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. It won't take up much of your time."
"Questions? What kind of questions?"
"Mr. Hamlin, we really need to talk inside. Here is my card. You are welcome to verify who I am, "Sean said handing him a card through the partially opened door.
Ron looked at the card a few seconds and said, "Says here, Washington D.C., not Atlanta. What gives?"
"Mr. Hamlin, we are going to talk with you. Here or at the regional office in Atlanta. It would be.....nicer, if we could talk here."
Ron opened the door further, "I guess it will be alright. I don't see how I can help you though."
"All in good time," PJ said, stepping in right behind Ron as he turned to lead them inside the house.
He was leading them into the front room when PJ brought up his gun and yelled, "Freeze. Put your hands up. NOW."
"What the....."
"I mean it Hamlin. NOW. If you move a muscle I'll nail your ass."
Sean looked at PJ like he had lost his mind. PJ motioned towards the front room coffee table as Hamlin placed his hand on his head. On the table were two hand guns and a rifle. Brushes, cleaning solvent and rags were nearby as well.
"What are you doing in there in the front room Mr. Hamlin?" Sean asked.
"Oh hell. Sorry guys. I forgot. I was just cleaning some of my guns. I have a match coming up in a couple weeks. It's sort of a routine with me. I wasn't expecting company, ya' know?"
PJ stepped around in front of Ron and went to the table. The two hand guns had obviously just been cleaned. A thin coat of oil covered them both. The rifle, a Remington 700 bolt action, with free floating barrel, was broken down. None of the weapons were loaded but a speed
loader was setting next to one of the revolvers. PJ picked it up and put it in his pocket.
"Okay," he said after checking out each gun, "You can take your hands down and have a seat over there," indicating a chair far away from the guns.
Ron did as he was told.
"Look, what is this all about? Do you guys have a warrant?"
"No, Mr. Hamlin, we do not have a warrant nor do we need one at this time. You invited us in. From what I see here on the table, we have probable cause at this point to search the whole house, should we choose. So let’s get down to business. We have a few questions for you, do you mind?"
"Ask away," he said resigned.
"Could you tell if you were in Miami on April 12th?" "Hell, I don't remember. I was in Miami at some point. I don't remember the date. I could look it up I suppose. I keep all of my day planners. You want me to look it up?"
"Yes. We will have several dates so you might as well bring everything you need. Where is it?" Sean asked.
"In the office, den actually. I work out of my house most of the time," Ron said getting up.
PJ stood as well.
"I'll just tag along if you don't mind,” PJ said.
"And if I do?"
"In that case, I'll still come along, but with an attitude. A very bad attitude, yaknowwhatImean?" he said, doing a poor imitation of Ernest P. Worrell.
Ron didn't comment but headed down the hall to the office. After a short search they returned to the living room with the planners in hand.
"What was the date?"
"April 12th."
"April, April. Hum...the 12th. Yes. I arrived on the 10th and left on the 17th."
"How about October 19th?"
Ron flipped through some more pages, "the 19th of October, I was in San Francisco. Well, Alameda actually. I got in late the 18th and left early the 23rd."
PJ and Sean exchanged glances.
"And December 15th?"
"Ah. Illinois. I got in to Chicago the 11th. Went to Champaign, Peoria, Bloomington and Springfield. Ended back up in Chicago on the 19th. Look fellows, what in the hell is this all about?"
"Mr. Hamlin..."
"Ron."
"Alright, Ron, you work for Lange Distribution here in Atlanta isn't that correct?"
"Sure do. I'll be going on 10 years this month."
"What do you do for Lange exactly?" PJ asked.
"I'm in procurement."
"Procurement. Just what do you procure Mr....Ron?"
"That all depends on the time of the year. I negotiate future prices on everything from vegetable oil, tomato paste, pie fillings and such. Almost anything you can think of that can be arranged in the future. After I settle on a price that we are willing to pay, I work out the details for transportation. Look, this is strictly on the straight and narrow. Lange is very strict about how we go about procurement."
"If you say so, Ron,” Sean said.
"You went to Mexico right after you left San Francisco didn't you?" JP asked.
"Yes. I remember my wife wasn't too thrilled with me being gone for so long at a time. I stayed for three days and then flew straight to Atlanta."
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Why did you go to Mexico?"
"Oh. To get lettuce and green peppers."
"Excuse me? You can't get lettuce and green peppers in America?"
"Well, not good ones. Ah, you mean....no, no. You see, I bought then for the futures market. During certain times of the year, lettuce and green peppers are out of season here in the US. Mexico is where we buy them when our season ends. We buy into the futures market. Happens every year. The quality is pretty good, but the price is higher. Transportation you know?"
PJ and Sean just looked at each other.
"Right," they said at the same time.
"And the other cities and dates. Buying trips for Lange?"
"Oh yes. My wife hates it when I travel but the pay is good and I have a lot of down time to shoot, so I like it."
PJ got up and went to the back door and cracked it open.
"Beau," he yelled, "It's fine, you might as well come on in."
Beau came out from some underbrush and joined them inside. They continued to cross dates and check out further elements of his story but it became clear that he was just what he said he was. He was a gun nut for sure, but was very stable and they came to understand that he worked as hard as he played. In the end, they decided he would be the type of guy you wanted to live next door to you.
At least his name could be taken off the suspect list. He was curious about why they wanted to know about his travels but was gracious enough to not ask. They ended up looking at his medals and his gun collection before they finally left.
All in all, it was a pleasant visit as it turned out. Beau even made arrangements to go shooting with him at a future date. They drove back to East Point and made arrangements to fly to Minneapolis to catch up with Larry Little, the second man on their list.
Little was staying in a run-down house near Robbinsdale, just off Broadway Street. It didn't take long to realize that this guy was not a prime suspect. In fact, Sean was a little embarrassed that the F.B.I. had even placed him on the list anyway
. Little was an obvious alcoholic and wouldn't have been able to shoot the top off a booze bottle across the room if he was dying for a drink.
'Sorry', was all Sean said when PJ looked at him like they had lost their minds at the agency. They headed out to Salt Lake City, to check out the last name on their surveillance list. It was quickly established that he was not their man. A better candidate than Little by far, but never the less, not their man. They headed back to Washington with their tails between their legs. The up side was that there were three less suspects to keep tabs on. The down side was that they were tired and only marginally closer to finding the shooter.
"Guys. I have some good and bad news for you. The good news is that they could eliminate two more names from the list. OPS3 had tracked down two more and they are no longer considered a threat," the director told them.
"And the bad?" Sean asked.
"We have tracked down one of the main instructors for Marine Sniper School. He trained most of the candidates that went through the place in the 60's."
"Hell, that isn't bad news," Sean said relieved.
"Tell us the rest," PJ said.
"Ah. He lives in San Diego," the director said apologetically.
"Oh shit. My ass hasn't even caught up with my luggage yet," PJ said dejectedly.
"Hey, it's better than a sharp stick in the eye," the director said and walked off whistling.
"I'd like to place a sharp stick up his......"
"Come on. Let’s just get this over with," Sean said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Yes?"
"We need to meet."
30D. Tomorrow.
"30D."
The lines went dead.
The following day, promptly at 6:00 P.M. Linden arrived at the specified location and was quickly let into the house.
"So, you have gotten established. How do you feel about the progress of the operation?"
"We seem to be on schedule. I guess since you called for the meeting I should withhold judgment until you tell me what's on your mind."
"I'll get right to the point. Robert will only play along so far. He will not even listen to the option of physically removing the current administration. If we can prove the accusations legally, he will join in a heartbeat. I've shown him everything. Hell, I even doctored a couple up. Easy to do with today’s computers and copiers. While he bends, he will not break."
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