The Prosecution of General Hastings
Page 16
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harry Kincaid pulled his steel gray Porsche into the small parking lot of the non-descript four story office building off University Drive in Fairfax, Virginia. He parked in a lone space in the corner of the lot near a dumpster. There was an oak tree in the corner that provided shade on sunny days and seemed old enough to have been a witness to George Washington, owner of some adjacent land, riding by on horseback. Taking the stairs to the second floor, Kincaid walked briskly to the end of the hall. A small plastic engraved plate beside the door identified the space as Oceanic Import-Export, LLC. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning on Monday. The other three employees were busily at work, and had been for two hours. Kincaid was wearing his normal office business attire; jeans and a black tee shirt under his navy sweater that had been a Christmas gift from Penny Lane. Under most circumstances, Harry Kincaid would not be caught dead in a coat and tie.
“Good morning, Beth,” he said, pushing through the door. He paused at her desk. “You know, it was a stroke of pure genius to place you here… right here near the door.”
Beth Handy, Vice President of Administration looked up, smiling. It was always good to have Harry Kincaid in the office. He brought a flirtatious humor with him that made the days more enjoyable. “Oh? And why is that, pray tell?” she asked.
“Why, it should be obvious,” he answered. “Being the fine looking woman that you are, it gives our visitors a wonderful first impression. Makes the firm look classy and well staffed. Yep, pure genius, I tell you.”
Beth was used to Harry’s wit but was sometimes thrown by his playful banter. Still, she knew better than to fall for any of his comments. “You know, Harry,” she answered, “you’re more full of crap than a Christmas goose… but don’t stop, okay?”
He smiled back at her and said, “Never, my dear. Never.” He continued in and headed straight for Bobby Lawson’s small corner office that faced the front of the building.
He passed Prin Howard’s desk. “And how are you this fine Monday morning, Vice President Howard?” he asked.
“Never better, Harry. And my day is complete now that you’ve arrived,” she responded in her classic dry style.
“Oh, but you do make an old man feel welcome, Prin. I assume Master Robert is in,” he said.
Prin didn’t have a chance to answer as Bobby Lawson yelled from his office, “Right here, Harry. Come on in. I’ve got some interesting information for you.”
Harry stepped into Lawson’s office. Bobby swiveled around in his heavy leather office chair to face him. “I’ve some interesting news for you too,” Harry said. “You first.”
“Okay,” Bobby said. “After our conversation about Pete the other night I tried to think of some other guys I had heard went to work with Hastings,” Bobby said. “Remember John Decker?”
Harry cocked his head to one side. He squinted as if trying to place the name with a face.
Bobby went on. “Decker… big burly guy. He was a major and handled the supply duties when Pete and I were working special ops over in the sandbox. I was always amazed at how he could get us anything we needed… anything. I remember once we had a late night helo insertion up in Tora Bora. I was flying the Apache then, giving gun support to Pete’s team when they were inserted. It was winter and cold as a well digger’s ass. What we needed to soften up the area were some Hellfire missiles. We were going to bust up the Taliban’s bunkers before we put Pete’s team on the ground. Our aviation supply chain couldn’t find any in all of Afghanistan. Hadn’t been any for months. Somehow Decker got five containers of them. We strapped them on and pummeled the place for an hour. When the Chinook put the team in, they met ‘minimal resistance,’ as the field report said. I got to know Decker pretty well and I thought you met him. Called him ‘Sluggo.’”
“Oh, wait…” Harry said. “I do remember that guy. Once, on a mission with Pete, I was carrying an old Colt 1911 as my side arm of choice. Everyone else was carrying a Beretta 9mm, so they weren’t stocking .45 caliber. I never met him. But he got me my bullets.”
“I made several calls this morning and found out Sluggo went to work for Hastings, too.” Bobby paused a moment. Beth Handy knocked gently on the door, then came in and handed Harry a cup of coffee.
“Cream and one Sweet-n-Low,” she cooed.
“Geez,” Bobby exclaimed. “What kind of deal is this? I’ve been here for two hours and no one brought me any coffee.”
“Thanks, Beth,” Harry said and winked at the young lady. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Beth,” said Bobby. He said it sarcastically but he knew that the office ladies loved Harry Kincaid. Hell, all ladies seemed to love Harry Kincaid. And he really didn’t mind it. Beth smiled at Harry and blew Bobby an exaggerated kiss as she backed out of the office.
“Bobby, if you want coffee,” Harry said, “there is a pot of it right out there by the fridge. I saw it when I came in.” He let his words cut, then asked, “Are you going to tell me about Sluggo, or do you want to go get a cup of coffee?”
Bobby just rolled his eyes and continued his story. “Like I said, Sluggo also went to work for Hastings. But…” he paused, “he’s working for Hastings’ at a small arms company. Company called Mesquite Manufacturing.”
“Well, that squares with some of what I learned, too,” Harry responded. “Did you know Pete has a brother? Phil is his name.”
“Yeah, now that you mention it. I think Pete did say something about a kid brother who is also in the Army, right?” asked Bobby.
“Yup. Well, he called me real late Friday night. And since you’re sitting down, I’ll go ahead and tell you… Pete is alive.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wide. “Alive? Pete’s alive?” he asked.
“Yeah. That’s the good news,” Harry answered. “The bad news is that Pete thinks that Hastings was behind the attempt to kill him.” Harry went on to explain everything that Phil Von Karmenn had related to him in the late night phone call. Bobby sat listening intently.
When Harry had finished, Bobby summed up. “Something here doesn’t pass the smell test,” he said. “I’m going to try and get in touch with Sluggo and see what he has to say about all this. I hear this Mesquite Manufacturing plant is out in Stillwater, Oklahoma.”
Harry picked up the ball. “I’m going to call Big Daddy and check on it, too. We need to know if the U.S. okayed the deal.” Harry often used an inside source that was offered to him when he left the C.I.A. And it was a good source. The Director himself, Franklin Peers, thought the world of Harry and didn’t want to lose him when Harry resigned. At their last meeting, the United States Director of Central Intelligence told Harry never to hesitate in calling on him if he felt the need. Peers knew that Harry would never abuse the privilege. Over the years, Harry had called on the Director less than a handful of times, all for good reason.
“Good. Let me know what you find out,” Bobby said.
Harry thought for a minute. “It’s time to talk to Pete. I’ll get Phil to have him call me.”
Thinking it would take some time to get Pete Von Karmenn on the phone, Kincaid’s first call was to his brother Phil. Phil answered his cell phone on the second ring. “Von Karmenn,” he said.
Harry heard gunfire in the background that slightly overpowered Phil’s voice when he answered. “Phil? It’s Harry Kincaid. Did I catch you at a bad time?” He continued to hear the gunfire.
“Naw, man. I can talk. We’re just out here at the range about to test a new pistol. What’s up?” he asked.
“I need to talk to Pete,” Harry said. “Can you get him to call me?” The gunshots seemed to subside and Harry could hear other men laughing and talking behind Phil.
“I’ll give it a shot. If he answers, he’ll probably call you back right away. But if you don’t hear from him quickly, he’ll still get back to you as soon as he can. I told him we touched base the other night and he’s anxious to talk to you.” The gunfire resumed. Kincaid could make out rapid semi-a
utomatic fire. He could hear the ejected brass rounds hitting the ground.
“Good. Just give him my number and I’ll take it whenever he calls.” Harry was curious. “What’s the new pistol you’re testing?”
“I was about to tell you,” Pete answered. “It’s a new composite piece and you’ll never guess who makes it.”
“This is too much of a coincidence,” Harry was thinking out loud. “Mesquite Manufacturing?” he guessed.
“Bingo,” Phil chuckled. “It’s damn nice, too. Real lightweight composite body and the action is made of a ceramic. Supposed to be harder than steel.”
“How does it shoot?” Harry asked.
“We haven’t started with it yet. The guys are qualifying with their Berettas right now. We’re going to try out the new one later this afternoon.
“How’d you end up with it?” Harry asked.
“The Group Commander came in this morning with half a dozen of them. Said the procurement guys up at the Pentagon were looking at them and want us to run ‘em through the wringer,” Von Karmenn explained. “They figure that if anyone can tear it up or wear it out, a Green Beret can, I guess.”
“What’s the verdict, so far?” asked Harry.
“Like I said, they’re damn nice. Lightweight, yet balanced. Supposed to be more accurate than any hand gun available. It will handle both nine and twenty-one round magazines. Available in .45 cal and 9mm. If this is what Pete and Hastings are selling the Mexicans, I’m pissed.”
“Well, you can imagine there’s not as much red tape down there to deal with,” Harry observed. “Okay, Phil. I’ll wait to hear from Pete. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Will do, Kincaid.” The connection was broken when Harry no longer heard the gunfire.