***
The offices of Black Scimitar Corporation were a study in etched glass and stainless steel design.
The glass entry doors were each etched with an oversized scimitar, over which was superimposed a map of the world ringed by the company name.
The lobby was separated from the private spaces by six over-sized glass panels, each bearing a detailed, etched map of one of Earth’s inhabited continents. The round, black enameled reception desk floated in the middle of the space in front of North America. Inside the circle, a young woman with close-cropped black hair looked up when Kaye walked through the door. He saw her reach under the desk as she smiled.
“Good morning,” she greeted Kaye pleasantly, but kept one hand below the counter. “How may I help you?”
Kaye held up his open badge wallet.
“Detective Kaye, LAPD. I need to speak to the senior person on-site. Your President, CEO, whoever is in charge.”
The woman relaxed and put her hands on the counter.
“May I ask what this is about?”
“I’m investigating the death of Leigh Howell.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “Hold on.”
She reached for the phone. On her wrist Kaye noticed a silver bracelet emblazoned in gold with the eagle, globe and anchor emblem of the U.S. Marine Corps.
He stood silently while the spoke on the phone.
“Mr. Gagnon will be out in just a moment,” she said when she hung up.
“Thank you,” Kaye said. “Nice bracelet. Were you in the Corps?”
“I was. Eight years.”
“Me, too. But just one, well, almost one, hitch.”
Movement in his peripheral vision caught Kaye’s attention and he turned to see a young man round the panel etched with a map of Asia.
“Adrian Gagnon,” the man introduced himself, extending his hand.
“Ben Kaye, LAPD. Thank you for seeing me.”
The two shook hands. For a brief instant when their hands and eyes met, Kaye thought Gagnon was going to try and use the handshake to establish dominance, but Kaye met pressure with pressure and Gagnon resorted to a perfunctory handshake.
“How can I help you, Detective?”
“I’m investigating Leigh Howell’s death and –”
“I thought that had been ruled an accident,” Gagnon interrupted.
“There are some possible new developments and information,” Kaye said. “If you have a few minutes I’d like to get some background information. You know, start filling in some of the blanks.”
“Certainly,” Gagnon said. “Follow me, please.” He turned to the woman at the desk. “Elizabeth, no interruptions, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gagnon led Kaye back around the glass Asia and down a short, wide hallway. There was quite a bit of activity as other employees scurried about, some with armloads of files and folders. Gagnon greeted them all by name as they passed by, then held open an office door etched with a map of the District of Columbia.
The office was large and airy. The exterior wall was glass, affording views of downtown Los Angeles in the distance. In addition to two chairs facing what was obviously Gagnon’s desk, there were two leather loveseats and a cocktail table. The decoration was mostly plants, but on one wall hung photographs of a man standing with several Presidents of the United States and others Kaye recognized as Heads of State.
“Please,” Gagnon said, pointing to a chair as he stepped to the other side of the desk and sat down. “So, exactly how can I help you?”
“I’d like to find out more about Mr. Howell,” Kaye said. “For example, the reports of the incident don’t mention whether he was married. Things like that. I’d also like to find out a little more about what Black Scimitar does.”
“I can help with that,” Gagnon said, leaning back in his chair and relaxing. “To answer your first question, no, Rod was never married except to the United States Army. He left no family behind, and his parents were already deceased. I wasn’t able to trace a single relative to notify of his death.”
“Rod?” Kaye asked. “I thought his first name was Leigh.”
“Legally, yes, but he disliked it. In the Army he earned the nickname ‘Steel Rod’ Howell because of his toughness. He preferred to be called Rod.”
“Got it,” Kaye said. “Go on.”
“As for what Black Scimitar does, we are an operational consultant and security services provider for companies doing business in places that might be, shall we say, often tenuous and rapidly changing.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Certainly,” Gagnon said. “Say you’re an energy company that wants to develop a major new petroleum field in a country where the government may be less than stable, or may not have a tight hold on all of its territory. You can contract with us to protect your personnel, your equipment and your supply lines, and we can also run political interference for you should the need arise.”
“You said Mr. Howell was ex-military.”
“Army.”
“You, too?”
Gagnon laughed. “Hardly. The Sorbonne, then an MBA from the Wharton School of Business.”
“Do you contract with the Department of Defense?”
“Not directly,” Gagnon replied. “After working on the inside for years, Rod found their procedures onerous. But we do have the necessary security clearances to contract with service and support providers fulfilling DoD contracts they have been awarded.”
“So, like sub-contractors.”
“Exactly.”
“Howell was driving an almost four hundred thousand dollar car,” Kaye said. “You must be doing well.”
“Sadly,” Gagnon said, “the nature of today’s world provides us with an expanding market.”
“What, exactly, was Mr. Howell’s role?”
“He started the company. He ran things.”
“Do you have a Board of Directors?”
“We do,” Gagnon said. “Rod was the Chairman. We went public a little over a year ago, and we’re listed on the Big Board.”
“About the time Mr. Howell ordered the Ferrari, right?” Kaye asked. “The IPO went well?”
“It did,” Gagnon said with a smile that told Kaye he’d made a fortune, too.
“So, with no relatives, what happens to Mr. Howell’s interest in the company?”
“Good question. With no heirs and no will, the Court will have to decide what to do with Rod’s assets.”
“Is there an Executor of the estate?” Kaye asked.
“Obviously, Detective,” Gagnon said, “you’re looking for anyone who might have benefitted financially from Rod’s death. We have asked the Court to name a neutral Executor. After that’s settled, the first thing will be the election of a new Chairman. Rod started Black Scimitar when he left the Army, and –”
“When he lost his leg,” Kaye interrupted.
“Yes,” Gagnon said, staring at Kaye. “If I may continue?”
“Of course,” Kaye said. “My apologies.”
“This was Rod’s company. His baby, if you will. Black Scimitar will continue, but without Rod’s reputation and charisma, well, time will tell.”
“What reputation? I’ve never heard of him.”
“He was a ranking member of Delta Forces Command before losing his leg to an IED.”
“Your role here is…?”
“I’ve been the Chief Financial Officer here for a couple of years. I was asked to stay on and maintain operations while all this sorts itself out.”
“So Black Scimitar is still doing business?”
“Absolutely,” Gagnon said. “We’ve exploded since going public. We have hundreds of millions of dollars in ongoing contracts and more than that in the proposal stages.”
“Seriously?” Kaye asked. “From this office? Nothing personal, but I would expect a bigger footprint for that kind of money.”
Gagnon laughed. “This is just our corporate suite,
our nerve center if you will. Rod was sentimentally attached to it and refused to move. We now have sixteen primary operations centers and nearly forty logistics and supply locations across the globe. That’s why the maps of the continents.”
“That makes more sense,” Kaye said. “Did Mr. Howell have any enemies?”
Gagnon laughed again. “Rod was a major player in America’s counter-terrorism and special operations efforts for many years. I daresay there are thousands of other players in the world who are celebrating his death.”
“But no one in particular? A business rival, maybe a pissed off husband somewhere?”
“Are you suggesting Rod was murdered?”
“I’m looking into it.”
“On what basis?” Gagnon’s tone was demanding.
“I can’t share that right now,” Kaye said. “It may turn out to be nothing more than due diligence.”
“That I understand,” Gagnon said, nodding. “But please understand that such an investigation, if made public, could have an adverse effect on the company.”
“That’s not really my concern,” Kaye said. “Back to the enemies question. Anybody in particular come to mind? Maybe somebody with explosives expertise?”
“Not that I can think of,” Gagnon said, studying Kaye closely. “So, you’re thinking a bomb?”
“I can’t say.”
“Well, if there’s even a suspicion of foul play, I’ll instruct our Ops people to start listening for rumors, chatter, anything that might help.”
“I appreciate that,” Kaye said, rising. He handed Gagnon a business card. “Please, call me if you hear –”
“Adrian,” a female voice interrupted and Kaye turned to see a woman stopped partway through the office door. Her hands were at shoulder level, one holding the door open and the other braced against the door frame on the opposite side as if she’d stopped herself from entering at the last second. She was tall, had medium-length, sandy blonde hair and wore black pants and a brightly colored, sleeveless silk blouse.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing back and forth from Gagnon to Kaye. “I didn’t realize you had someone in your office.”
“No problem,” Gagnon said, standing. “Detective Kaye, meet Tamara Goschen, my interim, and soon to be, I hope, permanent Operations Coordinator.”
“Ms. Goschen,” Kaye said, nodding politely.
“Detective Kaye,” she said, appraising him coolly before turning to Gagnon. “The police?”
“He was just leaving,” Gagnon said.
“He’s all yours, Ms. Goschen,” Kaye said. “I can find my way out. Thanks again for your time, Mr. Gagnon.”
Goschen stepped into the office and held the door open. As he walked by Kaye took notice of a striking tattoo on her right arm and shoulder. It was a strange, anthropomorphic mix of a fierce bird and distorted, semi-human face, with what looked like a wing extending down her arm and wrapping around her elbow.
“It’s my personal war dog,” Goschen said when she saw Kaye looking. “I’ll see you around, Detective.”
Another weird, ex-military spook, Kaye thought as he walked out. Using Asia as a landmark he had no trouble finding his way back to the lobby.
As he headed for the door he looked sideways to acknowledge Elizabeth, the receptionist. She saw him and held up her hand, giving him the ‘come here’ sign with her fingers.
“What’s up?” Kaye asked, resting his hands on the counter.
“You’re him, right?”
“I guess that would depend on who ‘him’ is.”
“You know,” she said, keeping her voice low and looking around. “USMC. Ben Kaye. The embassy guard that single-handedly stared down an entire mob and literally shook a bad guy to death to rescue the good guy they were about to torch. Right? I mean, I know I’m right. You’re him.”
“Guilty as charged,” Kaye said.
“Guilty? Are you kidding me? Dude, you’re a legend.”
Kaye snorted.
“The brass didn’t think so. I got bounced early for disobeying a direct order.”
“Fuck that,” Elizabeth said derisively. “Stanislav Petrov disobeyed orders and saved the entire planet.”
“They teach you that in boot camp?” Kaye asked, smiling.
“Nah,” she said, smiling back. “I had an intellectual Rot-Cee colonel in college. Thought we should study both sides of everything to improve our decision making skills on the battlefield. We studied your, uh, incident. You did the right thing. Just like Petrov.”
“ROTC?” Kaye asked. “You were an officer?”
“Yeah, a Captain. But don’t hold that against me.”
“I’m confused. A Marine Corps Captain with eight years and you’re the receptionist here? No offense, but…”
She laughed and said, “Today only. The regular girl called in sick, and we’re thin today. I’m filling in.”
“What’s your regular job?”
“Anything they tell me to do, anywhere they tell me to do it.”
“Anything?”
“Unless it qualifies under the Petrov-Kaye exception.”
It was Kaye’s turn to laugh. “Good to know.”
Elizabeth looked around and lowered her voice even more.
“Watch your six, Marine.”
Puzzled, Kaye looked at her.
“Friendly fire,” she added, glancing toward Asia. “Shit happens.”
“Thanks for the warning. Semper Fi.”
“Oorah.”
***
Kaye swung by the station to do some research on Black Scimitar before going home.
He was surprised by the scope of their operations around the world and their reputation seemed solid. At least Gagnon hadn’t exaggerated.
What surprised him, though, was how heavily Black Scimitar was involved in law enforcement training. They offered a full spectrum of advanced training options, and looked to be a major player in drug interdiction strategies and education.
He also dug into the company’s IPO. Howell could’ve ordered a fleet of Ferraris had he wanted to.
Black Scimitar wasn’t just a company. Howell had built an empire.
DAY 5
Friday Week 1
One of the basic tenets of being a good investigator, at least in Kaye’s mind, was that you didn’t waste a lot of time running around like a headless chicken, asking a bunch of random people random questions you didn’t already know the answers to. But sometimes, especially in the early stages of a case, you had no choice.
But amassing information, determining facts, then asking specific people specific questions you already knew the answers to, and listening to what they had to say, was much more efficient.
It was also absolutely the fastest way to separate the liars from the herd, and the best suspects always came from the outliers.
Kaye still felt mired in headless chicken mode. He needed information before he could determine who to seek out and what questions to ask.
He’d pick the low-hanging fruit first. He grabbed his desk phone, but before he had a chance to dial, heard someone call his name. He turned and saw one of the Police Assistants standing several feet away, a manila envelope in hand.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“This came for you early this morning,” the PA said. “I saw you come in, and…” He stepped closer and handed the envelope to Kaye, who tore it open, pulled out a single sheet of paper and scanned it before looking at the PA.
“Who brought this in?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” the PA said nervously. “I was just asked by the desk officer to deliver it to you.”
“Okay,” Kaye said. “Thanks.”
The PA turned and left. Kaye picked up the phone and called downstairs to the desk.
“Officer Gastelo.”
“Hey, Gastelo, it’s Kaye. Who dropped off the envelope the PA just brought up to me?”
“A guy on a bicycle,” Gastelo said. “I think he was probably a paid
courier. Came in right after I took over the desk this morning. Why?”
“Just curious. Thanks,” Kaye said and hung up.
He held the paper up again. It was covered in Japanese Kanji characters that he had no hope of deciphering. Grunting, he slid it to the back corner of his desk, reached for the phone again, had second thoughts about just calling, grabbed the Big Boar MC jacket and headed for the door.
Thirty minutes later Kaye rolled into the Beverly Hills Civic Center and headed for the Police Department building.
At the counter he showed his ID and asked to see Lieutenant Sarah Ross.
“Wait here,” the desk sergeant said, then picked up the phone.
Five minutes later Ross, a tall redhead, opened the security door and stepped into the lobby.
“Well, as I live and breathe, Ben Kaye, right?” Ross said slowly. “I used to know an LAPD detective named Ben Kaye, but he just up and left town right after shooting somebody in one of our hotels. You know the guy?”
“Sarah, I’m really sorry,” Kaye said.
“What do you want, Kaye?”
“Can we talk in private?” Kaye asked.
Ross spun on her heels and headed back into the inner sanctum. Kaye barely caught the door before it closed and followed Ross to her office.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” she said after closing her office door behind Kaye, then turning and leaning against it. “I don’t suppose you’re here to ask about getting together for a drink later so we can catch up, right?”
“Are you mad at me?” Kaye asked.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Ross said sarcastically. “You ask for my help in my city, I let you go solo, you go all cowboy on me, kill a guy with a diplomatic passport, then just disappear and leave me hanging.”
“Didn’t the State Department guys handle that for you?”
“With the press, yes. With my boss, not so much,” Ross said. “I damn near lost my job, Kaye. If my Captain sees you in here today, he’ll probably throw us both out, so make it quick and disappear again, okay?”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea,” Kaye said, then explained what had happened with the Birnbaum case, the death of his father and his leave of absence. “But I’m back to work,” he concluded.
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