The First End

by Victor Elmalih

  Chapter 8

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Frank Vellore said from across his desk.

  Bill nodded, none too happy to be back. “It’s been nearly three months since you broke off negotiations with the union,” the lawyer began. “I don’t plan on helping you unless you are willing to make some concessions.”

  Vellore hit a button on his phone and spoke into it. “Rob, make sure we are not interrupted for any reason. I don’t care if the President calls. Don’t bother me.”

  “Yes, sir,” a tired voice sounded over the speaker. Bill assumed Rob to be the butler of this mansion. For whatever reason, Frank Vellore had requested that Bill come to see him at his New York house, a sprawling mansion with security so tight that it would do the Pentagon credit.

  On the way in, he had spotted guard dogs roaming the grassy premises, laser sensors sensitive enough to detect a small rodent, guards that roamed the perimeter, and what might be a sniper loft with a dominating view of the grounds around the house. Anyone who tried to approach the house would be under watch—and possibly in a set of crosshairs—for quite an uncomfortable amount of time.

  The house itself rambled over the grounds, sporting Victorian architecture. Bill suspected that the majority of the house was deserted and that Frank had his office and bedroom moved into a different room each week to prevent a pattern from developing. He would like to meet Frank’s head of security. The man must be an insufferably paranoid jackass to meet Frank’s approval.

  Sitting back, Vellore regarded Bill with an odd expression. Bill might have called it fear, but he doubted the tough old dog ever feared much in his life. Worry. That’s it. Vellore was worried.

  “I didn’t call you here to help with the strike. I have another job for you.”

  Bill stood up. “Sir, I came as a courtesy, nothing more. I don’t know how you got enough money to hire other workers to circumvent the union, and I really don’t care. The city is happy that the trash is being picked up, so I don’t see why you need me. Frankly, I don’t really want to work for you anymore.”

  Frank pointed at a chair. “Shut up, Bill, and sit down.”

  Bill blinked and felt his eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t order me around, sir.”

  “Do as I say. You’ll want to hear this.”

  “I—”

  “Sit down!”

  The tone threw Bill’s mind back to basic training as the order sounded awfully similar to that of an irritated drill sergeant. He sat down out of pure reflex. Angry more at himself at his kneejerk reaction, he fixed the CEO of Wastend with a stern look. “That is your last warning, sir.”

  Vellore leaned forward. “I really don’t care about your warnings, son. You will listen to me because this is a matter of national security.”

  That got the lawyer’s attention. “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”

  “Good.” Vellore took out an expensive cigar and lit it with an equally expensive lighter. He didn’t bother offering one to Bill. “Over two months ago, the military contracted me to dispose of some highly sensitive technology. But while in transit to the disposal site in the Indian Ocean, the cargo ship slated to do the disposal was attacked by Somali pirates. The ship and crew were held hostage for a week before a British warship succeeded in chasing the pirates off.” With a long puff on his cigar, Frank paused to see what effect his words were having. Bill sat ramrod straight as if being debriefed by a general. Satisfied, he continued his narrative. “The pirates were trying to beach the cargo ship, but the Brits intercepted her before that could happen. Most of the pirates got away by virtue of being able to quickly make landfall.”

  Bill understood. “But you don’t know if they made off with any of the decommissioned technology.”

  “Exactly. The captain and three other crew members were murdered and the manifest list has disappeared. We have no idea what was taken and what wasn’t…if anything. The rest of the cargo was disposed of as planned, but I need someone to go over there and see if there is any danger that some of this technology could have fallen into the wrong hands.”

  A seething rage began to boil inside of Bill. He couldn’t believe the man’s arrogance. In a cold voice, he said, “You want me to do this?”

  “Look Gardner, this is a sensitive issue. I don’t really fear those Somali savages getting their hands on any of it. They wouldn’t recognize any value in it even if they had an inkling of the importance of what they had. No, I’m worried about other foreign agencies getting their hands on this. I need a man who is widely travelled, able to speak several languages, understands the region, and has the training and expertise to pull this off. That’s you, Bill Gardner.”

  “Why not let the government or the military take care of this?” Bill asked, his eyes narrowing. He could see where this was going. “Why come to me no matter what my credentials are?”

  “Because before I involve the military, I want to make sure there is a real reason to do so. There is no sense in making this an international incident and - once the military is involved - wind of the operation is likely to get out. We don’t want intelligence types from thirty different countries crawling around Somalia trying to figure out what we’re doing there.” Frank shook his head. “This has to be done discretely and completely off the books.”

  Bill disagreed wholeheartedly, but he wasn’t prepared to say so just yet. He wanted the man to hang himself first. “This is an investigation. By the time I get there, I will be working a cold case in a hostile environment. You do know that the Transitional Government is a joke, right? Their influence is hardly worth noting, so basically it is a messy, anarchist state. The risk of getting kidnapped is rather high.”

  “My file on you says you can handle yourself.”

  “Not against twenty armed mercenaries hoping to extract money from some rich US citizen. They’ll see me as fish bait.”

  “It’s not going to be all that bad. I’ve already contacted the Transitional Government. They are anxious to help and to establish some sort of diplomatic ties with the US.”

  Bill snorted, rolling his eyes. The man certainly was brazen enough. “Like that will happen any time soon.”

  “Agreed, but they don’t know that. They are desperate. They’ve agreed to give you a dozen men as escorts and bodyguards for the duration of your stay.”

  The ex-marine raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “How many of them are reliable?”

  Spreading his hands in a gesture of ignorance, Frank leaned back. “I know this is dangerous, Bill. I’m willing to pay you half a million dollars to do this.”

  Every muscle in Gardner’s body froze. “Half a million?”

  “Yes. This is important. Very important.”

  “Expenses too?”

  “Yes, yes. Expenses too.”

  Bill sat perfectly still. The rage inside of him threatened to boil over. The man had the audacity to think that Bill could be bought off with money! What Frank had done bordered on treason, and now he was trying to cover his own rear end, and wanting to put Bill at risk to do it!

  No way!

  The ex-marine exploded into action. He came out of his seat in a rush, vaulted the desk and planted both feet squarely into Wastend’s CEO’s chest. With a strangled cry, part pain, part surprise, the man flew backwards, his chair going along for the ride. Body and chair crashed heavily into the back wall, shaking at least two pictures loose to come crashing down around the startled man.

  Following close behind, the lawyer grabbed the older man’s wrist, twisted, and then pulled sharply, yanking Frank right out of the chair and to his knees before the enraged ex-marine.

  “Who’s your contact at the Pentagon?” Bill yelled.

  Frank, his face contorted in a painful grimace, cussed at Bill. The lawyer put more pressure on the wrist hold, and the older man cried out in pain. From his labored breathing, Bill guessed his kick had knocked all the wind, but not all the fight out of the old fool.

 
“I want that name or so help me, I’ll break your arm. If that doesn’t get me the information, I’ll just keep breaking things until you tell me.”

  “Let go of me, you little prig!”

  “Wrong answer.” Bill twisted sharply, and something gave with a sharp snap.

  Howling in pain, Vellore writhed along the oak floor. Bill reached over and grabbed the man’s other wrist. “Who is your contact at the Pentagon?” he demanded again. “And don’t lie. I will know.”

  “General Hynes!”

  Bill knew Hynes from his days in the military. They had occasionally crossed paths when he had been deployed on special assignment. Once in particular during Operation Coffee—a reference to Columbian coffee, or more specifically Columbian drug cartels—Hynes had personally taken the field with Bill to oversee a raid deep in the jungles.

  With little regard for the man’s pain, Gardner dragged the CEO over to his desk, just as someone started to pound on the door, demanding entrance. Bill stooped down to look under the desk, and sure enough found a holstered pistol strapped to the underside of the desk, the barrel pointing to who ever sat in the desk across from Vellore.

  “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Bill muttered. He pulled the gun out, a .357 mag, checked to make sure it was loaded and raised it towards the door just as it burst open and three armed men spilled in.

  “Stop!” he snapped, using his best military voice. “If you don’t want your employer to get hurt, put your guns down.”

  All three hesitated, two of them glancing towards a short man wearing dark fatigues. The man’s face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder, and Bill could only guess at the dark tale that lay behind it. He had no time to ponder such questions. He hauled Vellore up and rammed the barrel of the pistol into the man’s temple.

  “Drop your weapons,” he ordered again. Scar-face nodded and all three let their weapons fall to the elegant carpet that had been spread over the rich wood floor. “Good.” He pointed to scar-face. “You can stay. Tell your thugs to leave.” Scar-face nodded again, and his two underlings backed up until they were outside the office. “Good. Now close the door.”

  “What do you want?” scar-face demanded after the door had shut.

  “Are you head of security?”

  “Yes. Roy Newman.”

  “Very good. What I want, Roy Newman, head of security, is for your boss here to make a phone call to the Pentagon. Once he does that and I get to talk to someone there, I will leave.”

  Newman glanced at his employer. “What did you do to him?”

  “Broke his wrist. He has proven to be…uncooperative, and he needed a bit of motivation.”

  A slight smile played briefly across the security chief’s face. If Vellore had noticed it, he would most likely have broken the man’s legs before the day was out. He probably would anyway, but Bill found it comforting to know that there was little love lost between the CEO and his security chief.

  “What now?” Roy asked.

  “You can have a seat there.” Bill pointed to a chair off to one side. “Oh, are you wired?” The man nodded curtly. “Then toss it. I don’t want you communicating with your men until after I leave.”

  “What makes you think you’ll leave here?”

  Smiling, Bill shook Vellore, who groaned in pain. “I have a free ticket.” After the security chief discarded his communication system, Bill turned his attention back to the CEO. “Okay, Frank. You have a call to make. I don’t want any excuses either. Don’t let them give you the runaround. Tell them it is an emergency, invoke whatever clearance you have, pull any strings you need, make any threats you have to, but get General Hynes on the phone.” He paused and made sure that Vellore could see his smile. “Or we go back to breaking things.”

  If anything, Frank’s face turned even paler. He nodded, most of the fight knocked out of him.

  “Excellent.”

  Ten minutes later, a voice came over the speaker of the phone. “What is so important, Vellore? I was pulled out of a staff meeting.”

  “General,” Bill said. “You may remember me. I’m Captain Bill Gardner. I was attached to a special op under your command back in 2006.”

  “Captain Gardner? What the blazes are you doing? I was told that Frank Vellore needed to speak with me on a matter of national security.”

  “That is more or less true, sir.”

  “Well?”

  Bill shook Vellore who groaned. “Tell the man,” he ordered.

  Slowly, and with great reluctance, the CEO repeated his story. When he finished, the line was silent for a long time. Finally, the general’s voice came through the speaker. “Gardner, get your butt over to the Pentagon, now. We need to talk. As for you, Frank, this action of yours boarders on treason. I’ll make it my personal mission in life to take you down.”

  “General, don’t be so hasty,” Bill warned. “You could use him still.”

  “How?”

  “Let him foot the bill for this. Whoever you send over there needs a legitimate excuse. Vellore can provide that excuse. He has already started the process of trying to cover his tracks. Let him proceed…or rather proceed under his name and company. This should provide you with some cover for the operation. The wily fox is right about one thing. If the other intelligence services get wind of what is happening, it will turn into a turkey shoot over there.”

  “Fine. I’ll consider it. I still want you here, Gardner.”

  “I’m not in the service anymore, sir.”

  “You are now. I’ve just reactivated you.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I just did, Captain. Listen! You have benefited from the military. You used our program Vol Ed. You’re education as a lawyer was paid for by us. Now it's your turn to give back to those who have made you what you are now. Get over here! That is an order.”

  His enthusiasm for this entire situation diminishing rapidly, he muttered, “Yes sir.” He glanced at Newman. “Sir?”

  “What?” The general sounded impatient now.

  “Getting out may be problematic. I sort of created a bit of a mess here and the security chief here would like nothing more than to teach me the folly of such behavior.”

  The chief smiled at that.

  “If you are not in my office in six hours, Gardner, I will personally turn the national guard loose on Mr. Vellore’s house. I’ll arrest everyone there for treason. Will that help?”

  Bill glanced inquiringly at Newman. The man nodded. “Yep, that will do.”

  “Okay, sir. Looks good on my end.”

  “Get over here then!”

  The line went dead.

  Standing back up, the security chief nodded to the door. “You best be going. I don’t want to get arrested because you got stuck in traffic somewhere.”

  Bill grinned. “That would be a bit of bad luck for you, wouldn’t it.”

  The man snorted in reply.