Katey grinned back, “Sure does.”
Tom Madren took the red-eye flight in from New York and wasted no time in setting up a clandestine meeting with his boss, Terry Hardin. He sat in Hardin’s office facing the slim man who constantly slicked back his salt and pepper colored hair as he leaned back as far as his leather chair allowed. He fingered the small piece of silver jewelry that Tom had handed him. One of Tom’s friends had procured it for him and he now watched a quiet Hardin who gazed at it. Everyone who knew the head of the television station agreed that when he wasn’t talking business, he was pondering the next move to improve his business and Tom hoped his story was one of those golden moments.
“Tom,” he finally said as he sat forward, “if what you say is true, it could be a boon for our station to bring it out into the light.” He shrugged and went on, “But we do need verification before breaking the story and I do want you to keep this between us.”
“I understand,” answered Tom with his best TV smile.
With a nod his boss went on, “Now, I want you to write out the entire scenario, the way you see it and get it back to me by tomorrow morning.”
“Can do, Mister Hardin. I’ll send you an e-mail first thing in the morning.”
“No,” Hardin said emphatically as he put the piece of jewelry into his desk drawer, “no e-mails. I want a handwritten report tomorrow morning.”
Tom felt the chill in the man’s voice and gaze and answered as he stood, “Yes sir, first thing in the morning.”
Ten minutes later, Tom entered Emma’s Coffee House, around the corner from the TV station. He looked around and relieved that the place was empty of any of his acquaintances, took a seat in a booth and ordered a coffee as he took out a small notepad and pen. He was in thought as the coffee arrived.
“Hey,” the middle-aged waitress asked as she sucked her tummy in, “aren’t you the TV weatherman?”
Tom looked up and automatically gave his best smile as he answered, “Used to be the weatherman. I’ll now be doing the evening news.”
“Will you sign this for me?” she asked passing him a blank bill. He kept his smile as he signed it for her and watched as she walked over to another waitress and they looked at it, then back at him and both giggled.
He nodded to them as he thought, Wait until I break this story, then they’ll know I’m not the weatherman anymore. Nope! I’ll be on my way back to New York City soon.
He suddenly realized that his grip on his pen was defeating its purpose as it was leaving more of an indentation on the paper than allowing the ink to flow freely. Got to get myself together, he thought as he forced himself to relax, this story is my ticket to the big time. Can’t let it slip away. Just put the talking points down. That’s what the big guy wants. He grinned as his train of thought continued, Smart man. No e-mail trace from me to him to tie him in any way if the story somehow blows up. Oh well, I know what’s going on. My gut feeling tells me that this is going to be one of the biggest stories of the year and will put Bransville Television on the map…along with me of course. And, I don’t mean the weatherman’s map.
He grinned at his pun, took a sip of his coffee and wrote on the pad:
POINT: Jim Bransen sells a ghost town to a friend from New York City: Robert P. McKillop.
POINT: McKillop, who proclaims himself Mayor, brings in people to live in this town known as Rattlesnake Haven. They live there for free!
POINT: McKillop finds silver, even though the silver mine on his property has panned out years ago. He makes everyone in town sign a non-disclosure form and work at mining for silver which he turns into jewelry and sells in his own store right here in Bransville.
POINT: He allows only a few of his followers to come into Bransville and purchase supplies for the rest, paying the Bransville’s merchant’s in brand-new bills whose serial numbers are all sequential!
POINT: The members of Rattlesnake Haven whose names have been learned by this reporter, cannot be traced and therefore must be aliases, which means that they pay no taxes to the state or government. These same people ride horses or drive a wagon, which means they don’t need a driver’s licenses nor are there any license plates to trace. The only person who owns a licensed vehicle is the owner of Rattlesnake Haven, Mister Robert P. McKillop.
QUESTIONS:
1. Is the silver that was ‘found’ on the property of Rattlesnake Haven really on those grounds or has the mine been secretly reopened and the vein extended underground and onto the property owned by the great state of Nevada?
2. According to my investigative reports, McKillop (or Bransen) has most of the town’s people working to find silver. Does he allow unions to keep track of child labor or forced labor of any sort? What is the working conditions in that mine, especially in the high eighty-degree days?
3. The few ‘trusted’ members who ride into Bransville to purchase supplies only pay in brand new, sequentially numbered bills. Even though the bills pass every test we know of, is there a highly technical counterfeit force working right here under our noses? Are they using Bransville as a test of sorts?
4. A few of the names that were learned by some of Bransville’s shop owners are: Cal Sullivan, Tim Holden, Frank Hirns and Clem McCloud. Not one of these names are traceable which means they were never in the military service, in jail, got a driver’s license, got married, went to school or anything that would give us a hint of where they came from, (Highly unlikely!) Are they foreigners? Have they slipped over the Mexican boarder and are living here in our great state of Nevada as illegal’s and for what purpose? Although it is legal, all carry a sidearm. And as if to cover up their lack of a driver’s license they ride horses and drive buckboards into town and flaunt their very illegal existence in front of our law-abiding citizens.
5. Did Jim Bransen know Mister McKillop before he sold him his town? Didn’t Bransen also know ChemCo, the company that is placing a dump in our own town? So why should we believe otherwise?
Conclusion: It is possible that a highly organized group of illegal aliens are living in our state and mining silver, which has a high probability of belonging to the great state of Nevada. They are living in an area that has no source of power so working the mine must present a danger to the workers. This group could be laundering their money through our banking system and funneling it back to their unknown country, perhaps to support terrorism!
Tom Madren, reporter for Bransville Television, Channel 12 News.
Satisfied, Tom sat back and finished his coffee. “That should do it,” he said to himself as he folded the note and put it in his pocket.
It was nine fifteen in the morning and Terry Hardin smiled at his secretary as he stood in front of the closed door to his office. He fumbled with his electronic swipe key card as he balanced a Starbucks coffee and blueberry muffin, all the time gripping a newspaper and leather attaché case. She started to get up to help her boss as he produced the key, swiped, turned and pushed the unlocked door open with his butt.
He went to his desk, put everything down and took off his jacket. He hung it on a clothes tree in the corner and the sweat marks at the armpits made him shake his head as he thought, Okay, Terry. Walking to work in order to stay in shape will give you a heat stroke on days like today. What then? He turned and out of the corner of his eye, spotted a number-ten envelope on the highly polished wooden floor of his office. Terry scooped it up and sat behind his desk. First things first, he thought as he opened his coffee and took a sip. Opening the envelope he mumbled, “Mmm, looks like that weather guy, ahhhh, what’s his name? Tom something, came through early and slipped this under my door.” He opened the note and scanned it once than read it twice, took out his cell phone, hit speed dial and after a few rings said, “Good morning, Mike, it’s me, Terry…“
15
Operation Snowball: The Planned Invasion of Rattlesnake Haven
That evening, Terry Hardin hefted his glass of wine and said to Mike Eklund, the Governor of Nevada, “
Here’s to you, Governor: Health and reelection.”
“I’ll drink to that, Terry,” said the well-built, ex-football player. More than one person said that he had won the election for Governor because of his build and steel blue eyes, which, they say, gave him the female vote. Both men sat at the small bar Eklund had in the finished basement of his house on top of one of the highest hills in Carson City, Nevada.
The governor ran his fingers through his dark curly hair then shrugged his wide shoulders as he commented, “This time it’s going to be a tight one,” he said to his old friend as he swished his wine around his glass. “That upstart, Marie Dronia, is running a hard campaign and the female vote seems to be split this time.” He shook his head and looked at the creased sheet of paper lying on the bar. He then grinned and said as he put his glasses on, “I tell you, Terry, this looks promising. How much truth is in it?” Even with his glasses on, he squinted to reread the letter.
His old friend answered, “According to my reporter, Tom Madren, it’s just as it reads: strangers living in an old ghost town run by a slick guy from New York who was brought in by Jim Bensen, who uses new talent to give him a front.” He let that sink in for a moment, took a sip and went on, “Remember the company that he sold that strip of land next to the school to, and how it went from one type of business to become a dumping ground? Well, we think he’s up to his old tricks again but this time he seems to be laundering money by selling silver that might not even belong to him, but could be the property of Nevada.” He shook his head and went on, “It smells, Mike, but it’s a tough one to prove.”
Mike looked at him over the top of his glasses, “That could mean that it’s on the up-and-up, though, Terry.”
“Or,” answered Terry looking back over the lip of his glass as he sipped his wine, “it could mean that as my reporter says, ‘it’s a highly organized group using new technology’ to make us look like asses.”
The governor’s mouth became a thin line as he grimaced and said in a hiss, “Nobody makes us look like an ass when it’s on my watch.” He softened his look and went on, “I think we need to check this out, Terry. This could be the very thing that keeps me in office.”
Terry nodded. “I wonder if there is a way to see if they are mining on our land?” He finished his drink and continued, “Then we would have the right to go in, shut them down and do a through investigation.”
A smile came across Mike Eklund’s handsome face as he poured another drink for both of them and said, “Operation Snowball!”
“Operation what?” asked Terry as he reached for his drink.
“Snowball! Operation Snowball,” answered the governor. “The Army National Guard starts a maneuver on Christmas Eve out in the desert and its call sign is, ‘Operation Snowball’.”
Seeing the questioning look on Terry’s face he went on with a shrug, “Don’t ask me why that name. I mean most of these troopers have never even seen a snowflake. But, that’s what they named the maneuver.”
“On Christmas Eve?” said Terry sitting back, “Why on Christmas Eve? Isn’t that when they’re supposed to be with their families? Pretty rough, if you ask me.”
“Not my call on the date. Colonel Meyer, who’s in charge of the 106th Army unit, set it. He says ‘don’t forget, Pearl Harbor was attacked on a Sunday when all were with their families.” He shrugged again, “Maybe he’s got something there?”
Accepting that answer, Terry asked, “So, how can you use that?”
Mike sat forward, his elbows on the bar, “As governor, I’m in command of the guard with the rank of colonel and I’ve watched them operate many times. One of my duties as Commanding Officer is to sign off on big-ticket items and one of those is this unique machine that is mounted on a helicopter. It scans the ground using a deep, ground penetrating radar system to see if there are buried mines.”
“You mean it flies around looking for gold and silver under the ground?”
The governor shook his head and explained, “Not those kinds of mines. Mines packed with explosives that are buried in the ground and explode when a soldier steps on it. This machine scans the earth to a set-depth and locates them and we avoid stepping on them during an operation.”
“Oh, I see,” said Terry taking a sip, “But what does that do for us?”
“If we fly over the old silver mine and the flyover shows that the tunnel is past their property line and on Nevada-owned grounds, we can go in.” He sipped his drink, looked up at the ceiling and admitted, “I wasn’t going to go along on this maneuver, I mean, it being Christmas and all, but now I think I will.” He looked back at his friend and continued, “Of course I have to break it to the wife and kids, but duty calls and I have to answer.”
“And, as you said,” quipped Terry, “you are in charge of the Guard. Right?”
“Yes. The Nevada Army National Guard is mine to use as I see fit and this certainly needs investigating. I just have to brief Berni.”
“Berni?” asked Terry.
“Berni Meyer, the army colonel who runs the unit 24-7. This is his show, but I believe that after I tell him all that’s going on, he’ll want to change the operation to include a slight detour.”
Terry nodded and asked, “And it starts on Christmas Eve?”
“Yep! But I’m going to be up in that copter myself and will convince him to do a flyover before that!” He finished his drink, took a pad and pen and wrote a few notes before turning to his friend and saying, “Terry, the timeline is real tight so I’m going to make a few phone calls tonight to prevent this story from spreading. I need the names of anyone involved in any way so we can shut them down even as this investigation is being planned. No sense in warning anyone about the upcoming operation.”
Terry nodded and took out his cell phone, “Got ya. Let me call the station and see if they know who the players are and I’ll give you any info I come up with. Okay?”
“Start now and I’ll pour another round. This has to be shut down tonight.” The governor poured two glasses as Terry dialed the television station.
Twenty minutes later the governor asked, as he looked at the pad that Terry had written on and passed him, “Okay, so besides your investigative reporter, the only other person who is active in this cell is a woman, Anne Dallas, who works on the newspaper. Correct?”
Terry answered with a nod, “That’s what I got from the reporter himself.”
“Fine! This might be even easier than we think.” He opened his cell phone and scrolled down to find a name, stopped and grinned as he looked over at Terry and said, “Pete Higgins runs the Bransville Speaker and is a steady at the Meadow Lanes Golf Club. He sat next to me at a few dinners. Think I’ll give him a buzz and see what he can do for us.”
The two men touched glasses as the phone rang in the home of Pete Higgins.
The sun was just about to join the horizon as Bob and Cal reached the old signpost. They had just returned from Bransville with supplies and Cal had the reins as they stopped and looked towards the town off in the distance. Usually at this time of the evening the view of the town from the signpost was a soft white glow but tonight the color was a rosy red and Cal remarked as he started to drive on, “Looks sorta festive from here, don’t it, partner?”
Bob nodded, “Yes. Maybe there’s a barbeque?”
“Could be.”
Closer to the town the soft melodic sounds of a choir came wafting across the dry sandy ground. Entering Main Street, Bob was surprised to see the town filled with red, yellow and green colored oil lamps hanging from every doorway and post as the music flowed down from the lit church. Cal winked and walked the horse to the end of town where the church was located. They dismounted and entered the building to see the entire congregation filling every seat and standing place. All were in song as they faced a large undecorated spruce Christmas tree next to the altar.
Bob caught Jean’s eye and she smiled and nodded as she made her way to them. She had two mugs in her hands and passed the
m to her husband and Bob.
Hot cider, Bob thought taking a sip. Boy, Mom loves hot cider. I wish she could be here…and Dad too. His thoughts were snapped by a tug on his sleeve and he turned to see Anne standing there, a big smile on her face.
“Anne,” he said as he hugged her, “When did you get in?”
“Last night. I drove in this morning hoping to surprise you and then found out that you were on the way to Bransville.”
“Wow, this is wonderful. How long can you stay?”
“Just a few days. I have to report to my boss in Bransville.”
They were interrupted by the sudden quiet, which was quickly filled with the shuffling of the minister as he went to the pulpit. The elderly man fixed his glasses and opened his prayer book before folding his hands as he looked out at the townspeople and said, “My friends, as I look around on this sixty-fourth Christmas, I say to myself: This is how the children of Israel must have felt as they returned to their Promised Land. To live where one feels safe with the love of their neighbor is what the Lord provides to those who walk in his light and follow his ways. Now open your prayer books to…“
Sixty-fourth Christmas? thought Bob as he looked at Cal who was looking back at him with raised eyebrows. The cowboy put his index finger against his lips and Bob knew they would be talking later.
Anne looked up at him and whispered, “What does he mean by this sixty-fourth Christmas? Aren’t they all new to each other?”
Bob could only shrug as he said, “I don’t know but I’m going to ask Cal after the service.”
The minister ended his talk with a prayer and then said, “I now officially open the holiday season of Rattlesnake Haven by inviting all to participate in decorating the town tree.”
Jean grabbed Bob and Anne’s hands and took them to the tree. From stacked boxes behind the tree, she handing them a silver ornament each and said, “Only right that you two young ‘uns should put the first ornaments on the tree.”
Romance in a Ghost Town Page 32