USA, Inc. (A Mike Wardman Novel: Book 1)

by Larry Kahaner

  Mike saw Marilyn’s face, felt the weight of her wilted body as he held her in his arms, life leaving. He heard her last words again and again—contact her, contact her … Contractor … Was that what Marilyn was trying to say through her frozen lips?

  “Mike? Are you okay?” Charlie asked.

  The moment ended with the buzz of Mike’s phone. Marilyn’s image disappeared.

  “Wardman.”

  “It’s Evelyn. The FBI just dropped off Marilyn’s purse and a small duffel bag with her clothes. They said it came from the boat. They no longer needed it. Does that mean they know who killed Marilyn?”

  “It means they’re not doing their job,” Mike said.

  Chapter 11

  “Terrorists?” Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “More like pirates with a terrorist agenda,” said Hearst. He presented his chin and aimed his head up. They were sitting in the FBI field office in Baltimore.

  “Are you kidding me, Wally?” Mike asked.

  “Serious as a heart attack.” Hearst sat back and gulped coffee from a white mug with an FBI logo. “We checked the GPS and traced the intended route of the Judy Bee. The memory shows that after it left Elephant Trunk, the boat headed south around the Delmarva Peninsula, and then north into Chesapeake Bay and on to Baltimore. We believe that sometime after catching its load, a group of armed personnel boarded the Judy Bee and filled it with explosives for detonation at Inner Harbor.”

  “What would they gain by that?” Mike asked. “There’s not much around there. No large buildings except the aquarium, some shops, and Old Ironsides. None of these are close enough to each other that they could damage all three with the same charge.”

  “Chaos. Embarrassment. Vulnerability. Take your pick. Inner Harbor is a tourist destination.”

  “Did you find explosives on board?

  “No.”

  “Why not just buy a boat, load it with explosives, and ride it into Baltimore? Why bother hijacking a vessel?”

  “We believe that Captain Weatherhill was part of it. The terrorists could claim they turned a good American into a homegrown terrorist. Good for recruitment.”

  “Weatherhill was a terrorist? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “We found letters and emails he sent over the years to various government agencies, including NOAA, about his unhappiness with the state of affairs. Too much regulation, federal totalitarianism, government snooping, that kind of thing.”

  “Anything about UFOs?” Mike asked.

  “What?”

  “Did he threaten anyone?”

  “Not in so many words, but here, look at this email.” Hearst swung his monitor around. All Mike saw were the rantings of a pissed-off citizen.

  “So, what went wrong with the plan?”

  “We’re not sure about that yet. We think that when the other vessel came alongside, there was some kind of disagreement. Weatherhill and the crew were murdered and the other boat took off.”

  “Why not just proceed with the plan minus Weatherhill’s boat? You can’t just float around with a few tons of C4 without eventually attracting attention.”

  “We’re not sure about that either.”

  “That’s it? You’re basing your thesis on some emails and the GPS?”

  “One more item,” Hearst said. “We found an Umarex Steel Storm.”

  Mike was familiar with this weapon. It resembled a 9 mm machine gun, but was really an automatic BB gun capable of six-round bursts.

  “Couldn’t kill a squirrel,” Mike said.

  “We don’t see these very often. In fact, I’ve personally never seen one. Our latest intelligence says that al-Qaeda has been using them recently. Last year in Somalia, an al-Qaeda leader was killed, and among his weapons was the Umarex. ISIS uses them, too.”

  “What would they do with it? It’s a peashooter.”

  “It looks like a submachine gun. Very intimidating, and it’s perfect for doing what terrorists do best, which is terrorize people. They could use it to torture someone. Death by a thousand cuts. Isn’t that an Islamic thing?”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Imperial Chinese.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. And the GPS? Did it show the boat stopping at Baltimore?”

  “Not quite. It shows an intended route south to the mouth of Chesapeake Bay and then north.”

  “Intended route?”

  “The card didn’t contain waypoints of where the boat sailed, only where it was planning to go. The actual stops were erased from the memory.”

  “Doesn’t that tell you something?” Mike said.

  “It tells us that they tried to erase everything in the GPS memory, but failed to get it all.”

  Mike was about to ask why they hadn’t just thrown the GPS overboard to avoid detection, but he was tired of all the nonsense he was hearing and didn’t want to invite more.

  “Your evidence is thin. And that BB gun … You’re an idiot.”

  “Really? I guess that’s why I’m here and you’re counting fish,” Hearst said. “We have an open mind here at the FBI, and are the best at piecing together information to produce an actionable result. We’ll find who did this. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I worry for the future of this country,” Mike said, walking out. He was convinced more than ever that Hearst either didn’t want to catch the killer or was so incompetent as to be dangerous to the investigation.

  He began the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Lewes to take another look at the Judy Bee. He would also talk to a few chandlers to see if Weatherhill had ordered any supplies. Around Kent Island, he received a call from Evelyn.

  “Mike, can I visit the boat?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Closure, I guess.”

  “I can take you there.”

  When Mike arrived at his house, Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table, looking through items from her sister’s handbag and duffel bag that the FBI had delivered earlier. Spread out on the table were clothes, a notebook, a Kindle, toiletries—everything you would take on a weeklong boat trip.

  Some of the hard items, like her hairbrush, shampoo bottle, and cell phone, showed a thin layer of fingerprint dust. Mike picked up the phone and wiped it with a paper towel. He kept it in his hand while he told Evelyn about Hearst’s terrorist theory.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said.

  “I know, right?” He explained about Hearst’s general ineptitude, and ended with how he couldn’t believe the Bureau kept him on.

  “Bell-shaped curve?” Evelyn offered.

  “The FBI is basing their case on where they think the boat was going to go,” Mike said. “But we have a way to know for sure, at least when the boat was within fifteen miles or so of the shoreline. Cell phones don’t work at the fishing grounds too far from land, but we can track their movements closer to shore based on which towers serviced the phone. I could get a court order, but I’d rather do this on the quiet. You know how in every episode of Law & Order, the cops have a friend at the phone company? So do I. First, let me take you to the Judy Bee. I need to see some people in Lewes while we’re there.”

  Silence filled the twenty-minute ride. Evelyn looked out the window most of the time. Occasionally, they heard other NOAA personnel over the radio with routine check-ins or requests for vessel license information.

  When they arrived in Lewes, they stopped at two chandlers, neither of whom had ordered anything for Weatherhill in weeks. Mike realized that what he’d told his fellow fishers was a ruse. The captain had not headed to Lewes to pick up anything.

  A few minutes later at the Judy Bee, Mike helped Evelyn step aboard. Besides the crime-scene tape, seals covered the hatches and doors. Mike took a pocket knife and slit them along the door cracks, opening several.

  “Is there anything in particular you want to see?” he asked as he slid open the pilothouse door. They both stood behind the wheel, scanning the marina. Despite the cool wea
ther outside, the pilothouse was warm from the sun shining through the windows, producing a hothouse effect.

  “Can I just sit here for a few minutes?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m going to walk around the deck. Come down when you’re ready.”

  As he looked around the deck area, his mind went back to the mayhem of a few days ago. He played it through, but tried to stop the movie at the instant he’d found Marilyn. His hands made a fist.

  Something caught his attention.

  Doors? What are they doing here? Why do they look so worn?

  Evelyn’s footsteps on the metal deck interrupted his thoughts.

  “Do you see those wooden planks that look like house doors?” he asked. “Fishermen call them trawl doors, and they’re used to catch fish. They’re attached to the cables before they connect to the nets. As the boat moves forward, water pushes the doors out to the side like wings, keeping the nets from closing so the fish can enter.”

  “So?”

  “I didn’t think of this last time I was on board, but the Judy Bee, like the others, was not trawling. It was dredging for oysters.” Mike pointed to the heavy steel dredges, which looked like giant scoops. “They drag those across the ocean floor, where the scallops live. They wouldn’t use doors to dredge, and they wouldn’t carry them on board. They would leave them on shore.”

  “Why are they here?” she asked.

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  Chapter 12

  “Pull!”

  The clay pigeon arced across the Texas sky and exploded like fireworks. General Jacqueline Denauer lowered her shotgun, satisfied with her marksmanship. It should have been superb. As the state’s adjutant general, she commanded the Texas military forces. While she let her host win on the golf course, the firing range remained her domain, and she refused to stand down.

  “Your turn, sir,” she said to Governor Pike.

  “Pull!” he shouted, and the flying clay disc remained unscathed.

  The two shooters took turns until the targets were spent. The general decided to miss just a few on purpose. If the governor noticed her act of deference, he didn’t say anything. Before becoming the state’s highest military officer, Jackie had been regular army, with enough campaign ribbons to satisfy any position she desired. She did it by the book—ROTC in college, West Point, several Pentagon tours, multiple deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, and closing out with a congressional liaison post, where she’d met the governor at a state senator’s retirement party.

  As a three-star, she enjoyed wide latitude with her uniform and sidearm. She chose to wear trousers instead of a skirt. The general even had specially made formal evening uniform, complete with tails and a matching sword scabbard. She always opted for pant lengths that covered three-inch heels, putting her height at over six feet. Jackie used the height to her advantage. For her sidearm, she favored the M1911 .45 caliber pistol, standard military issue from 1911 to 1985.

  Her accessories resembled art. She took a tip from some World War II generals who’d worn a fine-grade russet leather pistol belt with flap holster. Her deadly ensemble included a braided leather tie-down leg strap, a two-pocket magazine, and a rope-neck lanyard. The buckles were brass, embossed with the United States seal. When she walked into a room, she couldn’t have made a bigger statement if Badass had been written across her chest.

  As AG, she commanded the Texas National Guard, which encompassed a substantial contingent of highly trained army and air forces. Also within her purview resided the Texas State Guard, composed of unarmed, unpaid volunteers who, unlike the National Guard troops, could not be federalized.

  In quiet moments, Jackie found her position uncomfortable. She served at the pleasure of the governor, yet she also answered to the US Department of Defense. The governor could activate her forces, but so could the president. If there was ever a conflict between the two, where would her allegiance lie? As state populations became increasingly suspicious of Washington, she might one day find her loyalty tested.

  There was one thing she was adamant about, though. Like every other career United States military leader, she believed in ultimate civilian control of the armed services. Book and movie plots to the contrary, she believed there would never be a military coup in the United States.

  She’d watched as National Guard troops nationwide had changed drastically during the past fifteen years. With the large number of regular troops serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, more National Guard troops were now activated than any time in history. The upside for Jackie was that most of the guardsmen under her command were battle-hardened and familiar with the latest technology and combat techniques.

  Leaving the far corner of the grounds of the governor’s mansion, they took a golf cart to the main building and settled into a table next to the pool. Lunch was already there.

  “You didn’t ask me here to have your ass kicked on the range, did you, Governor?”

  Pike speared a piece of white-meat chicken from his salad and followed with a sip of beer. Even though the sun shone brightly, he took off his sunglasses to punctuate his next words.

  “Jackie,” he said, “tell me about the border.”

  “What about it?”

  “Hypothetically speaking, if federal agents were no longer in place, could we police the border areas ourselves?”

  The general hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “Could we keep an influx of people from coming north? Do we have the personnel and equipment to stop them?”

  She squinted at Pike. “Are we talking civilians looking for work as migrants, the drug cartels, terrorists, what?”

  “If the feds abandoned the border or cut back on personnel, could we, with our Guard troops, maintain order and keep out those who we wanted to keep out?”

  “I don’t know where this is going or why you’re asking, sir,” she said. “I’m sure you have your reasons, so let me answer your question on its face. The US Border Patrol cannot control our borders now. That’s a fact. Almost anyone who wants to get across can do so, but I’m talking dribs and drabs. What’s the number I heard recently? Three hundred thousand a year? But most of them work for a while and go back to Mexico or Central America. If you’re asking if that number will go up if BP leaves, probably, but not by much. These people look for work, and the last few years have not been good for workers, illegal or otherwise. In fact, the number of illegals has dropped drastically from a few years ago because of the poor economy, and because of increased scrutiny of US employers.”

  “What about the drug cartels?” he asked.

  “That’s a wild card. Depends upon where they could do their business the most good. Their decisions are always based on money. We know that Colombia, which was the Western hemisphere’s nexus for drugs for years, is now cleaned up. A lot of people think it had to do with law-enforcement efforts, but that’s only partially true. The cartels moved north to Mexico to be closer to their main market—the US.

  “One of the reasons the cartels like doing business in Mexico is that they can pay off local and federal agents. That might be a tougher business strategy to employ in the States. On the other hand, without federal law-enforcement oversight, money could turn local sheriffs’ heads here. What the drug dealers don’t like about Mexico is warring with the other cartels. I think they’ll produce a truce eventually, because, like I said, money trumps everything. That’s when I would worry about them coming north as a united front.”

  “What about the invisible fence?”

  “Cameras on poles, ground radar, motion-sensing devices? You and I both know it’s bullshit. Doesn’t work. And the only people it benefits are government contractors who raked in a small fortune putting this crap up. In my opinion, the only thing that works is deploying real people along the border in jeeps, choppers, and on horseback. You send the low-level border jumpers back to Mexico and put the bad actors—anyone with a connection to drugs and violence—in supermaxes. Or better yet
, set up mobile courts with instant firing squads. That sends a message.”

  “Draconian.”

  “You asked.”

  “Do we have enough troops and equipment to patrol the border to your satisfaction?”

  “Maybe. We have nineteen thousand troops and 1,954 miles of border. That’s about ten troops per mile, but that includes everyone, even support personnel who ride desks. That also doesn’t leave any reserve for natural-disaster relief. It would also mean activating these people, having them leave their regular jobs and becoming fulltime. Would you like me do an analysis of what it would take?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you won’t tell me what this is about?”

  “It’s just something that I’ve been thinking about lately.”

  “Are the feds planning to bug out?”

  “Nothing like that. I’m not happy with how Washington is handling our border issues. The governors of California, Arizona, and New Mexico, and I have been talking lately about our options. We don’t want the drug violence in Mexico spilling over. So far, we’ve held our own in Los Dos Laredos, but it’s my job to worry about our state’s future.”

  “The future,” Jackie said. “I understand.”

  The two ate silently for a few minutes. Pike stared at his lunch mate and put down his fork.

  “For now,” he said, “I think your future is meeting me in my bedroom.”

  Chapter 13

  Standing at a podium in front of the old Fox Theater in Sacramento, flanked by the mayor, state officials, and local dignitaries, California Governor Rennert tightly gripped a copy of USA Today and waved it over his head from side to side, making sure the entire crowd could read the bold headline: “Saudi Prince Fears North Dakota Oil.”

  In a private letter published on Twitter and picked up by the news media, Prince Alwaleed bin Talai had told his oil minister that the oil coming out of North Dakota was an “inevitable threat” to Saudi Arabia, because his country was entirely dependent on oil revenues, and the amount coming from the United States was growing and becoming a source of concern for the Arab country.