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

by Larry Kahaner

  “Going down,” Van Horn announced. A laptop screen showed a representation of the drone diving. The big screen went dark, until the captain flipped a switch, turning on the high-intensity lamps around the camera.

  “Where to, Mike?”

  Mike produced his GPS and handed it to Van Horn. “Can we get to these coordinates? I’d like to see what the bottom looks like.”

  Van Horn studied the GPS, turned to his main laptop, and worked the keyboard. “I can get us to within a few feet of that position.”

  Rather than start near the fishing grounds, where the water would have been too deep for the submersible, Mike chose an area near Lewes, where the water was only about forty feet and the cell tower positioning was more accurate. Mike watched the screen as fish and bubbles shone in the submersible’s spotlight. After a few minutes, it reached the bottom.

  “Now what?” the captain asked.

  Mike thought for a minute. “Can you have it follow an expanding spiral?”

  “We have a program that does several standard search patterns.” He punched a few keys, and another laptop screen showed a white-line rendering of a spiral being formed. “What are we looking for?”

  “I’m not sure.” The two watched the big screen in silence as the computer took control of the drone’s path. The drone swam for about twenty minutes as they watched rocks, fish, shells, and crabs scuttling away from it. Nothing out of the ordinary, until …

  “That’s it!” Mike shouted.

  “You mean that smooth area along the bottom?”

  “Yes. Can we follow it?”

  They watched as Tethys swam above the path, following its mild twists and turns for about a mile.

  “Can we measure the width?” asked Mike.

  The captain took a screenshot of the path. With a few more keystrokes, a white ruler in feet and meters was superimposed on the screen. “Looks like three feet, three inches. What’s this all about, Mike?”

  “Do you have any idea what’s below the seabed surface?” Mike asked.

  “The state of Delaware seems to think there may be gravel around here. That’s why we’re drilling. They seem to be in a hurry. Usually, there’s a bidding process that takes place. For this job, there was no RFP, no bidding, no nothing. The state dropped a bag of money in our laps, and we were on the water within a week.”

  “Do you know why they think there’s gravel here?”

  “Not a clue. Maybe they did some preliminary soundings.”

  “Do they know that you’re carrying Tethys?”

  “No, and it’s none of their concern. We do that project on our own time. We don’t make special trips for it. We take it along on most of our jobs. The designer is trying to save money by having us test it when we can. We like doing it, because it keeps us up on the latest technology. If it works as expected—and it seems to be working pretty well so far—we’ll be the ship that will take it out. We’ll have the expertise.” He keyed commands to bring the drone back to the ship. “Somebody was dragging something. Who?”

  Mike trusted Van Horn, but he wasn’t prepared to lay out the details of the case. He was certain the Judy Bee was dragging the doors, instead of using them to keep fishing nets open, but he still didn’t know why.

  “I’m not sure yet, Robbie, but I hope to know soon.”

  Chapter 25

  About fifteen miles away from where the Atlantic Twin was anchored, a ninety-foot Affinity was stationed in shallow water. The yacht’s owner played host to Kane. It was too early in the day for martinis, according to some genteel notion to which they both adhered, so they sat quietly and sipped iced tea. The boat rocked with a gentle rhythm.

  Four bodyguards, three men and a woman, were deployed outside. Two stood on the deck outside the salon; one stood on the bridge and looked through binoculars in a constant three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sweep. The fourth maintained a roving watch, nodding to the others as she passed by their position. Their black suits and white shirts were not in tune with a ship meant for fun, sport, and relaxation.

  “We’ve had a few problems. Mistakes were made, Mr. Attorney General,” Kane said, breaking the silence.

  The older man listened and closed his eyes, concentrating on Kane’s words. He sat in a leather chair and rested his aging elbows on the arms. He templed his fingers, occasionally tapping them against his mouth. Behind him, the wall was peppered with photographs of him standing next to the last three presidents, as well as various political leaders from other countries. Numerous metal plaques announcing his triumphs and benchmarks filled the spaces between the photos. It was clear that the gray-haired man had a long and outstanding career in high places.

  “What sort of mistakes?” he asked in a bassy, calm voice, his fingers still together.

  Kane couched his words carefully. “I have been receiving reports that some of the eastern state governors have been engaging in, shall we say, less than positive activities. They’re greedy and scared, and obviously don’t have faith in our plan.”

  “Could it be that they don’t understand or appreciate what we’re trying to accomplish?”

  “Maybe. They’re definitely out of their comfort zones.”

  “Their resources?”

  “We’ve been going over their books, and some of them are in bad shape. They’re grasping at anything. One of them started searching for gravel under the seabed. It’s not a bad idea, but may not be enough to keep them viable.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I’m meeting with each of them. If their financial issues are not resolved, we may have to cut them loose.”

  “Do they know that?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you have a plan to handle their disappointment if they’re not included?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the others?”

  “Again, on the East Coast. Border issues. Greed. Small minds.”

  “Richard,” the man said. “I don’t believe you’re being one hundred percent truthful with me. I know about the murders.”

  Kane turned pale. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. My goal was to handle these matters on my own and let you know when they were resolved.”

  “We’re not talking about insignificant matters here, Richard. These are murders of federal employees.”

  “I know, sir.” It was the first time that Kane had indicated his subordinate position. “I will take care of it.”

  “I know you will,” the man said firmly. His voice then took on a sarcastic lilt. “What about the other states? Any problems there?”

  “The others are on the right track. We’ve got shale oil, light industrial resurgence in the Rust Belt areas, timber, fishing, mining, financial services, and even some tourism. I think they’ll be fine. There was some spying on each other, but nothing illegal. It was just some good-natured competitive spirit coming out. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Nor do I,” the man said. “But something just came to my attention.” He walked to his desk and took a sheet of paper from a stack held down by a paperweight. He put on his glasses and read it while returning to his seat. He offered the sheet to Kane, who read it silently before looking up.

  “Are you handling this as well?” the man asked, his tone now accusatory.

  The paper detailed a short phone call from James Feldstein, who was concerned about a visit he had received in the offices of TAI.

  “Yes,” Kane said sheepishly. “That situation has been dispatched. We do have a loose end, however.”

  “How loose?”

  “It’s been an ongoing issue that we have had some trouble resolving. Several attempts have been made, but a proper outcome has not yet been reached.”

  “See that it is, Kane. See that it is.”

  Chapter 26

  Instead of docking the boat in Lewes and taking his Jeep, Mike decided to ride the surf south along the coast on his way to CG Base Rehoboth Beach, which lay on Indian River Inlet. He pass
ed through a cut under the Senator William V. Roth, Jr. Bridge, renovated and renamed for the lawmaker who’d not only lent his name to the Roth IRA—which he’d championed—but helped secure funding for the span. The beautiful bridge featured two sets of slanted cables, each coming to a peak that resembled a pair of sailboats following each other.

  After his turn into the cut, Mike headed west into the setting sun and the air turned chilly. He tied his boat to the CG dock and made his way to a Quonset hut that now housed the Judy Bee since its relocation from Lewes.

  Around the boat stood metal stanchions every six feet or so, connected by yellow tape. A sign indicated that no entry was allowed except to authorized personnel, by order of the FBI. Mike stood for a minute and took in the whole scene. Once again, he replayed holding Marilyn in his arms as her life slipped away. And again, he saw her lying in the hospital bed.

  It was no consolation to him that the two men who had ended her life were dead. It didn’t mean a thing. Mike knew the trail went much higher and involved people with a great deal of money and power.

  His phone vibrated. It was Evelyn.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m in Rehoboth, looking at the Judy Bee. Remember how we talked about the doors? I think I have a line on what they were doing on board.”

  He told her about the Atlantic Twin, Tethys, and finding the path along the seafloor. “I’m going to measure them now to confirm that it was the doors being dragged.”

  Mike didn’t want to be discovered in the hut. He hadn’t asked permission to enter the CG base, and it would just be a matter of time before someone saw his boat. He had a right to be there. He was, after all, investigating the case, but it was best to keep his movements on the down-low, especially from Hearst.

  “I’ll call you later,” he told Evelyn.

  The fishing boat’s masts had been taken down and laid next to the hull, which rested on jack stands. The boat sat upright, as if it were a ship in a bottle. A wooden ladder leaning against the gunwale allowed access to the deck from the ground.

  Mike climbed up and stood on the deck. He looked to the rear, but the fantail was empty. No doors.

  Just then, the front door opened and in walked Hearst with two agents who dwarfed him. They stood by the sides of the door while Hearst approached the boat. His footsteps reverberated in the mostly empty room.

  “What brings you here, Mike? Long time, no see.”

  “Not long enough, Wally.”

  “Come down. Let’s have a talk.”

  “I’m not done looking around yet.” From Mike’s perch, Hearst looked small.

  “I think you are.”

  “Where are the doors?”

  “The what? What are you talking about?”

  “They’re large planks of wood. Used for fishing. They’re not here.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. Come down, so we can talk. My neck hurts from looking up.”

  “They’re missing. Somebody took them.”

  “Just a second.” Hearst retrieved a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “I don’t see anything like that on this inventory. Come on down already.”

  Mike knew the list was bogus. It would take more than one sheet of paper to correctly document everything on a boat this size.

  “I’m going to look around a bit more,” Mike said. “Why don’t I meet you later, and we can talk about whatever is on your mind.”

  “That doesn’t work for me.”

  “And why not?”

  “Well, Mike, we seem to have a problem here. Let me rephrase that—you seem to have a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “For God’s sake, Mike. Would you come down? My neck is really killing me.”

  Mike eyed the two gorillas flanking the door and then looked back at Hearst. “What’s with those two?”

  Hearst didn’t answer.

  “I think I’ll stay here. I like being on boats, even when they’re not in the water.”

  Hearst snapped his fingers at one of the men and pointed to an aluminum chaise lounge with weathered green plastic strips sitting in the far corner. The man brought it to Hearst, who reclined the head part and laid on it, looking up at Mike.”

  “Can I get you a piña colada?” Mike asked, assessing Wally on the poolside chair.

  “Very funny. But here’s what isn’t so funny. The murder of one James Feldstein at a company called TAI.”

  The “oh, baby, oh baby” dude. He’s dead? Pity.

  “You see, Mike, here’s the issue. I know that you went into the building just before the shooting. We have it on a security camera.”

  “Lots of people walk in and out of buildings.”

  “True. But they don’t sign in with a phony name.”

  “I like to keep a low profile.”

  Hearst cleared his throat. “We also know that there’s a connection between the dead man’s company and two men who may have been involved in Marilyn’s murder.”

  “Really,” Mike said. “And when were you going to tell me that? I thought we were pals.”

  “We just found out. I was going to tell you.”

  “Right.”

  “There’s more. We also just learned that there was a research vessel spotted not far from where the Judy Bee was hijacked.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s under contract by the dead man’s company to do surveys.”

  “What kind of surveys?”

  “You tell me. There was a NOAA patrol seen alongside it for the better part of a day. I think you were on that research vessel.”

  “Like I said, I’m a sucker for boats.”

  “I see you need me to paint a picture. Okay. I think you found out who killed Marilyn. You went to look for them at the company that hired them. You went there and killed the only employee you could find, James Feldstein. How am I doing, so far?”

  “Pretty poorly.”

  “We also know that someone broke into the morgue at Quantico and coldcocked an SP. That morgue held the same two men. I wonder if you know anything about that.”

  “Why would I? And when were you going to tell me about that, too?”

  “That was an oversight.”

  “You’re not keeping up your end of the bargain,” Mike said.

  “Back at ya,” Hearst replied.

  “So what happens now?”

  “You throw down your gun and we talk at the field office.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  When Hearst stood up, his foot broke through the tattered webbing. He tried to shake it off, but he just got more entangled. He lost his balance and landed on his side.

  “Goddammit.”

  “Ouch,” Mike said, laughing.

  Hearst finally freed himself and motioned to the two men. When they didn’t respond, he said, “Get him.”

  The huge men looked puzzled.

  “The ladder, the ladder,” Hearst added. The two men began climbing.

  When they were most of the way up, Mike tipped the ladder away from the boat.

  “Don’t you guys watch movies about knights and castles?” Mike said.

  The two hit the concrete floor with a thud. They lay there, flat on their backs, with their feet and arms still stuck in the ladder’s rungs, like dead insects.

  “You’re next,” Mike said, as he jumped from the deck. He clotheslined Hearst square in the chest with his extended arm. The jolt hurt Mike’s ankles and knees but he stayed upright.

  Hearst shook it off, got up, and reached for his gun. Mike kicked it out of his hand.

  Hearst jabbed at Mike with his fist, but missed. He tried again and connected. Mike was stunned, but countered with one of his own. Hearst twisted back and almost lost his footing.

  “You assaulted a federal agent,” Hearst said, out of breath.

  “You too. Wanna call it even and go home?”

  Hearst looked over at the two men under the la
dder, still unconscious. “You’re a few up on me.”

  The two continued their dance. Hearst picked up one of the stanchions and swung it in Mike’s direction. He missed, and Mike grabbed it on the way back. The two fought over the metal column, tugging back and forth. Mike let go suddenly, and Hearst tumbled back. His feet couldn’t gain a purchase, and he hit the boat’s keel with his head as he backpedaled. He looked at Mike with surprise for an instant, before landing hard on the floor.

  “Oldest trick in the book,” Mike said, although he knew that Hearst could no longer hear him.

  The front door burst open and a coastguardsman walked in. “What’s going on here?”

  Mike flashed his badge and said: “They got away. I’m going after them. Call an ambulance.” And ran out the door.

  He galloped to his patrol boat and rode back through the cut into the ocean. It was dark now, and Mike ran without lights. He slammed the throttle and headed south, where he would be safe until he could figure out his next move.

  Chapter 27

  The governors of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and New Jersey sat in an arc of chairs facing the desk of Richard Kane. The chief executives had been called there because Kane was furious with them, and they could sense it. They sat quietly, hands in laps, waiting for their reprimand.

  “You men have placed our entire plan … the entire nation’s future in jeopardy. Did I make a mistake by choosing you? Was it my fault?”

  He didn’t give them a chance to respond. “What the hell were you thinking? You and your petty squabbles that have escalated to felonies. Do you have any idea of the attention that your actions have brought?”

  The four men, unaccustomed to be chewed out by anybody, didn’t look contrite at all. This only angered Kane, who started again. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “About what?” the Pennsylvania governor asked.