"I'll discuss it with Roscoe," answered Kevin. "The clients need to drop in price or he needs to weed them out of his inventory somehow."
Foreman continued, "We are looking at another bumper year and I expect that the IRS is going to show some interest, but I'll deal with it!"
Kevin Dodd responded happily, "Thanks, Russ. You're a star."
Leaving the office he walked down the stairs to the public area behind the building where the Cadillac was parked. A glance at the dash clock caused him to move with greater alacrity. He was already late for the meeting with the FBI contact. Kevin spoke to the computer selecting "manual sports-mode," and drove along Orleans Street toward the meeting place, smiling softly in contemplation of the recent contract he had taken on.
Collecting intelligence had always been a thing for Kevin, ever since those war-infested years in Iraq. He had gathered intelligence on the various warring factions of the riven country while deployed in Baghdad. He was honorably discharged in 2011 when the US troops were finally pulled out, but he continued working for the Department of Defense as a civilian contractor, for the newly-created Office of Security Cooperation, or OSC-1, as it was generally called.
OSC-1 operated from within the embassy compound and its aim was to help train the Iraqi military and police during the final stages of transition to local rule. There were several OSC-1 offices located in outstations on bases in various parts of the country. Kevin's seniority permitted him to work inside the US Embassy grounds supplying intelligence support, badly needed for the protection of the American contractors that remained after the occupation was over. He resigned at the end of 2013 and returned to the US.
Kevin had struggled through the first two years after his final debriefing. There were no jobs available that motivated him in the way the military had. Unable to find employment that suited him, he tried various part-time jobs, before being offered a job in his Uncle Frank's liquor store business. Frank Dodd passed on at the age of seventy-eight and Kevin inherited the business from him. As the years went by Kevin grew the business into several outlets and then started a hardware wholesaling store.
The real estate agency was primarily started to give Evelyn an interest but she found it too demanding with two youngsters at home, so Kevin had employed an agent, Roscoe Barnes, to help build the business.
In the fall of 2018, he was approached, because of his past history in Iraq, by an FBI agent who was interested in his services as a part-time intelligence contractor.
Kevin jumped at the idea and started gathering intelligence on a part-time basis for the counterterrorism and espionage division of the FBI, not only purely for the love of country, but also for the extra dollars it brought in. He would also be collecting intelligence again, as he did during his days in Iraq. At the present time, he did not need the money any more but he lived for the excitement and adrenaline rush that came with each contract.
The sprawling lawns and magnificent trees of Patterson Park were particularly spectacular that year. Kevin breathed in the aromas of the now fading white magnolias and cherry blossoms despite the lateness of their season while walking along the path to the lake.
On approaching the lake boardwalk area he noticed the red-winged blackbirds flying in and out of the cattails tending to their nests, and the mallards floating lazily in the shallows close to the reeds. The air was warm and still; a perfect day.
He walked down the cobblestone pathway to a bench under the overhang of some multi-trunked, slender river birch trees and nodded to the man sitting there. Kevin's contact worked for the Counterterrorism Division of the FBI. His title and name was Special Agent in Charge, Rubin Klein.
Klein spoke first. "Did Camilla reveal anything significant?"
Kevin looked out across the lake, narrowing his eyelids. "I think there is something small. It may be nothing. I haven't discovered anything of any real significance yet but she has no problem bad-mouthing her husband every time we meet."
"Is she in love with you, Kevin?"
"She acts like it! She's a bit of an airhead which makes me feel like a heel, leading her on like this. I've never had to acquire info this way before. I just hope Evelyn never finds out because, if she does, my marriage could be sunk!"
"What did Camilla say?"
Kevin looked thoughtful. "I remember from my days in Iraq, when Jackson was missing for periods of time, his file never mentioned what those gaps were. The reasons for his absences, which were quite frequent, were stated as 'assisting' the senior officer with diplomatic arrangements." Kevin hesitated, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose.
"Go on," encouraged Klein.
"I wondered at the time about those out-of-office absences. I was sending the various company heads intelligence information regarding their areas of reconnaissance by encrypted mail. His return e-mail would often state that he was out of the office for diplomatic reasons."
Klein was a little impatient. "But what happened between you and Camilla. What did she tell you?"
"She said that she once came across an old file in Jackson's safe. He had forgotten to lock the safe while taking a phone call on the landline upstairs. Jackson must have been working on something when the call came through and apparently the landline downstairs wasn't working."
Kevin shifted his position on the bench slightly and leaned forward. "It appeared to be an old military file and was marked Secret—Urgent.
The file contained some documents typed on Saudi Arabian letterheads. The signature at the bottom appeared to be from a high-ranking official in the Saudi diplomatic department. Jackson ended the call upstairs and was on his way down so she had to stop looking."
Klein frowned and asked, "So she's saying that her husband had clandestine meetings with the Saudis during his deployment in Iraq and that these had nothing to do with military issues?"
Kevin answered, "Of course, this was long before Camilla knew him. She didn't think anything of it until he started asking her to leave the room when taking calls. It made her suspicious that he was into more than just normal politics."
"So, she started snooping around," answered Klein, slowly nodding his head.
"Yeah, something like that. She thought he was having an affair at first, until she overheard him talking on the phone to someone named Condor. Fortunately he hadn't closed the door properly, and she overheard him mention some foreign names but she can't remember what they were."
"Who was the person that Jackson offered his assistance to while away from Baghdad?" Klein felt he had to ask.
I'm not sure. I believe it was a civilian, possibly someone in politics. I never had a reason to follow it up," said Kevin defensively.
A breeze had sprung up, causing tiny ripples to appear on the glassy surface of the lake and the cattails swayed leisurely at the water's edge.
Changing the subject slightly, Kevin asked, "You said that Gibson had suspicions about Jackson and wanted to share them with you. What came of it?"
Klein dropped his eyes to the ground in dejection. "I wasn't responsive because I couldn't see any probable cause. I also didn't want to make waves with Jackson. He's a very influential person. I regret that decision now!"
Kevin picked up, "So...when Gibson was found shot, you thought differently about his story?"
"I began to think of a possible connection between Jeremy's suspicions and his death. I know Jackson has a reputation for dealing harshly with anything that might hinder his political ambitions." Klein's face had turned slightly pale.
Kevin turned his eyes to the lake for a moment and said, "This was my third meeting at the Moravia Road house with Camilla, and while I find her quite refreshing I'm afraid that Jackson might decide to have her watched if he suspects anything."
Klein agreed, "You must be extremely careful."
"Camilla is a lonely, love-starved woman and I think she might start getting too attached if I continue these meetings," ventured Kevin. "I'm not sure if she knows much more th
an she's already told me."
The two men stood and shook hands. Klein had one more thing to say. "I believe we're making some headway. Regarding Camilla, let's see what happens this coming week. Then we'll decide if it's still worth continuing."
They both left the park at the same time but in different directions. Kevin walked the shorter distance to Eastern Avenue and Klein took the longer route past the pavilion to South Linwood.
Neither Kevin nor Klein saw two figures detach themselves from the shadow of a large silver maple, each picking a man to tail, mingling with the general public on the pathway and keeping their distance.
**
An Inconvenient Confrontation
Friday, July 17, 2026
5:30 p.m.
Kevin Dodd arrived home a little later than usual due to his meeting with Rubin Klein at Patterson Park. When the Cadillac, still in auto-drive, had parked itself in front of the garage, he stepped out onto the driveway, the evening air engulfing him in its blanket of warmth. The leaves of the camellia bushes, lining the front of the verandah, rustled slightly in the breeze as he made his way up the stairs to the front door.
Kevin had called his wife Evelyn an hour earlier following his meeting with Rubin Klein to say that he would be home shortly. She had seemed strangely detached and he worried as to the reason. Had she somehow discovered his affair with Camilla Jackson?
He unlocked the front door and walked into the TV room to find his wife sitting in the gathering gloom, staring at a blank television screen; neither the overhead light nor the television had been turned on. Kevin knew something was definitely wrong when he went to kiss her on the cheek.
"How was your day, honey?" he asked amicably as he sat down opposite, in his La-Z-Boy chair.
Evelyn turned her head away and he could see that she had started to cry. He felt the anxiety begin to build within as he leaned forward in the chair to address the situation. "You've found out that I've been seeing someone, haven't you?"
Evelyn turned in her chair and faced him. "Kevin, after eleven years of marriage...I never thought this would happen to us," she exclaimed, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I never meant for you to find out, Honey. It was just a casual meeting, and I promise it will never happen again."
He couldn't tell Evelyn about his contract with the FBI. He had always concealed this from her, knowing she would not be in favor of the potential danger it posed.
"How could you do this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this? Am I not good enough for you?" she asked plaintively.
Kevin was stuck for words and all he could say was, "I'm sorry, honey. I never meant for this to happen."
Standing up, Evelyn walked up to Kevin and slapped his face as hard as she could. She was not ready for any apology and the old idiom was playing itself out: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
She stormed out of the room and locked herself in the bedroom, her wails and cries audible through the door.
Kevin stood in shocked silence—framed on his lips was the question—how had she discovered his infidelity? discretion, however, made him bite his tongue as she was not in a frame of mind to listen. Standing at the bedroom door, he began to feel remorse for having gotten himself involved with Rubin Klein and the mission to extract information out of Camilla. It was not worth his marriage and maybe the best course of action would be to tell Evelyn the truth.
There was nothing to be done at the present so Kevin left the house and walked back to his car. His instruction to the auto-drive was to take him to O'Hara's Goat, the pub he often frequented. It was time to drown his sorrows and allow Evelyn to cool off. He was still mystified as to how she had found out.
It was 8:00 p.m. when Kevin arrived at O'Hara's. The pub was crowded with all sorts of people from merry-makers to brooding loners. An Irish singing group were performing the song "Five Hundred Miles," as he pushed his way through to the counter. The high noise level, accompanied by the lifting of beer tankards and sing-along drunks, painted a jovial, carefree scene, a nightly occurrence at O'Hara's.
There were three vacant stools at the bar counter, Kevin chose the middle one and waited to catch Fred's eye. Fred was one of the bartenders—they had known each other for many years. When Kevin had joined the OSC-1, after the removal of US troops from Iraq, he had been stationed on the grounds of the US Embassy. Fred was a marine security guard at the Embassy's main offices. They had met after work one day at a Baghdad social house and had become drinking partners. Both men left Iraq at about the same time with Fred finding work at several pubs in Baltimore before getting the job at O'Hara's. In later years, Kevin had offered Fred a job in Dodd's Real Estate business but Fred had declined—he loved being a bartender.
Feeling a lot less jovial than the revelers, Kevin pulled out his cell phone and decided to give Rubin Klein a call. It would be better to let Rubin know that any further contact with Camilla was now out of the question. They needed to find a new avenue for collecting information on Jackson.
Camilla had already told him everything she knew about her husband's past. It also appeared possible that Jackson might have become suspicious and placed a tail on her. Maybe Rubin could shed some light. Klein's phone rang several times before going to voicemail. Kevin left a short message and placed his phone down on the counter in front him as Fred moved over to greet his old buddy, "Hey, Kev, good to see you. Whisky and soda?
After receiving the drink, he chugged it down and called on Fred for another. Fred noticed, while pouring Kevin's drink, that his old buddy appeared to be down in the dumps.
What's up, Kev? You seem a bit out of sorts!"
"Trouble at home—it'll pass," said Kevin, feeling the effects of the whisky. The pub was extremely busy and Fred commented, "Sorry, old friend, can't chat, gotta run, as you can see!"
Kevin nodded and continued sipping the second whisky.
He failed to notice a man with long blonde hair and broad shoulders push through the crowd to take the chair on his left. Almost simultaneously another man, short and stocky, brushed passed him and took the chair on the other side. Both men leaned in toward Kevin purposely, making it clear they wanted his attention.
The tall, blonde-headed man spoke into Kevin's ear. "Kevin Dodd? You need to come with us!"
Kevin looked from left to right and frowned, "What do mean, come with you? You mean now?"
"Right this very minute," said the stocky fellow with a menacing gleam in his eyes.
"Who the hell are you guys?"
"All your questions will be answered in good time," responded the tall man. "Just down your drink and come with us."
Kevin didn't see any other option, so he did as the man asked. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and stood up, throwing a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter, purposely leaving his phone hidden by the two empty glasses, hoping that Fred would find it. Realizing that Kevin had left the phone behind, Fred would call Kevin's home and speak to Evelyn. Fred had met Evelyn on a few occasions when Kevin had brought her along to the pub.
Evelyn knew the generic password that Kevin always used for the less important security features, like his personal laptop, e-mail, medical accounts, etc. He had used the same password for the cell phone. If he suddenly went missing, Evelyn, knowing the phone's password, would hopefully look through the phone's contact directory and find Rubin's number. Of course, Camilla's number was also in there, but there was nothing to be done about that now. All these thoughts flashed through his mind, the effect of the alcohol producing a calming influence.
Flanking him on both sides, Charley Baines and Greg Gladstone ushered Kevin out through the crowded pub and no one seemed to have noticed a thing.
∞∞
Chapter Twenty-Two
More Discussions over Coffee
Friday, July 17, 2026
6:30 p.m.
After their meeting at the Rocky Mountain Coffee Shop, Jake went back to his temporary lodging at Mitch Cunningh
am's home. He realized that they needed to gain as much information as possible in order to convince a sympathetic party about what Valkyrie could mean. For him the penny had dropped when Colleen mentioned the similarity of the German Valkyrie account to the current conditions of the Helium-3 energy transition plan.
The following morning Jake overslept and got up at 10:30 a.m. He rummaged through the pockets of his backpack, looking for the card that Lucy Montrose had given him. Eventually he found it in the front pocket. Using Mitch's landline, he dialed Lucy Montrose's number and waited. Her title, he noticed on the card, was "Personal Secretary to the White House Chief of Staff." He felt a pang of nervousness while waiting for her to answer, wondering if this was really the correct thing to do. His gut feeling was that it was right.
After ten seconds, Lucy came on the line. Jake explained who he was and how they had met—that he had something of real importance to ask her. Lucy Montrose was delighted to hear from him and asked how she could help. Jake was cautious and lowered his voice as if the walls were listening. "May I call you Lucy," he asked hesitantly.
"Of course," she answered, "Please tell me what I can do for you!"
"Lucy, this is so important that I can't talk over the phone. Would you be prepared to meet with me so we can discuss it? I will be bringing my wife, Colleen, with me and you have nothing to fear, I assure you."
Lucy hesitated for a second and then replied, "Okay, when and where would you suggest we meet?"
"This evening at 6:30 p.m.—at the Rocky Mountain Coffee Shop on North Charles Street. Do you know it?"
"Certainly do, I will see you there at 6:30," answered Lucy, ending the call.
Jake sat for a while thinking, then took a shower and dressed. In his excitement, the previous evening before his meeting with Colleen, he had completely forgotten to shoot up his cocaine and had only begun to feel the effect of withdrawal when he left the coffee shop. He realized that he had pushed the envelope by leaving it so late, especially that he had been meeting with Colleen. The last thing he wanted her to know, at this stage, was his dependency on a drug. It would certainly make things very difficult for both of them.
The Helium-3 Conspiracy Page 17