The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

“Whatever they want him to do, at least that’s his reputation. He’s not someone you want to cross, nor are his associates.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who does he work for?”

  “He freelances now, but used to work for Rouss Military Systems.” I jotted down the company’s name as he continued.

  “I related the facts of our previous discussion to my sources in Israel. Their eyes are now open to the possibility that Rachel’s death might not have been suicide. Please keep us informed, and I will do the same.”

  “Rabbi, please tell your friends that Rachel was a victim, as was her husband. Encourage them to search the site where he was killed again.”

  “You think Ira’s death was something other than a random attack?”

  “If I were in Israeli intelligence, I’d check out that site, and ask who might want Ira dead.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that. I’m only a poor rabbi from central Arkansas.” I could hear his smile and wondered how a “poor rabbi from central Arkansas” had the money to stay at the Willard, or knew the identity of a contractor who’d gone off the grid.

  Micki and Brian returned from the courthouse just as I put down the phone. True to her word, Micki walked directly to the barn to saddle a horse and look for Larry, who was out exploring the property. I told Brian what I had learned from Red and Rabbi Strauss. He was familiar with Rouss Military Systems. “Who in the military isn’t?” he asked.

  I asked Brian to pull up whatever information he could on Rouss, including their Washington lobbyists. It only took me a couple of seconds to realize Red might have some answers.

  “Twice in one day, yet I never hear from you when you’re working on my matters,” he jabbed, clearly in a better frame of mind.

  “What can you tell me about Rouss Military Systems?”

  The pause before his response was telling. “Is your question covered by the attorney-client privilege?”

  “Maybe they’re looking for a merger partner?”

  Red laughed, sounding more like himself. “Patterson, you’re like a good coon dog. When you want to find something, you find a way. There’s no way they’re looking for a merger partner. They’re bigger than God. My company may be worth several billion, but I’m small potatoes in comparison.”

  “Well, what can you tell me that I can’t find on Google?”

  “They’re involved in the designing and building of a third of the weapons systems built for our government. Did Rachel steal one of their designs?”

  I swallowed a testy comeback and let it go. “Are they involved in the design of rocket systems?”

  “Sure they are. They’ve designed a version of most every system in the world today. If they didn’t design it, they tested it. And if they didn’t design or test it, and it doesn’t work, they’re in charge of dismantling and disposing of it.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I asked.

  “Jack, lots of weapons either don’t pan out or are outdated by the time testing is complete. The Pentagon won’t allow the designer or the testing company to dismantle and dispose a failed system—too many opportunities for double-dealing. Let me give you an example.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Remember that stealth submarine that sank after its launch last year? My company was well paid to recover the sub and figure out why it sunk. A different company, probably Rouss, will get the contract to dismantle the submarine, making sure the plans and the electronics are destroyed in a way that preserves secrets.”

  “Fascinating,” I responded. “I’ve never thought about what happens to airplanes or ships that don’t work.”

  “Dismantle and dispose is handled by only a few companies; Rouss gets a lot of the work. They also design and sell systems that do work, and not just for our government, but for many other countries as well.”

  “Who runs Rouss?” I asked.

  “Rouss himself is no longer with us. He was a former admiral, one tough son-of-a-bitch. Plenty of former generals and admirals sit on their advisory board, but family members and a few select senior officers own the company. The current chairman of the board is Rouss’s grandson, Preston Rouss III, but he’s a figurehead, more interested in Formula One racing than government contracts. The real force in the company is the COO, Dennis Maxwell. He runs the company with an iron fist, makes the family boatloads of money. He pays his employees well and treats them fairly. In return, they’re incredibly loyal. As far as I know he’s on the up and up.”

  His tone had become just a bit defensive, so I didn’t push. I’d learned enough for now, but he chose to continue.

  “Jack, there’s a guy at Rouss who can tell you a lot more than I can. He’s the head of their testing division, great guy. I’ve tried to hire him, but he won’t budge.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Harold Spencer. I’ll text you his information. Feel free to use my name.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, and then my memory kicked in.

  “Don’t bother with the phone number, Red.”

  “What? Why not? Just give—”

  “Because Harold Spencer is dead—murdered on the eighteenth green of Columbia over three weeks ago.”

  I heard his quick intake of breath, almost like a hiccup. “You sure it was Harold? Maybe it was a different Spencer.”

  “I was at Columbia the day his body was found.”

  “Jack, I’ll get back to you. But, listen to me—whatever security you have—double it.”

  64

  RED WAS USUALLY UNFLAPPABLE. I was taken aback by how upset he was to learn of Spencer’s death. I thought about it for a few minutes and went in search of Clovis. He and Martin were in deep conversation with three other men in the small office where they’d set up temporary headquarters.

  Clovis looked up, but didn’t invite me to join them.

  “Martin and I will be through in a minute—give us a sec,” he said tersely and turned back to the others.

  I’d worked with Clovis long enough not to get my feelings hurt. Stella was still working on the encrypted zip drive, and Brian wasn’t working at his usual table. I poured a cup of coffee and sat down with my laptop to check my email.

  The quiet was interrupted by sudden chaos. Micki and Brian came storming in, followed by Larry. Brian held Micki’s elbow—she was clearly furious. Larry had wisely chosen to bring up the rear.

  “I can take care of myself. Who told you to track me down? Let go!” she demanded, jerking her arm away.

  “I did.” Clovis’s voice conveyed control and authority. Micki’s protests came to a halt.

  “Brian came to find you and Larry because we located a sniper on the property—and he wasn’t here to shoot skeet. Micki, please get a cup of coffee or something stronger and sit down. That goes for everyone. Maggie and Beth are on their way back from the city. House hunting is on hold.”

  I did as I was told, and the others followed suit. Clovis turned to Martin, who took the lead.

  “Last night a man tried to break into Rachel’s apartment. We were waiting, and he’s now in custody at the military base where Rachel died a few weeks ago.”

  I frowned, “The same military base? Why?”

  Clovis spoke, “I think you already know part of the answer. Before you went to Pawleys, Brian told you that while he was with the JAG Corps, he met a Captain Morrison, head of military police at the facility where Rachel died. You asked him to find out if Morrison had concerns about the suicide findings and the lack of any investigation. While you were gone, he and Martin met the Captain at a bar near the base. Morrison doesn’t believe for a minute that Rachel killed herself, but he has no evidence. The base commander put the kibosh on any investigation, told him the case was closed. Morrison said if we could give him any hard evidence he’d open an investigation in a heartbeat, orders be damned.

  “Martin and I have been worried about what we should do if we caught an unauthorized person on the property. We surely couldn�
�t give him or her to the local police. Morrison gave us our answer, and he has proven true to his word. When I told him we’d caught someone trying to break into Rachel’s apartment he said, ‘Bring him in. We can hold him for a while.’ His response was the same when we told him about the sniper.”

  “You actually caught him? I thought you just scared someone away.” I was dumbfounded.

  “Thanks to Stella’s warning system, and Brian and Larry’s modifications, it wasn’t that difficult. We knew the moment he came onto the property and easily found where he’d set up shop. A professional sniper isn’t someone to mess with, but Big Mike and his team were on top of him like ducks on a June bug. He’s on his way to the military base right now. I think he might have a headache, but, honestly, who cares.”

  “Won’t both guys be screaming for lawyers?” I asked.

  “Morrison has assured me he can hold them for at least three days without telling a soul. At that point he’ll tell the base commander and open an investigation into Rachel’s death, holding our prisoners as long as he can.”

  Brian added, “Morrison is one of the good guys. His unit has egg on its face over Rachel’s death, so if anyone has a reason to find out what happened, he does.”

  “Thanks for taking the initiative with Morrison. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. Let’s take a break until Maggie and Beth get here.”

  As we broke up, I pulled Larry aside and asked, “Do you mind if Micki and I walk and talk for a few minutes?”

  He raised an eyebrow, but said, “Of course not.”

  “Clovis, will we be safe in the great outdoors?”

  He finally smiled, “Just don’t wander off the beaten path.”

  We hadn’t stepped off the porch before she asked, “What’s up, Jack?”

  “Truth is, I’m having a hard time with you and Larry together.”

  Her reaction was immediate, her voice shrill. “Jack, you promised. How could you?”

  I laughed, “Sorry, that came out wrong. As you never let me forget, the past is over. No, the fact is that I’ve really come to like Larry. He’s smart and I appreciate what he brings to our team. The more I get to know him, the more I wonder if he’s too good for you.”

  She punched me in the arm. “Thanks. You sound just like his mother.” She took my arm, and we continued to walk down the path toward the river.

  “Now, come on, what’s bothering you?” she asked. I stopped and guided her toward a convenient bench. I didn’t want to get too far from the house.

  “Well, there’s the likelihood of criminal and civil liability when Cotton or anyone else finds out what Clovis and Martin pulled off,” I said. “After all, they didn’t exactly ask those guys if they’d like to be driven to an unknown location in Virginia.”

  “Oh, c’mon—what would you have them do? They found someone on our property armed with a high-powered rifle. Would you rather they had called, let’s see—the local sheriff?”

  “No, of course not. But, think about what you just said. They actually found a guy on Maggie’s property with a high-powered rifle! What have I gotten us into? I have no right to put any of you in this kind of situation. Fencing with Cotton is one thing, but snipers are way beyond what any of us bargained for.”

  “We’ve been there before, and we survived, remember?” She said gently.

  “I know, but this is different. If I’m right, we may have uncovered an illegal scheme that has international implications.”

  “If you’re right, it was Rachel who uncovered it. We’re only continuing the work she began.”

  “Right, and Rachel is dead.”

  “That’s exactly why you can’t let it go. If you’re right, Rachel Goodman didn’t deserve to die. She deserves to have her good name restored.”

  “Yes, she does, and I’m not going to let go. But I can’t justify putting the rest of you—”

  She interrupted roughly, “Jack Patterson, if you think you dragged us blindly into this mess, you need to get a grip. We volunteered. Do you hear anyone whining to go home? You’re not the only person on the side of truth, justice, and the American way. Besides, you and I are partners, remember?” She gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. “Now, don’t let that go to your head. I’m just reminding you of what you gave up a long time ago.”

  Micki and I had once enjoyed a brief, passionate affair that had evolved into a wonderful friendship full of teasing and banter, but nothing more. We were too much alike. Micki had found Larry, and I . . . well, I was still looking.

  Our conversation was interrupted suddenly when Clovis called out, “Micki, Jack, come inside. Stella wants you.”

  We hurried inside to the small library where Stella had set up shop.

  She looked up and said sternly, “Jack and Micki get behind me, everyone else out of the room. I don’t have any idea what we’ll find. At least for now we need to keep it on a need to know basis.”

  Clovis tried to linger, but after a sharp glare from Stella, he quietly closed the door. Micki and I stood behind her as she explained.

  “It appears that Rachel uncovered a plan by Rouss Military Systems to get paid twice to design and develop weapons systems over the last few years—once by the United States and a second time by another country. The amounts of money involved are incredible.”

  “Are you sure it’s a case of being paid twice? Contractors build aircraft all the time for the U.S., and then sell the same or similarly designed aircraft to other countries—with the Pentagon’s approval, of course,” I countered.

  “Not if the weapons are supposed to have been dismantled and destroyed,” she replied.

  “Show me.” I was skeptical. We turned to Stella’s computer screen.

  “First, you will see the layers of encryption I had to peel back. I was able to bypass the twenty-eight bit encryption on the password, pretty simple, but the file protocols are pretty next level; it took me longer than expected.” It all looked like gobbledygook to me—she might as well have been speaking in Portuguese.

  “Okay, so now you’ll see an Excel spreadsheet with the heading: Rouss Military Systems Inc. Got it so far?”

  My eyes jumped to the next set of headings on the page—project, cost of development, cost of testing, and cost of dismantling. The project column contained a list of Rouss’s projects for the Pentagon. The first project was the Logmod Project, and under the column titled “cost of testing” was the number thirty-seven million dollars. I figured that meant Rouss had tested whatever the Logmod Project was and been paid thirty-seven million dollars.

  As I scanned the list, I noticed five projects Rachel had highlighted in yellow. For those five projects Rouss had not only been paid for design and development, but also for dismantling, which, according to Red, violated the Pentagon’s policy. The amounts of money involved were indeed staggering.

  Stella clicked to page two of the spreadsheet. Now the heading read: Rouss Hired by Pentagon for Both Development and Termination. Listed were the five projects she had highlighted on the previous page in yellow, including one called—Specific Target Missile System (STMS). Rouss was paid two-hundred-and-seventy million dollars to develop STMS, and another fifty-seven million to dispose of the same system.

  The third page of the spreadsheet consisted of an analysis of the sales of a weapons system called the Pinpoint Missile System, by one company, Surplus Systems, Ltd. It cited the number of systems sold, the delivery date, and the purchasing country. Rachel had written on the spreadsheet:

  All the sales of the Pinpoint systems occurred after the disposal contract for STMS had been completed. Israel was the sole purchaser.

  Each of the next four pages contained a similar analysis for four other systems. In each case the seller was Surplus Systems. The only obvious difference I could see was that these systems had been purchased by different countries.

  Stella looked back at me. “Are you following this?”

  “So far so good. But the only thing that seems
wrong is that Rouss was paid to both design and then later dismantle five weapons. It may be a violation of Pentagon policy, but it’s not fraud. As far as the sales of weapons by Surplus Systems, I don’t see her point. Different company, different weapons.”

  She smiled and pulled up the next page without a word. It contained just two paragraphs. The first gave a description and the specifications for STMS The second included a description and the specifications for the Pinpoint Missile System. The descriptions and specifications of the two systems were identical. For all appearances, STMS and Pinpoint were one and the same. But how could that be? Rouss had dismantled STMS and been paid a cool fifty-seven million dollars for the work.

  The next four pages contained the descriptions and specifications of the other four weapons Rouss had designed and later dismantled. Each description was followed by the description of a weapon sold by Surplus Systems. In all four cases, the systems were the same.

  I quickly googled Surplus Systems, but found only a couple of West Coast companies dealing in home goods and electronics. Yet Rachel’s Excel spreadsheet showed that Surplus Systems had sold almost two billion dollars of product all over the world for these five systems alone. Two billion dollars.

  The answers came on the next pages labeled Report to the I.G. Rachel had developed a glossary in which every fact and figure was explained in minute detail, followed by her conclusion:

  In at least five instances, Rouss both developed and was later paid to dismantle a weapons system that didn’t pass rigorous testing. After the dismantling was complete, a product identical to the one developed and discarded appeared on the secondary market, manufactured and sold by a company called Surplus Systems, Ltd. The likelihood of this happening out of coincidence or happenstance defies credibility.

  I let out a low whistle. “Well, what do you know?”

  “Great work, Stella. No part of Rachel’s report is confidential except for the specifications of the systems, but let’s be careful. Make several copies, give me one to read tonight, and keep the rest with the original zip drive.”

  Stella wasn’t finished. “You need to keep reading, Jack. Rachel has also included a set of notes, explaining how she discovered what she describes in so much detail. It all makes sense now—what she was doing for the last two years.”