Sting of the Scorpion Ch. 03

I went on: "He and McCombs then go to find the husband Morris, who I believe had absolutely no idea what was going on. He sees a cop car pulling him over, stops like a good citizen, is asked to step out of the car, and is murdered in cold blood, shot at point blank range. The murder weapon is then planted on him. Will it hold up?"

"Yes. Yes it will." said Cindy emphatically.

"I guess my question is... 'why'?" asked Nash.

"Ah, the 'unique position', Detective Nash, the 'unique position'." I said. "I happen to also know that certain disgusting elements are actually trying to get Sharples into MCD."

"Over my dead body!" yelled Tanya. I excused her breach of decorum.

"And over mine first." I said. "Don't worry, it's not going to happen. But Sharples staged this to get acclaim. KSTD is already giving him props. So, here's what we need to do: we need to do everything we can to establish an alibi for Mr. Morris. See if he was at the Lions Club, get Myron to download his car's GPS, find out where he went and what he did that evening. Get street camera videos, canvas for eyewitnesses to the Morris pullover as well as anyone who saw Morris that night.

I finished up: "If we can, and show that he cannot have committed those murders, then we may have enough to bust the Fat Boy. Maybe not for Mrs. Morris and Mr. Konnichi, but enough to bring into serious question his shooting of Mr. Morris. At the least, maybe we can get Fat Boy out of our Police Force."

"So why did he select these particular guys to kill?" asked Cindy.

"Ah, now that is the right question to be asking." I said. "Bulldogs rule on that one." Cindy was beaming, even as she and everyone considered the question...

Part 11 - A Stinging Rebuke, Pt. 2

At 11:00am, the Duty Desk Patrol Officer escorted three people to my office. One was well known to me, the lovely redhead Sandra Speer of the FBI, and Martin Nash's girlfriend (why hasn't he marred this woman yet? I wondered to myself). Next came Chris Griswold and Barry Gagnon, who Sandra introduced as FBI agents from Washington. "They're investigating that classified file you found." said Sandra. "Jack asked me to work with them while they're here."

"Yes, Commander." said Barry Gagnon, taking the lead. "So if we may get started: we understand that you were given the file by one Mrs. Boddiker?"

"That's right." I said.

"And where does Mrs. Boddiker live?"

"I have no idea." I replied. They looked up at me as if I'd called their mothers something bad. "She claims to be homeless." I said.

"Is there any way you can help us find her?" said Gagnon, his voice much less friendly.

"I can suggest that you ask at the Community Center, where old people hang out." I replied. "She goes there, and then she'll be seen walking in Courthouse Square on some mornings."

"And the other person who found the file, she also came to the Station to turn in the file?" asked Gagnon.

"No." I replied. "And before you ask, Mrs. Boddiker only told me about the other woman, who she says is named Mrs. Athena Jones. To my knowledge, I have never met nor even seen Mrs. Jones."

"So this Boddiker woman could just be making this other woman's existence up, then?" asked Gagnon.

"Why would she do that?" I asked. "Mrs. Boddiker has very accurately helped the Police on a couple of occasions. She really has no reason to make me believe she has some imaginary friend. If she says Mrs. Jones exists, then I believe her. I simply have never met Mrs. Jones before."

"And you've made no effort to find her?" asked Gagnon.

"You mean over this classified file?" I asked. Gagnon nodded, and I continued "I haven't looked into it at all. I turned the file in, and left it to the FBI to investigate. It's your case, guys. Unless you want and ask me to help. Which I'd be glad to do."

"I don't think you have the clearance for that." said Griswold.

"Uh, will you guys excuse me a moment?" Sandra asked. "I'm going to use the ladies room." She quickly left, and I took the opportunity to bear in on these guys.

"Guys," I said, "did my wife suggest that you ask me to help you on this case?"

"No sir." said Chris Griswold. "Why would she?"

"Because she knows that I can." I said, pulling out my FBI consultant I.D. card. "I've got a TS clearance, too... as I told you at the General's funeral. I could help if you wanted me to, and I'll be glad to help if you want me to. I'll also butt out and leave you to it, if that's your call."

"We know you're a busy man." said Gagnon. "We might as well go, Griswold, and find this Community Center."

"By the way," said Griswold as the agents stood up. "Thanks for going along with us saying we're FBI agents. It just keeps the wrong kind of questions from being asked. The FBI doesn't like us encroaching on what should be their territory, but Langley thinks this one is big and wants it handled internally."

"I understand." I said. "And again, if you need help, just let me know."

"We will... er, is that a Trojan Horse?" Griswold asked, seeing the matchstick creation on the low bookshelf against the wall by my desk.

"Uh, yes, yes it is." I said. I then did a double take as I observed the Trojan Horse.

"Ah, student of the Trojan War?" Griswold asked. Words I'd heard before.

"Not really." I said. "It was a gift from someone who apparently is, though."

They left, and a moment later Sandra hurriedly snuck in. "Don, I told them you had a clearance, and they didn't seem to care. It's weird... we''ll talk later." Just then, Gagnon came to the door.

"There you are." he said to Sandra. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." Sandra said. "I'll talk to you later, Don."

"Absolutely." I replied, watching her cute ass as she walked out the door. Then I turned to the Trojan Horse. It had been moved since I last touched it. And I knew it wasn't the cleaning people that had moved it. So who had?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At 1:00pm, I was in the FBI offices, meeting with Jack Muscone and the Deputy Director.

"Yeah, they sent a couple of guys from Washington to look into the file." said Muscone. "I don't understand why they didn't just have some of our guys in the City do it."

"Because they're not FBI Agents." I said. "They're CIA. I met them at Laura's ex-husband's funeral." Jack looked totally surprised, his boss did not.

"Not the first time something like that has been done." said the DepDirector. "But how many days has it been since the file was found? And they're just getting around to coming down?"

"I don't get that, either, sir." said Jack. "They're pretty damn casual about it. Even Don's wife when I asked about it. She just said they were looking into it, and then she changed the subject. Does she ever do that to you at the dinner table, Don?"

"Yeah," I said, "but she usually does it by complaining about the dog." Jack laughed. His boss did not.

"Okay, Don," the boss said, "I want to get your opinion on this file before we go into the Burke situation. What do you really think is going on?"

"I don't know, sir." I said. "But I did make these observations: first, this file was found on a bench in a public park area. Who in the world would take a classified file there? And then leave it? I can see leaving a briefcase or computer in a taxi cab, but on a park bench?"

"Second," I continued, "there was very little serious information in the file. And third, look at the manpower being expended over it." I realized that I had just made a slip, and hoped I'd covered it.

"So my conclusion is that this is some kind of diversion, something to distract our attention." I said. "It was a message..." My voice trailed off as I thought about it.

"Why?" asked Jack Muscone, cutting into my mini-reverie. "And more importantly, who? Wargrave? Your Shadow Man?"

"You know, I'd prefer to call the Shadow Man the 'Consultant of Crime'." I said. "But it's obviously someone who can get access to that kind of information. And that bespeaks money, which Wargrave certainly has in abundance. Michael Burke isn't nearly as rich as Wargrave, but he might still have the resources and contacts to pull it off. So could Dr. Wellman, president of the University. Not saying any of them did do it, just saying they could."

"Yes, indeed." said the Director. "Jack, would you mind going up to the Communications Room and contacting Washington? I need the latest information on Burke as well as Operation Gravestone. I'll talk to the Commander while you're gone."

Oh shit, I thought, I did not cover my mistake. This was going to hurt.

Once Jack was out of the room, the Director wasted no time. "Commander, you were asked at least twice if you'd read the contents of that file, and you said you had looked at only the first page. Why did you lie?"

"No sir, I said that I read the first page, which is true." I said. "I never actually denied reading the other pages."

"Let me make one thing very clear here." said the Director, anger on his face. "I simply do not have the time to waste with word games. I believe a lie of omission is a lie; you believe differently but we're not going to debate it. The bottom line here is that when I ask you something, I expect a full and truthful answer. If you ever fuck with me again like that, I'll twist your hat around so hard and fast you'll be looking at your ass for the rest of your life. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." I said. "I was wrong, and I apologize." I had been rebuked, and rightly so. Nothing to do but admit it and hoped we'd move along...

"All right." said the Director. "Now, did you read the contents of the file?"

"Yes sir."

"And what was your impression of it?"

"That it was sanitized." I said. "Whoever left it there wanted it to be found, but didn't want any particularly harmful information to come out, which really would have stirred up a hornet's nest within the Agency." I was referring to the CIA, and he knew it.

"I agree." said the Director. "So, why was it left there? Do you know what all this is about? and do you know who or what 'Scorpion' is?"

"Yes sir, I do." I said. "I believe the file was left as a distraction, sir, but also as a message... to me. It was expected to be found and brought to the Police Department... and it was."

"As a friendly or hostile warning?" asked the Director.

"Hostile." I said. "Most very definitely hostile."

"And distracting you from what?"

"I'm not sure." I said. "Michael Burke may have done it to keep me preoccupied while he goes after Ivy Sanders. As to Wargrave, I'm not the one he needs to be distracting, and that's a poor way of distracting me. If it's the Consultant of Crime, then whatever he's up to would be something he'd expect me to see if I wasn't distracted."

After a moment of tense silence, the Director finally said what was on his mind. "Commander, I just... I just don't understand this one. I can figure out most people's motives, but I just don't understand why you felt the need to deceive anyone about having read that file." Hoo boy, I thought to myself. Okay, time to end the charade.

"Because, sir," I said, "you don't believe the Consultant of Crime is real. You think he's Wargrave but he's not, and sometimes I think you don't want to acknowledge his existence. I'm not sure why, but that's my observation, and my reason."

The Director nodded, then actually looked around the room, which already had tremendous anti-bugging technology built in. Then he said to me, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I do know it. I know he's real."

It was my turn to look totally shocked.

"Yes, I'm just covering, pretending I don't know what I know, the same way you are doing. You were lucky as hell you and your family wasn't killed in that fire, and I realized when I first started looking into it that it would expose not only you but a lot of people to serious danger.. So I've been covering, too, saying it's Wargrave when it's really not."

"Do you know who he is, sir?" I asked.

"No." said the Deputy Director. "He's too good, he's layered himself in hoops of levels of contacts that some of my best people couldn't even begin to get through. I do agree he is basing himself in your Town, maybe in some capacity with the University. But that's all I really know about him."

With a final whisper, he said "Look, Don, my lodestone is Superior Bloodlines. This guy may or may not be part of that, but they're the ones I'm concentrating on. I want to break them apart. To break them apart breaks apart a political cartel of immense power and immense danger to the Constitution and the Nation. I want to destroy them before they destroy the country. Then I can retire peacefully, and someone else can beat back the next threat.

"But 'Crime Consultant', he's into too many other things, and he's too many steps ahead. As are you. He's yours, Don. Only you can defeat him. And I really can't help you, even though I want to. I'll support you any way I can, but Professor Moriarty belonged to Sherlock Holmes, and this criminal belongs to you."

Part 12 - A Sting From The Past

Friday, May 8th, at 3:05pm, I got the phone call.

"Meet me at County Airport, right away." said the voice. It was my wife Laura. "I've packed our bags, and the Usual Suspects are keeping the kids." Before I could even respond, the line went dead.

I went and told the Chief I needed to sneak out early and he said to go ahead. I stopped by Cindy's office, and she told me she knew already as she was going to babysit the kids. She drove me to County Airport in my Police SUV.

The sleek plane came in for its landing just as Cindy drove away. Sure enough, the tail number identified it as an Air Force aircraft. Laura was waiting inside the tiny terminal building, which actually was the ground floor of the control tower building. Within 10 minutes, we were boarded and the plane was taking off.

"Ma'am, would you like something to drink?" asked the stewardess, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde wearing a tight-fitting Air Force uniform. She was extremely deferential to Laura.

"Sure, whiskey and soda, please." Laura said. I ordered Scotch, neat. And as we sipped our drinks, Laura told me what was going on.

"Michael Burke made some cell phone calls to a cell tower about fifteen miles from Teresa's hometown." my wife said. "Then Henry Wargrave's business cellphone made calls to that same tower. We think the time has come, and we have to move."

"Think we'll be in time?" I asked, not bothering to ask who Laura meant by 'we'.

"I think so, but tonight may be the night." she said. "Did you bring your crowbar?"

"Does a cat have climbing gear?" I replied. The red crowbar was in the bin above our heads with my carry-on bag.

"Good." Laura said. "I'm glad you're coming along. It might take both of us to get this done."

"Yes," I said, "it just might." Yes, this mission would take a Deputy Director within the CIA to accomplish, but it was more... it was personal. "So I'm guessing you have a team in place?"

"Yes." Laura said. "They're going to meet us at the airport. They're loyal; if what I think is going to happen actually does, then we'll be breaking a few laws." And Laura wondered why I didn't want to be part of the CIA, I mused, but this was unavoidable.

"Speaking of loyal," I said, "did you check into those Griswold and Gagnon guys?"

"Yes." Laura said. "And you were right. One of them may be compromised. I talked with Dr. Casey Walker himself. We're not letting on, and hoping the bastard will lead us to other compromised agents and foreign contacts, and see what we're up against. By the way, how did you know?"

"Observation and deduction." I said. "And I got confirmation this morning, by the way."

"Speaking of that," Laura said, "you're just not going to tell me, are you?"

"Tell you what?"

"How you knew her name."

"Whaa..." I said, genuinely surprised. "You haven't figured it out already?"

Laura looked at me, then turned back to the Psychology magazine she was reading. "You are about to get your morning blowjobs cut off, mister."

"That's too bad." I said, then called her bluff. "But that's okay; I need to save up my sperm anyway."

"All right, you dirty dog." she said. "You're really going to do it? You're going to knock her up?"

"If she 'takes', I sure am." I replied.

"You are a nasty, nasty man." my wife replied. "And I love you for it. Good luck. To both of you."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was late in the afternoon local time when we landed. We did not land at the airstrip nearest Teresa's hometown, but another one further away and to the southwest. There was still some light but it was getting late.

Some men came aboard the aircraft, most in their 20s and 30s, all of them fit and toned. Laura began planning with the leader. "Okay, as soon as it gets dark, you'll bring black van #2 along this road." She pointed at the map. "We'll walk them across the field and into the van, and you'll get them out of there and back here as fast as you can, stopping for nothing. Meanwhile, we'll get black van #1 into the garage for the extraction. Don, here's where you get to have fun..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I knocked on the door of the house that had been built over the spot where Teresa's childhood home had stood until her father burned it down. It was just after dark, as we had waited until the sun went down so we wouldn't be seen.

The door did not open immediately, but I could tell that someone was peering at the window then through the eyehole in the front door. I had taken of my hat to make sure i could be easily identified. Finally, I heard the locks being disengaged and the door finally opened.

A pretty woman about my age, just a bit older, with lustrous black hair falling in gentle waves around her shoulders and a shapely body, opened the door. "Don? Don Troy? Is that you?" she said, totally stunned.

"Hello, Ivy." I said. "May I come in?"

"Sure, sure." she said. I stepped into the front room. Just as I did, a man holding a toddler came in from the back areas, probably the kitchen.

"Who are you?" he asked. He was short, a bit stocky, and had very light brown hair, almost blondish. And I could tell from his eyes that this guy was as dumb as a box of rocks, and that my mission was going to have obstacles.

"My name is Commander Donald Troy with a Police Department some distance from here. I'm-"

"Why are you here? Ivy, who the hell is this guy?" the guy said. I could see something bordering on fear in his face.

"Honey," Ivy said, "I knew Don in college."

"So what?" the guy said, getting more belligerent. "Why did you come to our home now?" I could see this wasn't going to go very well.

"I am here," I said, letting my voice take the command authority I needed to get this guy to listen, "because your wife knows who I am. Ivy, I also believe you know my wife..."

With that, I extended my hand back at the door. Laura took her cue, and stepped inside. "Hello, Ivy." she said quietly, standing tall right next to me.

"Dr. Fredricson!?!?!" Ivy spluttered. "Oh my God! How are you?" She hugged the older woman, and Laura hugged her back. Then Ivy put my words together.

"Wait..." Ivy said. "Your wife? Don, didn't you marry Melina?"

"Yes." I said. "Yes I did. And then through some strange twists and turns--"

"Ivy!" called out Mr. Sanders, his voice angry. "Who in the hell are these people?"

"Honey, this is Dr. Fredricson." Ivy tried to explain. "She was the professor I worked with when I was in college. Don was in school there at the same time. But Doctor, what's going on?"

"I need to tell you, Ivy," said Laura, "that you and your family's lives are in danger. Great danger. Years ago I told you that something like this might happen... well, tonight's the night. We need to get you and your husband and child out of here."