Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack (21 page)

“
Well that was effective,” Galveston managed to quip as I gave Manuel a boost over the fence and in turn he helped me scale back over.  We didn’t waste any time with explanations as Galveston picked up the case and threw it in the car as we jumped in.  Manuel grinded the gears as he floored our lovely escape vehicle away from the house.  As the dust settled behind us, we calmed ourselves steadily and began to relax.

“
What happened back there?”  Galveston asked, eyeing the road behind us.

“
He had some sort of alarm installed.  We could have been trapped inside,” I said excitedly.

“
Yeah, you were lucky.  I noticed something strange about that house.”

“
I’m glad you tried to warn us,” I said, agitated by his words. 

Manuel was sweating nervously.  I was surprisingly calm, having become used
to our antics.  I settled myself into the back seat and scattered the various envelopes and papers in front of me.

“
What did you find in there?”  Galveston asked, as he too wiped the sweat from his brow.  I stared at the papers.

“
I’m not sure.  We got the statue.  Clearly there is something sticky on it that I’m assuming shouldn’t be there.  I’m betting this is what poisoned Espinosa.”

I beg
an to go through a few of the papers, mostly financial items of no importance until I came across an envelope addressed to Colonel Espinosa and dated just about two weeks ago.  It had a postmark from Sao Paulo, Brazil.  I did my best to translate the Spanish writing and was just about to ask Manuel for help, even though he was driving.  It was a rough translation, but I was able to determine the general theme and managed to decipher the following
from the letter.

Dear Alfonso,

T
hank you for the contact.  I have moved into the new apartment in

the city and the move from
Rio was easy.  I will be unable to contact

you directly since I don’t know where the facility is
yet.  I met with

the man you told me about.  I am excited that this opportunity will

allow me to further my own research.  The secrecy behind this project

has me worried. 
I am wondering if I am getting in over my head.  I’m

not sure I trust these
men.  When I am done I will meet you in

Monterrey
.  I have received the preliminaries of the project and have

begun working on it as we had discussed.  It won’t be the same as

when we worked together during Special Ops.  I will send you my

new address in
Sao Paulo. 

Ernesto

I searched through the other letters, but saw nothing more from Ernesto Patelo.  At the bottom of the stack of papers was a neatly folded piece of paper.  I opened it and read the contents.  It was Espinosa’s itinerary for what would be his fateful encounter with the silver case.

Flight one arrives 13:30 77M, agent will exit and leave case on

ground. 
Do not touch or attempt to open or contract terminated. 

Confirm with predetermined satellite phone number last four digits. 

Plane one will depart immediately.  Flight two depart 13:55 to

Monterrey Intl. 
Change planes.  Flight three depart 15:20.  Arrive at

Sao Carlos
.  Flight to Rio and Mexico City will be arranged on

arrival.

It appeared as highly organized and professional,
with little room open for error.  But why go to the trouble of doing this?  Why not just fly it directly Brazil?  I posed my question to Galveston and filled him in on the letter and the itinerary.  He had no answer to my question.  I handed over the papers for him to look at as I continued to try to unravel the many pieces of the puzzle

“
Look how hard it has been for us to trace their pattern.  Would we have been able to figure out what they were up to by anything other than luck?”  Galveston surmised openly as we entered the city. 

I didn’t really understand
at first what he meant by the statement, but then I got it.  Galveston was trying to think like they were.  “What procedures would cover the tracks and allow the least chance of being traced by any government or private organization”, he thought, putting himself in the operatives’ minds.  It would have been easier and faster to just get on an airline and fly the device to Brazil, what we hoped was the ultimate destination, but that was easily traceable and the FBI could unravel it in a few days.  The more stops they did, the more muddled the trail, but they were dealing with intermediaries that didn’t have the same alliance to them as their own agents.  That had been our stroke of luck.

“
They were trying to stop the trail with this guy, Espinosa,” Galveston explained.  “They shouldn’t have flown from the U.S.  They should have just driven it across the border and flew it out of Mexico.”

“
His friend’s name is Patelo, but the Colonel said this is who got him involved.  From the letter it appears it was the other way around.  The Colonel got Patelo involved, but why?”  I asked Galveston.

“
That’s the million dollar question, my friend,” Galveston replied.

“
It appears he now lives in Sao Paulo and moved from Rio de Janeiro, probably just a month ago.  And then we have this poisoning thing.  Why try to kill Colonel Espinosa?”

“
I can think of many reasons.  We have some good leads now,” Galveston turned to me from the front seat.  “We have a lot of thinking to do and we have to ask the Colonel some more questions.  First, who is this Patelo, second, what does he do, and third, now that I think about it, who got the Colonel involved?”  Galveston again wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve.  “I know one thing though; our answers appear to lie in Brazil.”

-Chapter 37-

“Manuel, stop at that store, I need to make a call, I can’t use my cell phone,” Galveston said pointing to a small grocery store with a TelMex payphone out front.

Manuel pulled into the small parking lot where the small grocery store sat, surrounded by a myriad of food stalls. 
Galveston got out and went to the nearby payphone.  He used a calling card and feverishly punched in a bunch of numbers to the phone before dialing the number of the hospital. 

I stayed in the back of the car and tried to adjust myself by tearing my legs off the vinyl seat.  I observed the scurrying of people to and fro, unaware of the curious Americans that held such dire information about the future use of energy.  This was why we were here, I thought.  These are the people Dr. Sloan’s invention could help, maybe mak
ing life a little more simple, but we were fighting a multi-headed hydra.  A monster of tremendous proportions, fueled by greed and power, unsure of how many heads the monster had.  We could make a difference, and we could stop their quest, but we had to be smarter, and now, much more careful.

Galveston
came into view out the front of the windshield, and entered the passenger side of the car.  He slumped down in the seat and sighed, leaving the door open.

“
Well, it’s not good news.  The Colonel is dead, cardiac arrest and respiratory failure.”

“
Oh no,” I gasped.  “We were too late.”

“
No, we never had a chance.  We’re just lucky we got to him when we did.”

Manuel just stared at us, noticeably shocked at our complacency over the Colonel’s demise. 
Galveston sighed again.

“
Yeah, we had no chance.  They wanted him dead, and they wouldn’t have allowed anything for him to be cured.”

“
Are we going to take the statue to the doctor?”  I asked.

“
No, I think we need to take it and get it analyzed by May.  Maybe he can figure out where the statue and the poison came from.”  I didn’t relish the idea of flying with the thing that just killed a man, but I understood his point and the importance of getting it analyzed.  It was the only material evidence we had on who was doing this.  It was becoming more clear that the trail really did point to Black Bear, but still the nagging question remained of who was ultimately behind it.

I looked at Manuel, forgetting our new teammate was not abreast of our plan.  His face was pale and he seemed to scoot his back more firmly to the seat and the door, as if waiting for a chance to escape. 
Galveston noted his unease.

“
Manuel, why don’t you go get yourself a drink, you look a little shaken.”  Manuel slunk away from the car as Galveston and I discussed our next set of moves.

What was Black Bear planning
?  Clearly they would go to any lengths to accomplish their objective, but the bigger question still lingered like a smelly fish, why?  Why would a company jeopardize their standing in the international business arena, as well as open themselves up to potential and complete self destruction?  Galveston looked to me for answers, as I was the supposed “expert” in all things economic.

I had mulled these questions before
, and I managed to come up with the main driving forces of this unscrupulous activity.  Money and power.  Men and companies had been driven by these two things through history, dating back to the East India Trading Company in the 1700’s, to Enron and WorldCom of the late 20
th
century.  They were all fueled by the insatiable need for more money and power, until they imploded.  But they all had another motivation that was more subtle, fear.  That was the motivation I found more intriguing.  What was Black Bear afraid of?  If a company is profitable and confident in their business, why take unnecessary risk?  This is what I needed to explore.  I had an idea that Black Bear wasn’t what it seemed, a robust titan, but almost like a frightened teenager who didn’t want to get caught after taking Dad’s car out for a night of partying.  Galveston enjoyed my analogy and understood what I was saying.  It became apparent we had to get back to San Diego, and fast.  We had a lot of work to do, and we were still vulnerable due to that tiny file at Genesis.  It was only a matter of time before Black Bear made the link and we turned from the hunter to the hunted.

-Chapter 38-

Manuel joined us back in the car, a little more relaxed.  He drove back through the city and to the Monterrey airport, far from the terminal, but adjacent to where our plane luckily still sat.  There was no use going back to the hospital now, it would have only opened us up to questions we could not answer. 

We got out of the car and carefully pulled
out the pink suitcase.  Galveston placed it in his bag and covered it with clothing, effectively contaminating all his belongings.  We didn’t need to have gone this far only to have a customs agent find a very questionable Aztec statue.  This wouldn’t have sat well with the Mexican authorities.  Just to be safe, I would toss the bag over an airport fence when Galveston got inside.  Not the most brilliant of plans, but we had to take this course instead of taking the chance someone would find it through a customs search.  Luckily, the area around the private airplanes was poorly guarded, and I managed to toss his bag behind some used oil drums, out of view.

We said our goodbyes to Manuel as he drove us to the terminal area. 
Galveston shoved a wad of cash in his hand before we left him at the car.  He waved gingerly at us before squealing out of the parking area.  It almost appeared he was glad to get rid of us.  Galveston went through the air terminal first, as I did my best to not to look guilty and followed behind.

Galveston
was able to retrieve the bag discretely as I distracted the ground personnel that milled about the plane.  He placed it far back in the plane and behind an aft cargo wall, well out of sight for our return to the States.

W
e were soon in the air, bouncing our way back to San Diego, attempting to race the available light which was now running out.  Galveston engaged the autopilot at our cruise altitude and relaxed in his seat.

“
I need a beer,” he said through his microphone, his voice cracking over the loud prop noise.

“
I agree,” I responded, amazed at the amount of dials and glass laid out in front of me.  I never asked where Galveston had learned to fly, but right now I was just too tired to care.

There was so much I didn’t really know about
Galveston, some of it I probably didn’t ever want to know.  But, he didn’t really know much about me either.  He probably didn’t care to know I liked collecting stamps and enjoyed good coffee.  Not too interesting for a guy who could fly airplanes and dated English spies.

Our flight proved to be uneventful, and the deep blue of the Pacific came into view as we made our way up the Baja coast over the border and into
California.

“
How much did you give Manuel before we left?”  I asked as San Diego Lindbergh International appeared off our right wingtip, a sign we were getting close to Montgomery airport.

“
A thousand bucks,” he answered nonchalantly.

“
A thousand dollars in cash?”  I exclaimed.  “How much cash did you take?”  Galveston did the arithmetic in his head.

“
Let’s see, I’ve got about two thousand left so…” he continued to do the math.

“
Three thousand?  You were carrying around three thousand dollars in cash in Mexico?”  I became exasperated.

“
Yeah.  It was safe.  I was carrying it in my underwear.”  I flashed to Manuel.  The poor kid was carrying around a load of money that had spent a day residing around Galveston’s crotch.  I felt myself beginning to do a simulated dry heave at the thought.

Galveston
banked the plane carefully and lined up for runway two-eight right.  I had made it back from Mexico in one piece at the hands of a man who felt it was okay to hold large amounts of cash in his undergarments.  Galveston carefully taxied back to the parking spot we had left that morning, shut the airplane down, and secured it.  He was visibly exhausted. 

We
called Alex, who admitted he was sunning himself by his pool.  He told us he had heard from Elizabeth.  She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep Dr. Sloan under wraps.  He was becoming impatient and frustrated over the progress.

“
I think Alex needs to start pulling more weight,” Galveston said wearily.

“
What do you mean?”  I asked.

“
I think he needs to take in a border, a sixty-year old border with a pot belly and extensive knowledge of electrical engineering.”  I thought about it a second and figured it could be humorous.

“
I agree,” I added, “they have a lot in common.”

“
We’ll spring this on him when we see him,” Galveston said putting up his charts.  I nodded again in agreement, smiling.

Galveston
and I tied the plane down and parted ways.  It was a little before eight o’clock and we decided the best course of action was to go home and catch up on some much needed rest and relaxation.  We planned to gather in the morning at Alex’s house, and work our way through the new information.

I called Jane on my way home and was relieved to hear
her voice, chipper and upbeat.  Galveston took charge of the pink suitcase, and planned to deliver it to May the next morning for analysis. 

I had a stiff drink as soon as I arrived home to try to help me to sleep, but the scenarios kept playing themselves out in my head.  What was Black Bear planning
?  What were they doing in Brazil?  What was the Senator’s connection?  And who was this Patelo character?  The bigger question continued to linger and appear in my head.  What was Black Bear afraid of?  These questions would have to wait until morning.