Sting of the Scorpion Ch. 05

"Commander," said the man, "my name is John Tower, and I have been paid to give you weekly helicopter flying lessons."

"Oh really?" I said, pretending enthusiasm. "Who is my benefactor in this?"

"Guy named John Clay." said Tower. He handed me a card, showing Clay to be a financial advisor, with the business address of 221B Coburg Square in the City. "He paid the deposit plus two lessons up front. He said he wanted you to have lessons every week for a year or until you got your certifications and licenses to fly choppers."

"Did he say why he was doing this?" I asked.

"He said he met you up in a town called Apple Grove, which is not in this State, and that you'd expressed an interest in learning to fly a helicopter. You might know that I train many helicopter pilots for hospitals in this area of the country. My hanger is over in Nextdoor County, just southwest of Hillside."

"What were his financial arrangements with you?"

"He's paid for two lessons, and said that after you take the second one he'll send a check for the next one." Clay's bank account was with the City National Bank, I learned from the check Mr. Tower showed me.

"I'm not going to cash the check unless you want to take the lessons." said Mr. Tower. "Wouldn't be right."

"Sure." I said. "Go ahead and deposit the check, and if it clears, I'll start taking the weekly lessons. Might as well, since they're being paid for." We made an arrangement for me to take my lessons every Wednesday noon.

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

"You're doing what?" Cindy asked as I told her about the flying lessons. She and my mother Phyllis were in my office with me. They said they'd been doing some shopping together, but I was not fooled: they'd been shopping for information on classified servers together...

"Somebody wants me to take flying lessons, and very badly." I said. "Mom, you remember that fortune cookie I got up in Rome when we visited up there?"

"Oh yes, son." Phyllis said. "What do you make of this 'John Clay'?"

"First," I said, "I researched John Tower. He's been giving flying lessons for years, and is the top-rated guy for helicopter flying lessons and getting people certified to fly hospital helicopters. I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary about him, so I think he's aboveboard."

"As to this John Clay," I said, "I found that there is no Coburg Square in the City, nor any 'John Clay Financial Services', other than a legitimate incorporation with an address that translates to a 'Boxes-R-Us' place that holds people's mail. The bank account is legitimate, though, and has about eight thousand dollars in it."

"Just under the $10,000 amount that would require the bank to inform the Government." Cindy said.

"Yep." I said. "So, what do you ladies think of this?"

"The '221B' sounds like Sherlock Holmes's address." Cindy said. "But that was Baker Street. But after you fill in the rest of it, I'm sure we'll be talking about your Consultant of Crime. I'm not a Troy, so I haven't figured it out the whole way yet."

"See, Mom?" I said. "That's Iron Crowbar thinking there."

"Yes." said Phyllis. "I agree with Cindy... well, on almost all of it. So why don't you tell us." I wanted to smile, knowing that even my mother had some gaps in her knowledge.

"Well," I said, turning to my bookcase and picking out a volume, "this is that Sherlock Holmes book that someone left on my desk when they left the map on your desk, Cindy. Here's the highlighted phrase about fire being set to our rooms, which unfortunately actually happened. Ah, here's another story in the Canon... 'The Redheaded League'. Nice title, I like it... speaking as a redhead myself, of course."

I turned to the story. "Ah, the criminal in this case, and possibly a Moriarty agent though the book doesn't explicitly say so, is one 'John Clay'. A familiar name to us. And he dug a tunnel to a bank from a pawnshop owned by a Mr. Jabez Wilson. Well, ladies, I guess a pawnshop is a type of financial services operation, from a certain point of view. Would you care to guess the address of the pawn shop in the story?"

"Coburg Square." Cindy said, as Phyllis was simply beaming at both of us.

"Coburg Square." I said. "So Cindy, what does this tell us?"

"That it's our 'Moriarty', that for some reason he wants you to learn how to fly a helicopter, and he's either burning an asset or created one just to pay for those flying lessons."

"All true." I said. "It also tells me something else, something far more scary... I had hoped to throw him off my track by planting suggestions that I didn't know who he was, or that I thought it was someone else. But this proves that he's seen right through me: he knows that I know who he is, and he knows that I'm after him."

"So why aren't you dead yet?" Cindy asked. It was an excellent question, if brutally stated.

"Because he is making that one mistake that he made before, that allowed me to find out his existence in the first place." I said. "He had decided to toy with me, play games. He has allowed his ego to get in the way of his judgment. If he ever starts thinking like a woman, then I'm going to have a really sucky day one day."

"Let's hope not." said Phyllis. "I would also suggest this, son. Your 'Moriarty' has also shown one other thing: he is planning for this to go another year, after which he's going to take you down. I suspect that he is seeing that not only you but others are on his trail, and that he has no more than a year left before he's exposed too far and will have to make some complete changes. It will take him that year to lay the groundwork for those changes, and then he'll be ready to fly away."

"That's a good thought." I said. "All right, ladies, let's go get something to eat."

"Oh, son," Phyllis said as we stood up, "did you ever find out anything about that file folder that old woman found and brought to you?"

"No, Mom." I said. "The FBI handed it off to the CIA for an internal investigation, and Laura's been busy so she hasn't said anything to me about it, at least not yet."

"Ah, the FBI handed it off to the CIA." said Phyllis. "That says volumes in its own right, wouldn't you say, son?"

"Volumes, indeed." I said. "And classified volumes, so we'll say no more of this. Ever, unless someone comes to us with something. Am I clear on that?"

They both were clear on that.

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

"Ma'am, this is the condensed report." a handsome young CIA agent said as he brought Laura the file. It was Sunday Morning, May 17th.

"Thank you, Bradley." Laura said, admiring the young man's good looks and slender, toned body. As he left the room, Laura looked at the folder, which had the 'TOP SECRET' cover and 'Eyes Only: Gravestone' hand-scribbled in the middle. Opening the file, Laura read the report.

It said that seventeen groups in the region had been interdicted in the past 18 hours, that a huge quantity of weapons of all kinds had been captured (the classified amount not yet fully determined), nearly 100 million U.S. dollars in cash had been seized, some of it counterfeit, and that the communications chatter was off the scale. To sum up: Operation Gravestone had been a success beyond anyone's expectations, several arms pipelines out of several nations had been shut down, and the ramifications were going to be felt over the entire region, and perhaps the Eurasian and African continents.

But for Laura, the best part was the almost-afterthought at the end of the report. The mercenaries that had broken under 'enhanced interrogation' had led them to financial information that traced with remarkable openness right back to Henry R. Wargrave. And the FBI would be picking up the trail as it came into the USA.

The first text that came through to Laura's CIA phone was from Jack Muscone, which read "We've got enough to go public." The second text was from the CIA Director himself, which simply said "Congratulations."

There was a knock on the door, and to Laura's surprise, Dr. Casey B. Walker of Counterintelligence came in. "May I speak with you for a moment?" he asked.

"Certainly." Laura said. Dr. Walker came in and sat down in a chair next to Laura so that they would not have to speak loudly.

"We've put an operation together." said Walker. "That agent your husband thought was compromised... he was right. This agent was a liaison to Corrigan's rogue group. He's actually with another cell of agents that may have been playing a similar game to Corrigan, but over in Europe. They may be aiding radical Islamists to filter into Italy, France and Germany. We're going to first try to get this group's contacts, then we'll shut them down. Not your area of operations, but since he did have contacts with Corrigan, you might hear of them from time to time."

"Thank you for telling me." Laura said.

Dr. Walker got up to go. "By the way, how did your husband know to tell us to look at those guys? We might never have thought to look for this, otherwise."

"Yes." Laura said, knowing this was the real reason Dr. Walker had come to speak with her. "I don't know how my husband knew, nor how he does what he does. He sees things. I think it's harder for him to try to explain it than for him to just know."

"I see." Walker said. "Our old mother, I don't think she's over him knowing her name even now. If he weren't your husband..."

"Believe me, I know." Laura said,. "I am pissed that he did that, and I gave him a stern talking-to about it."

"Oh, she needed that shakeup." Walker said. "Just between you and me, Laura, she's been a bit too full of herself for a while now. Your husband brought her down a notch, made her realize that she's not invulnerable. She did say we ought to bring your husband into the Company. Why haven't you brought him in yet?"

"It hasn't been for a lack of trying." Laura said. "But he's doing more good where he is, he wants no part of the Company, and I think he only tolerates my continued service here."

Walker peered at Laura. "And to whom do your loyalties lie, Dr. Fredricson?"

Laura stood up and looked Walker straight in the eye. "With my husband, Dr. Walker. I've said it before, and to again be very clear: if I'm ever forced to choose between my husband and the CIA, I will choose my husband. He and my children come first."

Walker nodded. "Thank you for your candor, Dr. Fredricson. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon. Have a safe trip home." He went towards the door, but then turned back. "Oh, don't worry... you'll be allowed to retire from the Company, and rightly so after your stellar record of service with us. But we need you too much: you're not going anywhere until Superior Bloodlines and the Oldeeds Organization are destroyed."

With that, he turned and left the room, not looking back at her.

Well, thought Laura to herself, cancel my vacation plans for this summer...

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

It was after dark at the home of Dr. Sidney P. Wellman, the University President's House. Having dinner with Dr. Wellman was Henry R. Wargrave and Austin R. Murphy. The fourth in their group was U.S. Army Major Douglas Williams, currently assigned to the University's ROTC program.

The discussion had been lighthearted as they moved into the study. One would not know that Henry R. Wargrave was under pressures of a level that could forge diamonds out of carbon rock. He hid well his knowledge of the interdiction of multiple arms trafficking pipes, and the inevitable links that would come back to him.

None of that mattered; at the moment, he could concentrate on the present. ROTC recruiting was doing fairly well, and the Major was an avid football fan and so able to talk with Wargrave about that subject. Wargrave had also given Wellman the information he needed to run the charitable trusts that would continue to fund University projects, no matter what happened to Wargrave.

"Well, gentlemen," said Wellman after they had been chatting about women and sipping very fine single malt Scotch, from the bottle that the Iron Crowbar had presented to Wargrave after the death of Senator Nathan Allen, no less, "Nature is calling, and I'm too old to resist. Excuse me for just a moment." Wellman left the room for the bathroom. Murphy also excused himself to find a bathroom, leaving Wargrave standing to refill his drink.

The Major stepped over to him, so that he could speak quietly, and said "Henry, I have some bad news from the Middle East. They got Bugs."

The shock sent Wargrave reeling. He felt his legs weakening, and reached back to sit in the chair.

"Oh my God." Wargrave said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir." said Major Williams, sitting down next to Wargrave. "His group was ambushed. He fought savagely and was badly wounded. When he went down, his people thought he was dead, so they didn't deliver a coup de grâce shot. Idiots. And they gave up like pussies when they thought he was down."

Wargrave gulped down his drink. "What... what happened?"


"Bugs died well." said the Major. "They... interrogated him, but he did not break. He bled out and died. The others in his group... they sang like canaries. Gave up everything they knew, and that led the bastards to take down three pipelines, which led to more until a cascading effect happened. We're almost completely wiped out. Everything you built over there is gone. Destroyed."

"Oh my God, they let Bugs be captured alive. Damn those fools!" Wargrave said, not caring a whit about the rest of it. "Bugs... was a man of courage." Wargrave filled his glass and also gave the Major some more. "A toast...to Bugs Nelson." They clinked glasses. The Major sipped; Wargrave downed his glass in one shot.

Wargrave sat silently. His already unappeasable hatred for Laura Fredricson grew even more. He would let her children live; they were innocent. But her husband wasn't. How to harm her... through him. Yesssss, he thought to himself. That is what I have to do. Make her feel the pain... through her husband.

Some moments later, after the group was reassembled, they began making their goodbyes. Dr. Wellman asked Wargrave to stay a moment.

Once alone,Wargrave asked "What's the matter, Henry? What did Williams tell you?"

Wargrave said "He told me that my buddy, 'Bugs Meany', was captured and later died."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Wellman said. "I didn't know that, but I have learned some things I need to share with you. First, I know you've heard the pipelines over there have been destroyed. What you may not know is that the CIA really worked over everyone they captured. They're not playing around, and they've even risked an international incident to do this."

Wellman continued: "They've got names, financial pipelines, and evidence leading back to six smuggling operations... including Sergei Molotov in some of the former Soviet Republics over there, Juan Gomez of the old Kurchikov ring... and you, Henry."

"Yes." Wargrave said. "I know they're starting to come back to me. And that's why I've made sure to wrap up everything I'm doing with the University. The money from the trusts will keep coming; they can't touch that. The rest of it... will take care of itself. I've been in worse spots."

"What are you going to do?" Wellman asked, peering at Wargrave.

"I... well, let's just say I have some bolt holes to run to." said Wargrave. "It would be best if you don't know anything, that you have 'plausible deniability'."

Wellman nodded as he poured more Scotch for both of them. "Well, don't you worry about that. Nobody's going to touch me, not even the Iron Crowbar. I've got too many aces up my sleeves to let that young whippersnapper touch me."

Wargrave was not really listening. After a few moments of silence, he said "Sidney, what I don't understand... is the betrayal. Why am I being let go? Why am I being fed to the dogs?"

Wellman said "All I can say, Henry... is that you must've stepped on some toes, somewhere."

Wargrave nodded. "Thank you for a good evening, Sidney." He stood up. "I think this is likely the last time you and I will be meeting here. Give my love to Sally. I hope things will go well for you and the University, and that you'll get some benefactors to replace me. And maybe, just maybe, we'll beat those God-damned Wildcats this year."

Wellman gave his sinister smile at Wargrave's last comment. "I certainly hope so, Henry. Give my love to your wife... and take of yourself, my friend."

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

It was very late Sunday night, and he was tired. But he still had work to do.

Once his guests for the evening were gone, he set about finishing his 'chores'. He drove the car he only drove for this purpose to a remote location near Ronald Reagan Park. Parking in the darkness of a copse of trees, he powered up his 'pink' burner phone. He downloaded the text messages, then used a disconnected iPhone to photograph the coded texts. He shut down the burner phone, put it back in its shielded box, and drove home.

Once in his office at home, he typed in the codes into a special app on his iPad, which was not connected to the Internet or anything else. This app had a large number of books digitally stored. The message had been coded by the sender using the app, by taking one or more of the books and substituting the word's location in the book. The coded message was then sent to the burner phone number. It decoded the same way in reverse. It was a modern, digital use of method used in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 'The Valley of Fear' by the legendary spy Porlock.

He typed in the password to access the app. The password was "Reichenbach".

Decoded, the messages read:

IC gave Sharples Oldeeds child trafficking case.

IC not looking into Scorpion file case.

IC understands Morris murder real motive.

IC2 searching for Widow Athena Jones.

He re-read the messages, letting his great mind think about their ramifications. 'IC2' was Captain Cindy Ross, who was not only the Iron Crowbar's capable assistant, but was someone who could seriously inconvenience him even without the Iron Crowbar's help. Now, just who was this 'Widow Athena Jones'? he thought to himself.

Yes, he needed to take care of these crowbar-wielding cops. But he had too much to do. The Wargrave investigation was just exploding. He had to protect Superior Bloodlines from any Wargrave fallout, which would be easy enough to do. But most importantly, he had to protect the Oldeeds Organization. And that God-cursed Iron Crowbar, he was a smart, smart man. Giving Sharples that case. Damn, that was a stroke, a brilliant stroke. Something worthy of even me, he thought to himself.

It was past his bedtime. He turned off the computers and the lights, and headed for bed, having a nightcap of a rare and expensive sherry...

Part 21 - The Scorpion's Fatal Sting

"This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Channel Two News!" yelled the lovely redheaded reporter at 7:00am Wednesday morning, May 20th. She was standing on University Avenue, with the University's Bell Tower in the background. The MCD Room was packed with Detectives, Uniformed Officers, and of course Your Iron Crowbar, having brought in five full gallons of coffee for the anticipated crowd. I take care of my people.

"Channel Two News is continuing its extensive coverage of the FBI's statement last night that they were opening a criminal investigation of billionaire Henry R. Wargrave, a Trustee of the University here in Town. This was the statement of Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone of the FBI last night."

A video clip was played, showing Jack Muscone at a podium at the Federal Building in the City. He said "We are initiating an investigation of Henry R. Wargrave of this City, for involvement in both domestic and international gun trafficking, smuggling, money laundering, and other crimes associated with these charges. We are hoping that Mr. Wargrave will cooperate with us in this investigation, and that we can bring it to a successful conclusion as quickly as possible. I will not be taking questions at this time. There will be a press conference at FBI Headquarters in Washington. Thank you." With that, the clip ended.