Chapter 40: Retribution!

All those who I had requested to be present in the conference room had assembled ten minutes after Randy informed me that Mike had returned to the Caribbean. I asked Randy to repeat his earlier statement for the benefit of the others.

Scotty led off the questions by asking, “Where is the traitor, Randy?”

“Haiti, as far as my sources can tell,” Randy said. “They’re not sure exactly where in the country yet, but they’re working on tracking him down.”

“What’s the plan?” Andi asked, “Are we going to snatch him, or are we going to just kill him?”

“I hope that we can snatch him, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s just a drone who carried out the bidding of others. I want to get to those ‘others’, if possible. They’re the ones who really need to be held accountable,” I answered.

That revelation only made the others more agreeable to snatching Mike, though it also sparked some grumbling.

“No one said that he had to be in perfect health,” I added. “He could be slightly damaged upon delivery; no one specified that he had to be in perfect condition. I’m sure that he’ll resist being taken, after all.”

I saw the ‘Twins’ exchange an evil grin after I said that. It sent shivers down my spine. The thought of those two paying special attention to someone isn’t something that I’d recommend for maintaining one’s health.

“I want you all to focus on what equipment we’ll need until Randy’s contacts provide the information on Mike’s whereabouts, as well as the plans for entering Haiti and getting us out of there quickly and safely. Those are your top priorities. Share any exorbitant costs involved with Andi, and we’ll discuss it,” I said.

I called an end to our meeting, and everyone got to work. They began reaching out to sources for equipment and transportation. I contacted my FBI contact about Mike’s case, only to be told that it wasn’t an active case on their books, he hadn’t even heard of it. ‘Interesting’, I thought. He referred me to a contact at the U.S. Marshals’ office, but I received the same response. Getting frustrated by the minute, I decided to call the President’s Chief of Staff to ask what was going on. I finally got a straight answer after much beating around the bush. Mike’s status as a traitor was such an embarrassment to the CIA and the military that his capture was to remain an in-house matter. Any reward for his capture would come from them. Mike would simply disappear if we captured him and turned him over to the CIA, ensuring no further embarrassment to the current administration.

I called another meeting in the conference room the next day, and asked for updates from those in attendance. One of the ‘Mountains’ mentioned that he was working on arranging a flight from a private airfield on the Dominican Republic side of the island. All we had to do was get across the border, and it would be a short flight to a friendly island republic where we could turn Mike over to the US Government. I then briefed the others on what I had learned from my phone conversations. There was a consensus of disgust when I reported that he would end up with the CIA if we snatched him, and simply disappear to save face for the agency and the administration. I also shared my theory that Mike might be acting as a pawn for a more powerful organization. I suggested that we could snatch him, force him to talk, and right some past wrongs. That idea resonated with everyone. It became our goal.

I asked the others what they thought about us buying a remote property somewhere in Maryland or Virginia to keep Mike under wraps. I suggested finding a property less than 100 miles from Washington, preferably in the mountains, far from any towns or neighbors. I mentioned that I planned to check out Harpers Ferry that weekend. Randy volunteered to look southwest of Washington in Virginia to see if he could find anything available. I did remind them to keep it as basic as possible, it wasn’t meant to be a vacation getaway. That got a chuckle from everyone. I then gave them the maximum amount I was willing to pay for the ideal location, and asked that they clear it with me before they made any offers. I didn’t want to suddenly end up paying for two places. Our business was doing well enough that we could cover the property out of company reserves without needing to worry about getting a mortgage.

Team members went out in pairs for several days to see if they could find something that would work for us. They found several locations that came close, but didn’t meet all the requirements that we were looking for. I loaded up the family that weekend, and we headed up to Harpers Ferry. There were plenty of weekend retreats owned by families from Washington along the hillsides of the Potomac River Valley, frequently used on weekends. The retreats were empty during the week, however. This would be the perfect environment to stash Mike. I was driving along a county highway that ran parallel to the canal and the Potomac River when I rounded a bend and spotted a sign that I would have missed had I not been looking for it.

The sign simply read ‘For Sale by Owner’ and included a phone number, nothing more. I stopped, then backed up until I could make the sharp turn into the drive. The drive was steep and overgrown with weeds. It had been a while since anyone had been there judging by its condition. I parked the Vanagon and set the emergency brake; there was no reason to risk it rolling back into the canal. Andi and I got out and hiked up the steep drive toward the house, which we hadn’t yet seen. The drive itself was a series of switchbacks to navigate the cliff face.

When we finally reached the top, I was surprised by what we found. Several buildings were in dire need of repair. While none appeared to be in danger of collapsing, the property would require a new roof, fresh paint, and general maintenance. Among the buildings were a shed large enough to fit at least two vehicles, a utility structure sizable enough to be considered a shed, and what I assumed was a caretaker’s cottage.

The main house appeared to be a three-bedroom, two-story structure made of native stone and logs. Based on its condition and style, I guessed that it had been built around World War I. I walked over to the house and peeked through a window of what seemed to be the kitchen. I saw vertical knotty pine paneling on the walls inside. The house looked dry and secure. I liked what we found, and I was sure that Andi felt the same way.

As I stood there, I thought that this place would be perfect for company retreats and family gatherings once we were done with Mike. I suspected that Andi was thinking the same thing because she smiled as she looked through the window. She turned and began following me back down the hill to the van.

I asked Andi, “What do you think? Does this place have potential for what we need?” when we got back to the van.

Andi replied, “The cluster of buildings would work perfectly. I could see company get-togethers and special events being held here. Employees could even use it as a weekend getaway. Put mine in the ‘yes’ column if you’re taking a vote.”

Karen, confused by the purpose of our drive, began to grow agitated. I promised her that there would be no more secrets. I then explained everything about Mike, the CIA, and the threat that we still faced in Washington, DC. I expected her to say enough was enough, tell me to sell the house, and that we were moving back to Chicago. She said it sounded like a good idea and supported my plans instead. Her agreement left me dumbfounded. I think that Andi was surprised too. She didn’t say a word and just kept looking out the window as we began the long drive back to Alexandria.

I called a general meeting in the conference room of everyone in the office for 10 AM Monday morning. I didn’t want to tip anyone off about Mike; I just wanted their approval to purchase a property that could be used for seminars, in-house training sessions, social outings, and the occasional weekend getaway for employees and their families.

I told them that we had come across the place by chance while out on a family outing the day before. I said that Andi and I had walked the property and were impressed with what it had to offer. I did caution everyone that the property had been sitting unused for a while and would need a good amount of fixing up.

I had everyone’s interest so far. There were questions I couldn’t answer, of course. I asked if anyone had objections to me calling the listed number to inquire about the property. There were no objections, in fact, it was quite the opposite. Everyone was gung-ho and eager to begin the cleanup process. I ended the meeting and went to call the property owner or representative.

I called the number, unsure of what to expect from the person who would answer. A voice with a very formal British accent picked up. I would guess that the speaker had been educated at one of the domestic service schools run by placement agencies, based on our year in the United Kingdom. I briefly explained the reason for my call and was asked to hold for his employer. An elderly woman came on the line a few minutes later.

I introduced myself to the elderly woman, and explained the purpose of my call. She was pleasant to talk to and had answers to all my questions. I asked how many acres were included with the property, and she said, “Fifteen acres, more or less.” She said there was a well and three natural springs on the land when I asked about the water source. A septic system handled waste.

She told me there were two houses on the property, one for the family and another for a live-in caretaker. There were also several outbuildings, a swimming pool, and a tennis court. She admitted the pool and tennis court would probably need significant work to become usable again.

I told her I was still interested and asked for the asking price. She hesitated, then admitted the property was about to go into foreclosure. Her husband had passed away several years earlier, and she confessed that she hadn’t been a very good money manager. I told her that we could work something out, something that would settle her debt and still leave her with money to live on. I think she started to cry at that suggestion.

I asked for the asking price again. It was so low when she told me that I had to ask her to repeat it. It didn’t take a financial expert to see that the group holding her mortgage stood to make a large profit if she defaulted. That realization only made me angrier. I told her that I’d call back with an offer shortly.

I immediately called a general office meeting and informed the others what I had found about the situation with the property. They were as angry as I had been when I discovered what the loan holders were attempting to do. I then gave them a complete description of the property and asked everyone what they felt would be a reasonable offer. Almost everyone was in close agreement on the dollar amount that we believed the property was worth. We agreed that this would be the price we would offer.

I called the woman back and told her that we had a more reasonable offer for her, with one additional condition. I could hear in her voice that she suspected we might try to take advantage of her, but her tone quickly changed once I explained our offer.

We offered her $750,000 for the property, $225,000 of which would go toward paying off her loan. We also assured her that we would accompany her when she settled the debt to ensure that it was paid before the deadline, and to prevent any funny business by the loan holder. I would personally make sure that the debt was cleared and properly recorded as settled. Both the ‘Twin Mountains’ agreed to come with us when the time came.

Dr. Frisch agreed to act as her attorney in the matter, as he held a law degree and was licensed to practice in Washington, DC, Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, and several other states. The payment to the debt holder would be made via direct wire transfer, eliminating any doubt about the availability of funds to satisfy the debt. Dr. Frisch would ensure all paperwork was in proper order, while the ‘Twin Mountains’ and I would attend as concerned friends of the family.

The appointment unfolded just as I had feared. The loan officer threw every trick and excuse in the book at us, desperate to avoid accepting the payment. Dr. Frisch, sharp and unyielding, unleashed a barrage of legal threats, citing cases and statutes so precise that they left the officer no choice but to back down. Still, it was the cold, piercing stares from both the ‘Twin Mountains’ that truly sealed the deal, an unspoken warning that pushed him over the edge.

We waited for the loan holder to provide the woman with a hard copy proving that the loan had been canceled once we received confirmation that the funds had successfully transferred. Dr. Frisch sharply then reminded the loan officer that his institution had 48 hours to notify the county clerk of the debt’s satisfaction or face the court’s demanding an explanation.

We walked out with a visibly relieved woman, finally freed from a major burden weighing on her shoulders. We headed to a law office recommended by Dr. Frisch to complete the closing on the property from there. We received the deed, the previous owner received a generous cash settlement, and we promised to check in on her from time to time to make sure that she was doing well.

The corporation took possession of the property deed to maintain a layer of privacy and protect our individual interests, instead of assigning it to any of us personally. This arrangement ensured that ownership was collectively shared among us, keeping the property under the corporation’s name and shielding it from any direct personal ties or liabilities.

Everyone in the corporation and their families gathered at our new retreat center and ‘playground’ the weekend following the closing. It was the first opportunity any of us had to explore the interiors of both houses. It quickly became clear that extensive work would be required before either could be made truly habitable again.

We decided to make a list of tasks that we could handle ourselves to save money on the restoration, and those that we’d need to outsource to contractors. Projects like painting and minor plumbing seemed manageable and would help us cut costs. On the other hand, amenities like the swimming pool and tennis court, while nice to have, were moved to the end of the priority list, scheduled for completion only after the main restoration work was finished.

The women in our extended corporate family offered to help with painting and cleaning the interiors, and Grandma Jorgensen volunteered to handle some basic landscaping. She planned to plant flowers and greenery to make the place look more welcoming.

Meanwhile, those of us involved in taking down Mike, the traitor, started planning where we would stash him.

My original idea was to convert the caretaker’s cottage into a holding pen, but others disagreed. They believed that the cottage would make an ideal weekend retreat for anyone wanting to escape to the property.

Scotty came up with a brilliant alternative after a trip to one of the big-box stores in Frederick, Maryland. The store sold a prefabricated shed about the size of a small summer camp cottage. We realized we could buy one, assemble it ourselves, and then finish it with insulation, plumbing, and electrical work to make it fully habitable.

We estimated that we could build a livable space, with power, water, and sanitation, for around fifty thousand dollars by providing 100% of the labor ourselves. It wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be functional and comfortable.

We outsourced some of the basic tasks to prepare the property. We hired a landscaping company to bushhog, mow, and grade the lane leading up to the property. They also cleared overgrown areas and removed trees and bushes that had seen better days. Grandma Jorgensen marked the trees she thought should be taken down and had them prepare flower beds around the buildings so she could begin planting.

They also tilled a small garden plot so we could grow fresh vegetables for the coming year. Grandma loved being outdoors and returning to the country seemed to energize her, making her look and feel younger than her years, which she still stubbornly refused to reveal.

Two of the outbuildings were in such poor condition that we decided needed to come down for safety reasons. We contracted that work out as well. Both main houses received a thorough interior cleaning, followed by a fresh coat of paint in what I was told were pastel shades the women described as ‘calming’. I think the men had no strong opinions on the matter and simply let the women handle it.

I knew that we’d eventually face a significant cash outlay to furnish both houses and that wouldn’t come cheap.

While the women took charge of their tasks, the men involved in our operation, code-named ‘Get Mike’, went to check out the sheds at the big-box store. We settled on a single-story floor plan, roughly 600 square feet, the footprint of a typical two-car garage. The layout resembled a studio apartment, featuring an open floor plan with a partitioned bathroom.

We arranged to have water, sanitation, and electrical lines run to the building site we had selected, intentionally set well apart from the rest of the compound, before construction began. We opted for a crawl space foundation instead of a concrete slab since we were doing the work ourselves. It was cheaper and easier for us to manage long-term. The only real concern was the risk of frozen pipes in winter, which we hoped to avoid by thoroughly insulating the crawl space.

We poured the footings for the foundation over the next several weekends. We heavily relied on instructional books that we picked up at the store and borrowed from local libraries. The construction wasn’t overly difficult, and the shed was completed in six weeks. We painted the siding a dark earth tone to help it blend into the wooded surroundings. It wasn’t perfect, but it was livable.

The only thing left was constructing the high-fenced enclosure we planned to use to contain Mike. Scotty knew a couple of former Navy Seabees he trusted, and he brought them in to dig the footings for the perimeter fence and to set the twenty-foot poles. These would support both the chain-link fencing and the overhead netting.

Mike would have a modest setup once finished: a 600-square-foot cabin to live in, and a 3,600-square-foot yard to exercise in. It wasn’t a Caribbean estate, but it was comfortable enough. We’d simply remind him that he was still alive, then ask him where he thought he’d be if we’d handed him over to the CIA, if he complained.

it was time to retrieve our prisoner now that we had the confinement area built. We tracked Mike’s whereabouts thanks to our sources. He was staying in Haiti, though he made several trips to Cuba. The only reason that I could think of for his trips to Cuba was that he was in contact with Soviet intelligence. There would be no need for the cabin we’d constructed if that was true, he’d be a dead man.

Our intelligence sources revealed that Mike was staying at a guarded villa in the hills outside Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The roads leading up to the villa were heavily secured, with several checkpoints manned by either National Police or private security forces. Each villa also had its own security detail, consisting of off-duty soldiers and police officers. These units were well-trained and heavily armed.

This made snatching him from the villa and making a run for the Dominican Republic border, over six hours away, a nearly impossible task. Getting him out of the country would have to be by air or by sea.

Randy suggested that our sources observe Mike’s routines and identify any regular locations that he visited, where we might be able to grab him, but that would take time.

It would have to be business as usual in the office for us until we received the information from the sources Randy trusted. We still needed to pay the bills and keep the lights on. Our Japanese contracts had proven to be very lucrative. It seemed that all the major Japanese car manufacturers, and a few other Asian companies, were eager for our services.

The data that we provided was invaluable to them, helping them navigate their home markets, secure funding, deal with their Boards of Directors, and cut through the miles of red tape put forth by both the US Government and their own governments. Doing business with the US turned out to be highly profitable despite the cultural differences, complex regulations, and taxes. They gladly wrote the checks, and we happily cashed them, depositing the money into our accounts.

Our other business, focused on conducting Defense Department security audits for contractors, had seen a significant decline in recent months. There were rumors that US government defense spending was slowing down, and our main source of income was drying up as a result. Contractors were laying workers off as defense contracts were canceled, and the need for audits was disappearing as well with that.

We would need to find new revenue streams for our security team. The idea of branching into personal protection and plant security didn’t appeal to me. Not only was it outside our expertise, but it also had the potential to be dangerous for our people. I quickly vetoed that idea with the team’s support.

One area that I thought we could investigate was plant security and protection from industrial espionage. There was significant new investment in technology in the automotive industry, as well as the rise of new startup businesses in the Bay Area of Northern California, outside of San Francisco. The area, known as Silicon Valley due to its concentration of tech startups, seemed like a promising opportunity.

We’d either need to establish a satellite office there, or potentially move the entire operation, if business proved as lucrative as I anticipated. I wasn’t keen on relocating to California, especially since we had all settled in DC, but I was hopeful that we could hire some recently retired Special Forces operators who’d be willing to relocate if needed. This was something that I planned to bring up at the next team meeting.

Randy came back to my cubicle, grinning, a couple of weeks after we finished building the confinement pen at the retreat. Mike had a regular routine wherein he’d go gamble at a casino in Port-au-Prince. The good news was that there was only one road down the hillside that a car could take. We could set an ambush, grab Mike, and whisk him out of the country.

I smiled at Randy and told him to go for it. We’d need maps and photos of the road to identify the perfect spot for the ambush. I asked him and Scotty to plan it since they were the experts. We’d call a strategy meeting to review our options once they were ready.

Scotty and Randy came to me two days later, both smiling from ear to ear.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” I said, “What did you two come up with?”

Scotty and Randy glanced at each other, then Randy said, “We found a great spot to set up the ambush. The only problem is figuring out how to stop the car.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “How about a spike strip, like the cops use to stop bad guys?”

Scotty and Randy looked slightly embarrassed by my suggestion. They were the experts, and I was the rookie.

“I’m sure that you guys would have thought of that as you came up with the rest of the plan, after all, right?” I added, “That’s why you’re paid the big bucks to create trouble and mayhem.”

All we had to do now was put the logistics together and assemble the team. The team was the easy part; it would be Scotty, Randy, Andi, the ‘Twin Mountains’, and me. I knew that in my case, I’d need to get back to my fighting weight, which meant starting to run again and spending time in the gym. It had been a while, and I wanted to be in my best condition. I planned to visit a local gym and work out at noon every day to get back in shape until we left for Haiti.

The logistics turned out to be more difficult than we had initially imagined. First, we needed to be armed, and the weapon of choice was the AK-47, most likely sourced locally through Cuba. We would each need a Makarov pistol, and a spare magazine, to go along with long guns. That part was covered since I still had the ones we’d used during the Russian mission, along with those that I’d acquired from the General and his men.

The ‘Twin Mountains’ managed to strike a deal with an arms trader from South America who owed them a favor. We secured a case of rifles and 5,000 rounds of ammunition for $1,200. The trader was off the hook with the ‘Twin Mountains’, and we now had ten AK-47 rifles and 5,000 rounds for a ridiculously low price. The team checked the rifles to ensure that they were in working condition and confirmed that the ammo was high-quality.

I was told that the trader had treated us fairly. The rifles and ammunition were all Russian-made, not cheap knockoffs from some third-world manufacturer. The case the rifles came in was marked in Cyrillic, originally destined for Cuba, but we somehow ended up with it. One of the others joked that it must have “fallen off the back of the truck,” which explained the bargain price.

Scotty did his part by securing our transportation to and from Haiti. We would fly down to Florida and take a charter out of the Florida Keys. The charter was run by an old SEAL friend of his, who was more than willing to help capture a traitor like Mike. Our boat in and out of Port-au-Prince would be a Zodiac which we were all familiar with. Scotty managed to acquire a specialized model that had originally been intended for the Coast Guard. It had somehow gotten ‘lost in shipment’, and we would be borrowing it while the Coast Guard and the shipping company tried to sort out its whereabouts. The Zodiac was fitted with an outboard engine capable of reaching speeds up to 15 knots.

Our team practiced the following weekend until we could execute the takedown in our sleep. The plan was simple; we would deploy the spike strip when the car carrying Mike slowed down to make the sharp turn. Team members would rush in and neutralize any security Mike had as soon as the car came to a stop. The rest of the team would keep watch over both the uphill and downhill stretches of the road for any approaching vehicles while this was happenings. We were to engage any other cars that appeared, and the team assaulting the car would shift from attempting to snatch Mike to actually terminating him. The drive up the hill to the retreat was the perfect location for repeated run-throughs. We practiced for every possible scenario that could arise. Scotty and Randy finally declared us ready, and the ‘Twin Mountains’ agreed.

The Twin Mountains drove straight through to Key West Sunday evening. The panel van they were driving carried our mission equipment. It would take them almost a day and a half to reach Key West. The rest of us would fly out Tuesday morning. We told the rest of the office that we’d be out on the West Coast for a presentation to a potential client. That was the same story that we used with our wives and families. Randy and I told Karen and Olive that we’d be out on the West Coast, meeting with a startup company south and east of San Francisco. We’d be back late Friday afternoon if everything went according to plan. I’m not sure whether or not Karen bought it; she didn’t give me that look she usually did when she knew that I was lying.

We drove up to Baltimore International Airport instead of flying out of National or Dulles, and flew to Key West from there. The ‘Twin Mountains’ were waiting for us when we landed, along with a rather scruffy-looking man wearing a Commodore’s sailing cap that had clearly seen better days. Scotty approached him, gave him a friendly hug, and then introduced the rest of us to his old SEAL Team member and the owner of the boat we would be using.

We were aboard a cabin cruiser, making our way across the Caribbean to Port-au-Prince, Haiti, an hour after we landed at Key West Airport. The boat would need to make a couple of fuel stops on the way to and from Haiti, but it was a better travel method than flying. We could slip in and out of Haiti without raising too much alarm. The military types were constantly poring over the charts and maps, double-checking the routes to the ambush site. We all took the opportunity to check our rifles, firing a couple of magazines to reacquaint ourselves with the AKs once we were clear of land and shipping lanes.

We made two fuel stops on the way to Port-au-Prince, the first being at Georgetown, Bahamas. We kept the stop short and took on fuel. None of us, other than the boat’s captain, went ashore. We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves, so we stayed on board and kept reviewing our plan of action for snatching Mike. All of us spent a great deal of time below deck going over the AKs we had, making sure that they wouldn’t let us down if we needed them. We tried to grab a nap whenever possible when we weren’t reviewing our plans or equipment.

We stopped at the Turks and Caicos Islands a full day later, where everyone went ashore to stock up on provisions. Fresh fruits and vegetables were abundant and affordable, along with an impressive selection of fresh seafood. It was a surprise to discover that Scotty was a decent cook in the galley, especially since Andi admitted that she had a reputation for burning water. We left the marina once we were fully provisioned and fueled, and began our slow journey toward Port-au-Prince, Haiti.