Chapter 5: Becoming a Family Again

I had only been back a short time, yet I was already assessing where Mercer, Frisch, & Associates stood as a company. What better way to find out than by speaking directly with the people involved in its day-to-day operations? That was what motivated me to interview everyone who had helped found Mercer, Frisch, & Associates with me...

It was enlightening to hear the perspectives of those who started and shaped the company into what it had become regarding the firm’s performance to date, and the course corrections needed to improve both profitability and our reputation within Washington’s intelligence community. The consensus was clear; numerical analysis had long been our bread and butter, but it had become routine and uninspiring. Worse, competing firms in the area were offering similar services and their client rosters were expanding. We were all fighting for ever-smaller slices of a fixed pie.

Everyone agreed that we needed to look beyond our usual business model and capitalize on emerging needs, both domestic and foreign. I had extensive contacts in the Middle East where I could promote our new services to trusted allies. Those in power were always searching for ways to gain an edge over rival nations in the ever-expanding petroleum market.

Another promising avenue was the former Eastern Bloc, where countries were racing to ‘Westernize’ at breakneck speed. They were discarding outdated Soviet equipment and methods, embracing Western technologies, and modeling themselves after what they viewed as the more powerful United States.

The newest services Mercer, Frisch, & Associates would be introducing were security and executive protection. Many highly trained professionals were moving into the private sector due to recent changes in the executive branch. Those of us with experience in that field quickly recognized the potential and brought it to the team’s attention. It didn’t take much to persuade them, particularly Andi and Johannes Frisch, of its profitability from my experience while I was on my Middle East walkabout. The initiative was quickly approved, and clients in Washington, DC, and beyond almost immediately embraced the service. Two of our team members immediately started interviewing potential independent subcontractors to operate under the Mercer, Frisch, & Associates banner.

I carefully listened to ideas others proposed for potential expansion. While I dismissed most as either impractical or too narrow in scope, two stood out, especially when paired with our executive protection services; providing trusted foreign-language interpreters, and offering intensive crash courses in cultural awareness.

I saw firsthand how poorly many Americans navigated foreign cultures during my time in the Middle East. They too often came across as loud, obnoxious, and disrespectful. I went out of my way, more than once, to avoid American oil executives who had flown in to negotiate with Middle Eastern suppliers. They projected arrogance, rudeness, dismissiveness, and were convinced of their own superiority over their hosts. It frankly was embarrassing, and they had no one to blame but themselves when they returned to the United States empty-handed, or with deals far less favorable than expected and desired.

I returned to the motel and packed my things that evening. I planned to check out in the morning and look for an extended-stay option nearby so I could remain in the area while re-assimilating into the DC culture. I chose a well-known 24/7 chain restaurant for dinner, a decision that I would come to regret later that night.

The rest of the evening was spent making phone calls to people who I needed to reconnect with. I briefly spoke with Karen, nothing of consequence, mostly listening as she shared the cute things the girls had done that day. A realization unsettled me after hanging up. Time away from the women in my life had hardened my heart. I feared that I was becoming like my mother, and that terrified me. I knew that it was something I’d need to face with a professional if I hoped to overcome it.

One of my other calls was to a man I’d met while working at the Pentagon. I wouldn’t call him a friend, more of a cordial acquaintance. He worked in the intelligence community, and though he never admitted it, I strongly suspected that he was the kind of person the government might call on to make someone disappear, or die under circumstances that looked perfectly natural. He took a liking to me for reasons I never quite understood, and we occasionally had lunch together. I noticed that others tended to avoid our table when he was around. I had no trouble finding company when he wasn’t.

I called him just to check in. It had been nearly a year since we’d last spoken. You never know when someone with his particular talents might come in handy. I brought him up to speed on what I’d been doing, though he seemed to already know most of it from television or from being in-country when I was.

We talked shop for about twenty minutes. He complimented me at one point on how I’d handled ‘the weasels’, his nickname for the pair who had nearly wrecked my marriage. I played it cool, pretending that I didn’t know what he meant.

“I know you were involved, at least in the planning, James. I’ve followed your career since you came to Washington. This was a professional job start to finish. It has your signature, thorough, logical, meticulously planned. The chemical cocktail? Pure genius. Those two will remain in a vegetative state for a long time. Clean, precise, and above all, it sends a clear message that you don’t mess with James Mercer, his family, or his friends. Cross that line, and you’ll face the most dire consequences.”

We said our goodbyes shortly after, but he warned me to watch my back; the Madison clan wasn’t finished before hanging up. They were hell-bent on revenge, 99% certain that I was behind the assassination of their patriarch, Robert Jackson Lee Madison. This wasn’t business, it was personal, and they wouldn’t stop until I was gone. I assured him that I’d be careful and that we’d speak again soon.

I called Karen before work the next morning, and asked her to take our daughters to the park a few blocks from home. I told her that I’d meet them there so we could spend a couple of hours together as a family. She was thrilled and immediately agreed. I ended the call after setting a time for the afternoon, and headed to the office.

I was greeted by the usually cheerful Molly instead of ‘Miss Grumpy’. She handed me a couple of messages to return and mentioned that a man who had made her uneasy had stopped by and left a number. It sounded like my ‘friend’ wanted to reconnect.

The office was in full swing by the time I finished my calls. Both of the ‘Twin Mountains’ were in for once, and I received a warm welcome from the company’s ‘enforcers’. They were teddy bears until there was a threat, then they became the kind of people who you didn’t want to meet. They had both married Karen’s distant cousins, and were now well within the Jorgenson sphere of influence.

Todd didn’t last two weeks after his now-infamous ‘Never Him’ speech. He met a distant Jorgenson cousin and fell hard while we were all in North Dakota for John’s and Elaine’s wedding. He didn’t even make it through the weekend. It was love at first sight. He was back in the office, already married, by Monday. A Justice of the Peace, also a Jorgenson, had performed the ceremony.

Elaine’s prediction held true; the Mercer Group had officially become the Jorgenson clan, East Coast Division. Todd endured plenty of teasing, though he had it coming.

The Board spent most of the morning reviewing the performance of our executive protection subsidiary and going over our client roster. I was surprised by how many former Secret Service agents and Special Forces operators were on our staff. We had a solid team of muscle to call on if needed.

Our clients in this specialty were mostly longtime, repeat customers. Other clients came by referral, as we didn’t publicly advertise this service. The majority of them were from the Middle East or conducted business there.

I asked Molly to book me a room at a nearby extended-stay motel after my meeting with the ‘Twin Mountains’. She looked up and gave me a sharp, disapproving glare.

I softly replied, “Healing takes time.”

She nodded and got to work. I headed out to grab lunch as noon approached, before meeting Karen and our twins at the playground.

I hadn’t spoken to Andi one-on-one yet, but planned to do so the next day. Karen’s comment, that I needed to talk to Andi, worried me. I had no idea where that conversation might lead. My imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios that hardly cast me as a saint.

I set out in search of a Mexican food truck at noon, there were plenty around DC. I spotted a familiar one parked at a big-box store to my surprise, and pulled in. I ordered a sampler combo and a genuine Mexican Coca-Cola made with cane sugar. This was my favorite meal aside from Grandma Jorgenson’s cooking.

Remembering her brought a pang of sadness. I spent most of lunch recalling that loving old woman, the warmth in her eyes, her gentle scolding, and even the spot on my temple where she’d whacked me with her wooden spoon. I rubbed that spot now, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips.

Who should I see stepping out of a black Lincoln Town Car as I walked to the Volvo, but Mr. Smith, one of the two men who first recruited me into this crazy life. I approached, smiling, and said, “Mr. Smith?”

He gave me a look that said, I think I should know you, but I don’t.

That’s when I clocked him square in the nose.

He went down, sitting on the pavement and looking up at me. Standing over him, I said, “Nothing personal, but it’s something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”