Chapter 23

Life rolled along that winter. Brian made exceptional grades in school, my trust grew exponentially, and the four of us discovered ways to bond, love one another, and learn to trust and depend upon each other.

It should have been a time of peace and harmony, but my soul was troubled – all the time. There was this ... something ... that kept nagging at the corners of my mind, demanding attention, but never coming sufficiently to the front of my head to get the attention it required. Some nights I would slip out of bed and walk the downstairs for hours, but I couldn't find the missing piece that would bring me peace. I concentrated on what my trouble might be, but it never seemed to come clear.

Unless there was something going on that she wanted to attend, Beth Ann took the "G" to Lakeland about every other weekend. Whenever that happened, all of us that were free and felt like it, went along for the ride, and came home the next day, leaving Beth Ann to spend some quality time with Brian.

As far as I knew, Beth Ann never reprised her sex education night with Brian. They seemed comfortable together, and I never picked up a bit of discomfort, tension, or sexual longings. They seemed like a mother and son who were really good friends. I was grateful that Brian had a solid relationship with his mother. So many boys never get that chance.

We'd dropped Beth Ann for a visit with Brian and also spent a few days of sun and sand at Clearwater Beach. On the way home, Air Traffic Control requested that our pilot alter course and land as soon as possible at an Air Force Base in the Florida Pan Handle.

Our compliance, though voluntary, was immediate, and when we landed a military escort drove out on the runway with one of those 'FOLLOW ME' signs. We were led to taxi inside a massive hangar, where a small group of very serious looking men in black suits waited.

Other than me, it was just Colleen and our pilots. We deplaned and were instantly surrounded by soldiers and armed federal agents, then approached by a very important looking man. Our pilots were shown the way to a ready room, where they could relax, get a bite to eat and wait for further instructions. The man who was obviously in charge, was tall, thin, and rather frail looking until he moved and spoke, then he seemed like the type of man you wouldn't wish to cross.

He nearly ran to us and said, "Mr. Fleming, Miss Bell, I am Federal Court of Appeals Judge, Hanson Harvey. I currently represent the President in matters that are, let's just say, outside the purview of regular federal law enforcement.

"My current assignment has to do with a group of very wealthy, foreign businessmen that have chosen to use their wealth to damage and attempt to destroy the United States. Quite frankly, Miss Bell, we work under a secret order, signed by three members of the US Supreme Court. I am responsible to act as official referee, to see to it that the activities of our agency do not violate the Constitution in ways that are too grievous to ignore.'

He could see that Colleen was processing his every word, and paused to let her absorb what he just said. To speed things along, I said, "Mr., or I should have said, Judge Harvey, now that we have established that you run a super-secret, off the books, federal agency, that is charged with protecting the continued existence of the United States, what can we possibly do for you?"

Colleen looked at me like I had violated some obscure protocol, and would have interrupted to apologize, had Judge Harvey interrupted her - interrupting me. "Mr. Fleming, you are perfectly positioned to act in ways we desperately need. You have certain ... let us say ... advantages we do not. You have specific resources we can never get our hands on, that would assist us in taking down this insidious group of rogue, international finance criminals.

"Your private jets and unpredictable lifestyle are an important part of why we could insert you among them, with no risk of suspicion, because you are insanely wealthy, just like them. You have very little paper trail as to where all that money came from, and your transparent lifestyle lets you come and go on a whim, which would be extremely attractive to the men we are concerned about."

Colleen had heard all she wished to hear. "Judge Harvey, I suspect we have to sign an ironclad non-disclosure agreement, before you will get to the point, so let's get to it, and then we can establish just how, and if, Mr. Fleming is willing to help."

That got the desired result. Colleen and I were shepherded into a nicely appointed conference room and took the seats designated by our host. The judge sat across from us and an assistant immediately placed three file folders before him. He took his time, read through the proffered documents, and then slid the first two across to Colleen.

It took some time, but Colleen studied each page of the document, making no sound, and giving nothing away by her facial expressions or body language.

After about ten minutes Colleen raised her eyes to the judge and said, "This the best example of a non-disclosure I have ever seen. You taught me something quite important here." Turning to me, she said, "Carl this non-disclosure does as much to protect you as it does to limit what you can say. It is wonderfully drafted and absolutely bulletproof. There is no wiggle room. If you sign this and then allow the judge to brief you in, you may never repeat a single word of what you learn, without serious consequences that you won't like.

"Do you still wish to hear him out?" Colleen was nothing if not direct, and she pinned me with her eyes.

"Yep. Let's get this over with and get on to why the United States Government needs me." I already knew whatever they wanted I was going to agree to do, so fooling around was a waste of time. I NEEDED change - activity that was more important than flying back and forth to Florida.

The judge laid out a frightening picture of a group of Muslim extremists, with massive assets due to oil wealth, who used the manipulation of money to damage American financial interests. They quietly funded overt terror groups and supplied arms to insurgent forces. Their portfolio included everything that endangers us and benefits them.

A unique bit of information was the behavior of the group. They were relatively young - in their late thirties, to mid-fifties – and used their wealth to live the jet setter lifestyle. Women, drugs, booze, gambling, and some rather evil things like kidnapping very young girls and boys, and using them as sex slaves until they became boring, then having them killed to keep the story from getting out.

They were bad with a capital "B."

I was hooked at, "Hello," so agreeing to be used to extract intelligence was a given, and Judge Harvey relaxed after he understood my intentions. We talked for four and half hours, where I was briefed in on an amazing amount of raw and also, refined intelligence that painted a picture of men who loved fast cars, faster jets, loose women, and all the things that orthodox Muslims eschew. The Judge thought I was perfect to be 'used' by them, because I had fast jets, sexy women, and a lifestyle that sort of mirrored the one they lived but tried to hide from their more fastidious brethren.