The Arcturus Man (60 page)

Jared, John, and Brett were waiting on the upper level, just outside the security
checkpoint. The United flight landed on time. Brett glanced at the long lines waiting to
get through security. He expected it to be busy on Labor Day, but this was ridiculous.

“The airport administration still feels guilty because some of the 9/11 terrorists
came through Portland,” said Jared.
“Heck. There isn’t an airport in the country that would have caught those guys,”
said John.
“Big fish. Small pond. You know how that goes,” said Brett.
Franklin Reisinger walked through the double-glass doors into the public area of
the terminal. He looked different. Jared noticed that he was wearing an expensive Hickey
Freeman suit, a dark Navy with faint grey lines. Everyone was copying Anderson.
Reisinger’s suit was more expensive than Brett’s Hickey Freeman, who also just started
wearing them, but Brett wore his with class. Reisinger looked like a much younger John
Comfort Anderson. This is the first time Jared saw Reisinger in a Hickey Freeman.
He
thought that it was fascinating that everyone was wearing Anderson’s brand—except
Jared, of course.
Reisinger went over the top, however. He had a pocket square and an old fashioned tie bar.
He saw a flash of a Rolex.
Here was Reisinger’s new image as he remembered it from by-gone days. It was his languishing image of a wealthy and powerful
man. The shoes were Johnston Murphy. They didn’t have a single scuff on them. Jared
was surprised that Reisinger wasn’t wearing a hat.
That would have been very sixties.
Jared began to understand what was motivating Reisinger. He was regressing. That was
very interesting.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Siemels.
Agent Cabet, I know you.
I don’t believe I’ve
had the pleasure of previously meeting this gentleman,” said Reisinger.
Brett extended his hand. “I am Brett Koutsanoudis, attorney at law.”
They all shook hands.
John led the way down the stairs to the luggage arrival
area.
“I’ll get the car and bring it around.
I just parked over there in the cell phone
waiting area,” said John.
“Excellent. I only have a small bag. Airport security being what it is these days, I
check everything now,” said Reisinger.
“You better hurry, John.
They tow unattended cars from that lot—more importantly, it’s my car that will be towed,” said Jared.
John rushed out. The others stood at the carousel, waiting for the bags to start
popping out.
“I wasn’t expecting a committee Mr. Siemels. That is so formal. May I call you
Jared,” said Reisinger.
“Of course, Franklin,” said Jared.
“Can we go somewhere where we can…all…talk privately?” asked Franklin.
“I thought we could ALL go to the Maine Mall, it’s only a few minutes away.
There’s a Sbarros that’s rarely full.
There’s also a Ruby Tuesdays. Places fill up fast
around here during the dinner hour,” said Brett.
“I do like pizza, mind you, but surely we can do a little better than that.
My
treat,” said Franklin.
“Well, of course, if you don’t mind a little drive,” said Brett.
“I suggest On the Marsh, in Kennebunk.
I think you know the place Brett,” said
Jared. It’s actually almost in Kennebunkport
“Yes, it is an excellent restaurant. They have a great wine cellar. As good as anything in D.C.,” said Brett.
Reisinger’s bag came out of the swinging doors.
He caught it in a few steps.
They all walked out to the arrival pickup area. John was waiting for them. His badge was
strategically placed on the wind shield so the airport cops were sure to see it.
Reisinger
lit up as soon as he got outside.
Everyone waited until he finished his cigarette. They
piled into Jared’s Lexus LS-600H.
“This is the 2013, isn’t it?” asked Reisinger.
“Yes, I just traded in my LS-460.”
“I’ve been thinking about this car just this week. This has Bluetooth® technology
and voice-activated navigation, doesn’t it?”
“Yes it does. Would you like to see it?” asked Jared. “This particular system is
hacked frequently so I added my own fire walls.”
“I would, but later. We have a lot to talk about,” said Reisinger.
They talked in the car as they drove, but it was still all pleasantries. No one was
ready to break the ice. Reisinger had years of practice in this manner of conversation. It
was called establishing rapport. Spies were excellent conversationalists.
John drove out of the airport and in a few minutes they were on 95 going south.
He pulled off at exit 25 and drove east on Route 35 that eventually joined 9A.
The restaurant was on the outskirts of Kennebunkport on Western Avenue, better known by the
locals as Route 9.
The restaurant looked like a large, elegant country home.
From the
time they left the airport, they were parked in about 45 minutes.
They all climbed out of the car. They began to talk in the parking lot while Reisinger smoked another cigarette, but the mosquitoes drove them into the restaurant before
he finished. It was on the marsh, as advertised.
They didn’t have reservations but the pretty young woman at the reception stand
immediately recognized Jared and gathered four leather-bound menus without saying a
word. She led them to a quiet table, away from other guests.
Jared nodded his appreciation.
They ordered drinks. Jared requested a Gibson and everyone followed suit.
“I’m afraid that you’re still on the no-fly list Jared. The bureaucrats at TSA won’t
budge, not even for the CIA,” said Reisinger.
“That’s a trifle Franklin. I’ll charter for the time being,” said Jared.
“You know what TSA stands for, don’t you?” asked Franklin surveying the entire
dinner party. “It’s thousands standing around.”
No one laughed, but everyone smiled.
It was getting less tense. Reisinger was
shaping them for serious negotiations. He was good at this.
“For the life of me I cannot understand how we can be pouring billions into airport security and at the same time intellectually disassociate ourselves from the abysmally low quality of the personnel implementing the security program. Some of these people
can barely speak English, including many born and raised in the United States. And we
give them so much power. I showed them my credentials but do you think anyone one of
those morons showed me any professional courtesy.
Think again. And the air marshals…that takes the cake.
You aren’t supposed to know who on an air craft is an air
marshal, but leave it to the bureaucrats to screw up something that should be so simple.
You just have to look for the guy with the spit shined shoes and G.I. haircut,” said Reisinger.
“You get what you pay for,” said John.
“They could afford Harvard graduates with just a fraction of the money they’ve
thrown at the problem,” said Brett.
“Absolutely right! Ignorance and incompetence are also the primary reasons why
I can’t get you off of that damned no-fly list. They have that thing so screwed up that no
one wants to touch it,” said Reisinger.
He felt very defensive about not having enough
influence to do this favor for Jared. It was a low card in the deck and he needed aces. He
turned his head. Someone was standing behind him.
“Mr. Siemels, it is such a pleasure.”
The executive chief, Jeffrey Savage, was
taking their orders personally.
“Jeffrey, it is our pleasure,” said Jared.
“Our special this evening is the seared Hokkaido sea scallops and lobster risotto,
with brandied lobster stock, watercress, rice wine vinegar and truffle oil.”
“That sounds wonderful, Jeffrey,” said Jared. Everyone nodded approval.
“And may I start you off with the Québec Foie Gras Torchon?
I recall that it is
one of your favorites, Mr. Siemels.”
“By all means,” said Jared.
“And, Jeffrey, please select the wines for us this
evening.”
“Neat,” said Brett.
“With pleasure gentlemen,” said Jeffrey. He pivoted and was gone.
“Let’s get to the purpose of this meeting, Franklin,” said Jared. “What do you
know about Penkovskiy? He’s gay?”
Reisinger’s eyes narrowed. He was startled by the question.
He heard about
Jared’s abilities, but he was experiencing it personally now. It was unnerving.
“Yes, Penkovskiy is gay. Putin is homophobic in a major way. In as much as Putin used to have Penkovskiy’s position while he was assigned to Dresden, it is almost a
personal insult.
We have video tape of one of Penkovskiy’s encounters.
He is finished.
He should never trouble you again.”
“Now that Zhidov is dead, you don’t have to worry about the Russians anymore,”
said John.
“I already told John and Brett about this, but you should know that before he died
Zhidov confessed that there was a traitor close to me,” said Jared.
“I know about that. The Bureau thinks its John,” said Reisinger.
“I know they thought that, but it’s ridiculous.
It’s not John,” said Jared. “John
was conniving at little behind my back to get me to give the government the details to my
weapons detection patent, but he did that as a matter of patriotism. He also knew that I
would know so it wasn’t even a betrayal, not to mention that he thought that it would be
in my best interests.”
“Ditto,” said John.
“I assumed as much, but he has a reputation for being a maverick so it isn’t difficult to stretch that to being the traitor,” said Reisinger.
“I’m resigning anyway. What does it matter,” said John.
“I would do that,” said Reisinger.
They’re going to push you out regardless so
leaving on your own power is a wise move.”
“Do you know who the traitor is?” asked Reisinger.
“Yes, I know who it is,” said Jared.
“When were you planning to tell us?” asked Brett.
“I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Now I am sure,” said Jared. He had
shared this insight with John but neglected to say anything to Brett. It was just an oversight.
“Well who is it?” asked Brett.
“It’s Hamid Mashhadi,” said Jared. “If fact, he is the reason I ended up on the nofly list.
He is suspected by Homeland Security of having ties to Al Queada, if he isn’t
actually a card-carrying member. My name shows up on his contact list.”
“No shit?” said Brett.
“Thanks for the tip, Jared,” said Reisinger.
“We did our homework. He lost his
sister in the Israeli bombings of Beirut.
She was living in the Hezbollah part of Beirut
and refused to evacuate.
There was a great deal of damning information in the file that
was dated many years earlier, but until we recently connected some dots, it had been
stamped NPII by the analysts…that is to say, no pertinent identifiable information. They
hadn’t tied it to Mashhadi.” said Reisinger. “Now we are certain it was him.”
“I’m confident that his sister’s death was the prime motivator for going off the
deep end. Dieter Steinmeier is my financial manager. He works out of Zurich and has the
entrée into all of the major private banks in Switzerland. As the saying goes, you follow
the money. Once we had one leg of this octopus, it wasn’t difficult for Dieter to find the
other legs.
Sami was receiving regular payments from Bin Laden money stashed in Zurich. And who was sending the money to Sami…Hamid,” said Jared.
“Holy Shit,” said Brett. I just talked to Hamid yesterday trying to get some backup for the appeal I’m filing to get your patent released by the Feds.”
“Oh that.
You don’t need to bother.
I had that lifted this morning,” said Reisinger.
Brett was stunned.
“Well, that’s great Franklin,” said Brett.
Reisinger was pleased. He drew an ace.
“Hamid hasn’t been seen for days.
His apartment shows no signs that he’s been
there…not in days…and none of the neighbors reported seeing him recently,” said John.
“So you’ve been watching Hamid’s apartment? You knew about this,” said Brett.
“Yes,” said John.
He sensed the problem.
If Brett’s feelings were hurt, it was
Jared’s problem, not his.
“Why haven’t you been able to pick up any of these with your…let’s say mind
reading abilities?” asked Reisinger.
Jared was tired of hearing that and was not going to explain yet again that he really can’t read minds.
“Mashhadi was always reciting chants from the Koran.
He is an observant Muslim so I didn’t think much of it. I now understand that he was camouflaging his thoughts.
It’s very clever actually.
My Arabic is pretty good, but when I sensed the Koran, it was
difficult to sort things out and I quickly lost interest.
Infidel has a lot of contexts,” said
Jared. “As it turns out, I was the infidel.”
“Why does Al Queada have such an interest in you, Jared? I gather that it has
something to do with that patent, but I’ve never really understood the direct connection,”
asked Reisinger.
“Let me address that,” said Brett. “The detection technology that Jared developed
will cripple terrorist planning and tactics for years to come. It shuts down car and suicide
bombings by making checkpoints and drive-by screening effective, not to mention the
detection of roadside IEDs. Airport screening becomes foolproof and finally ensures that
cargo and airports and seaports can be screened one hundred percent. Al Queada would
do anything to prevent this technology from being developed. As long as the secret is in
Jared’s head, killing him stops the technology,” said Brett.
“That is why I spent the last two weeks writing down all of the specifications for
the technology. It takes me off Al Queada’s hit list,” said Jared. “I Fedex’d it to the White
House yesterday.”
“So you will be off Hamid’s hit list as well?” asked Brett.
“I don’t think so.
He has become irrational about getting me.
Remember, it’s
about vengeance for Hamid, not just religious fanaticism.
I frankly don’t comprehend
why he associates me with the death of his sister, perhaps he doesn’t. It may be that he
received a religious order from some cleric, or whoever, so he has committed himself to
carry out the will of Allah no matter what,” said Jared.
“Can we find him?” asked Brett. He turned to John.
“Assuming I still have a job, I will get the Bureau on it tomorrow. While the FBI
may not have a great interest in protecting Jared, we are now dealing with a known Al
Queada operative living in the United States…worse…living in Boston,” said John.
“I am confident that he is coming to us,” said Jared.
“Meaning what?” asked John.
“Jenny’s sister is getting married tomorrow,” said Jared.
“Meaning what?” asked John.
The appetizers were set in front of everyone and the wine glasses were filled.
Jared stayed silent until the waiters left the table.
“As you know, some unwelcome notoriety has been inflicted on me recently. That
I will be attending the wedding has been in the papers. It was even picked up by the
Globe. I was able to get St. Ann’s by the Sea for the wedding and the reception is going
to be at the Nonantum Resort.
The Bush Compound is across the inlet from the Church
and they often use the Resort for their own functions.
Unfortunately, this wedding has
gotten a great deal of publicity,” said Jared. “And its too late to stop it.”