COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN by Joe Bergeron (best ebook reader for chromebook TXT) 📖

think she’ll probably
leave for her home in Connecticut tomorrow. I don’t see
her as any threat.”
“Neither do I. We still have Courtney on the
outside though, and we’ve also lost touch with St, Croix.
The two of them together could cause some problems if
they‘re unsuccessful.”
“How do you want me to handle it when we
locate them?”
“We need Pat McKenzie healthy. If at all
possible, I also want to hang on to both Courtney and
St. Croix. They’ve been manipulated, and it’s certain to
me they’re going to find that out. I want all of them
safe, and in control. Make sure your people use good
judgment. Call me when you have more information”
“Of course.”
Both men hung up their phones, stood, and
paced.
Thinking is the act of directing a personal
deliberation toward something with the purpose of
reaching a decision to act. For Descartes, the process
meant advancing ideas in the mind. For Hume, it was
a process made up of a sequential series of images in
the mind. For Hobbs, it was an activity of verbal
images in the form of inner speech. Thinking is a
disposition to act intelligently. Whether or not our
thoughts are spoken is of no consequence on the act of
thought itself.
304
David Eisenberg’s thoughts revolved around
the Universal Laws.
Scott Orefice’s thoughts were a combination of
empirical knowledge, and a savvy ability to relate data.
One had a philosophical base, the other had
years of experience.
Behind both of them were the best covert resources the
world has ever known.
Before them was a task.
Find Courtney and St. Croix and plug the leak
in Yankee Echo.
Remediate.
Whatever it took - fix it.
Saturday, May 27, 8:30 p.m.
The window had been replaced, the telephone
repaired, and the mess inside her condo cleaned up.
Kathleen McKenzie understood the Universal
Physical Laws as well as any student who’d passed
through one of Michael Courtney’s courses. In fact, she
had had plenty of private tutoring in both their
meaning and application.
Law Ten crossed her mind when the phone
rang.
She considered not answering it, but thought it
could be David or Robert calling with news about her
father.
It was neither.
“Hello”
“Kay - it’s me.”
“….I guess you got my note.”
“I did, and I need to talk to you about that. I
tried your house in Connecticut - you weren’t there.”
“Well - I’m glad you found me.”
“Kay, we’re going after your father. I wanted to
speak to you before I leave.”
305
“Where are you going?”
“To get him - we think we know where he is.”
“Where?”
“I can’t get into it - Kay, I need an explanation.
You said in your letter you have something to do - what
did you mean?”
“I meant I’m tired of people shitting all over the
McKenzie family. I need to find something out for
certain, and I have to do it all by myself.”
“What? What are you planning?”
“I’m going to visit someone, Michael - and I’m
very capable of taking care of myself.”
“Kay - please - do something for me. Contact
Robert and stay with him and Helen until I can come
and get you.”
“Michael - I’m not a child - I don’t need a
babysitter.”
He had more to say, but there wasn’t time.
“Kay - I have to go. I’ll try to call you on
Monday - will you be in Connecticut?”
“Probably…maybe - I’m leaving tomorrow,
early.”
“Kay.”
He had to manufacture his thought, and he
didn’t like that.
“I love you.”
She didn’t need to think about hers, but she
wondered if she knew what it meant
“I love you too, Michael.”
The ops plan was set, they’d roll out at zero
three hundred.
306
Sunday, May 28, 3:01 a.m.
Three professionals were initiating a military
procedure.
Allen Bates carried out his preflight check in
the Zero hangar. Coverty reviewed the weapons and
helicopter firing systems. St. Croix studied
navigational charts and points of entry over the island
nation.
Michael Courtney was a few things -
Philosopher - Consultant - Teacher - but he wasn’t a
soldier. One hour with Andy St. Croix showing him how
to use the recoil of a forty-two Colt to his advantage
didn’t qualify him for this discipline. In the world of
academics, he’d come to understand some of the
concepts of a military campaign, its component parts,
its strategy, its action. But only Law Thirty-Five stuck
in his mind right now.
It was time to act and react - there could be no
wobbling.
Utilitarianism is just about the most well
known ethical doctrine in the world where English is
spoken. It’s a moral philosophy we use to interpret
whether actions are right or wrong.
The principle holds that actions are generally
considered right in proportion to how much happiness
they promote, and wrong by virtue of how much of the
reverse of happiness they promote. By producing
happiness, we intend two things, to create pleasure,
and to further create the absence of pain.
Therefore, actions are most often judged by
their consequences, not as they affect an individual
singularly, but by the amount of pleasure everyone
receives from their consequences.
The ideal is to give the most happiness to the
most people.
307
Courtney thought of utility, of Yankee Echo.
He’d been told the organization was designed
to create the absence of pain, to help a nation of people
who sometimes didn’t know as a unit what was good for
them, or how much hardship they had to endure before
they were engaged with happiness.
The organization changed that. It took care of
dirty politicians, aided the needy, helped preserve the
environment, brought to light all the good things we
should know about ourselves. It was manipulative in
essence, but essential in application.
He’d believed it, he’d bought the idea from
Robert Wirtham.
But who’s organization was it? Which fifty
corporations? Why the CIA?
His thoughts brought him into a Law.
‘It’s Six. Damn, it’s Law Six. They can’t
tolerate vacuums, empty spaces. What do they need to
survive? They need to control information to control
thought. We give them control, they give us what?
They have to fill a void, just like nature would. They
can’t leave anything unaffected. So why Yankee Echo?
Why this resource? Are we big enough to do the….
…How big are we?’
Sunday, May 28, 3:17 a.m.
He didn’t look like a soldier, but he didn’t look
like a teacher either. Dressed in black, like the rest of
the team, he only needed the camouflage paint applied
to his cheekbones, forehead, bridge of nose, chin, jaw
line, elbows, and knuckles - all possible of creating a
subtle reflection, in turn capable of producing an
unwanted glance and recognition.
St. Croix noticed him approach from the North
side of the hangar.
“Mornin, Mick, come over here and get your
paint.”
308
He sat ready on a stool, St. Croix now the
cosmetician.
“Andy, if we find Pat at Belize’s place, I’m going
to hammer him with questions.”
“Ah’m with y’all, Mick. Ah don’t take too well
bein lied to, especially by someone Ah trusted.”
“I don’t want to get into it right now, Andy, but
I’m almost certain Yankee Echo is a lot bigger and more
powerful than we know.”
“Law Forty, then back to One, Mick - remember
that. Be deductive - you already have an idea on the
ending.”
“I know you’re right, I keep wanting to change
that, and I’m chasing my wish, not going after reality.”
“Something like that, buddy. Just keep
working on it.”
The paint job was completed.
“Y’all almost look like a Zero. Did y’all leave
everything behind? Wallet, money, jewelry?”
“Yeah - they’ll have to use my teeth for an ID.”
A warm smile changed into a secure business
look.
“It’s time to rock and roll, Mick…let’s go.”
The team strapped into radios and weapons.
3:56 a.m.
Three air traffic controllers in the Miami
International tower gave no attention to the chopper,
each ten thousand dollars wealthier.
No flight plan - no return.
Zero was out.
309
Saturday, May 27, 8:45 p.m.
When you grow up knowing you have big-time
money, you learn that you have clout. This fact never
escaped Kathleen McKenzie, and although she
infrequently needed to use it, she always new it was
readily available, and at her disposal. McKenzie
Industries’ capital assets included two executive jet
aircraft with flight crews kept on a stand-by basis
around the clock. The larger of the two was a
Gulfstream II, its pilot notified by Kay McKenzie before
she’d left Washington to file a flight plan from Kennedy
to Logan, then Logan to Dulles. Arrival time at Logan -
approximately 10:15 p.m. Saturday night.
She’d exercised her position of authority in
McKenzie Industries to secure the use of the aircraft.
She hadn’t requested the size of the Gulfstream for its
roominess, but rather, its speed, wanting to be in
Washington before midnight. The Gulfstream crew,
paid well for their responsibilities, now ground traveled
to the New York airport.
Two other perquisites of money are power and
authority. Most people who have it understand this,
and usually just accept these facts as advantageous,
without using them maliciously.
Kathleen McKenzie had malicious intent.
Her brother had been murdered.
It was time to bring justice to bear on whom
she believed to be the killer. Any vision or thought of
criminal action was absent from her thinking.
Although clearly focused, she was temporarily, but
distinctively insane.
The Gulfstream bore the McKenzie logo on its
tailfin. Its pilot knew his passenger both by her
birthright, and also by corporate association. It was
also both facts that made her one of the most important
people he transported.
310
“Good evening, Miss McKenzie, we’ll be leaving
in just a few minutes. The refrigerator’s stocked, and
there’s some microwaveable meals in the freezer if you
haven’t had dinner.”
“That’s fine, Charlie - thanks.”
Fifteen minutes later they were three thousand
feet above and beyond Logan’s east-west runway.
She’d only carried on an over-the-shoulder
midnight blue nylon bag. In it were a black summer
jacket, a personal telephone directory, a set of keys to
JGM Exports, a bottle of Tylenol, and a 38 Smith and
Wesson.
Kay McKenzie had learned to use a handgun
years before Michael Courtney had - in fact, when she
was sixteen. One of the problems of being rich is you
need to know how to protect yourself. Patrick
McKenzie had seen to it his daughter did.
Charlie touched down the Gulfstream at
Dulles, using three quarters of the runway to give his
passenger a smooth landing.
It was almost midnight.
Waiting in her name at the Hertz counter
inside the terminal was a rental car, a black Buick
Electra station wagon, and a predetermined selection.
Throwing her bag on the front passenger seat,
she accelerated out of the airport parking lot onto the
north-south freeway, destination Mclean, Virginia - a
pretty Washington suburb.
The amenities in the wagon included a cellular
phone.
With her left hand on the wheel, she used her
right to secure her directory from its nylon residence.
Alternately watching the road and viewing the booklet,
she flipped the index tab to ‘T’.
His personal, unlisted phone number was the
last entry in the section - a number acquired through
JGM resources.
311
The gift of evolved thinking allowed her to use
Law Seven to balance her anger, while at the same time
applying Law Twenty-One to keep her calm.
She hit the appropriate buttons on the Buick’s
cellular phone.
His phone rang only once. Sitting in his
library, he’d been reviewing a Presidential economic
initiative.
“Secretary Tollman.”
“This is Kathleen McKenzie, I’m going to call
you again in ten minutes.”
She pressed the disconnect button.
312
Chapter 12
Sunday, May 28, 4:06 a.m.