you’ll
get what you want.”
“I want to hear her voice. I have to know—”
Glen waved and smiled as Scott poured another drink for himself then started putting ice into another glass. “One word, one
more word, and I’ll send something back to you that you’ll swear is a jigsaw puzzle and not a human being.”
He heard sobbing on the other end of the line.
“Deliver the records!” Glen slammed the phone down. He walked back to the couch. Scott was staring blankly at the wall. He
picked up the drink Scott made for him and held it against his jaw.
Scott looked him straight in the eye. “Let’s level the playing field. You tell me everything you haven’t told me about John
Ellis Wellmen. Everything.”
“There’s a lot more than you can handle, and sometimes when you know too much, you wish you didn’t know anything at all.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me everything.”
Glen walked to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and removed it from the desk. A large manila envelope was taped to the bottom
of the drawer. “Ever heard of the People’s Armed Police?”
“Extremists. Isn’t there supposed to be a link between them and the importing of weapons into the U.S.?”
Glen smiled. Scott wasn’t an expert on arms, but he understood the playing field. “No supposedly about it. It’s a multibillion-dollar
industry, and it’s all very legal.” He handed Scott the envelope. “These documents date back to the early ‘80’s.”
Scott was hesitant to open it. Glen indicated it was all right. Scott thumbed through the thick stack of documents. “What’s
this? Everything anyone’d ever want to know about the arms business but were afraid to ask?”
“Not everything, and only the dealings we’re tracking.”
Scott gulped down Glen’s drink. Glen didn’t comment. Scott said, “Just how does all this relate? This isn’t about weapons.
This is about something else entirely.”
“Are you so sure?” Glen eyed the photograph in Scott’s hands. He tapped the map, didn’t say anything more immediately, then
stood. “You want another drink?”
“Just bring the bottle.”
Glen knew Scott meant the bottle of bourbon. He made himself a drink and brought the bourbon for Scott. He sucked at his drink,
dug his fist into the couch. “Billions weren’t enough for our Mr. Wellmen. He wanted to control an empire in the heart of
the United States of America, and we let him.”
“Meaning?”
“He saw a way to make billions, simply and all very legal. Our government has known for a very long time of companies with
ties to extremists. The extremists conduct business through these companies. They use the companies to recruit, to set up
more businesses, the more legitimate the better, and then use these businesses as cover.”
“Skip to the part where you tell me about Wellmen. You think he’s the one?”
“I am telling you about Wellmen. Profits and greed are the order of the day, as it’s always been. Nothing’s changed.”
Scott held up the picture. “And this?”
“Pretty, isn’t it? I always liked a picture of an explosion and there was none better than a perfect mushroom cloud…” “How
does this relate to Wellmen?”
“Seismographs all over the world picked it up moments after it occurred.”
“The box in Florida’s a bomb?”
Glen knew every word in the document attached to the photo. He’d read it hundreds of times late at night. He said quietly,
“We knew the day, the hour, the instant it happened, but we couldn’t do anything about it.”
Scott shouted, “This is about a nuclear bomb?”
Glen laughed. “Compared to Wellmen, bomb-toting wackos are amateur hour. Why use a bomb when you’ve got a better weapon? A
weapon that leaves no trail, doesn’t harm the innocent but can topple governments.”
“Damned booze,” Scott cursed as he threw the bottle of bourbon across the room. It shattered the glass mirror behind the
get what you want.”
“I want to hear her voice. I have to know—”
Glen waved and smiled as Scott poured another drink for himself then started putting ice into another glass. “One word, one
more word, and I’ll send something back to you that you’ll swear is a jigsaw puzzle and not a human being.”
He heard sobbing on the other end of the line.
“Deliver the records!” Glen slammed the phone down. He walked back to the couch. Scott was staring blankly at the wall. He
picked up the drink Scott made for him and held it against his jaw.
Scott looked him straight in the eye. “Let’s level the playing field. You tell me everything you haven’t told me about John
Ellis Wellmen. Everything.”
“There’s a lot more than you can handle, and sometimes when you know too much, you wish you didn’t know anything at all.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me everything.”
Glen walked to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and removed it from the desk. A large manila envelope was taped to the bottom
of the drawer. “Ever heard of the People’s Armed Police?”
“Extremists. Isn’t there supposed to be a link between them and the importing of weapons into the U.S.?”
Glen smiled. Scott wasn’t an expert on arms, but he understood the playing field. “No supposedly about it. It’s a multibillion-dollar
industry, and it’s all very legal.” He handed Scott the envelope. “These documents date back to the early ‘80’s.”
Scott was hesitant to open it. Glen indicated it was all right. Scott thumbed through the thick stack of documents. “What’s
this? Everything anyone’d ever want to know about the arms business but were afraid to ask?”
“Not everything, and only the dealings we’re tracking.”
Scott gulped down Glen’s drink. Glen didn’t comment. Scott said, “Just how does all this relate? This isn’t about weapons.
This is about something else entirely.”
“Are you so sure?” Glen eyed the photograph in Scott’s hands. He tapped the map, didn’t say anything more immediately, then
stood. “You want another drink?”
“Just bring the bottle.”
Glen knew Scott meant the bottle of bourbon. He made himself a drink and brought the bourbon for Scott. He sucked at his drink,
dug his fist into the couch. “Billions weren’t enough for our Mr. Wellmen. He wanted to control an empire in the heart of
the United States of America, and we let him.”
“Meaning?”
“He saw a way to make billions, simply and all very legal. Our government has known for a very long time of companies with
ties to extremists. The extremists conduct business through these companies. They use the companies to recruit, to set up
more businesses, the more legitimate the better, and then use these businesses as cover.”
“Skip to the part where you tell me about Wellmen. You think he’s the one?”
“I am telling you about Wellmen. Profits and greed are the order of the day, as it’s always been. Nothing’s changed.”
Scott held up the picture. “And this?”
“Pretty, isn’t it? I always liked a picture of an explosion and there was none better than a perfect mushroom cloud…” “How
does this relate to Wellmen?”
“Seismographs all over the world picked it up moments after it occurred.”
“The box in Florida’s a bomb?”
Glen knew every word in the document attached to the photo. He’d read it hundreds of times late at night. He said quietly,
“We knew the day, the hour, the instant it happened, but we couldn’t do anything about it.”
Scott shouted, “This is about a nuclear bomb?”
Glen laughed. “Compared to Wellmen, bomb-toting wackos are amateur hour. Why use a bomb when you’ve got a better weapon? A
weapon that leaves no trail, doesn’t harm the innocent but can topple governments.”
“Damned booze,” Scott cursed as he threw the bottle of bourbon across the room. It shattered the glass mirror behind the
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