New Historical Fiction Premiering On Steemit - Common Interests: A 9/11 Novel - Chapters 13 And 14
Historical fiction surrounding the crimes of 9/11. In this chapter, the stakes are raised as Gladio gets a face lift.
Above image is from Flickr
This is a fictional narrative wrapped around the real crimes of the September 11, 2001 attacks and the 2008 financial crisis. A smattering of other real events, institutions, entities, and people have also been included.
Chapter 13
Rural Virginia
March 10, 1996
“Frank, you know I’m always happy to help out,” Dov said as he wrinkled his nose nervously.
Frank chuckled as he gave his smooth wheels some gas and said, “You’re lying. You help because of your own self interest and I make you nervous. What can I do to ease those sensitive nerves of yours, Dovey?”
Dr. Z took offense. Scared of Frank Carlucci? Never. Scared of The Company? Absolutely.
Dov Zakheim had received another cryptic message from his stealthy companion a week earlier. The note read “NEED LEVERAGE ON A COUPLE OF INVESTORS…..F”
Investors for what? Why the sudden surge in need for dirt? The slick Company man was up to something.
Dov said with a raised voice, “You could tell me what the fuck is going on, Frank. Why the hell am I digging up all this dirt for you?”
Frank didn’t flinch. He just grinned his typically overzealous grin. “Why, Dovey, do you want in?”
Dr. Z’s initial reaction was a resounding NO inside his head. He didn’t have quite the appetite for risking his neck like some other men that ran in Carlucci’s circles. His secondary thought was an emphatic YES. His curiosity was bubbling over. He also knew that whatever the project was, that it would be immensely profitable. Men like Frank Carlucci didn’t lose money, one way or another.
“No,” came the answer.
“Stop lying to me,” Frank said curtly as he took a tight curve with the black Mercedes.
Dov said with an offended tone, “I wouldn’t lie to you, Frank.”
“I’ll tell you when the time is right. It’s too early. You did good, Dovey. You’re gonna go places. For right now, I suggest you relax. Go home. Drink some booze. Fuck someone or something to take the edge off. You’re too god damned tense.”
Dov rolled his eyes. He knew he was already part of an op. He just hoped he wasn’t going to be a fall guy. He had no desire to be a famous patsy. Damn compartmentalization.
Chapter 14
Ankara Turkey
March 22, 1996
The little hole-in-the-wall Turkish tea house was buzzing with chatter. It was loud, off the beaten path, and had some of the best tea in town. It was perfect for clandestine banter. Major Dickerson had grown to love Turkey. There was something mystical and magical about it. His job wasn’t easy, so he at least took solace in the fact that Ankara was an agreeable place to do business. The call from the CIA man had come at just the right time as far as the major was concerned. There were some problems bubbling up from the depths of his operation. He thought that the Company man was coming to help.
Graham Fuller was one of the CIA’s top Middle East experts. He had been instructed on some new moves that needed to be made now that the Bosnia situation was under control. Mr. Fuller rubbed his white beard methodically and eyed the major with an earnest intensity. “Major, you’ve done a helluva job. The Bosnia operation had it’s bumps along the way, but overall, was a job well done.”
The Major took those kind words with a boulder of salt. He knew the Company didn’t send people on errands to pat people on the back. Something else was going on. “Ok, can we get past the bullshit, Graham. We both know you’re not here to suck my dick, so go ahead and get on with it,” Dickerson said gruffly as he sipped his bittersweet beverage.
Fuller’s face dropped. Can’t even compliment a soldier of fortune on a job well done. Fine then. Cut to it. Before Graham could speak, the major continued, “And by the way, what’s going on in Bosnia right now is too damn sloppy. Those DynCorp guys are way too over the top. They’re gonna get busted one of these days, just you watch.”
Dyncorp was one of the defense contractors responsible for stability and logistics operations after wars were “officially” ended. They worked with NATO, the UN, and the military to divide up the loot and restructure the country. Bosnia was the most recent operation which required their so-called expertise.
Fuller got serious real quick and sputtered vehemently, “That’s not your business. They’re not part of your operation.”
“The hell they aren’t!” Dickerson spewed angrily. “One thing leads to another, and before you know it, the wrong people look in the wrong places and ops get fucked.”
“We’re not here to talk about what’s happening right now in Bosnia, major, now get yourself in line. Our Muslim men did their job and the war is over, and now it’s time to move on. That’s what we’re here to discuss and I suggest you listen if you know what’s good for you.”
Dickerson looked away bitterly for a moment. He knew his hands were tied. The man across from him was his superior. “Now,” Fuller continued, catching his breath. “There’s a new op in the works. First of all, we’re making a transition away from Mr. Catli.”
Dickerson breathed a sigh of relief. That was the first good news he’d gotten in a while. Catli was a focal point of heroin production and distribution in Turkey. He’d been getting a little uppity lately and had made some waves with various factions within Turkish military and political circles. He had become more trouble than he was worth. Now here was a Company man telling the major that Catli was on the way out. This would make life easier.
“Of course,” Fuller continued as he tugged at his fedora. “This means that he’ll need to be silenced, for security purposes.”
This meant murdered. The major shrugged his muscular shoulders. “So who’s next in line?”
“Some old friends of the Company,” Fuller explained, “The Baybasin brothers. Arrangements are already being made for them to fill the void. Not only that, but we need to facilitate a larger operation. Things are going into high gear and we need more financing. You will be told when and where to liaison with them. At the current moment, one of your chief concerns is to make sure that Mr. Catli is well taken care of. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” said the major as he polished off his tea.
Fuller smiled. He had the major’s undivided attention. “The next order of business is, now that our men are finished in Bosnia, we need to find them some new work. It’s different this time, though. We need some pilots.” Dickerson laughed heartily. He’d been dealing with Middle Eastern mercenaries for quite some time. Pilots? They most certainly were not.
“Those guys aren’t fucking pilots,” the major said candidly.
“They will be, at least some of them,” Fuller explained.
The Major asked, “How many?”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Fuck you, Graham.”
Fuller continued, “You are to coordinate with Mr. Atta and Mr. Zawahiri. Mr. Atta and some of his associates will be waiting for you in Hamburg.”
“Hamburg?”
Fuller was getting annoyed. “Stop repeating so much. Yes, fucking Hamburg.”
The Major was getting confused. Damn compartmentalization. “Getting back to Catli. If he’s out, then what about the money?” Fuller chuckled and crossed his arms, “The money will be going elsewhere, which is not your concern at this time. You’ll be given more information later.”
Fuller didn’t know where all that dope money would be going later, either. All he knew was that something big was in the works and he had to scramble to get things done for the higher ups.
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