(Jerry A Greenberg) Murder in The Garbage

Murder in the
Garbage
Jerry A. Greenberg
D)eadline:
26 December 1822 (5:18pmEST 6: 180MSCT)
OTHER BOOKS BY
JERRY A. GREENBERG
Dreams Are To Be Lived

Filling Up a Hole
Free Thinker’s Day
Living Your Dream
The Price of Dreams
Working At The Warehouse
The Bronze Bear
Surviving Life As An Actor
Chasing the Rabbit
The Bronze Bear Continues
At Day’s End, I’ll Always Be Me
Everyone Needs a Companion
Murder in the Garbage
This Book is a change of pace for me. I wanted to write a series about an
action figure, Hank Boucher, who is a retired Navy Seal. He becomes a CIA
agent and is sent on a mission to stop the theft of military hardware from an
airforce base in San Antonio, Texas. A large garbage collection company is
run by criminals who are behind the scheme to steal and sell high-tech
equipment from the airforce. The story gets complicated when Hank butts
heads with Hispanic gangsters, the criminals in the garbage company, and
Mafia members who are connected to the same company. There is a lot of
action, a complicated sub-story, and pure entertainment in the book. If you
are a fan of this genre of books, then this is a book for you. Enjoy.
I hope you will enjoy reading the book and will recommend it to your
friends.
If you wish to contact me, my email is jagtrader@hotmail.com
© Copywrite 2022. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of

America.
Book Interior and Ebook design by Amit Dey / amitdey2528@gmail.com

DEDICATION
I want to thank, my editor, Gary Smailes at

Bubblecow for teaching me how to be a better writer
His contribution to my writing education is immense
and I feel made all the difference in the quality of the
final product. I consider him my mentor.
v
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1
Chapter Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .8
Chapter Three . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20
Chapter Four . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24
Chapter Five. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .35
Chapter Six . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
Chapter Seven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48
Chapter Eight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .60
Chapter Nine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .72
Chapter Ten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .80
Chapter Eleven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .88
Chapter Twelve . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .93
Chapter Thirteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .101
Chapter Fourteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .105
Chapter Fifteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .109
Chapter Sixteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .114
Chapter Seventeen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .119
Chapter Eighteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .121
vii
viii Murder in the Garbage
Chapter Nineteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .128

Chapter Twenty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .135
Chapter Twenty-One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .139
Chapter Twenty-One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .144
Chapter Twenty-Two . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .148
Chapter Twenty-Three . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .154
Chapter Twenty-Four . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .168
Chapter Twenty-Five . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .172
Chapter Twenty-Six . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .176
CHAPTER ONE
Raoul Martez
W
hen I got out of the service, the only plan was to
find a job that would give me time to go to night
school to start a college education. Getting out of
the military was like being set free into a vacuum where I had to
decide which direction I wanted to go.
While I was in high school, I was always a B student, but at
that time I wasn’t focused on my future. The army turned out to
be a good thing in that it gave me plenty of time to decide what
I did not want to do with the rest of my life. My parents were
happy that I had committed myself to something which would
keep me going in the right direction and not become a lost soul
like several of my friends.
For a while, I became a shooting instructor at a local shooting
range, which paid a bit more than minimum wage, but it was a
boring job. I did, however, improve my skill with a pistol, which
gave me confidence even though I could not think of a scenario
when it would ever benefit me.
One of my friends mentioned, of all things, being a garbage
collector as a job opportunity if I could handle my self-image.
At first, I thought he was crazy, but then I thought more about
1
2 Murder in the Garbage
it and decided to give it a try. If I didn’t like it, I could quit. I

could also go to college at night if I decided to commit myself
to several years of studying.
I researched where to find the biggest garbage disposal
service in town and called to set up an interview.
“Hello, Triangle Waste Management, Linda Bailey speaking,
may I help you?” a young lady with a sweet voice answered the
phone.
“Hi, my name is Raoul Martez, and I want to apply for a
job as a garbage collector,” I said with confidence. The mere
asking for this out loud astonished me since it was so unlike my
younger self.
“Okay, but you will first have to have an interview with
Mr. Samuels, the vice-president of operations, to see if you
qualify.”
“What? I can’t believe I would need an interview to collect
garbage,” I answered, somewhat astonished.
“We want to make sure we are hiring quality people, and the
position you are applying for can lead to a career opportunity to
move up the ladder. Most of our upper echelon people started on
a truck collecting garbage to learn how the system works,” she said.
“Okay, then. Please set me up for a meeting with Mr. Samu-
els or whoever I need to speak with.”
“I have Tuesday at 2:00 pm available. Would that be a good
time for you?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Uh, may I ask what you would
think is the proper way to dress for the meeting?”
“Sure, I would suggest that it doesn’t matter. Come dressed
casually. You know, jeans, shirt, nothing fancy.”
“Thank you; I will.”
Jerry A. Greenberg 3
Tuesday rolled around, and I have to admit I couldn’t seem

to take the interview idea seriously. I thought a person just
signed up and was assigned to a truck, but I also thought this
certainly could not be their regular procedure. Perhaps the girl
I spoke with thought I sounded like a candidate for an in-office
opportunity, to which I had never given a thought.
I drove up to the front gate of the headquarters building and
asked the security guard where the employment office was. He
turned and pointed to the huge building behind him and said it
was on the second floor.
“Take the elevator up, turn to your left, and you’ll see it
right there. Park anywhere.”
He waved me through the gate, and I found a parking spot
close to the front door. Entering the building, I felt like I was
back in high school. The ceilings were high, and the halls dimly
lit. Right next to the elevator was a wide set of concrete stairs
which caused an echo as I slowly walked up to the second floor.
One flight of stairs just didn’t seem to warrant using the elevator.
I turned to the left when I attained the second floor, and the
only person I saw was a cute young lady handling the phones.
She was not who I expected to find working for a garbage com-
pany, and I felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of meeting
her. She looked like she was about my age, and I didn’t know
many people my age since I’d been away in the army. She had
a brilliant smile, blue eyes, and hazel-colored hair. I hoped she
didn’t have a boyfriend.
“Hi, I’m Raoul Martez, here to see Mr. Samuels for a two
o’clock interview.”
“Yes, I’m the one you spoke with on the phone. My name is
Linda Bailey.” She smiled.
“Ms. Bailey, thank you for being so helpful.”

Meeting the lovely Linda Bailey certainly uplifted my spirits
about working at the same company as she. I took it as a sign of
a good beginning.
“No problem. Come on, follow me.”
We walked to the left, down a short hallway, which ended at
the entrance to a large office. The walls were decorated with deer
heads and stuffed fish, along with a painting of hunting dogs.
A large man with broad shoulders dressed in a suit with his tie
loosened sat behind an imposing desk, talking on his phone.
He waved me in and pointed to a chair for me to sit on. He had
one of those faces which said ‘tough’ or ‘unpolished’ with a scar
on his right cheek. His dark hair was combed back without a
part. He swiveled his chair around to face away from me and
continued his phone conversation.
“Andy, I hope I’ve made myself clear enough, so we don’t
have to revisit this topic. See to it that the job is done with-
out screw-ups, okay?” He hung up the phone, seeming a bit
agitated, but after a moment, he turned back around to face
me. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on the desk and
looked directly at me.
“Ms. Bailey tells me you want to apply for a job with our
company.”
“Yes, sir, I do. I just got out of the army and plan to go to
night school to get a college education, but I have to support
myself somehow. I heard this type of job would pay enough for
me to take care of my bills and attend night school.”
He studied me for a moment and then leaned back in his
chair.
“What you said is true. Might I ask why you picked Trinity
to apply to?”
I wondered if this was a trick question and took some time

to answer him.
“This organization is the largest waste disposal company in
town, and I thought you would have more opportunities for me
than a smaller company.”
“Correct again, and we just happen to be needing someone
to work on a truck crew. Have you ever done this type of work
before?” Mr. Samuels asked.
“No, sir, but it doesn’t sound too difficult to learn how to
do it.”
“We have both commercial and residential crews, and I
think it would be best to start you with a seasoned driver in
a residential area. The difference is that you would be part of
a three-person crew versus the driver of a truck that picks up
large containers mechanically without any helpers. How does
that sound to you?”
“Sounds great. Uh, what is the pay scale?”
“We pay seventeen dollars an hour for a five-day workweek.
When could you start?”
“I can start today.”
“How about you show up tomorrow morning at seven
o’clock and report downstairs at the dispatch desk. The guy to
talk to is Larry Parker, and he will assign you to a driver. At the
moment, you need to go back to Ms. Bailey and fill out some
paperwork, okay?”
Mr. Samuels stood up and reached out to shake my hand.
His expression never changed, and he had a serious look about
him, which seemed to warn me not to try to get too close. I
shook his huge hand and noticed he had to be at least 6’ 4” tall
when he stood up. Overall, he was intimidating, and I was glad
the meeting was over.
The difference between him and Ms. Bailey was equivalent

to night and day. Not only was she sweet and pleasant, but she
was also close to my age. She remained seated, so I don’t know
exactly how tall she was, but I’d guess she was average height
and weight, with an upbeat attitude and a warm personality.
She had me sit down and fill out several employment forms and
chatted with me as I did.
“You mentioned you are going to go to night school to get
a college degree. Have you chosen a major yet?”
“I think to begin with I would go for a liberal arts degree,
and maybe as time goes by, select a major, but at the moment, I
haven’t chosen a specific course of study nor even signed up for
school. I wanted to get settled down first with a job.”
“I admire you for what you are planning to do. Many very
successful people have gone that very same route. Just be sure
to stay with it until you graduate. You’ll never regret it if you
follow through to the end.”
“Thank you. That’s my plan so far. Have you gone to
college?”
“I went for two years to the community college but haven’t
committed myself to pursue another two years to finish up with
a degree.”
“Hey, since you have me giving you so much information
about me on these forms, how about you give me your phone
number so we can discuss our future educational commitments?”
She smiled and looked like she was thinking about it and
then shrugged her shoulders and began writing her number
down on a piece of paper. I smiled.
“Tomorrow morning, go around to the back of the building,
and you will see the truck parking lot. Ask for Larry Parker, the
dispatcher, and he will assign you to a driver. Good luck.”
“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Samuels already advised me to do just

that. Thank you for your help.”
When I exited the building, I felt like I had taken the first
step toward my adult life. Now things mattered, and commit-
ment was the name of the game. Not only did I now have a job,
but I might also have a cute girl to date.
CHAPTER TWO
Raoul Martez
W
ednesday morning was drizzling when I arrived at
work. After parking my car, I headed for the back
of the main building to get my assignment for the
day from Larry Parker, the dispatcher. I saw a group of men
standing in front of a podium upon which stood a scrawny,
weather-worn guy with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
He was reading from a clipboard he had laid on the lectern in
front of him, looking up after calling out a name.
“Washington, Lavon.”
“Yo. Over here.” A young African American man raised his
hand and waved.
“Lavon, you are going with Peter today. He is in truck
number twelve.”
“Borden, James.”
“Over here, Larry.”
“You’re assigned to work with Marvin.”
“Uh, no can do. Marvin hates me.”
“Crap. How about Barnett?” Larry bent over his clipboard
and made a correction with a stub of a pencil.
8
“That’s better,” Borden replied. I approached the dispatcher,

and he looked up at me. “Who are you, and what do you want?
We’re busy here.”
“Mr. Parker, my name is Raoul Martez, and today is my
first day at work. Mr. Samuels told me to report to you for an
assignment on a truck.”
“Yeah, I got a notice that you would be starting. Let me see;
I think Hubert Manton is a good choice for you to work with
on truck eighteen over on the other side of the parking lot. Just
do whatever he tells you, and you’ll get along fine.”
I nodded and took off, looking for truck number eigh-
teen. I could hear Larry still calling out names as I walked
away. There must have been at least fifty trucks parked in the
lot, so my search was slow going, but eventually, I spotted
my truck. Standing next to it was a pleasant looking, slightly
pudgy, fiftyish fellow, of average height and the beginning
signs of grey hair. He was standing next to a pickup truck
topping off his thermos from a large container of coffee
which was sitting in the bed of the truck. Hubert looked
up at me as I approached and waved to me to come over to
where he stood.
“Hey, you must be my helper today. Pour yourself a cup of
coffee before we get started.”
“Mr. Manton, good morning. My name is Raoul Martez.”
We shook hands, and I poured myself a cup of coffee.
Hubert looked me over and seemed to be assessing me. I
have always tried to have a pleasant look about myself first thing
in the morning, especially when meeting someone new. Hubert
looked pleased that he had gotten an amenable partner, as it
didn’t always turn out that way.
“Thank God Larry finally assigned a decent-looking young

man to work with me; not the typical kind of guy who usually
shows up. You even look intelligent enough to understand what
we are supposed to do; hallelujah. Raoul, let’s look forward to a
nice day working as a team, okay?”
“Thank you for the compliments. You will certainly have
nothing but cooperation from me.”
“Great. You might also want to put on this yellow slicker
because it’s supposed to drizzle all day.” He reached into his
truck and handed me a pair of yellow rain pants and a jacket.
The truck had already been started, and the motor was
warming up. It had a deep rumbling sound and looked immense.
I felt insignificant, like I was standing next to a mammoth
elephant. The sanitation company parking lot was a busy place
with men hustling to begin their routes. As if a starting gun
had gone off, the trucks all beginning to move toward the exit.
Hubert headed to the front of the truck and climbed into the
driver’s side of our truck, coffee in hand, and waved me to join
him on the passenger side.
“I heard that all the crews were supposed to have three guys?
Where’s the other guy?” I asked.
“It’s supposed to be that way, but our third guy has a
problem with consistently showing up for work. His name is
Bobby Jones, and I don’t think he will be around much longer.
He only comes when he wants to, and Parker is about to can
crofanity?
I
his ass.”
“Jeez, that means I’ll be the only one tossing the trash bins
today. Can’t we get a substitute helper?” I asked, not wanting
to seem too disappointed on my first day or whiney about the
workload.
“Guess not; take it up with Bobby if you ever see him.”
Obviously, this was not the first time Bobby was a no-show,
and Hubert was tired of making excuses for his lack of
commitment to the job. He told me that Bobby had dropped be?
Lova
out of high school and was flirting with the idea of joining a Quet
gang, making his life unpredictable at present.
“I’m sorry to say that I think Bobby is headed for either
prison or early death from a drug overdose. God, I hope you
don’t take drugs, Raoul.”
“No, sir. I never have and never will. I don’t even smoke. I
do have an occasional beer, though.”
“Hah, that’s not taking drugs, that’s being a normal guy.”
Hubert laughed.
With both of us settled into the cab of the huge garbage
truck, we slowly began rolling between row after row of other
garbage trucks in the parking lot. Hubert knew this route
by heart, having traveled it many times. I stared out of the
windshield, already thinking about how long I would be able to
stay with this smelly job.
“How long have you been doing this type of work?” I asked.
“Too long, maybe fifteen years.”
“Damn, fifteen years. You’ve been doing this since I was
a kid. How much longer do you think you will be driving a
garbage truck?”
“It pays my family’s bills and offers me a retirement package.
I guess that’s as far as my ambition goes. What about you?”
I didn’t answer right away.
“I’m still a little fuzzy on what might be in my future. I know
I want a college degree, but what the degree would focus on is still
an unanswered question. I’m planning on going to night school.”
I continued to stare out of the window as the truck made
its way to our destination, which was an upscale neighborhood.
We were going to be hauling away the garbage of the rich

people. The two of us were quiet for the rest of the drive past a
beautiful golf course and into a neighborhood of lush greenery
and gardens.
“Man, Hubert, this neighborhood reeks of success. It
certainly helps me to focus on my plan to get myself more
educated.”
“What do you think these people did to make the kind of
money it takes to live in one of these houses?” Hubert replied.
“I have no idea because I don’t know anyone who would
qualify. I have asked myself many times what I want to do with
my future, but, as usual, the answer keeps eluding me. All I
know for certain is that I want to live in one of these big houses
and not be picking up garbage for a living.”
Hubert laughed and slapped me on the knee.
***
The street sign for Windsor Street, our starting point, came
into view, and it was time to get to work. We had traveled
from the dirty, industrial part of the city into a beautiful area
of tall trees and green lawns. Hubert stopped the truck for me
to get out and start collecting the garbage bins sitting in the
front yards that lined the street while the truck crept along
ahead of me.
“If one of the bins is too heavy, call me for help. No use
hurting yourself,” Hubert shouted.
“Don’t worry; I will.” I shook my head, knowing Hubert
was trying to be nice but probably wasn’t about to get his hands
near these trash bins.
Half a block into the day’s work, Hubert pulled the big
truck farther ahead of me, stopped, and put the truck in park.
He proved me wrong when he jumped out of the cab to lend

me a hand.
“What are you doing?” I shouted.
“I felt sorry for you since Bobby wasn’t here to help, so I
thought I’d come over and help you.
“Lordy, Lordy, aren’t you being nice? Thank you, Hubert.
Don’t hurt yourself.” I laughed.
Windsor Street ran for six long blocks, and by the time we
reached the end of the street, Hubert parked the truck and came
around to sit with me on the back end, while we took a break.
“How are you holding up?” Hubert asked.
“Fine, so far. The biggest problem I am having is why I’m
spending my day tossing garbage bins into the back of this
truck. However, I’ve got to say I’ve seen some pretty interesting
garbage so far this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, not that I have a lot of experience with this, but it
would seem that rich folk’s garbage appears to be a whole lot
different than poor folk’s garbage, is what I mean.”
“In what way? It seems we all throw away pretty much the
same kind of stuff,” Hubert mused.
“That’s where you have not been paying attention, Hubert.
These people use more expensive trash bags, and they are good
about not dropping any trash outside the bins. Also, I’ve noticed
a large amount of wasted food in this trash, which, for sure, you
wouldn’t see in poor people’s trash. Heck, you could feed yourself
pretty well out of this garbage. The rich just don’t seem to give
a hoot about waste. Over in the hood, I would assume, there’s
usually as much trash outside of the bin as in it because the poor
are probably using cheap bags that tear easily, or someone will
rummage through it looking for something usable.”
“Are you from the ‘hood’?” Hubert asked.

“No, but I’ve been around, and I’m very observant.”
“Well, I guess you’ve just discovered something monumental.
You ought to write up a research paper on it and publish it in
some sort of print media.” Hubert laughed.
“Do you ever look beyond the obvious and consider other
options or solutions to what you could be accomplishing in
your life?”
“Solutions to what?” Hubert asked.
“You see all kinds of things people are constantly throwing
away without regard to its value. Don’t you ever look for an
opportunity to develop what other purposes some of this trash
could be recycled into? Do you ever think about how you could
better yourself and move on up in this world?”
“I used to, Raoul, but not for a long time. It seems there is
no incentive for me to be creative, so I just work with what I am
assigned to do. Do you do anything like that?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It’s not that I’m looking down
on you for doing an honest day’s work; I’m just thinking aloud
about how we could use our brains instead of our backs to make
our lives more fulfilling. Also, I will be putting a lot of time,
effort, and money into night school. I hope I’m making the
right decision about my future.”
“Son, I admire you for thinking, period. I believe you might
be one of those rare people who have original thoughts and act
on them. I would be proud to see you take one of your ideas and
make yourself a better life out of it. Now, let’s get back to reality
and collect the garbage on Howell Street.”
The day progressed slowly, and I was beginning to feel some
pain in my shoulders from picking up heavy bins high enough
to dump into the back of the truck. I continued to be surprised
at what people considered trash and was tempted to pull some

things out that I thought were usable, but I stopped myself from
doing so since it was my first day on the job.
We worked from seven in the morning until three in the
afternoon when we had completed our assigned streets. I climbed
up into the cab with Hubert and poured myself another cup of
coffee.
“Tired?” Hubert asked.
“Oh yeah. I knew it would be physical work and thought I
was in fairly good shape, but I guess I was wrong. My shoulders
are killing me.”
When we finished picking up the trash, we drove it to a
dump not too far away from the company’s facility. We got in
line behind several other trucks waiting to empty their loads
which took another half-hour, then headed for the company
parking lot.
“When do your classes start?” Hubert asked.
“I haven’t signed up yet.”
“Well, be sure to follow through. It’s important, and it will
make me proud to know someone with ambition.”
***
Over the next few weeks, I found every excuse in the book to
visit Ms. Bailey. At first, I kept asking lame questions regarding
my employment opportunities, such as health insurance, the
potential to become an office worker, etc. On one of those
occasions, Mr. Samuels was talking to Linda when I showed up.
“Are you looking for something?” he asked in a brusque
manner.
“Uh… I came by to ask Ms. Bailey about the opportunity
to join the company’s health insurance plan,” I replied.
“Why aren’t you on a truck picking up garbage?”

“We finished our route early, sir.”
“Your name is Martez, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, Raoul Martez. You interviewed me several weeks
ago.”
“Look, Martez, your job doesn’t include hanging around
bothering Ms. Bailey, so don’t make this a habit. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, sir. I won’t. If you two are busy, I’ll come back another
time.”
“No, we just finished our meeting. Find out what you want
to know and then get lost.”
Samuels looked like somebody I would not want to make
angry, and frankly, he scared me. I looked at Linda and could
see she wasn’t too comfortable either, but I don’t think it had
anything to do with me. After Samuels left, Linda signaled me
to call her later, so I left.
When I got home, the phone was ringing, and it was Linda.
“Raoul, whew, what a day. Mr. Samuels was on the warpath
about something and was about to take it out on me when you
showed up. Thank you for interfering, even though you didn’t
mean to.”
“What’s going on? Neither of you looked too happy. Is
anything wrong?”
“Not anything more than the usual.”
“What does that mean?”
“Samuels is an angry person all of the time. He only shares
that anger with me when he doesn’t have another outlet for it,
like beating someone up or yelling at a driver. I swear he is a
powder keg with a major anger management problem. I know
Dorothy Handley, Mr. Thornton’s secretary, doesn’t put up with
him, and he pretty much leaves her alone. I think he’s scared of
her; I know I am. I’m not usually the outlet for him, but today
he was very frustrated about something, and I guess I was the
only one around. However, he never got around to telling me
what it was.”
“Whoa, if I were you, I’d get the heck out of there. They
can’t be paying you enough to be the target of abuse. It’s like
waiting around for a bomb to explode.”
“Most of the time, it’s not like that. I enjoy my job, but it
would be nice to have a calmer boss. Were you really coming to
ask about health insurance?”
“No, I was coming by to see if you wanted to have dinner
with me. It’s not too late to say yes, that is if you want to.”
“Yes, I would love to as long as I can get a nice glass of wine
with it.” She giggled.
***
Work began to settle into a routine, and I got to know our
route very well. The scenery was so beautiful; I felt blessed to be
spending my days in such a nice environment. Hubert turned
out to be a great guy, and I liked him. This job turned out to be
the perfect job to meet my needs, even though it was repetitive.
Since we picked up the trash during the day, we hardly ever saw
any of the inhabitants on our route out and about. During this
time, I kept in touch with Linda, and we went out a couple of
times to a Chinese dumpling place which she liked.
The restaurant was in a strip shopping center containing
various Chinese stores and restaurants, but it stood out due to
an elaborate entrance designed like an ornate, red, and gold gate
to a gaudy Chinese palace. Once inside, the décor changed to a
very plain white-walled and tile-floored style. There must have
been sixty tables and thirty waitresses rolling carts of dumplings

and dim sum around to the tables. A plump, smiling woman in
her sixties was going from table to table speaking to the guests.
She soon wound up at our table, and Linda got all excited.
“Raoul, I’d like to introduce you to Queenie, the proprietress
of The Great Wall restaurant. She owns this place, and her
husband is the head chef.”
“Pleased to meet you, Queenie. Linda tells me great things
about your restaurant.”
“Linda, good girl, you marry?”
“Queenie. Raoul and I are just getting to know one another.”
“My husband and I were put together by our families. One
day, my father came to me and said, I have a good man who will
be your husband. You will get married and prosper. Give me
many grandchildren.” Queenie laughed.
“Well, things are a little different here in America these days.
I’m enjoying being around Raoul, but who knows what the
future will be,” Linda said. She grabbed my hand and squeezed
while we both smiled at Queenie.
“Queenie, I promise you will be the first to know if we
get married. Right now, I’m more interested in tasting your
restaurant’s wonderful food,” I said.
We started to look at the menu, but Queenie snatched them
away.
“You no need menu. We’ll make you something special,”
she smiled and hurried away to the kitchen.
“Be sure to include some of your delicious vegetable
dumplings,” Linda called after her.
I found myself increasingly more interested in Linda and
hoped she felt the same. I discovered she was very smart, and it
puzzled me why she wanted to work at the company in the job

she currently had.
“Truthfully, what’s it like working for Samuels?” I asked.
“Oh, I guess it’s okay. He’s a bit rough around the edges,
but so far has been nice to me, and we seem to get along. On
the other hand, the majority of the people who come to see him
give me the creeps.”
“Well, let me just say that they are a rough crowd. I’d hate to
get on their bad side if you understand what I’m saying.”
“Have you spoken to him about them?”
“No, because he is very much like them. They all seem like
dangerous people to me. Maybe I’m overreacting because, in the
garbage business, everyone seems more unpolished than people
like you and me.”
“Why do you stay there if you feel uncomfortable?”
“I’m not that uncomfortable; I’m just making an observation.
The job pays well, and so far, it has been pleasant. Let’s talk
about something else, okay?”
CHAPTER THREE
Hank Boucher
A
fter dropping out of a helicopter, we had to swim
one hundred yards to the beach during a thunderous
rainstorm. Lightning struck everywhere, and we were
concerned about being spotted when we came out of the water.
It was as if the enemy were firing star flares to light up the area,
but we timed our exit from the ocean just as the lightning faded
and the dark curtain of night fell back into place.
“Boucher, keep low and cover the left side of the building,” I
heard Captain David Harley whisper into his microphone.
“By myself, or do you want me to take Jack with me?” I
answered.
“You take Jack, and I’ll take the rest with me.”
“Roger that.”
Our team was being led by Captain Harley, a stone wall
of a man. His chiseled features were exactly what you would
expect from an action figure. He was 6’ 2”, about 180 pounds
of solid muscle, and had a burr haircut. Jack Loudon was a wiry
5’ 8”, tough as nails young man who was always on the verge
of smiling. He and I ran crouched over to the left side of the
20
concrete block building as ordered by ‘the boss.’ We could hear

voices inside but couldn’t understand what was being said.
“Hank, back up a bit and keep an eye on the back door. We
will bust in the front door and hope they don’t shoot the hostage
before taking control. On my three-count, be prepared to stop
anyone exiting the back door.”
“Good luck,” I replied.
“One, two, three, go, go, go,” I heard Harley yell by way of
my phone.
The next few moments were chaotic, with a lot of yelling
and the sound of rapidly firing weapons. The back door flew
open, and three men came running out. Jack and I stood up
with our weapons aimed at them.
“Halt. Put your weapons down and turn to face the wall,”
I yelled.
The response was a spray of poorly aimed machine-gun bul-
lets whizzing past my head, so Jack and I responded, returning
fire, easily knocking all of them down. We waited a moment and
then approached the bodies, checking to see if any of them were
alive; they weren’t. We then cautiously entered the building.
“Harley, are you guys okay?” I yelled before exposing myself.
“Affirmative, Boucher. It’s safe to come in.”
Two of the enemy stood with their hands on their heads,
one lay in a pool of blood, and the rest of our team had spread
out into the room. The guy we came to rescue was still tied to
a chair with duct tape. He seemed okay, other than his eyeballs
about to bust out of his head, and he had peed in his pants.
“All clear out back, boss,” I said.
Another member of the squad released the victim from the
chair, and Harley called for a chopper to pick us up. Within
ten minutes, we heard the whop-whop of the helicopter blades

cutting through the air. A large Chinook helicopter landed about
one hundred feet away from the building, and we all hustled to
it. On the ride back to base, I realized that this would be my last
mission. My body ached from the tension of all the muscles in
my back, and my hands were shaking in a delayed reaction to
almost being killed in the shoot-out.
Captain Harley saw my hands shaking and put an arm
around my shoulders.
“Relax, Hank. That was a perfectly executed mission.”
“I know, but I think I’m getting too old for all of this
excitement. My back is killing me from being all tensed up, and
the gunfire reminded me that I would like to live a little longer.”
“You’ll be okay.” Harley slapped my shoulder.
When we arrived at our base, I took off all of my equipment,
stored it in my locker, washed my face, changed clothes into
civvies, and headed for my car with a couple of the other guys.
We drove to our favorite watering hole, The Blue Dolphin, which
was on the main drag a couple of streets away from the base.
Annette, our usual waitress, saw us coming and already had
a pitcher of beer ready and waiting on a table.
“Thanks, Annette,” Jack Loudon said while I poured
everyone a glassful.
Tonight the bar was relatively quiet since it was not a
weekend night, when the place was hopping with sailors.
“You okay, Hank?” Jack asked me.
I shook my head and drank half of the glass of beer. I looked
around the table, noting that I was about ten years older than
the rest of the guys.
“No, I’m not okay. I’m tired.”
“Hell, we’re all tired.”
“Not that kind of tired; I mean, I can’t do this anymore. I’m

just worn out.”
“Come on, Hank. You’re the best man on the team. We
need you.”
“No, you don’t. You need to up your game and fill the gap
because I’m going to see the commander tomorrow to retire.”
The table got quiet, and it seemed no one knew what to say.
“You guys are young and have a while to go before you will
feel this way. I think you are all the greatest, and I wish you well.”
The guys raised their glasses and gave me the traditional yell
of ‘Hooyah.’ I smiled and thanked them.
***
The next morning, I stood in front of the commander of our
team. He was a classic-looking long-term military guy with a
square shape, broad shoulders, short haircut, and a bulldog look
on his face.
“Sir, I’ve been on the team long enough. I’ve enjoyed my ser-
vice, but I finally feel like I need to live a different kind of life.”
“Boucher, you’re only thirty-six, and you are still the fittest
guy your age that I’ve ever met. Are you sure there aren’t any
other reasons making you want to quit?”
“You can only push your luck so far, sir. I’ve been at this for
fifteen years, and I’ve come to realize that there are other things
I’d like to explore. I don’t have any complaints about the navy;
it’s personal.”
“Well, we hate to lose you. You’ve always excelled in your
job, and I know you will do well in any other endeavor you
choose. Good luck, Hank.” He stood up behind his desk and
shook my hand.
“Thank you, sir.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Hank Boucher
M
y full name is Henry Leon Boucher, but most
people call me Hank. I’m a thirty-six-year-old
half-French, half-Hawaiian, standing at 6’3” and
weighing about 198 pounds, with green eyes and, I’m told, a
bright smile. The meaning of my French last name is butcher,
which must have been providential because I’ve had blood on
my hands while being a U.S. Navy Seal, but killing wasn’t the
major part of my job.
I have always needed excitement in my life to feel alive.
My fifteen years as a Navy Seal was probably the most fulfilling
period of my life, but when I retired from duty, I felt somewhat
lost. During my career in the navy, I had participated in several
life and death situations where the adrenalin flowed throughout
my body, making me feel like my brain and my body were
110% in synchronization. I don’t believe there are many things
in civilian life that can provide that kind of intensity. As a Seal, I
craved the feeling of an adrenaline high and have always wanted
more of that sense of electricity coursing through my body. I
continued to feel like that mentally, but as I aged, my body was
no longer able to respond with that same kind of feeling.
24
I can still physically function pretty well for my age, but I no

longer have the stamina or the ability to deal with pain as I once
had. The big question I had to face was what to do with the rest
of my life now that the thrill was gone. I had watched several
professional athletes’ lives fall apart after their careers ended,
winding up broke and depressed. These guys were talented
athletes, not talented entrepreneur types, and were usually taken
advantage of by their hangers-on, which convinced me I needed
some method of providing for my financial security.
Retirement from the navy was a major event in my life,
causing me to take stock of my talents. My training included
handling explosives, knowledge in the use of various weapons,
methods of killing people, the ability to analyze a situation and
form a plan of action, and the art of stealth. I was also good at
electronics, living off the land, swimming at least five miles at a
stretch, and having long hikes over rough terrain. Unfortunately,
I could not identify very many jobs that would require any of
those skills. I didn’t feel that being a hired gun for corporate
America had much long-term security. I needed to find a job
using my training to supplement my navy retirement pay, given
that I was still relatively young.
The main things I had going for me were being single, self-
confident with a commitment to honesty, and the desire to do
the right thing for my community. A career in law enforcement
appeared to be a logical place to use my talents, but I could
not see myself as a beat policeman. I did, however, see myself
in either the FBI or the CIA. The CIA would be my number
one choice because a Navy Seal and a CIA field operative are all
about stealth and analyzing situations, along with the need to
know the use of various weapons. Primarily, the job was more
of an investigative venture rather than one filled with violence.
After doing some due diligence, I came to the conclusion

that the CIA was exactly what I was looking for, so I contacted
them and asked for an interview. I did not have to go to CIA
headquarters in Virginia because I discovered there was a local
office here in a building downtown.
I located the steel and glass high-rise building, entered the
ground floor, and checked the tenant directory posted on the
wall in the lobby. I was surprised to see ‘Central Intelligence
Agency Field Office’ was in room 309. I don’t know why I
expected to see a name like ‘American Aerial Surveyors’ or
something else misleading; too many spy movies, I guess. I
shrugged my shoulders and took the elevator to the third floor.
I exited the elevator on the third floor and followed the wall
signs pointing the directions to various suite numbers. Room
309 was at the end of the hallway on the north side of the
building, displaying only the room number and not the name of
the occupant of the office. Upon entering, I saw that the room
looked like any other normal business office with a receptionist,
a few scattered chairs, and a table full of magazines. I noticed
there wasn’t anything decorating the walls nor anything else
which would give away the purpose of the office.
“May I help you?” a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman
asked me.
“Yes, I’m here to inquire about signing up to become an
agent.”
“Very well, have a seat, and I’ll call Mr. Langdon, our station
manager, to come to meet with you.”
I sat down and picked up the latest issue of The New Yorker
magazine but barely had time to read anything before Mr.
Langdon appeared. I don’t know what I expected, but he was
a normal-looking office manager type, about 5’ 8”, with the
beginnings of a receding hairline and a little on the pudgy side.

He was not what I would have imagined an agent to look like.
“Mr. Boucher, my name is Frank Langdon. I understand
you wish to speak with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Follow me back to my office where we can have some
privacy.”
I followed him past several offices on either side of the
hallway until we came to the one he turned into. It was a small
office with a desk and credenza, two chairs, and a computer. I
thought it interesting to note that he did not display anything
of a personal nature, such as family photos, anywhere around
his desk or the wall behind him. Also, no one could say the CIA
had luxurious offices at the expense of the taxpayer, it was very
utilitarian.
“Okay, now, what can I do for you?”
I handed him my résumé and began to explain why I had
come.
“Well, I’m retired from the navy but don’t feel like an old
man yet. I’m looking for a job that would utilize my skills and
not anchor me behind a desk.”
“Why do you think the CIA would be that job?”
“I’m going on the public’s perception of what you guys do.
I would like to be in some form of investigative work, which
could lead to the possibility of using my physical skills and keep
my military training alive. Why don’t you tell me what the real
story of being a CIA agent is about?”
“Being a CIA agent isn’t all action, but it is a lot of inves-
tigative work. I would not say all of our agents live up to the
reputation of spies, but we do have a few. Most of our people are
assigned to protect America’s interests predominantly abroad,
and sometimes it can get exciting. Your background as a Navy

Seal would be a good mix with what we do but with a little less
action.”
“I’m open to learning new skills.”
“Good. Also, we try to keep what we are involved in to
ourselves, not to alert anyone that we have our eye on them.
How good are you at subterfuge? Navy Seals, I’m sure, go
through some form of that kind of training.”
“Yes, sir, we studied that and utilized it in various situations.
Primarily, though, we were taught more about tracking and
observation than subterfuge.”
“Good.”
Mr. Langdon turned to his credenza, retrieved, and then
handed me a booklet on what was expected of an agent in the
CIA.
“You need to read this and see if there is anything you don’t
agree with before we go further into this process. Think it over,
and if it still appeals to you, call me.”
“Yes, sir.” I stood up and almost saluted but held my
enthusiasm in check.
After leaving the office building, I stopped at a coffee shop
across the street, found a nice quiet booth to settle into, and
ordered a cup of black coffee. The booklet wasn’t very big,
and I was almost finished with it before my coffee arrived.
There wasn’t much in it that I had not already surmised, and
I felt comfortable with the job description. For the most
part, there were a lot of similarities between my old job and
this one. I could see where not being married with children
would be a positive. Even though I had not ruled out the
possibility of having a family, it was not on the apparent
horizon.
Not wanting to appear too eager, I waited until the next

morning to call Mr. Langdon with my decision.
“CIA field office, Mrs. Thompson speaking.”
“Hi, I would like to speak with Mr. Langdon, please.”
“Certainly, just a moment, please, while I connect you with
him.”
“Hello, Langdon speaking.”
“Mr. Langdon, this Hank Boucher. I’ve read the booklet
you handed me and had already given this idea a lot of thought
before meeting with you yesterday. I’m now certain that I do
want to join the CIA. The only requirement I have is that I
don’t want to be assigned to a desk job. I want to be where the
action is.”
“Excellent, Mr. Boucher. I think you are perfect for the
job. The next step is to have you come back to my office and
fill out all the employment papers, submit to a physical and
psychological test, and be in a position where you can spend two
to three months at our training facility in McLean, Virginia.”
“Sounds like basic training all over again.”
“Perhaps, but there won’t be any screaming drill sergeants,
and you won’t be staying in a barracks with strangers. The whole
process is civilized and not focused on physical training even
though you will be encouraged to stay in shape.”
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road. I’ll be on my way to
your office shortly if that’s convenient for you?”
“Certainly, I’ll be waiting for you.”
The time between taking the exams and waiting for the
results only took about a week, and then I was handed an
airplane ticket to Washington, D.C. The CIA headquarters
was in the small town of Langley, which was four miles from
McClean, Virginia. Both of these places were only about ten
miles outside of Washington and were the homes of several

campuses of CIA buildings.
I was surprised that there was nothing secret about the
location of CIA headquarters. There were signs all over the
place, and one could easily get lost trying to find the location
you were looking for. Fortunately, the agency had sent a car
to pick me up at the airport. The countryside was beautiful,
and the driver dropped me off in front of a modern-looking
building surrounded by lush greenery and gardens. A large
portico covered the front entrance, and the entire main building
must have contained a hundred windows which made me feel
like I was being watched. This was the building I was heading
for, even though it was only one of several buildings spread out
behind it.
I was met by Greg Harris, my boss, during my training
period. He was about my age, very well built, about 6’2”, and
180 pounds with a pleasant, boyish face.
“Mr. Boucher, welcome to Langley. How was your flight?”
“The name is Hank, and I slept most of the way here. This
is some impressive place you’ve got here.”
“You’ll get familiar with it in no time. Follow me, and I’ll
show you to your living quarters.”
We walked out of a back door and climbed into a golf cart
for the short drive to the guest quarters.
“I understand you were a Navy Seal?” Greg said.
“Yeah, it was my dream job when I was young, but it’s time
for a restart in life.”
“Happens to all of us. You are still a young man.”
“I guess I am, but my left knee wouldn’t agree with you.”
We laughed as we finished the drive to my new quarters. A
hotel-like room was assigned to me, and I felt very comfortable
in there. There was a small kitchenette, but Greg told me that I

would eat most of my meals in the company cafeteria.
“Would you like to freshen up before we get started?” Greg
asked.
“No, I’m fine. I’d rather get on with the program,” I replied.
“Since it is approaching three o’clock, why don’t we go for
a run, and we can start the other stuff tomorrow morning at
eight.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll go ahead and change. Where
should I meet you?”
“I’ll be back here to pick you up in about fifteen minutes,
and we can go from here.”
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes there was a knock on
my door, and Greg was back in his running outfit, and it was
obvious that he was in excellent condition. We headed off on
a five-mile run and chatted on various subjects while running.
After our return, I went to my room, showered, and dressed for
dinner. Greg came back by to show me where the cafeteria was.
The cafeteria was typical of a government cafeteria, a large
space with average quality food. Even though it was a cafeteria,
the company catered a special dinner for the trainees, so we were
spared a trip through the serving line. A table was set up for us,
and my fellow trainees were standing around waiting for Greg
and me to arrive.
“Hank, I’d like you to meet some of the other recruits you
will be with during your training.” He took me around the
table, introducing me to six other guys, all of whom looked
ex-military. I’d say the average height was 6’; all of them had
short haircuts, square jaws, and muscular builds. They were
all friendly and seemed as ready to get the show on the road
as I was.
One of the guys stood out as someone I felt an immediate

connection with. His name was John Delafonte, and he had a
bone-crushing grip when we shook hands. I don’t think he did
that on purpose, but I stored the knowledge away, reminding
myself not to shake hands with him unless necessary.
The food served to us was surprisingly decent, and there
was a bunch of familiarization conversations going on during
dinner. Afterward, Greg walked us through the program, told us
where to meet tomorrow, and suggested we dress very casually.
He also informed us that we were now going to a welcome to
Langley party at a bar in town so we could get to know one
another better.
Two vans dropped us off at a nondescript watering hole on
Langley’s main drag. The sign on the front of an old building
said ‘Bar,’ and that amounted to the extent of the decoration.
I don’t think any of us was looking to raise hell anyway. We
sat at a long table, ordered a couple of pitchers of beer, and
concentrated on hearing each other’s stories. Greg stayed with
us and participated in the round table discussions. I found out
that we were all from the same kind of background and military
training, which made me feel more at ease.
John Delafonte sat next to me, and I asked him,
“John, how did you wind up here?”
“I guess I had nowhere else to go. I had finished accomplishing
all of my goals in the military and felt I needed to do something
that would keep the adrenaline going. What about you?”
“Pretty much the same as you. Some parts of my body were
physically wearing out, and I didn’t want to lose all of my learned
skills and training, so this presented the best opportunity.
Besides, I’m addicted to the buzz I get when in danger. What
branch of the military were you in?”
“I was in army special forces psychological operations. It

was quite a challenging job, but the pay wasn’t at the level I
wanted. The CIA has a much better pay scale.”
“I’ll agree with you on that,” I replied.
“Hank, what’s your background?”
“Navy Seal,” I replied.
We spent the evening comparing past events with the other
guys and found we all had similar histories. I now knew I was
back on a team of highly trained professionals. By the time I
went to bed, I was very relaxed and felt I had somehow gone to
summer camp. The reception was nothing like I expected, but I
was very pleased.
Our training entailed a lot of classroom study on the U.S.
legal system and what we could and could not do legally. We had
several sessions on surveillance methods and what the procedures
were if we got into situations where people got killed. We learned
who our friends were in other countries, a lot about Interpol, and
tracking people without them being aware of it. We also learned
about emergency extractions from foreign countries and how
to recognize foreign intelligence agents. A lot of time was spent
learning the methods of foreign spies or hired killers. We learned
how and through whom to send messages to headquarters,
encryption, and how to use everyday items as weapons.
I found it all fascinating and participated with zeal. I also
felt that the other guys in the group were just as committed as
I was. I know John was because his competitiveness made him
try to best everyone in everything we did. However, we were all
there with enthusiasm and purpose, which created a challenging
atmosphere.
One day I asked John, “Why do you approach everything
as if it was a contest? We’re not competing against each other.”
“I want to be the best I can be, so if I can beat you guys, I’ll
probably meet my goals.”
“Brother, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have what it
takes. Try to relax, or you are going to wind up hurting yourself.”
I smiled.
“What’s wrong, Hank? Are you worried I’ll outshine you?”
I was surprised at his response.
“This is not a contest, John. Do your own thing, and if it
makes you happy, then good for you. I’m confident about what
I can do; I don’t have to prove it to anyone.”
I was a bit frustrated about his intensity and frankly wanted
to put some distance between us. Why he picked me to prove
to himself that he had what it took to be the best, I don’t know.
I guessed I should take it as a compliment. Perhaps he was a bit
immature and needed recognition to affirm his abilities.
“Suit yourself, John. I’m not competing with you, though.”
Within six months, I was ready to get out into the field and
be assigned to an investigation. I decided to stay in Virginia and
bought a condo in Newport News, near the naval base, to take
advantage of some privileges I still had with the navy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hank Boucher
I
checked into the office at Langley the Monday morning after
I got settled in Newport News. The first thing to happen was
that I was asked to attend a meeting at the operations center
along with several other agents. I entered an average-sized room
where an oval-shaped conference table was set up with seating for
several people, but I did not know any of the other agents who
were present. There was also a small table set up in the corner of
the room for a large coffee maker, cups, and saucers.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down with the other guys.
There was an empty chair at the head of the table, and I assumed
it was for our chief, who was not there yet. Everyone was cor-
dial, and nobody knew what the meeting was about.
Charley Fenton, our chief, who always looked like he had
slept in his clothes, stormed into the conference room like a
man on a mission and filled the empty chair. Charley’s average
height, stocky body, and perpetually disheveled appearance
made him appear a lot gruffer than he really was. If he had been
a smoker, he would have had a cigar jammed into his mouth,
but thankfully he wasn’t a victim of that habit. His sleeves were
rolled up, and his balding head was shining as he sat down.
35
“Morning, gentlemen. We’ve got an important assignment

to discuss. One of you lucky guys is about to go on a trip
that might have a bit of excitement attached to it. We’ve got
a situation in San Antonio, Texas, where someone is stealing
military hardware and top-secret documents from Lackland Air
Force base. I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate on the consequences
of this situation, but it has got to be stopped.”
“Why isn’t the FBI assigned to this?” asked one of the older
agents.
“They are. We are involved because some stolen military
materials have shown up in Mexico, which brings us into the
picture. As you know, we have agents stationed in Mexico, and
they are working on who’s receiving the materials and what they
are doing with it. Our job is to coordinate with our compadres
in Mexico in intercepting the shipments coming from San
Antonio.”
“Sounds like an inside job. Someone at Lackland is definitely
involved in these thefts,” another of the agents said.
“Correct. That’s why we are coordinating with the FBI
on this case. We are sending one of you undercover to snoop
around and see what’s going on. If we can solve this case on
American soil, the FBI will handle the arrests, but if it involves
a foreign country, we’ll take the lead.”
“What’s our cover?” I asked.
“Our guy will masquerade as a General Services Agent,
checking on inventory controls and budget management.”
“There is such a thing?” somebody laughed.
“Are you trying to give us a bad name?” another agent
shouted.
“Look, if you have a better, more plausible idea, I’m all ears,”
Fenton answered.
“Who’s going?”
“I’m getting there. We’re sending two guys, Hank Boucher,
to San Antonio with Bernie Talmadge, who works out of the
Austin office, as the team leader. Bernie will be the liaison with
the FBI. Also, Bernie is an old hand at this and will be a good
source of support for Hank.”
I nodded and looked around the room to see if anyone had
anything to say about my assignment.
“That’s all I have so far. Everyone is dismissed except for
Hank.”
While everyone was leaving the meeting, I moved to a
chair closer to Charley. He opened a large manila envelope and
handed me an airplane ticket, a credit card and an envelope
with some expense money, and then started briefing me on the
case. I did not take any notes as per regulations, and Fenton
closed with a warning.
“Some of our intelligence reports have identified a Chicago
crime syndicate as the primary movers in this program. There
has already been at least one murder we know of, so watch your
back. Don’t hesitate to get Bernie involved since he’s got a lot
more experience than you and will be of great help.”
I nodded and got up to leave.
“Good luck. Don’t take risky chances you can’t handle.
Remember, the FBI is available to you as well.”
“Roger, chief.”
“Oh, one last thing. If there is any bloodshed, try to keep it
to a minimum.”
CHAPTER SIX
Hank Boucher
T
he day after receiving the assignment, I bumped into
John Delafonte, who was frustrated that he didn’t get
the job but congratulated me on being picked.
“John, like I said before, this isn’t a contest. I was assigned
to do a job, that’s all. It’s not an honor or a punishment. It was
what I joined up to do. Has Charley given you a mission yet?”
“No, not yet. Hank, I don’t know why I’m acting so juvenile.
I just want to get involved with something challenging. I don’t
like sitting around waiting for something to happen.”
“Relax, I’m sure your time will come soon.”
“Good luck on your mission. If you find you need some
backup, give me a call.” John laughed and shook my hand.
***
The next day, I boarded a commercial flight to San Antonio
and settled into a business class seat. I was sitting next to an older
woman who was determined to talk my ear off and proceeded to
tell me her life story. I tried to pretend I was asleep, but it didn’t
work. Whenever she thought of something exciting to tell me,
38
she grabbed my forearm. I’m not sure if I remember talking to

her or not, but it didn’t seem to bother her.
As we made our final descent into the airport, I couldn’t
help but be impressed by the size of the city. For some reason,
I had never given San Antonio much thought and didn’t realize
how spread out the city was. I got into my rental car and drove
to the hotel the agency had selected for me.
It seemed that everything I drove past had signs in both
English and Spanish. I wondered if I was still in the United
States. San Antonio had a large Hispanic population, and later I
found out that Anglos were, in fact, the minority here. I cursed
myself for my poor performance in Spanish class in high school.
The language skills I should have learned would have definitely
come in handy on this mission.
The hotel was a fairly new, modern steel and glass high-rise
of a national chain with an expansive lobby decorated to simu-
late a tropical atmosphere. Since I work for the government, I had
thought I would be put up in a cheaper hotel but was pleasantly
surprised. The valet gave me a ticket for my car, but I carried my
only bag myself as I headed for the registration desk, which was
decorated to resemble Puerta Vallarta, Mexico, on the Pacific Coast.
“May I help you?” asked a cute young lady dressed in a col-
orful Mexican dress.
“Yes, I have a reservation and would like to check in. The
name is Hank Boucher.”
“You have a very unusual name; is it French?” she asked.
“Yes, it is, but I’m only half French, and the other half is
Hawaiian.”
“Oh, how exotic.” She smiled and handed me my electronic
key.
“Welcome to the hotel. You’ll find our coffee shop down this
hallway on your left. Please put this card on your car windshield
when you return to park in our garage. One last thing I need is
your credit card so you can sign in.”
I handed her the CIA credit card and signed the form she
presented to me.
“The elevators are situated to your right next to the lobby.
Have a nice stay.”
As I entered my room, I saw the red blinking light on the
telephone signaling a message. It was from my San Antonio
contact, Julio Vasquez, telling me where to meet him for dinner.
The most popular cuisine in town is Mexican food since the
majority of the population is Mexican-American, and my first
meeting with the contact was to be in a tiny, almost hidden,
Mexican restaurant recommended by him. It was later revealed
that his cousin owned the place, and Julio felt that if he were to
help the agency out, he wanted his family to benefit from it. I
had time to unpack, wash up, and rest a bit until it was time to
meet Julio.
The neighborhood the GPS took me through on the way
to the restaurant looked pretty marginal. Discounting the fact
that his family was involved, I wished Julio had picked a less
out-of-the-way place for us to meet. I even wondered if it was
safe to exit the car when I arrived. I got there a few minutes
early, and after circling the almost full parking lot, I found a
place to park. Being early, I decided to wait in the car for my
contact to arrive.
An old Mexican security guard was in the parking lot dressed
in gray work clothes, with an old six-shooter revolver strapped
to his belt, which did not make me feel any more secure. At
first, I thought he looked drunk, but his staggering may have
been due to another cause. I decided to give him the benefit of

the doubt.
All I could think of was how authentically the place
in resembled a small Mexican village, all the way down to the
are scrawny looking dog looking for something to eat. Even though
I had never been to Mexico, I had seen photos of the big cities.
This scene was more like some movie I had seen where the ugly-
looking banditos hung out in the only bar waiting for some
excitement. I unconsciously felt for my Glock pistol in its
shoulder holster, hidden under my blue blazer, just to make sure
I was prepared for whatever might happen.
After about five minutes, an old, refurbished yellow Ford
Mustang convertible slid across the gravel driveway and
parked next to me. The driver, a young-looking Hispanic
male, smiled and waved before exiting his car; I did the same.
When he got out of the car, I was surprised to see that he was
about 6’ tall, skinny, black-colored eyes, and had a full head
of black hair, which he had combed straight back. I reached
for his hand.
“Julio Vasquez? Hi, my name is Hank Boucher.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Julio answered as he held the door to
the restaurant open.
The restaurant walls were painted a dirty-looking pale
yellow and decorated with countless Mexican sombreros and
painted masks. Typical Mariachi music blared from strategically
placed speakers, and tables full of Mexican-American laborers
carried on loud conversations while consuming pitchers of beer
and chips with hot salsa. The activity and noise levels were high,
and I don’t believe anyone even paid attention to the sole gringo
entering with a local guy. Julio picked out a booth for us with
an unobstructed view of the entire restaurant.
Almost immediately, a very pretty young lady in a colorful

red Mexican dress approached us for our order. She too had
those dark eyes and black hair, but hers was braided down to the
middle of her back. Her smile looked genuine, and she had an
air of friendliness about her.
“Hey, Julio, welcome back. It’s been a while,” she smiled.
“Juanita, I’ve been buried at work, but now I’m here to
enjoy some good food and muchas cervezas. My friend and I
would like to start with a pitcher of cold Modelo dark and a
basket of chips unless he has anything else in mind.”
“Juanita, my name is Hank, and I think we should go
ahead and order dinner while you are standing here. I’m
starving.”
“How about beef fajitas for the both of us?” Julio asked.
“Sounds perfect,” I replied.
“Okay, so it’s beef fajitas, guacamole, pica de Gallo, and
sour cream for the two of you, right?” Juanita asked.
Julio and I nodded in unison.
“Excellent choice. Do you want flour or corn tortillas?”
“Flour sounds good,” I answered while looking over at Julio
for his opinion, and he nodded.
After Juanita left, we got down to business.
“So, Julio, I understand you have some interesting
information concerning the activities at Lackland airbase, which
you’d like to share with me.”
Julio leaned forward on his elbows and said, “That all
depends on what’s in it for me?”
I was a little taken aback as I wasn’t expecting his question.
“Why don’t you give me a taste of what you know and how
you know it? What are we discussing here? If what you have is
of interest, I’ll give you a hint as to what the answer is to your

question,” I replied.
The conversation stopped when Juanita returned with our
beer and chips. If I hadn’t been here on business, I would have
&
liked to know Juanita better. There’s something about Latin weire
women that stirs me up.
We resumed our conversation after she left.
“Secrets are hard to keep in a close-knit Hispanic community,
and I overheard some relatives talking about suspicious activity
taking place over at Trinity Waste Management.”
“A garbage company?”
“Yeah, but it’s a huge one with big trucks going in and out
all the time, and they are not all garbage trucks. They have at
least a hundred employees, and they have a contract to pick up
the garbage from Lackland Air Force Base.”
“So?”
“As I’m sure you’ve been briefed, I work in the materials
warehouse at Lackland instructing airmen on the handling
and shipping of items incoming and outgoing from the base.
That airbase handles several advanced conventional weapons
as well as nukes. Some of the guys who pick up the garbage
at Lackland are also cousins of mine. They told me they were
almost certain that not everything coming into Trinity’s
facility from Lackland is garbage, but they are unsure if
there’s anything suspicious happening. Right now, everyone
in the company is freaked over the death of one of the biggest
honchos in the company,” Julio said.
“Who died, and how did he die?” I asked.
“The CEO, Charles Thornton, was murdered and stuffed
into a large garbage bin.”
I couldn’t come up with a quip about a guy who runs a

garbage company winding up dead in a trash can. We got
interrupted by Juanita returning with a large sizzling platter
of fajitas, which she placed on a stand in the middle of the
table. It was a presentation similar to a flaming dish of Baked
Alaska. The smell was fantastic, and the sizzling noise was loud.
I automatically began to salivate.
“Thank you, Juanita. I was on the verge of fainting from
lack of food,” I laughed.
“Well, I’m glad I saved your life. Good-looking guys like
you are hard to find.” She gave me a suggestive smile and a wink.
For a minute I forgot why I was there, but the smell of the
fajitas snapped me back to the present.
“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” Juanita asked
before she left us.
I held my tongue, realizing that what we were discussing
was more important. I shook my head, and she left. Julio gave
me a look and wagged a finger at me.
“Hank, every guy in this restaurant wants to get to know
Juanita better, so you need to be more discreet in your flirting
with her. Comprende?”
I nodded and smiled. I looked around and was surprised
to see that several men at various tables had watched Juanita’s
flirting with me.
Julio smiled and looked at me. “You see what I mean?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s get back to our conversation.”
“Other than he was murdered, the specific cause has yet to
be announced. His mutilated body was found stuffed into a
large trash container by my cousin, Raoul Martez, and his driver,
Hubert Manton, while they were picking up the garbage on
Thornton’s neighborhood street. Raoul is a relatively newly hired
guy who wanted a day job to help pay for night school. Hubert,
on the other hand, has worked at TWM for several years.”
I asked for more details about the incident as I rolled another
soft taco fully loaded with beef, sour cream, and guacamole. We
kept eating as we talked.
“Raoul said he and Hubert’s regular route to pick up
garbage was in a ritzy neighborhood. The other day, they were
confronted with an unusually large trash container in front
of Charles Thornton’s house. He said the whole situation was
bizarre.”
“Describe ‘bizarre situation,’ please,” I asked.
“Thornton’s murdered body was in that trash container, and
it was placed in front of his house waiting to be picked up.”
“Sounds like someone was sending a message as well as
liquidating a liability,” I said.
“Well, it’s been a mystery so far, and the cops don’t seem to
be making much progress in solving the case.”
“Julio, can you introduce me to your cousin Raoul?”
“Sure, it will have to be at night though, since he’s at work
all day.”
“No problem. Call me when you have set up a meeting,” I
replied as I tried to get Juanita’s attention so she would bring us
the bill.
She hustled over and started picking up the dirty dishes.
“Juanita, thank you for the excellent meal and the wonderful
service. The fajitas were fantastic, as was your smile.”
She blushed and handed me the bill.
“You boys, be sure to come back and see me sometime
soon.” She laughed.
“Hank, you still haven’t said what you could do for me for
my assistance,” Julio spoke as he watched Juanita walk away.
“Well, for one thing, I paid for dinner, and I will ask Bernie
Talmadge, our honcho in Austin, what he can come up with.
I’m just a worker bee; he’s the boss man. I’m sure there is some
provision somewhere which deals with requests such as yours.”
“Fair enough. Thanks.”
I waved to Juanita as we walked out the door and the first
thing that caught my eye was the security guard sound asleep
sitting in a beat-up folding chair. I pointed him out to Julio, and
we both laughed. We walked over to our respective cars, shook
hands, and I watched as Julio drove off.
For a moment, I leaned back against the car and thought
about what my next move should be. Everything I heard from
Julio sounded promising, but I felt my first step should be to
visit the airbase. I made a mental note to call Bernie in Austin
and ask him to set up an entry for me onto the airbase and
someone to talk to. I didn’t know Julio’s work schedule but
thought it best not to let it be known that we knew each other.
While I was thinking, I didn’t notice two tough-looking
Latino guys approach me.
“Hey, man, I like your car.”
I didn’t answer him and watched as he and his friend came
closer.
“What you doing in our neighborhood, bro?”
“Having dinner. What are you doing here?”
“This is our turf, man. You are an intruder and haven’t even
paid to park your car here. I think you are going to have to hand
me your keys.”
“I don’t think so.”
The guy doing the talking pulled a knife out of his back
pocket and flashed it in front of me. I casually reached out and
stripped the knife out of his hand and pushed him back a bit.
“I’m really not in the mood to play with you guys being that
I overate. Why don’t you just call it a night and leave before you
get hurt?”
He was startled that I had taken his knife away so easily
and rushed at me. I used his momentum to push him past me
into his buddy. He turned back around and took a swing at me,
which I was able to duck, and then I landed a blow into his solar
plexus. He fell to the ground and was gasping for air when I saw
his partner pull a gun out of the back of his belt. I slapped his
gun out of his hand and whipped my Glock out, and pointed it
directly at his face.
“Normally, I would shoot you assholes, but I’m tired and profanity
don’t feel like making a mess. I think it would be wise for you
two idiots to take off.”
They both stared at me in disbelief and then vanished into
the night whence they came.
“Amateurs,” I muttered, climbed into my car, and left the
scene.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hank Boucher
T
he next morning while having breakfast in the hotel
coffee shop, I got a call from Bernie Talmadge, my
liaison with the FBI in Austin, and in general the
leader of my investigation.
“Good morning, Bernie.”
“How’s it going so far, Hank?”
“Well, I’ve learned a bit of background information on
Trinity Waste Management, and our contact here touched
on the need to look deeper into the activity over at Lackland
airbase. I also had a wonderful Mexican dinner and almost got
sidetracked by a lovely waitress named Juanita.”
“Uh focus, boy, focus. I’m getting some pressure from
headquarters to speed up our investigation of what’s going on
at Lackland. Perhaps a visit over there would be a good idea.
I’ll see what I can do to get you onto the base for you to snoop
around and get a feel for what’s happening with any military
inventory.”
“Good idea. I’m also thinking of paying a visit to Trinity’s
headquarters to get a better feel on their activities.”
48
“You don’t think it’s a bit premature for that? It might reveal
an investigation they are unaware of, which could cause alarm
bells to go off.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right, but it also might speed
things up and cause someone to make a mistake. I feel it’s
worth the risk.”
“Okay, but be careful and diplomatic about why you are
snooping into things.”
“Don’t worry, snoopy is my middle name.”
The next morning after breakfast, I drove out to have a look
at Trinity Waste Management’s plant on the edge of San Antonio.
The city was a lot larger, and more spread out than I expected,
taking quite a while and a lot of traffic to get to where I wanted
to go. When I arrived at the sprawling waste management plant,
I was surprised by its size. It must have covered five acres with
several large warehouse-styled buildings and a parking lot filled
with mammoth garbage trucks. A facility this large certainly had
a minimum of a hundred employees and probably more. About
a half-mile down the road from the facility was a huge mound
of earth signaling a very active dumpsite with trucks coming
and going through its front gate in a constant stream of traffic.
I parked across the highway, in the parking lot of an office
building on a small hill about a mile away from the plant, and
began surveying the place with my binoculars. After a quarter of
an hour, my phone rang.
“Hank, it’s Julio. I spoke with my cousin Raoul, and he’s
ready to meet with us tomorrow night at his house. What time
would be good for you?”
“How about seven-thirty?”
“Bueno. The address is 4201 San Gabriel. I’ll see you there.”
I called Bernie to bring him up to speed on my activity.

“Bernie, I’ve got a meeting set up tomorrow night to
interview the garbage man who was present when the CEO
of Trinity, Charles Thornton’s, body was discovered. It turns
out he’s a cousin of our contact, Julio Velasquez, who works at
the airbase and brought all of this to our attention. Have you
made any progress on setting me up with who to meet with
and where at Lackland?”
“Yes, you are to meet with a Captain Lawrence over at the
weapons depot. I’ll try to get some more info on who he is,
but at present, he’s expecting you. Remember your cover is that
you are a GSA agent reviewing Lackland’s handling of sensitive
equipment and weaponry. You also need to ask him if anyone
has noticed any items being picked up by TWM’s people that
would not be classified as garbage.”
“One would think there are procedures set up to prevent
such a thing from happening.”
“We need to look at both the actions of the warehouse
workers and management. Perhaps whatever is taking place
is done without the knowledge of the managers. Let’s keep
whoever might be involved in the theft of equipment at the
airbase separate from what’s going on at TWM.”
“Okay, I’m on it. I’ll report in later when I have something
of interest to report.”
***
I drove up to Lackland’s main gate at around ten o’clock the
next morning. An armed young airman stepped out of his hut
and walked up to the car.
“Good morning. I’ll need to see your identification and ask
who it is you are visiting here?”
I handed him my fake GSA ID and driver’s license and said

I was looking for Captain Lawrence. He took the cards and
stepped back into his hut, and picked up the phone. I could
hear him announcing me to whoever answered, and he shortly
reappeared to give me back my IDs. Stepping back into his hut,
he pressed a button that raised the barrier blocking my entrance,
but before I drove through, he put a ‘visitor’ sign on the inside
of my windshield.
The base was enormous and noisy, with jets taking off and
landing. I drove up to a large warehouse facility near the runways
and entered a door marked ‘office.’ I was greeted by a woman in
an air force uniform.
“Welcome to Lackland. My name is Samantha Lewis, and
I’ll lead you to Captain Lawrence, who is waiting for you.”
She escorted me down a hallway that opened into an open
office area. It never ceased to amaze me at how bland and
unattractive military offices were. They are full of gray metal,
government-issue desks, linoleum floors, and pale, pastel-
colored walls. Anything remotely resembling artwork hanging
on the walls is usually photos of military hardware out in the
field. As usual in an air force office, all the wall hangings were
of fighter jets.
I was led to a small office and introduced to Captain
Lawrence, the officer in charge of the warehouse.
“Captain Lawrence, your guest has arrived.”
“Thank you for meeting with me. I am Hank Boucher.”
He stood up from his desk, and we shook hands. Even
though he was a captain, he looked a little too young for that
position. Maybe I forgot what I looked like at the beginning
of my navy career? He was about 5’ 8”, slim, sandy-blond hair
with a very youthful-looking face.
“Welcome to Lackland, Mr. Boucher. Your Mr. Talmadge

mentioned a little bit about your investigation over the phone
yesterday. I’ve got to admit that your visit is somewhat out of
the ordinary. We usually get a more advanced heads-up when a
GSA audit is scheduled. Is there something unusual prompting
this surprise visit?”
“No, not really. The agency felt that this type of mini-
audit might be more productive in uncovering irregularities in
inventory handling. You don’t have anything to worry about
unless, of course, something is amiss.”
The captain laughed and waved his hand.
“Of course. Well, nothing’s going on here that would raise a
red flag. Where would you like to start?”
“First, I would like to see where your conventional air-to-air
missiles are stored.”
“Certainly. Please put on this ID tag first and follow me.”
I followed him down another corridor to swinging metal
doors with glass panes set high enough to see whatever action
was taking place inside. These doors opened into a massive
warehouse full of pallets and boxes, which I assumed contained
everything needed to sustain the base, from toilet paper to
various weapons and ammunition for jet fighters. There were
at least thirty airmen, all wearing sidearms, busy with various
tasks as we walked over to a closed loading dock. Yellow-colored
forklifts zoomed around, gathering items from newly arrived
trucks. A sergeant stood behind a podium, which was covered
with paperwork, situated between two open loading docks, and
when he saw the captain he stood at attention and saluted.
“At ease, sergeant. This gentleman and I want to see the
incoming and outgoing paperwork for the latest activity involv-
ing air-to-air missiles.”
“Yes, sir. How far back do you want me to go?”

“How about starting with the last shipment you received,”
I asked.
“We track inventory by keeping a running balance of the
oldest inventory in-house designated for use filling requests,
versus newly received items replenishing the depletion of those
items shipped.”
“Okay, then, let’s start with the oldest shipments.”
“According to these records, there haven’t been any shipments
or receipts of material over the past several months other than a
special pallet of the latest air-to-air missiles.”
“That’s odd. We usually have a constant flow of this type of
inventory. Sergeant, recheck the computer and look a bit farther
back.”
“Yes, sir.”
While the sergeant searched his computer, I began wandering
around, looking for long, slender boxes with military markings
used for shipping missiles in. After a few minutes, I came across
an almost hidden pallet containing what I was looking for. It
was stuck between two larger pallets piled high with boxes, but
this one was missing three boxes from the top row. I wrote down
the serial numbers and other identifying marks on the boxes and
returned to where the captain and the sergeant were standing.
As I approached them, they looked as if they were concerned
about something and were whispering.
“Excuse me, sergeant, but would you look up this pallet
number and tell me how many boxes should be stacked on it?”
“Yes, sir. Let me save what I’ve already got on screen first,”
he answered. After a brief delay, he typed in the pallet number,
and a picture of a full pallet showed on the screen.
“Is that the way that pallet should look today?”
“Yes, sir. We haven’t had any orders for any of it yet.”

I looked at the captain, motioned for him and the sergeant
to follow me, and walked them over to the pallet. The sergeant’s
face blanched when he saw the three boxes missing, and the
captain turned to look at him.
“What’s going on, sergeant? I thought you said none of these
had been shipped out. Show me all the paperwork you have for this
inventory; I’ll be in my office while you gather it all together.” Even
though he sounded authoritative, he didn’t sound convincing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come with me, Mr. Boucher, while the sergeant gathers
the material I’ve asked for,” the captain almost demanded.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw two airmen watching
us. They were pretending to stack boxes on another pallet, but
I could tell they weren’t accomplishing anything. The minute
they saw me looking at them, they got busier with the task they
were supposedly involved in. I motioned to the captain to wait
while I began to walk toward these men. Surprisingly, the men
had disappeared when I got to where I saw them working. I
looked around but could not see how they could have vanished,
and I turned back to look at the captain. He and I walked back
to the sergeant’s podium.
“Excuse me, sergeant. I noticed some men staring at us from
that pallet over there, but when I went to investigate who they
were, they had vanished. Any ideas on where they could have
disappeared to?”
He looked where I pointed and thought for a minute before
waving at me to follow him. He also waved to a forklift operator
to come with us. At the pallet, we walked around to the back
of it and found skid marks on the floor showing that another
big pallet had been situated there but was now moved about ten
feet away from where it had originally been. There were loose
cardboard boxes on the floor, not on a pallet, and they looked
disorganized. A large metal plate was also revealed underneath
where the boxes had been piled, with one large empty box
almost hiding the metal plate from view.
“What is that?” I asked.
“That is an access portal to a basement room where all the
plumbing and electrical wiring for the warehouse are situated,”
the captain replied.
“Is it possible for me to take a look in there?”
“Sure. We hardly ever go down there unless something needs
repair. Do you think those airmen went in there?” He looked
over at the sergeant, who seemed ill at ease.
“It seems reasonable to assume that there is nowhere else
they could have gone in the short time it took for us to walk
over here. Are there lights down there?”
“Yes, but the ceiling is a bit low, and it is crowded with
pipes running in all directions. Do you want me to send some
men down there to search the area for you?” the captain asked.
“No, I think I can handle this if it’s okay with you.”
The sergeant lifted the metal portal and descended a set of
stairs to turn on the lights for me. When I started my descent,
the captain grabbed my arm.
“Remember, everyone in this place carries a sidearm. Be
cautious.”
I was on alert as I entered a cluttered space filled with white
PVC piping of different sizes running in all directions. Most of
the pipes were suspended from the ceiling, with instructions
written in various paint colors identifying the use of the pipe. It
was hard to see very far because of pipes obstructing my view. I
heard a movement farther back into the space to the left.
I drew my 9mm Glock and crouched down while winding

my way under and around the pipes.
“Listen up. There is no way you are getting out of here
unless you surrender. I am armed and coming your way, so don’t
be stupid and start a gun battle. I am an expert shot, and you
would not stand a chance,” I yelled.
As I ducked under a pipe, my peripheral vision revealed an
arm swing down, hitting me on the head with a metal object. I
did not get a look at the perpetrator before I blacked out.
***
I opened my eyes to a throbbing headache. I was lying on the
couch in the captain’s office with a medic attending me.
“What happened?” I asked while trying to sit up.
“You got clobbered by one of the men in the basement. I
don’t know how they got away. I guess there must be another
exit down there because the entrance you used was guarded by
the sergeant and another of my men,” the captain answered.
“You’ll be okay, but you probably will have this headache for
a while longer. Here is some aspirin in case you need them. You
must have a hard head because you’re not bleeding or have any
cuts,” the medic said as he packed up his bag.
“I’ve been told that before,” I answered as I sat up and saw
the captain talking on his phone.
“General Blanchard, Captain Lawrence here in the warehouse.
I’ve got some bad and disconcerting information to alert you
to. We just discovered there are three of our newest and most
sophisticated missiles are missing from inventory. I don’t know yet
whether they are misplaced and still here or have been removed
from inventory by theft. We also had an event concerning two
unknown airmen and a GSA inspector in the basement of the
warehouse resulting in the disappearance of the airmen and injury

to the GSA inspector. It would be a good assumption that these
airmen are connected to the missing missiles.”
There was a moment of silence while he listened.
“No, I don’t know who those men were, but we are conducting
a role call at this very moment. The GSA inspector is sitting in
my office. He came here to examine our paperwork on these
missiles. No, sir, I don’t know what caused the investigation, but
I’ll ask.” He listened to the general say something else. “Yes, sir.”
The captain handed me the phone and went back out into
the warehouse.
“Yes, general. What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me what triggered your investigation. This is
truly a unique event and has gotten me highly disturbed.”
“I can understand, sir. I’m going to be completely frank
with you and would appreciate your confidence in keeping what
I tell you to yourself.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about me not being with the GSA, but with
the CIA. I was sent here to investigate the information we have,
leading us to believe someone with access to your inventory is
working with native or foreign agents to steal the newest weap-
ons or plans for those weapons. We also believe they are using
Trinity Waste Management, your garbage collection service, as
the transportation site of the stolen missiles.”
“My God. What have you discovered so far?” The general
sounded surprised.
“So far, I was the one to discover that three missiles were miss-
ing from your inventory. Captain Lawrence and the sergeant work-
ing in the warehouse as a keeper of the inventory weren’t exactly
overly upset at my discovery. They have played along with me, but
I’m becoming concerned that they are somehow involved. The

men who attacked me were dressed as airmen and somehow have
escaped capture. I will be notifying the FBI to help find them.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Find out who in your command is involved with this and
alert the FBI with what information you are able to uncover. We
would prefer you not to take any overt action since we might
be able to use this person to track others further up the chain of
perpetrators. That is our mission, not yours.”
“I understand. Hopefully, we will have that information for
you shortly. Good luck. Tell Captain Lawrence I want to see
him in my office as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up the phone, struggled to my feet, and walked
back into the warehouse to tell the captain I was leaving. As I
approached, I could see the sergeant and the captain in a heated
discussion, which they dropped the moment I arrived.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” I said.
The captain’s face was flushed, and the sergeant looked
worried, but they tried to act calmly as we spoke.
“Thank you for your assistance, captain. I will be back in
contact with you soon. Oh, and the general wants to see you in
his office as soon as possible.”
“Right, I can’t believe this is happening. I trust all my people
and can’t for the life of me think of who might be behind this.
I’m sure we will get to the bottom of this fairly quickly, though.
Sergeant, I’ll be back after I walk Mr. Boucher out.”
“Yes, sir.”
On my way out the door, I looked back at the warehouse
door and caught a glimpse of someone watching me, but when
he saw me looking, he disappeared. Captain Lawrence escorted
me to my car and wished me well. I called Bernie as I began to

drive away.
“Bernie, it’s Hank.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m leaving Lackland airbase. I’m sure I struck a nerve with
some of the warehouse people, especially the captain in charge
and a sergeant working with him.”
“What happened?”
“Both of those men showed signs of being uneasy and
nervous at my being there. They also seemed a bit blasé when
I showed them where some missing inventory had been, which
they had no explanation for. Also, I was attacked and knocked
unconscious by a couple of men posing as airmen, but I would
bet they were directly involved in the theft of the missiles. I’ll fill
you in on the details about my mishap later. Other than a bad
headache, I’m okay, I think.”
“I can’t believe they would be so blatant as to attack you and
then make nothing of it.”
“They are amateurs for sure. Whoever has the missiles is
a lot smarter and more dangerous. I think it’s possible those
involved on the airbase are being controlled by others and only
doing their bidding to protect themselves.”
“What’s next on your agenda?”
“I’m going to chill out the rest of the day and hope my head
feels better in the morning. Then I’m going to pay a visit to the
waste management company.”
“Do you feel you need someone with you, or are you
comfortable being alone? I’m concerned that things are going to
get a lot more dangerous the closer you get to the people involved.”
“So far, I’m good. I’ll let you know if I begin to feel
uncomfortable.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hank Boucher
I
took some Tylenol and rested the remainder of the day in
my hotel room. At five-thirty, the phone rang.
“Hank, I’m calling to remind you of our meeting with
Raoul tonight and wanted to know if you want me to pick you
up?” Julio asked.
“That’s a good idea, Julio. I’m not really up to driving
tonight. You want to grab a bite to eat before we go to his
house?”
“Sure, any preferences?”
“Not really. I’ve got a headache and would appreciate
somewhere quiet, though.”
“Is 6:00 too early to pick you up? We can just grab some
burgers somewhere if you like.”
“Sounds great. See you then.”
One thing about Julio was that he was punctual. He was in
front of the hotel exactly at six. He stared at me as I got into his
car and, after a moment of silence, asked me a question.
“Are you sure you are okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. I ran into a little trouble this morning over at
Lackland airbase, but I’ve had far worse troubles when I was on
60
a mission in the navy. I think a hamburger and fries could be all

the medicine I need.”
“Okay, brother. Try to hang on a little longer, and we’ll be at
the restaurant super quick.”
We drove toward town for about ten minutes and stopped at
a local steakhouse where Julio said the best hamburgers in town
were served. We sat in a booth, and a waitress, the antithesis of
Juanita, asked us what we wanted to order.
“I’ll have a hamburger, medium rare, French fries, and a
coke,” I answered.
She looked at Julio.
“I’ll have your Cesar salad with chicken and ice tea.”
“I always say that there’s nothing better for a headache than
carbs,” I laughed.
“Whatever floats your boat. What happened to you this
morning?” Julio answered.
I gave him the short version and said I had called the FBI
to look into it. The rest of our dinner was focused on eating in
silence.
***
Raoul’s house was in a Hispanic barrio consisting of small
limestone houses, or stucco bungalows, painted bright colors,
packed close together in an old neighborhood close to downtown
San Antonio. Both sides of the street were filled with parked
pickup trucks, and there were remnants of Christmas lights still
decorating a few of the houses, along with concrete statuettes of
animals dotted here and there in the front yards.
I kept looking around the dark street to see any obvious
danger that might be lurking about, but Julio assured me it
was safe. Getting out of the car was the first time I noticed the
sounds of a myriad of neighborhood dogs barking loudly as if

we were intruders.
“Julio, what’s with all these dogs barking? Are we about to
be attacked by a pack of wild animals?”
“Everyone in this neighborhood has a guard dog, but they
are all fenced in. No worries.” He laughed.
The front door opened before we had a chance to knock.
Raoul welcomed us and waved us in. He was a handsome young
man, 5’ 11”, trim, his smooth skin without the appearance of
any facial hair, and he was also somewhat muscled. He had an
easy smile, but it became a look of concern almost immediately
as he stuck his head farther out of the doorway and quickly
looked both ways.
“Let’s get inside,” Raoul ordered us in a concerned voice.
“Hey, man, what’s with the attitude?” Julio asked.
“Strange things have been happening lately, and I’m
concerned that someone might be watching me,” Raoul said.
“Watching you? What the hell for?” Julio asked.
“Ever since I was at the scene of the discovery of Thornton’s
body, somebody has decided that I probably know more than I
do. It’s creepy, man.”
“Raoul, my name is Hank Boucher, and I am a GSA agent
here to look into any mishaps with the military inventory at
Lackland airbase,” I said as we were ushered through the open
door.
“Pleased to meet you. So, you are with the GSA? Aren’t you
the guys who approved spending $900 for toilet seats several
years ago? You don’t look like what I expected.” Raoul laughed.
“Sorry to disappoint you. What were you expecting me to
look like?” I asked.
“You know, aviator sunglasses, Hawaiian shirts, whatever.”
“You’ve watched too many television shows, besides, it’s

nighttime, and I don’t need my sunglasses right now. My job
is to check on waste and overspending on government proj-
ects, including theft from the government. I’m not the FBI.” I
laughed.
“Well, come in, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“If you are having one, a beer would be nice.” I smiled.
Raoul went to the kitchen and returned with beers for Julio
and me, along with a basket full of chips.
“First, I want you to know how much I appreciate your
sharing whatever you know about the goings-on at TWM. How
long have you worked there?” I asked.
“Not too long, really, five months maybe.”
“So, tell me what you’ve seen that has caused your concerns?”
“Everything had been going routinely for me and my driver,
Hubert Manton, working our normal assigned route. About
three weeks ago, we had made the usual turn onto Windsor
Street and headed into the ritzy neighborhood where we work.
After finishing on Windsor, we made the turn onto Howell
Street, and the very first bin we saw on the left side stood out as
being different than all the other garbage cans we usually have
to deal with. It was bigger and taller than me, about six feet tall
and slightly tapered from top to bottom. Somebody had painted
the colored bin orange with images of flowers decorating all
four sides. Hubert was driving, and I was in the street picking
up the trash bins. I approached this big one with concern over
its weight and height.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
“I shouted for Hubert to lend me a hand with the big bin.
He put the truck in park and came around the back of it to see
what was concerning me. Hubert was shocked as I pointed to
the gaudily decorated, large container. We stood around for a

few minutes, trying to decide what to do next. I kidded that
there might be a body inside.
“We both tried to develop ideas on how to handle the giant
trash bin but couldn’t come up with any. Hubert thought we
should look inside to see if it would be possible to divide the
load into several smaller ones. He then got frustrated because
he realized this would cause us a delay in picking up the trash
on our route. As regards my comment, he thought I was letting
my imagination run away with me and didn’t want to waste
any more time. He did not believe for a minute that there was a
body inside the bin.
“I asked him if we should call the police in case there was a
body inside for real. I felt that this whole scene was way out of
the ordinary, and I was getting a little nervous.
“Hubert ignored me and said that he thought we should ask
the homeowner if they knew what was inside the bin. He said he
was concerned that whatever was in it would come sliding out
as we attempted to dump it over. Then we would have to clean it
up, which would take even more time away from our schedule.
I agreed and said I would ring the homeowner’s doorbell while
his job would be to make sure no one stole the truck. I thought
that was hilarious, not being able to imagine that happening,”
Raoul continued.
“What a joke. Who the heck would want to steal a garbage
truck?” Julio laughed.
“I shrugged my shoulders and started walking up the long
sidewalk to the ornate glass front door and rang the bell. While
I waited for a response, I couldn’t help but notice that the living
room, which was visible through the cut glass of the door, was
very fancy. I knew these people had to be rich.
“After waiting for what seemed to be enough time, I was

ready to leave when I finally heard noises inside. It still took
a while for the lady of the house, dressed in a flowing, pink
nightgown, to appear. She was a real looker, with blond hair
pulled back into a small bun. I guessed she was about 5’ 2”
and certainly couldn’t have weighed much over 100 pounds.
She had a very confident manner, a practiced smile on her lips,
and had an unusually breathy, dramatic way of speaking. She
seemed to be very formal.
‘“May I help you?’ she asked.
“I pointed at the big trash bin and asked her if she knew
what was in it. She looked out to the street as I was talking. She
looked puzzled and appeared confused when she looked back
at me.
‘“I’ve never seen that bin before. It’s not mine, and I don’t
know how it got there. What do you think is inside of it?’
“I explained that since it was on her property, our only
options were to dump the contents into the truck if we could lift
it or ignore it and let her deal with it. It was not regulation size,
and we were prohibited from lifting oversized objects. I didn’t
want to insinuate what we thought might be in the container.
“I asked her if we should call the police since none of us knew
what was inside the bin. There might be something dangerous
in there, and I don’t think we should take any chances. I told
her that this whole situation was way out of the ordinary for
us, and I didn’t want to insinuate anything negative, I was just
stating the facts.
‘“Do you think we should call the police? After all, there
could be a bomb in it, she answered herself.’
“I was startled to hear her say this. Why would you say
something like that?” I asked.
“She ignored my question.

“I told her that I too had thought of contacting the police
when we first tried to deal with it but felt she might know
more about it. I guess the ball is in your court on that issue,
was my reply.
“The lady went back into the house and shortly came back
wearing a robe. She immediately began walking towards the bin,
not waiting for me to come with her. We kept a small ladder in
the truck, and Hubert had already set it up next to the bin.
“Hubert stood next to the ladder holding his hand out to
help steady her as she climbed up. She looked back at me, for
some unexplained reason, with a distasteful expression. She
hesitated for a moment when she reached for the lid. She then
tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Looking back at
both of us, she shrugged her shoulders and said,
‘‘‘This lid is stuck; I can’t get it open. Perhaps one of you
should try.’
“Hubert and I looked at each other, not knowing what the
next step should be, when the neighborhood security guard, a guy
named Harry Crutcher, drove up and asked what the problem
was. He was on his first drive around the neighborhood that
day when he saw the unusual scene. I guess he figured he should
investigate and pulled his car over to the curb and parked.
“‘Harry, thank God you’re here. We’ve got a problem. I
don’t know how or when this trashcan mysteriously appeared in
my yard. Have you seen any pranksters in the neighborhood?’
“He looked at the can and shook his head.
“These garbage men are concerned about what might be in
it. The lid is stuck, and we can’t get it open. Have you got any
tools in your car, which might help us open it up? she asked in
a friendly manner which gave us the impression that they were

familiar with each other.
“This guy looked like a monster. He had to be at least 6’ 4”
and a bodybuilder. We looked at him as he approached us and
thought he looked pleasant enough but certainly couldn’t have
been all that bright.
‘“Janet, this is a new one for me. A mysterious trash bin
has appeared on your property without your knowledge or
involvement? Come down off the ladder, and let me take a crack
at opening it up,’ Harry said.
“I was impressed with how built-up his body was; muscles
were bulging everywhere. The three of us watched as he strained
to open the lid, and after the first try, he gave up, defeated.
“Harry looked at us and said,
‘“What the hell? Somebody must have glued it on. I guess
I’ll have to take more drastic measures.’ He said this to see if
anyone had any problems with him using a brute force solution.
“None of us cared one way or another how he got it opened.
From behind us, we heard a woman’s voice coming from across
the street. We all turned our heads at the same time, seeing Janet’s
across-the-street neighbor, Barbara Tinsley, come wandering
over, appearing curious.
‘“Janet, what’s going on?’ She asked this in a nosy kind of
way.
“This smiling woman was pretty good-looking for someone
her age, around fifty, I’d say. She also looked intelligent and like
someone with class. She, too, was wearing a bathrobe and slippers.
Given the neighborhood, she fit right in. She spoke to Janet as if
they were friendly, but there was a cold edge to her voice. I got
the feeling that they probably had issues between them.
‘“Well,’ Janet spoke up. She told her briefly what was going
on, and I remember her saying, ‘Barbara, Harry is here trying
to help us figure out what’s in this big trash bin someone left on
my lawn.’
“Barbara looked over at the bin and appeared surprised.
‘“My goodness, I wonder who could have done this?’
‘“That’s what I would like to know,” Janet answered.
“Barbara seemed to hesitate for a moment and then asked.
‘“Janet, I haven’t seen Charles lately? Did he go on a business
trip? I hope everything is alright. He’s not usually gone this
long.’
“Janet appeared irritated and told her not to bring that
subject up again. She sounded angry and said,
‘“He’s probably in Hawaii with some young chick having a
wonderful time.’ You could tell that this was a sore subject for
Janet. There must have been past experiences with this kind of
behavior concerning her husband.
‘“Janet, I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m shocked to hear
you say that about him. I always thought ya’ll were such a loving
couple. By the way, I bumped into him the other day, and he
was so pleasant.’
“‘Oh, what did you talk about?’ Janet was startled and asked
Barbara while tilting her head sideways.
‘“It was just a neighborly chat. I don’t remember exactly
what we talked about.’ Barbara smiled. There was something
catty in Barbara’s voice. You know women have a different way
of fighting than men do. We are much more direct while they
slowly cut you with razor tongues.
“Janet abruptly turned her back on Barbara and returned to
where we were all standing next to the mystery bin. She looked
back at Barbara only once, giving the impression that she knew
Barbara wasn’t telling her everything about what Charles had to

say. Her hard stare almost sent shivers up my spine.”
Julio and I snickered at Raoul’s statement about women’s
fighting methods. Raoul took a break to eat some chips and
open another beer.
“Hubert and I watched this silent battle between the
two women without a clue about what was going on or
who was winning. Our schedule was now almost an hour
late, and we were getting concerned we wouldn’t be able to
finish our rounds that day. Harry was still struggling with
the lid, and a neighborhood crowd gathered to watch what
was happening. It seemed all of Windsor Street’s houses
were emptying as if invited to a show. I saw the people had
started to assemble at the scene and heard a loud buzz of
whispering.
“Harry climbed down off the ladder and walked over to his
patrol car. I heard him open and close the car trunk, returning
with a big knife. He held it in a stabbing type of grip, which
caused a stir among the people in the crowd. I don’t know
why, but several people gasped and looked frightened by the
big knife. Harry raised his arm, gripping the knife with what
looked like determination, and brought it down forcefully onto
the bin’s lid. The sharp blade sliced into the heart of it with
ease. One would have thought Harry was in a struggle to kill an
enemy the way he acted.
“Everyone watched in silence. Now the crowd of neighbors
had grown to about forty or more people who stood transfixed
watching the action. Harry continued to cut around the rim
of the top of the tall bin, and within a couple of minutes, he
was able to remove the top. Whatever he saw appeared to have
shocked him so much that he let out a yelp and fell off the ladder,
landing on his side on the lawn. The crowd surged forward, but
he lifted the hand still holding the knife and, in a threatening
way, yelled, ‘Stop.’
“‘Harry, what is it?’ Janet yelled. She ran over and knelt
beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders.
“Harry got up off the ground, sheathed his knife, and took
Janet’s hand.
“‘Let’s move away from the crowd so we can talk freely.’
“He put his arm around her shoulders and began
whispering into her ear. He illustrated an obvious friendliness
between them as if they were well acquainted, and continued to
converse in whispers. A simultaneous buzz of whispering arose
from the gathered crowd of neighbors, asking one another if
there was something else going on here. The crowd seemed to
be unconsciously leaning toward Janet and Harry.”
Raoul stopped to take a long drink from his beer bottle.
“I guess they were too distracted by the crazy scene we were
all involved in to notice I was standing close enough to overhear
them and heard Harry say.
“‘We need to alert the police right now to avoid suspicion
and get everyone else to clear the area.’ Janet’s hand flew to cover
her mouth as if shocked, but no other emotion appeared.
“After a moment, she leaned into Harry’s big chest. A murmur
of voices rose from the crowd as they tried to discern what had just
happened. Harry patted her on the back, squeezed her shoulder,
and turned to face the crowd that had gathered in the street.”
Raoul took another sip of his beer.
“Harry now faced the crowd of onlookers and stated in an
authoritative tone of voice that everyone needed to go home.
‘“We are going to call the police now because there was
something in the bin which shouldn’t be in there.’ So far
neither Janet nor Harry, after his initial surprise, had shown any
emotional response to this finding and continued to ignore my
presence.
“‘What the hell is going on?’ I heard Hubert murmur as I
moved closer to him.
“Harry walked over to where we were standing, calling
Hubert and me closer.
‘“I’m going to call the police. Don’t leave yet because the
police are certainly going to want to ask you some questions.’
“Look, you need to tell us what was in the bin, I demanded.
“Harry slowly looked around and leaned in closer, putting
an arm around each of our shoulders before he said,
‘“Janet’s husband is in the bin, and he is dead.’”
CHAPTER NINE
Raoul Martez
“W
ell, it sounds like you guys had an exciting
morning. What happened next?” Hank
asked while leaning forward and resting his
forearms on his knees.
“It took about twenty minutes for the police to arrive, and
Hubert took this time to call our dispatcher, Larry Parker, at
Trinity’s headquarters to tell him that we would not have enough
time to finish our route. Larry didn’t understand what the prob-
lem was. He at first thought we had decided to call it a day.
“I listened as Hubert practically yelled into the phone that
we had discovered Charles Thornton’s body in a trash can and
were having to wait until the police said we could leave. Appar-
ently, Larry couldn’t process this and questioned Hubert, so
Hubert said, ‘Look, I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you.’
“I asked what Larry said.
“Hubert put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and
said to me, ‘He wanted to know if we were somehow involved.’
“What?
“Hubert was shaking his head and cut Larry off, saying, ‘Larry,
we were just the ones who discovered this whole mess. Goodbye.’
72
“Eventually, an ambulance and two police cars arrived,

finding us sitting on the curb in front of the tall trash bin.
The four policemen and two emergency medical technicians
approached us while staring at the trash bin.
“‘Is this where the body is?’ One of the policemen pointed
at the bin.
“I was the one to answer. ‘Yes, the neighborhood security
guard had to cut the top of the lid off to look inside because
whoever is involved with this had glued the top on. No one has
touched the body so far, but the security guard recognized it as the
husband of the lady living in this house, Mr. Charles Thornton.’
“‘Where is the neighborhood security guard now?’ the
policeman asked.
“‘He’s inside with the deceased’s wife.’
“‘How is she handling this?’ asked one of the EMTs.
“‘I don’t know. She didn’t show too much emotion when
they discovered it was her husband. I would have thought she
would have been distressed, but she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t
want all the neighbors to know it was him,’ I said.
“‘What do you mean?’ one of the policemen asked me.
“‘Well, practically, the entire neighborhood had gathered
around to see what was going on, but neither the lady nor the
security guard told them what or who we had found and asked
them to leave.’
I looked at Hank for his reaction but got none. He just sat
there listening to me speak. His facial expression was frozen,
and I figured he was taking mental notes. It’s amazing how
differently people react to hearing about bizarre events. I was
surprised he didn’t interrupt me with more questions.
“I could not decide whether or not to tell one of the police-
men what I overheard Mrs. Thornton and Harry talking about.
To me, there was no question they were involved in the hus-

band’s murder, but I was afraid to let anyone know. You know,
she was rich and possibly powerful, capable of murder, and I am
a Mexican-American garbage man who wouldn’t be believed by
the cops or anyone else if I spoke up.”
“Raoul, that was probably a smart move on your part, but
if Mrs. Thornton or Harry somehow finds out what you heard,
you could be in real trouble,” Hank answered.
“What should I do? Should I go to the police or continue to
keep quiet?” I asked.
“I’m just starting the investigation, and at this time, I don’t
know what to tell you. I was told to be suspicious of the police
because you never know who could be involved in foul play.
Let’s get back to what you experienced,” Hank replied.
“About the same time the police arrived, a television station
van turned the corner and stopped next to the policeman and
me. A news reporter jumped out of the van with a microphone
in hand.”
“‘What’s going on here?’ the television guy asked.
“‘Oh, brother, the circus has arrived,’ the policeman
mumbled. ‘Nothing exciting, just a dead body in that trash bin.’
“Hubert walked over and said, ‘Officer, I also overheard the
across-the-street neighbor, a woman named Barbara Tinsley,
mention something about Mr. Thornton being missing. Mrs.
Thornton didn’t want the other lady talking about it and made
some negative comments about her husband before we found
him in the bin.’
“One of the officers walked over to the step ladder, climbed
up to look down into the bin, and then motioned to the EMTs
to come over for a discussion. As this was going on, two of the
other officers walked up to the front door of the house and rang
the doorbell. The television crew was already setting up their

equipment and started trying to interview anyone and everyone.
One of the cameramen followed the officers to the front door,
hoping to film the wife.
“‘Officer, do you need us to hang around any longer? We need
to finish picking up the trash in the rest of the neighborhood,’
Hubert asked the remaining officer.
“‘You can go, but if you have a cell phone with you, we need your
phone number in case we need to ask you some more questions? We
also need your names, home phone numbers, and addresses.’
“Hubert and I wrote down all our contact information on
the policeman’s clipboard and climbed back into the truck, con-
tinuing down the street to collect the rest of the garbage.
“‘Well, that certainly was interesting. The highest-ranking
executive of the company we work for has been murdered. Do
you think this will impact our jobs? What is going on inside the
company?’ Hubert asked these questions to no one in particular.
“‘Good question. What gets me is why on earth would
the person who did this put that bin holding the body in the
deceased’s front yard? Were they trying to pass a message to
someone?’ Raoul replied.
“He looked at me and shook his head; it was all a mystery
to him.”
“Well, they certainly wanted to make a statement of some
kind. Between the size of the bin and the colored decorations,
whoever did this wanted it found. Why they placed it in the
guy’s front yard is certainly puzzling, or maybe it was a macabre
message from a deranged person. I wonder how he was killed?”
Hank said in a matter-of-fact way.
“What difference does it make? He was dead, wasn’t he?”
Julio spoke for the first time.
“Yeah, but did his wife kill him, or did some gangsters kill
him, and for what reason?” I asked.
“He could have had gambling debts, or might have been
cheating on his wife, or was caught embezzling money from the
wrong guys. There are so many possibilities,” Hank replied.
“You might want to speak to the neighbor, Barbara Tinsley.
Mrs. Thornton seemed to be suspicious of what she heard
her say. Remember, she said that she had bumped into Mr.
Thornton before his disappearance, and that seemed to make
Janet suspicious,” I mentioned.
“Perhaps Bernie could get me some more information in
Austin without alerting the local San Antonio law enforcement.
I am poking my nose into their business, after all. I’d prefer to
stay undercover as long as I can without bringing the locals into
the assignment. Like I said a few minutes ago, for all we know,
there could be some bad apples over at the police department
working with the bad guys, and we need to identify them first.
Have you got anything else you think I should know about,
Raoul?” Hank asked.
“Yeah, I sure do. When we returned to the plant that day
and walked to our cars, Hubert suggested we chill out with a
beer before going home. I agreed and said I would meet him
at Benny’s, a local bar. We were both exhausted, more from
psychological stress than physical labor. We drove our own cars
because we would be going home afterward. I had no trouble
finding a parking spot at Benny’s and saw Hubert entering the
front door as I was approaching it.
“After opening the door, I had to let my eyes adjust from the
bright sunlight to the bar’s darkness. After a couple of moments,
I could see Hubert waving at me from a corner booth. The walls
were constructed out of wood planks and were either very dirty
or stained dark, and without the few lights that were on, it would
have been difficult to see anything at all. There were a couple of
small, framed beer advertisements with neon lighting but no win-
dows providing any other source of light. A low murmur of voices
blended all of the room noise into a kind of hum, even though the
bar was crowded with working men, no one was speaking loudly.
“‘What a crazy day.’ Hubert sighed.
“‘Hubert, do you have any theories on what caused Thornton
to get killed?’ I asked.
“‘Sure, that’s all I’ve been able to think about all day. How
about you?’
“‘Since I never had any dealings with Charles Thornton or
his wife, it’s hard to point fingers at anyone.’
“‘The biggest question I now have is, what does this mean for
the company as a whole? Are our jobs in jeopardy? I sure as hell
don’t want to see anything bringing the company down, wiping
out my way of making a living.’ Hubert looked concerned.
“‘Perhaps the story in the news media tonight or tomorrow
morning will shine some light on what’s going on and direct
everyone’s attention in the right direction.’
“I asked Hubert if he truly cared about the what’s and why’s,
or was he just concerned about the trickle-down effect as it
related to him?
“‘I don’t know. It doesn’t make much difference to me other
than the impact it might have on my job. I’m not sure I even
care to follow the story.’ Hubert chugged the rest of his beer and
held his hand up for the waitress to bring us two more.
“I kind of looked at this as a big jigsaw puzzle. Thinking
that if we could uncover more of the pieces, we could probably
solve the mystery.” ‘It’s sort of a challenge, don’t you think?’ I
asked Hubert.
“‘Do you have any experience investigating murders?

What if you got involved and turned over the wrong rock? You
might bump into something you shouldn’t. Will whoever is
responsible for the murder find out about us being involved in
the discovery and think we know something? Are you putting
us at risk, inviting trouble?’ Hubert asked me.
“I stopped talking to take a swig of my beer when I noticed
two guys at the bar having a serious discussion. The man closest
to us, seated so we couldn’t see his face, reached inside his coat
pocket and hauled out what looked like a thick wad of money.
He began counting out what seemed to me to be a lot of bills to
the guy sitting across from him. I froze and continued to stare at
these men. Hubert stopped talking and looked over his shoulder
at the men as well and then asked me, ‘What is it? Why are you
staring over there?’
“‘I just saw the guy with his back to us count out a bunch
of cash to give to the other guy sitting in front of him. What do
you think that’s all about? For some reason, I feel I’ve seen the
big guy before around headquarters.’
“‘Hard to tell from here. I wonder who the guy dealing out
the money is?’ Hubert asked.
“Not too long after witnessing the transfer of money, the
guy shelling out the dough stood up, turned, and headed for
the front door. Both Hubert and I were stunned to see that he
was our boss, Lenny Samuels, of the management team. Even
though we recognized him, we weren’t sure if he saw us. It all
happened so fast that we did not feel as if we had been exposed
to him.
“‘Now, what’s going on here? I’m beginning to feel uneasy
about this whole thing, and I don’t want to be involved in it
anymore. It’s all yours, Raoul,’ Hubert said.
“‘Why me? I just as soon forget it ever happened; besides,

we are not involved in it anyway. I do wonder what Samuels was
doing, though. It looked like some kind of payoff.’
“‘You might want to watch the television news tonight to
see what they have to say,’ Hubert said before we got up to leave.
“I cautiously opened the door of the bar and surveyed the
parking lot to make sure Samuels had left before I headed for
my car.
“That’s the end of my story, Hank.” I sat back and grabbed
my beer.
“Well, that was some kind of story, Raoul. It’s amazing how
you can tell it practically verbatim to what you witnessed. My
only recommendation is for you to keep a low profile and don’t
try to become a freelance investigator; leave that work to me
and the FBI.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not looking for excitement.”
Julio and Hank stood up, shook hands with me, said
goodnight, and headed for their car.
CHAPTER TEN
Hank Boucher
I
t was now ten o’clock, and the evening’s work had come to
an end. Raoul’s telling of his story had certainly held my
attention, but it left me without any answers to what was
going on at Trinity Waste Management. On the drive back to
the hotel I was quiet, trying to put some order into the story,
but none of it led to the reason I was down here to investigate.
All it told me was that something was out of control at TWM,
nothing about the theft of missiles.
Julio dropped me off at the hotel and said he would call me
tomorrow to see what my agenda would be. Entering my room,
I noticed the red message light blinking on the phone. I picked
it up and dialed ‘messages’.
“Hey, Hank, it’s Bernie. My update is that this whole
case is bigger than we thought. It turns out that the FBI has
also got a team investigating the local police department’s
tie-in to Trinity’s management. Apparently, there are known
connections between at least one detective in the San Antonio
police department and the mishandling of military secrets at
Lackland. There also is an unidentified group of arms traffickers
involved. I’m having a sit down with the local FBI office here
80
in Austin to see if we can coordinate efforts and not trip over

each other. Why don’t we meet there tomorrow afternoon, say
around two, and discuss what is known so far? Call me to
confirm the time and place.”
After hanging up, I decided it would be prudent to write
out an outline of what I’d learned so far. Since it was already
closing in on midnight, though, I decided to postpone the work
until the morning.
The ringing phone woke me up around six-thirty in the
morning.
“Hank, it’s Julio. Sorry to wake you so early, but something
of interest has come up.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“I’d rather not say over the phone. Meet me in the hotel
coffee shop for breakfast, and I’ll fill you in.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I replied.
As I exited from the elevator into the lobby, I headed over
to the coffee shop. It was filled with bright sunlight flooding
in from the east-facing windows. There were several white
tablecloth-covered tables surrounded by orange-colored vinyl
booths along the walls. The place was crowded, with both hotel
guests and regulars having breakfast before going to work. Julio
was sitting in a booth at the far right of the room next to one
of the big windows, waving at me to join him. He was already
drinking a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Julio. What’s up?”
“Hubert Manton, Raoul’s driver, has been found pretty
badly beaten up and is now in the hospital.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just a few hours ago.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Raoul called me and said that he was supposed to meet

Hubert this morning earlier than usual at the plant so they
could finish early. A big event was planned tonight for Hubert’s
daughter’s quinceañera, which is a big deal in Hispanic families,
but now it’s been canceled. It’s a celebration of the girl’s fifteenth
birthday and transition from childhood to adulthood, equivalent
to a Jewish bat mitzvah. It’s almost worse than having to cancel
a funeral. When he arrived at the plant earlier this morning,
he stumbled upon something somebody didn’t want him to
witness. Whatever they were doing caused them to practically
beat Hubert to death. Fortunately, a police cruiser was making
their usual survey of the building and heard a ruckus going on
in the warehouse, so they went in through an open bay door to
investigate and wound up rescuing Hubert.”
“What is Hubert’s condition at present?”
“I don’t know, but I hope he will survive. I’m sure he’s in
bad shape.”
“Whoever did this must have been interrupted, or they
would have finished the job. I wonder if he would be able to tell
us anything?” I mused.
“Hard to say at this moment, but I’ll take you over to the
hospital, and we can see what the situation is. We’ve got time for
breakfast, though, so why don’t we order first?”
“Good idea, I’m starving,” I replied.
When we arrived at the hospital, we noticed several police
vehicles parked in the parking garage. Entering, we stopped at the
reception desk, asking where we could locate Hubert Manton, a
new patient. Julio was curious now and decided to stay with me.
“Well, he was in the emergency room and then surgery.
I’m not sure if he’s in a room yet,” the receptionist said as she
checked her computer.
“He just got out of surgery and has been moved to Room
405.”
As we entered the elevator, I remarked, “You know, there is
a commonality in hospitals. They are all on the chilly side, smell
of cleaning fluids, and have muted, pale-colored walls. There
must be a standard requirement that people be aware they are in
a hospital and not a hotel.”
There was a policeman standing guard outside of Room 405
when we arrived, and we asked him why he was standing there.
“The guy in this room got beat up pretty badly, and the
detectives are in there trying to talk to him. No one is allowed
in.”
“We’re with the national policemen’s magazine, and we
heard about what was going on. Is it possible for us to go into
see him as well?”
“I’ll have to ask the detectives. Wait here.”
When the officer opened the door, we could see a couple
of detectives standing on the other side of Hubert’s bed, with
another detective positioned on our side with his back to us. He
was the only one talking. Hubert was wrapped up in bandages,
and his right leg was elevated in a cast. I took advantage of
the open door and stepped inside behind the policeman. The
detective turned around and saw me.
“Hey, what are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be
in here. This is police business.”
“Sorry, but I need to be involved in this story. Sir, would you
mind stepping out into the hall for a moment, and I’ll introduce
myself.”
He looked at me as if I had overstepped his orders and then
nodded, and we went out into the hall, where I showed him my
fake GSA credentials.
“Detective, sorry to barge in on you, but I am an undercover

General Service Administration agent working on a case
involving Lackland airbase and Trinity Waste Management. Here
are my credentials. I need to be involved in what’s happening
to Mr. Manton and would appreciate your keeping quiet about
meeting me. I also ask you not to expose my identity. Now,
please tell me whatever you have been able to find out from Mr.
Manton?”
He hesitated a moment as he examined my ID. Standing
with his legs apart and one fist on his hip, he handed it back to
me.
“Nothing so far. He just arrived out of surgery, and he’s still
groggy from the anesthesia. He’s in very bad shape, and frankly
he is lucky to be alive. He’s fortunate a police car happened by
on a routine security patrol before whoever did this was able to
complete their intent.”
“Do you have any information about this company which
would be of assistance to us? The reason for my need to know
is that it involves Lackland airbase, which is the purpose of my
visit. Perhaps this man could reveal some sort of explanation as
to why something like this would happen?”
“Not that I know of. What’s your case about?”
“Military secrets and or advanced weapons stolen from
Lackland airbase and supposedly funneled through TWM.
Again, please keep this information to yourself.”
“Yes, of course. I understand. If you need our help in any
way, please feel free to contact me. Now I need to get back to
Mr. Manton to see if he can give us any information.”
He handed me his card.
“Detective James Andover,” I read aloud before putting the
card in my pocket.
We all returned to Hubert’s room, but Hubert was still

knocked out. The police detective decided they were finished
with the attempted interview for now and motioned for his
people to leave. After Andover left, Hubert opened one eye. He
had been silent, mainly because his jaw was broken, but his eyes
told me he had something to communicate. We waited for the
police to leave before asking Hubert anything.
“Hubert, can you use either of your hands to write on some
paper what you have to say?” I asked.
Hubert lifted his right hand as his answer.
I gave him a pad of paper and a pen and pulled up a chair
next to his bed.
Long, thin boxes. Strangers. Tried to kill me.
“Do you know what was in the boxes?”
No. Had military markings.
“Did you overhear anything which would help us?”
Guy named Ballas. Tired. Come back.
“Okay, get some rest, and Raoul will stay in touch with you.
He will relay any information you might remember to me.”
His hand dropped the pen, and he closed his eyes. I looked
at Julio, motioning for us to leave as well. The hallway policeman
was still on duty as we exited the room.
Walking back to the car, I asked Julio a question. “Does the
name Ballas mean anything to you?”
“No. I’ll ask Raoul if he recognizes it.”
“Good.”
“Why did you expose your identity to the police, lieutenant?
I thought you were undercover. Didn’t Bernie say he found out
that someone in the police department was involved in all of this?”
“Well, I thought it would stir the pot and get someone to
expose themselves. If the detective is involved, he will hopefully
lead me to some of the other players. I felt revealing myself as a

GSA agent wouldn’t be as scary as the CIA.”
“Well, I hope it works for you,” Julio said.
“If the missiles are already stolen and not hidden somewhere
at Lackland, I need to find out who the buyers are. The question,
for now, is where are the missiles and who has them?”
“What do you mean, ‘hidden’ somewhere at Lackland?”
“It could be that whoever is trying to steal the missiles
has just hidden them in the paperwork and moved the boxes
elsewhere in the warehouse. The person or persons assisting in
the thefts could be the same ones in charge at the receiving end
of the inventory. Whoever is responsible for incoming inventory
probably never showed them as having been received in the first
place. In essence, the air force would have to go back to the
manufacturer’s waybill to see how many units were actually
shipped. If nothing is known to be amiss, they might not check
that far back in the paperwork, so the physical count in the
warehouse would appear to be correct,” I said.
“I thought you discovered three missing boxes?”
“I did, but that may have been a ruse to hide what was
going on.”
“What I don’t understand is who the buyers would be. This
equipment is very complex and needs trained personnel to
handle it as well as which type of airplane would be capable of
carrying it, not to mention the price tag,” Julio added.
“I’ll find all that out from Bernie when I meet with him and
the FBI. Drop me off back at the hotel, and I’ll talk to you later
this evening.”
***
Not knowing how long it would take me to get to the meeting in

Austin, I gave myself plenty of time to get there. About halfway
to Austin, I decided to stop in San Marcos for lunch.
Downtown San Marcos was quaint, and there was a square
within which sat a classic old county courthouse. I saw a
barbeque restaurant on the other side of the square and decided
to try it out. There were old-times slanted parking spaces on
the street, and I pulled into one right in front of the restaurant.
I almost expected to see some bow-legged cowpoke ambling
down the sidewalk.
I entered an old, repurposed bank/restaurant which had the
heavy smell of barbequed brisket. The specialty of the house was
beef ribs, weighing one and a half pounds apiece if you included
the bone in the weighing, served with potato salad and slices
of white bread. One typically drank a carbonated drink, either
beer or a soft drink, to receive assistance from the carbonation to
help get all that meat down to your stomach. The place was full
of tall cowboys wearing hats and boots and looking weathered.
This was certainly a ‘man’s place’, and there weren’t any women
present. Also, I definitely stood out as a foreigner.
Not being an old hand at eating barbeque, I did not realize
how heavy the meat sat on you. After lunch, I fought nodding
off all the way to Austin. I arrived about thirty minutes early
and found Bernie was already there, waiting for me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bernie Talmadge
“H
ank, good to see you; have a seat. Since we’re a
little early, let’s discuss what we’re going to talk
about with Director Fuller.”
“Good idea, Bernie, but first, I need a cup of coffee. I ate
some incredibly good barbeque on the way here, but it is put-
ting me to sleep. As far as the meeting is concerned, I think the
door we need to open first is in the San Antonio police depart-
ment. I’m certain they have information relating to all of this
and are sitting on it as a favor to whoever is paying them.”
We found the coffee, poured a couple of cups, and returned
to the waiting area until Director Fuller and his FBI guys arrived.
“Bernie, do you think we ought to concentrate on that one
topic?”
“The question to ask ourselves is what our mission is? It
would seem both the FBI and we should concentrate on finding
whatever is missing from Lackland and arresting whoever is
behind this theft as our priority,” I said.
“Let’s stay loose and see where the conversation leads us,”
Hank answered.
88
The front door opened, and Director Fuller, along with

two men, entered the waiting area where we sat. The director
looked in his sixties, medium height, a balding head of grey
hair, wearing an open-collared white shirt and blue slacks. His
two companions were big guys in their thirties, athletic looking,
both at least 6’ and looking like attorneys. All three of them
exuded an air of confidence and professionalism.
“Gentlemen, thank you for being on time. Let me introduce
you to Bernard Lowe and Aaron Littlefield, my agents working
on our mutual interests.”
“Pleased to meet you both. My name is Hank Boucher, and
this gentleman with me is Bernie Talmadge.”
“Before you follow me to our conference room, does
anybody want any coffee?” Director Fuller asked.
Aaron and Bernard both poured themselves a cup of coffee
and looked to us to see if we also wanted any.
“No, thank you. We just had some,” I answered.
We followed the director down the hall to a medium-sized
conference room. The room was encased in glass with a tightly
woven gray carpet. We sat around an oval table, and when the
first person spoke, it was surprisingly loud because the room
itself was dead silent. I wondered if it was soundproofed.
“Okay, who wants to start?” the director asked.
“Director, Hank has uncovered some interesting information
at Lackland airbase but needs to see what he can glean from the
San Antonio police department relating to it. Have you guys got
any information in that direction?” I asked.
“We do know that their lead detective, Andover, is bought
and paid for by James Ballas, a Chicago mob’s enforcer,” Bernard
Lowe responded.
“I was afraid you’d say something like that. Is there anyone

else in the department we can get honest information from?”
Hank asked.
“Yes, Ricardo Cruz is a subordinate detective working under
Andover. He also happens to be Hubert Manton’s cousin and
is pretty hot under the collar over what has happened to Mr.
Manton. We just got the report on Manton earlier this morning.
So far, Andover has been able to hold Ricardo back by assigning
him to an overload of old cases.”
“Is Cruz approachable?” I asked.
“We believe he is, and I can give you his home address and
phone number,” Aaron responded.
“Well, that’s a start,” Hank said.
“Does anybody know who James Ballas works directly with?
What’s his involvement in all of this?” I asked.
“You know, I think we need an organization chart to separate
all the players because I think more than one thing is going on
here,” Hank stated.
“Good idea. It seems we are all going in too many directions
at the same time, and they can’t all possibly be heading towards
the same conclusions. Let’s start with Ballas,” the director said.
Aaron Littlefield was the first to speak.
“James Ballas is a made guy in the Guillermo crime family
out of Chicago. He is the conduit for handing jobs out and
overseeing things the gang needs to be done outside of Chicago.
His boss is Manolo Guillermo, the top guy who also happens
to be Janet Thornton’s father. Their main interest is in using
Trinity Waste Management for a receiving and shipping depot
for stolen goods. It’s only recently that they have included
military weapons on the shopping list, but it’s because they
have a South American customer willing to spend big bucks for
the equipment. Normally they concentrate on run-of-the-mill

vehicle theft, shipping them to Mexico.”
“So, who killed Charles Thornton and why?” Hank asked.
“We believe Janet Thornton got Ballas to kill him for revenge
over the way he treated her. We also think she is in cahoots with
Lawrence Samuels for control of Trinity without sharing that
piece of business with her daddy. Originally, Charles and Lenny
dreamed up the idea of selling the higher dollar, high-tech
military equipment themselves in a move to circumvent the
mob, cash in with some big bucks, and disappear. We believe
neither of them trusted the other and were playing a game of
trying to exclude the other on the big payoff.”
“Sounds lovely.” I laughed.
“Samuels was the more dangerous of the two of them,
and he had a closer relationship with Janet Thornton than did
Charles. Janet may be small in stature, but she’s a monster in
reality,” Littlefield said.
“Man, this is complicated. What should be our primary
goal? I asked.
“Recovering any stolen military property; especially the
missiles which we are sure are being prepared for shipment to
Mexico with the help of a drug cartel,” Bernard Lowe said.
“Doesn’t the interdiction of the stolen property fit the FBI’s
purview better than ours?” Hank spoke up.
“Agreed. We’ll alert our people south of San Antonio to be
on the lookout. You guys see if you can get some information
from your sources that would help us to locate them,” Director
Fuller added.
“What about the police?” Littlefield asked.
“It seems to me that Detective Andover doesn’t owe Janet
Thornton anything but is holding back to see if she and Samuels
are doing anything behind her father’s back which he wouldn’t

appreciate. He’s got to at least be going through the motions of
an investigation into Charles’s death since it was so public. That
would be something we might find out from Detective Cruz,”
Lowe answered.
“I’ll approach Cruz about protecting Hubert Manton and
see if I can establish some kind of a working relationship with
him,” Hank added.
“Good idea. The more information you can get on Detective
Andover from Cruz will help clarify what’s going on,” Director
Fuller responded.
I slapped the table, looked at everyone individually, and
said, “Sounds like we’re making progress. I want to thank you
again, Director Fuller, for your agency’s assistance. Now let’s all
get to work and shut this operation down.”
Hank and I shook hands all around and left the building.
We visited in my car for another twenty minutes to review our
game plan. When finished, I patted Hank’s shoulder and wished
him luck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hank Boucher
I
arrived back at the hotel in San Antonio around five-thirty,
finding Julio waiting for me in the lobby.
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you?”
“Why is that, Julio? Were we supposed to do something
together tonight?”
“No, not really. I thought I was your guide to San Antonio
and wanted to make myself available to you. If you don’t need
me anymore, I’ll take off.”
“Well, you could recommend a place for dinner before you
leave.”
“Sure, do you mind if I come with you? I’ve got nothing but
free time, and the government is paying me to look after you
anyway.” Julio laughed.
“Okay, why not. How about we go somewhere serving
something other than Mexican food?”
“I’ve got just the place. How does Italian food sound?”
“Perfect. Let me wash up, and we’ll be ready to go. I’ll meet
you down here in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”
Julio took me to a 100-year-old, well-known and popular
Italian restaurant in the old quarter of downtown San Antonio.
93
This restaurant, according to Julio, had become an institution

and was very popular. It was a large restaurant with a giant mural
of an Italian village painted on the outside walls. Inside, it had
a mural of a garden looking up into a blue sky. The place was
filled with locals and tourists, and we had to wait for a half-hour
for a table. We stood at the bar and managed to kill a couple of
margaritas while waiting.
I concentrated on people-watching to keep occupied, which
turned out to be fine with Julio. It seemed he knew many of the
locals and was busy saying hello to everyone he knew. The hostess
finally caught our attention from the other side of the dining
room and waved us to follow her to a table. When we looked in
her direction, I noticed Julio’s body language stiffen. He became
silent, tried to pretend he didn’t know me by stepping a few feet
away and turning to face the bar. I didn’t think he had seen the
hostess waving at us, so I grabbed his arm and pointed at her.
He turned back to face the bar again and looked past me as if
he saw someone he knew at the other end. He spoke out of the
side of his mouth.
“Look over my right shoulder at the table with the three
ugly-looking dudes eating dinner. I know one of them, and
he works for James Ballas. I’m assuming his companions do as
well. These are the kind of guys who might have worked Hubert
over.”
I looked at the rough-looking men Julio had pointed out
and thought to myself that these guys were the poster boys for
the kind of badasses you wouldn’t want to bump into in a dark
alley.
“Do you want to leave?” I asked.
“Too late. He already saw me and will probably come over
to say hello. Just stay loose, and I’ll try to keep it short.”
Before I could reply, Julio was already heading toward their

table. His acquaintance stood up to meet him and clapped him
on the back. Introductions were made, and then all three of
them looked over at me. I smiled and waved back but stayed at
the bar. After a few minutes, Julio returned with a forced grin
on his face.
“We need to talk about this later. Let’s go to our table,” Julio
said.
The hostess sat us on the other side of the restaurant from
those guys, who were almost through with dinner anyway. I
watched them get up to leave and noticed the sport coat one of
them was wearing fell open, revealing a gun. Julio’s acquaintance
waved to us, but I noticed he wasn’t smiling.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said in a soft tone of voice.
“Do you think we should follow them?” Julio asked.
“I’d rather eat dinner,” I replied.
“I know where they hang out, and if you really want to get
up close and personal, we can do so later.”
We switched from margaritas to Chianti with our dinner.
I had chicken Milanese, and Julio stuck with the old favorite,
spaghetti and meatballs. Everything was excellent, and after
some zabaglione and coffee, we left the still crowded restaurant.
There’s nothing like a little spaghetti and bread to make one
feel sleepy and sluggish, so we decided to call it an evening
even though it was still early. I thought I must be getting old,
needing to sleep after every meal, but the barbeque and pasta
were well-known sleep aids. On the way back to the hotel, I
woke up a bit more when I started feeling as if we were being
followed.
“Julio, look in your rear-view mirror and see if you can
identify anyone looking like they are following us.”
I drove at a steady pace and began making some random

turns to see if anyone copied me.
“Oh, yeah. There’s a four-door sedan with three guys in it
staying at a respectable distance behind us. So far, they’ve made
all of our turns. What’s the plan?”
“Julio, where are we? Is there somewhere nearby where I
could turn in and hide the car?”
“I guess we’re near the Marriott Hotel. We could pull in as
if we were staying there?”
“Good idea. Let’s get out casually and look like we’re coming
in for the night.”
I made the left turn into the entranceway of the hotel and
was met by a parking attendant.
“Good evening, sir. What is your room number?”
“I’m just visiting for a few minutes, but go ahead and park
the car in the garage.”
I handed him a five-dollar bill, took a ticket from him, and
we strolled into the lobby. The car which had been following
drove past the hotel without slowing down. At first, I thought
about waiting five minutes and then leaving, but I thought it
prudent to stay a little longer and see if those guys came into
the lobby as well. We found a booth situated behind some large,
leafy plants in the far back of the lobby to sit in while watching
the front door to see what would happen next. Sure enough,
in about ten minutes, we saw Julio’s acquaintance come in and
approach the front desk. The question now was whether or not
to stay hidden or approach the guy and invite him to have a
drink with us in the bar.
“Hank, my job is to be your pathfinder, not get involved
with what you do, so I think I’ll boogie out the back door while
you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing,” Julio whispered.
“That’s probably a smart move on your part. I’ll see you

tomorrow morning,” I said in a whisper.
I waited for Julio to disappear and then got up and walked
up to the front desk, stopping on the left side of the guy I had
seen in the restaurant.
“Hey, aren’t you the guy we just saw at dinner?” I smiled
and grabbed his hand as if to shake it and, with my left hand,
quickly reached into his coat and removed his gun.
“Oh, my, you’ve got a gun. Do you have a permit for this
gun? I thought you had to have a permit for a concealed weapon
in Texas?” I smiled.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” the guy
growled.
“No, the question is, why are you following me?” I
responded.
“I don’t know what you are talking about?”
“Well, I just overheard you ask the desk clerk if he knew
what room I was in. Why would that be of interest to you?”
“Are you a cop?”
“Who wants to know? Why don’t you show me your driver’s
license, and maybe I’ll answer some of your questions?”
The guy tried to kick me in the shin while taking a swing at
me, both of which missed. I grabbed him by the back of the neck
and slammed his forehead onto the front desk, causing him to
collapse. I picked him up and supported him as I dragged him
over to the bar area and laid him out on the couch. I cocked his
pistol and put it against his forehead as he opened his eyes. The
hotel people behind the desk reacted and reached for the phone
to call the police. I held up my hand, still holding the pistol, and
shouted, ‘stop.’ I motioned for the head guy to come over to me
and told him I was an undercover detective looking for this guy.
Surprisingly, no one asked to see my credentials, so they just

nodded and went back to their workstations.
“Before anyone gets hurt, let’s just have a peaceful
conversation, okay? Now that I’ve got your driver’s license, I
see your name is Reynaldo Gutierrez. Is this your real name and
address?” He looked like he was afraid to answer, so I jammed
the pistol harder against his forehead. “Look, Reynaldo, I’m not
going to play games with you. If you want to live a little longer,
you’d better start answering a few questions. I’ll answer your
first one for you. No, I’m not a cop, and I am playing by a
different set of rules, not theirs. You don’t need to worry about
your rights because, with me, you don’t have any. Understood?”
He nodded his head.
“Now, let’s start from the beginning. Why were you
following me? Would a guy named James Ballas be upset that
we are having this conversation?”
His eyes opened wide, and perspiration appeared on his
upper lip. “I don’t know anything. I just do what I’m told. What
do you want to know?”
“I want to know who decided to beat up a guy over at
Trinity Waste Management the other night? Were you on the
crew loading the missiles for shipment?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, what’s
this about missiles? I wasn’t working that night, but I do know
what happened. There were about six guys hired to handle a
delicate shipment coming through Trinity Waste Management’s
warehouse. I don’t know what the shipment contained. I guess
they were making too much noise or something, and this guy
heard them and went to investigate. I think they must have
panicked and got a little too aggressive with him. I don’t know
who was in charge. I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who else had dinner with you tonight?” I asked.

“Alonzo Montalnado and Luis Perez. We work together.
They will kill me if they think I’ve told you as much as I have.
You’ve got to hide me. I’m a dead man already.” He began to
panic and tried to sit up, but I pushed him back down.
I pulled FBI agent Aaron Littlefield’s card out of my wallet
and called him.
“Littlefield here.”
“Aaron, this is Hank Boucher. We met today at Director
Fuller’s office. I have a person of interest in custody at the
Marriott Hotel on Loop 210 in San Antonio and need one
of your guys to take him into protective custody. He is an
employee of James Ballas, and two of his compadres, Alonzo
Montalnado and Luis Perez, need to be found and picked up
for interrogation regarding both Hubert Manton’s incident and
Charles’s Thornton’s death. They may also have a part in the
missile thefts. All three of these guys are now dead men as far as
Ballas is concerned, so we need to keep them out of sight. How
soon could somebody come to collect him?”
“I’ll get a guy in our San Antonio office to meet you in about
fifteen minutes. You certainly work fast. Find out anything
exciting?”
“Not yet. What’s your guy’s identity and appearance? I’ll be
waiting for him.”
It wound up taking almost thirty minutes for two FBI
agents to arrive, so in the meantime I bought my prisoner
a beer to try to get him to relax. I carried on a casual
conversation with him, hoping he would inadvertently
slip up and give me some useful information, but I didn’t
succeed. In about twenty-five minutes, a couple of big guys
came into the hotel lobby and introduced themselves as FBI
agents. After checking out the agent’s identities, I let them

take Reynaldo into custody.
The parking attendant brought my car to the front entrance,
and I cautiously left the hotel, attentive to whether I was still
being followed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
James Ballas
T
he parking attendant handed the driver of the new
Mercedes 650 CLS sedan a valet parking ticket while
the other three well-dressed men got out. We proceeded
to walk up the few stairs to the front entrance of the expensive
restaurant, The Prime, where the manager, Freddy Phillipe, met
us and opened the door while inviting us in.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Come right in,” the manager
said with a big smile.
“Freddy, we would like a little privacy, so if you’ve got a table
tucked into a quiet corner available...” I said as I draped an arm
over Freddy’s shoulder.
“Certainly, Mr. Ballas, follow me.”
We wandered through the posh restaurant, following the
manager to a dark corner.
“Perfect, Freddy, thank you.” Freddy bowed as I handed
him a twenty-dollar tip, and then he vanished back into the
dimly lit restaurant.
A waitress appeared at the table to take our drink orders.
101
“Good evening, Mr. Ballas, gentlemen; welcome back to The

Prime. I’m here to take your drink orders if you have decided
what you would like to have.”
“Bring us two bottles of a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. I think
we can all agree on that, dear.” I smiled as the waitress nodded
and left to fill our order.
“Frank, I want to thank you for helping us take care of that
sensitive problem we were dealing with. We were assigned that
duty by the group, and I certainly didn’t want to disappoint
anyone. I see myself as a peaceful man, but I work for some
people with anger management problems.”
“No problem, Mr. Ballas.”
“However, I don’t know why you thought it was cute to
decorate the container like it was going to be on a Mardi Gras
float. Why didn’t you also put neon lights on it? Whose idea was
it to dump it where it was? It concerned me, Frank. Whereas I’m
grateful you took care of the problem, I don’t like the way you
got rid of it.” My thick fingers were intertwined into fists, but I
held them in check.
“It wasn’t my idea. My men were in a festive mood, and
they thought, for some crazy reason, that it was funny. One of
them heard me call the guy a clown, and he decided to make a
statement by decorating the can.”
“Damn it, man, whatever happened to the disappearing act?
In my day, the last thing we wanted was a quick discovery. I guess
I have no choice but to let it slide this time, but if there becomes
a next time, try to be more discreet, understand? Depending
on how everything turns out with the ongoing investigation, I
might have to hold you responsible.”
“Yessir, I completely understand and apologize for causing
any anxiety.” He tried but failed to smile convincingly while
the others kept their eyes on their plates, rearranging their

silverware. The waitress reappeared with the wine, and the mood
at the table uplifted with the men all smiling and thanking the
waitress a little too exuberantly.
“Have you given any thought to who you might pick to
replace our unfortunate Mr. Thornton?” Albert asked.
“No, it’s not up to me to decide. It turns out our friend
wasn’t exactly working too hard, just paying himself too much.
For sure, he wasn’t part of the team. I want you all to understand
the importance of being a part of the team.”
They all nodded their heads and cast sideways glances at each
other. All of the men knew the truth about the real operation of
the waste management company but did not know exactly who
was in control behind the scenes. Until now, everything had run
smoothly at the company without the need for incidences like
what happened to poor Charles Thornton.
However, if one knew the real Charles Thornton, the reaction
to his demise would be somewhere between relieved that it
happened and the ending of the anticipation that something
like this was bound to happen. There was also relief that it was a
surgical strike without a lot of mess to clean up afterward.
When I thought of Charles’s outward appearance, he was a
tall, handsome man in his mid-forties who presented himself as
everyone’s friend. Even though he seemed to be a warm-hearted
guy, always willing to help someone out of a bind, he and his
equally ruthless wife, Janet, led a completely different life behind
the closed doors of their magnificent home on Howell Street.
Janet’s father was the real boss over everyone, including
me, his front man and fixer. Very few people knew of my direct
connection to the top guy, his name, nor his relationship to
Janet Thornton. Janet, who adored her father, was also a trusted
advisor to him. When she married Charles, she had been
warned by her father that Charles was a little too friendly with
strangers and could cause him problems at some point. As it
turned out, Charles was indeed very friendly, especially with
female strangers, and was not very good at hiding that behavior
from Janet.
Even though I was the one to give the order for Charles’s
demise, it could have been either Janet, or her father, or any
number of secret directors of the sanitation company, and no
one that I was aware of was volunteering to take the credit.
Maybe I should point any investigation toward someone else?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harry Crutcher
“H
arry, it’s Janet. I’m concerned. What happened
the other day when we found Charles’s body
shocked me; he deserved what he got, but I
didn’t deserve being humiliated. I know all the details of his
demise, other than who the idiots were behind the deed. Who
the hell allowed it to become so public? Why would they do
what they did? We need to talk about what to do to quiet this
thing down.”
“Janet, what are you saying? Who do you think was in
charge?”
“Whoever it was, did it sloppily. I’m concerned something
else is in play.”
“Like what? Do you think someone is trying to implicate
you? Look, honey, do you want me to come over and comfort
you?”
“Would you? I need to be with someone, and I don’t know
who else to turn to. When can you come?”
“I can be there in twenty minutes. Do you want me to pick
any food up on the way?”
105
“No, I’ve got plenty. You might want to pick up a couple of

bottles of red wine, though.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Try to calm down a bit. Everything
is going to be okay.”
A half-hour later, Harry parked his car in the Thorntons’
driveway and entered the back door using his key.
“Janet, I’m here.”
“I’ve been thinking and am worried that I probably made
some mistakes in all of this due to my anger. I should have been
more methodical and planned the event from beginning to
end with more awareness of its perception by the public. I just
wanted the results without thinking beyond the act itself,” Janet
said. She was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette.
“Why should you be nervous? I think you are blowing this
out of proportion. Our hands are clean, well, at least mine are,”
Harry said while helping himself to a drink at the bar.
“What is that supposed to mean? You are as much a part of
this as I am.”
“I don’t think anyone will be able to prove my involvement.
Anyway, once they learn who your father is, this will become a
whole different ballgame.” Harry smiled and sat down on the
couch next to Janet.
Janet glared at Harry and then rose from the couch and
began pacing the room.
“Harry, I would be careful about getting too comfortable
with what you think is your safe stance. The unknown here is
what my father will do in retribution for how amateurish it was
handled. Do you think this is an attempt at getting rid of me? I
wonder how much Lenny is involved in this?”
“I thought your father was fully apprised of the situation
beforehand. How did Samuels get involved?”
“Originally, this was between Ballas, Daddy, and me, but

Samuels became suspicious that Charles was planning to set him
up for a fall. I had to bring him in to keep it uncomplicated;
besides, he knew too much. Charles was maneuvering to get
rid of Samuels and take sole control of the company. He had
told Samuels that he had hidden incriminating materials as an
insurance policy against anyone coming after him.”
“So, who has the materials Charles had hidden?” Harry
asked.
“Charles had told Samuels that it was in Samuels’ secretary’s
office, but he hasn’t been able to locate it. If that material is
exposed to the light of day, we could all be toast. Samuels’ job
entailed working closely with Charles, and he became suspicious
that Charles would somehow blame him as the mastermind
behind the theft of the missiles. Samuels was concerned and
came to me, offering to become a team member along with
Ballas to stop Charles. As far as Daddy is concerned, he is getting
old and is overly cautious, so none of us could predict how he
would have reacted if we told him about Charles’s misdeeds.
Anyway, I felt it was time for me to start making some of the
decisions. With both Charles and Daddy out of the way, Trinity
would be mine and all that comes with it,” Janet explained.
“My God, what are you saying? Is this a palace revolt? A
coup against your father?” Harry stood up from the couch,
looking worried. He looked at Janet and appeared to have a
sudden revelation. Janet remained silent. “Count me out. The
shit is about to hit the fan, and I don’t want to be caught in the
middle. You’re on your own, Janet. It was nice knowing you.”
“Wait, before you go, there is something you have to do if
you want to wash your hands of all of this.”
“What’s that?”
“Make sure Hubert Manton, the driver of the garbage truck,

can’t tell whatever he knows to anybody.”
“You mean, kill him? Why him?”
“He came to the warehouse early and stumbled upon the
guys crating up the missiles. He saw too much and needs to be
eliminated before he can talk to the police. The guys were about
to finish him off when a police patrol came to the rescue.”
“But that’s murder, Janet. I didn’t sign up for that duty.”
“Call it what you want, he has to be silenced, and you are
going to be the one to take care of it, or you will be the one
silenced.”
Harry stared at her and shook his head. “I’m no assassin,
Janet.” He emptied his glass, putting it down.
“I’m not asking you; I’m telling you to do this. The
consequences of refusal will not be pleasant. You are mixed up
too deeply in my affairs to simply wash your hands of me, my
dear.”
“Okay. I’ll do this for you, but that’s it. I’m going to
disappear afterward.”
“Do whatever you want, but get the job done. Oh, and
Harry, there have been some times when I did enjoy your
company.”
Harry didn’t respond. He had a worried look on his face
when he headed for the back door. Once in his car, he pulled
his revolver out of the glove box, checking to see if it was loaded.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hank Boucher
I
decided to visit Hubert Manton again to see if he was now
able to tell me more about what happened to him.
As I approached hospital Room 405, I noticed the
police guard was no longer on duty. Looking around, I realized
that nobody was at their stations, including nurses. Slowly
cracking open the door, I could see Hubert right where I left
him, but upon opening the door further I discovered a huge
guy standing over by the window holding a pillow in his hands.
I swung the door open all the way.
“Hello, may I ask what you are planning to do with that
pillow?”
“Who the hell are you? Nobody is allowed in here. I’m with
the police assigned to watch over this man.”
“Oh, then you won’t mind showing me your credentials
since you are not in uniform,” I replied.
First, I moved to the head of the bed and checked to see if
Hubert was still breathing. The 6’ 4” monster with blond hair
and a muscular build began to slide along the wall heading for
the doorway that I still blocked.
“Get out of my way,” he snarled.
109
“I don’t think so. You still haven’t shown me your credentials

or set down the pillow.”
The big guy threw the pillow at my face and charged me,
but I was able to duck and snap his head back with a well-placed
kick. Anyone else would have been disabled by the kick, but
this guy scrambled to his feet and lunged at me again. I used
his momentum to brush him past me, causing him to hit the
doorway with his forehead. Blood was dripping down his face,
but he was still actively trying to get me. I used judo to take him
down, and he landed on his back with my knee on his neck. He
was still ready to go, but I had him securely pinned down.
“You are a stubborn prick and have incredible stamina, but
I can beat you all day long and possibly kill you if you keep up
this nonsense. I have all types of ways of taking you down, so
why not relax so we can have a peaceful conversation?”
He nodded and took a deep breath when I got up off his
neck. Instead of getting up, he spread his arms out, showing he
needed a rest.
“Let’s start with why you were planning on smothering poor
Hubert here?” I asked.
It took a few minutes, but the man raised on an elbow.
“Who the hell are you? Why are you here?”
“You answer first, and then I’ll fill you in on my little secret,”
I said.
“He knows too much. My employer thought it best if he
wasn’t able to tell anybody anything about what he stumbled
upon.”
“Who’s your employer?”
“If I told you that, I’d be the next guy lying in that bed, but
I would be dead by now.”
“Sounds like it would behoove you to change employers.”
“Not that easy. Frankly, I’m not sure who my real employer
is. I’m the security officer for the neighborhood Hubert collects
garbage in. He was there when Charles Thornton’s body was
discovered. He also stumbled across the wrong activity in the
TWM warehouse, which made some people want him dead. I
work for the neighborhood association but have a relationship
with Thornton’s widow, Janet.”
“Uh…that sounds messy. I still haven’t heard why you were
hired to kill Hubert.”
“It had nothing to do with Thornton’s murder. It’s more
about a power struggle between Janet Thornton, her father, and
Lenny Samuels.”
“Who is Janet’s father?”
“He’s a very powerful mob boss who is the real decision-
maker behind Trinity Waste Management. I think the real
reason Charles was killed was that Janet was tired of his cheating
on her, and her father was pissed that Charles was lining his
pockets with money stolen from the company.”
“Do you know anything about the other enterprise Trinity
is involved in?”
“You mean receiving and shipping stolen goods? That’s
why I said Manton was unlucky enough to stumble upon a
shipment in progress, and several people consider him a risk.
They believe he saw too much and could finger whoever was
involved. I would think Samuels and Ballas had decided not to
take a chance; Manton knew too much.”
“Great. This is probably the most complex and confusing
investigation I will ever be involved in.”
“Look, the reason you caught me with the pillow over by
the window is that I couldn’t make myself go through with it.
I’m already in over my head and just want to disappear.”
“This is one of those situations where the soldiers are moving

too fast to be bothered with a captured enemy. They usually
just shoot them and be on their way. What’s your suggestion? I
would think when your bosses find out Hubert’s still alive, you
might have to disappear like you wish you could. I guess I’ll
let you go, and you take your chances with the bad guys. I just
don’t feel like shooting you right now.”
The man got up from the floor and looked at me, worried
I was playing with him. He looked to see my next move, and I
got out of his way, giving him the opportunity to run out the
door. I hoped that was the right decision. I’d rather he lead me
to some higher-ups than have me wondering if I should have
taken him out.
Now that my attention wasn’t diverted by the big guy, I
could hear Hubert making some sounds.
“Hubert, are you okay?”
Hubert opened his eyes and produced a crooked smile. He
motioned to me he wanted to write something, and I provided
my pen and small notepad.
Big guy, Harry Crutcher security. He was present the day body
was discovered in the trash.
“Yeah, I figured he had some involvement, but apparently,
it was more with Mrs. Thornton than anything else. If you can,
tell me more about what you saw the other night. Did you
recognize any of the people there?”
Hubert was able to shake his head, but he winced at the
pain it caused.
“Can you tell me where you were in the warehouse that
afternoon?”
Maintenance.
“Is there a guarded gate which would prevent me from

getting into the complex?”
Hubert wrote No on his pad.
“Hubert, keep healing. I’ll drop in now and then to check
on you, but in the meantime, I need to work on my game plan.
Take care,” I said as I headed for the door.
While walking to my car, I kept an eye open to see if there
were any more surprises like what I stumbled onto in Hubert’s
room. I couldn’t help but think I should visit Detective Andover
to ask about the absence of the guard, but then I remembered
what Bernie said about the police department. Perhaps I should
wait until after meeting with the FBI again; it would be prudent
to wait before calling on Detective Andover.
I dialed Bernie’s number in Austin and got a busy signal.
Well, at least he’d see I tried to call him and call me back.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Detective Ricardo Cruz
“D
etective Cruz, there is a Mrs. Barbara Tinsley
on the phone holding for you,” my secretary,
Betty, said when I picked up the phone.
“Thank you, Betty. Mrs. Tinsley, what can I do for you?”
“I’m the across-the-street neighbor of Charles Thornton,
who was recently murdered. He had come to visit me a couple
of weeks before he disappeared and gave me an envelope to hand
over to you. I would like to know if we could meet somewhere,
preferably not at the police department, to discuss this?”
“Absolutely. Did you say he addressed the envelope to me
specifically?”
“Yes. He didn’t say why and I didn’t ask any questions.”
“Where and when would you like to meet?”
“How about at the coffee shop across from city hall at 10:00
this morning?”
“Fine. I’ll be there. How will I recognize you?”
“I’m a fifty-year-old blond and will be wearing my tennis
outfit. Certainly, there won’t be two women sitting there who fit
that description.” She laughed.
“Thank you for calling me. I’ll see you there.”
114
This is interesting. I sure hope this will shine some light on this
case. Andover has kept everything off the radar and seems not to care
if Hubert survives or not. Maybe I should run over to the hospital
to see if Hubert remembers anything about this Barbara Tinsley? I
realized there wasn’t enough time and decided to do it later.
“Betty, I’m heading over to a 10:00 appointment to meet
with the lady who just called. Call me if anything important
happens.”
The coffee shop was very close by, and I got there about
ten minutes early. There were only a couple of patrons drinking
coffee and working on their laptops when I entered. I selected a
table as far from them as I could for privacy and told the waitress
I was waiting for someone before ordering. A few minutes later,
a car pulled up and parked across the street. I saw a woman
meeting Mrs. Tinsley’s description heading for the coffee shop
front door. She was in her tennis garb, looking like a confident
woman from a wealthy neighborhood who was on a mission.
I stood up, waved to her as she entered, and we shook hands
while she was in the act of sitting down.
“Detective Cruz, thank you for meeting with me on such
short notice. I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to contact
you, but I’ll be happier after completing this promise to poor
old Charles.”
“Were you and Mr. Thornton close friends?”
“We were neighbors. That’s all.”
“Why do you think he chose you to do this for him? He
must have had a premonition of possible danger to himself and
felt confident you would carry out his wishes. I would think it
speaks of a closer relationship.”
She stared at me for a couple of minutes, her eyes filling
with tears as if not wanting to speak the truth.
“I guess we were more than acquaintances, but only because

of the alienation between Charles and his wife Janet. He
unburdened his frustrations about his marriage to me, but that’s
as far as our relationship ever got. He never spoke of his work
or other things which could have been the cause of his demise,
and, frankly, I didn’t want to hear about any of it. I will admit
that I was somewhat smitten by him, but it never got expressed.
He was very handsome and a charmer, but I was also well aware
of his playboy reputation. I also knew what kind of a bitch Janet
could be, and I guess I sided with him.”
“What did he say to you about the contents of the envelope?”
“He said that I shouldn’t be curious about its contents
because it would only bring me harm to know what it
contained. I thought that sounded melodramatic and that he
said it more to keep my curiosity at bay than anything else, but
I decided to follow his advice. I guess I didn’t want to know
the truth about him.”
“Do you have the envelope with you?”
She opened her purse and handed me a folded manila
envelope addressed to me. I started to open it but decided not to
so I could keep it private from her. We had a couple of awkward
moments when the waitress returned to take our order. After
she left, I resumed the conversation.
“I understand you were present the other day when Mr.
Thornton’s body was found. Did you observe anything which
you would think might be of interest to our investigation?”
“Even though I did not know his body was in the trash
bin, I noticed that Janet seemed to be on edge. She was curt
with me and seemed particularly close to Harry Crutcher, the
neighborhood security man, offering her emotional support.
They seemed to be very familiar with each other. Also, after it
was known Charles was dead, Janet showed very little emotion,
which I thought was strange.”
“Are you insinuating that Janet had some connection to her
husband’s death?”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure. At any rate, I knew their
relationship had died before he did. Oh, and I received a
postcard from Charles the day after his body was discovered. All
it said was ‘Tell Samuels to look for treasure in Linda’s office.’”
“Who’s Linda?”
“I believe Charles had mentioned her before as being one of
the secretaries in the executive offices.”
“I wonder why he would alert Samuels to incriminating
evidence? It certainly would not be of value to him now that he
was dead. Perhaps he had a duplicate copy he has forwarded to
someone else who would reveal it to the public to indict Samuels
in illegal activities.”
The waitress returned with our coffees, which seemed to
relax Mrs. Tinsley. I let her babble on about the neighborhood
gossip and rumors for another twenty minutes before saying
that I had to leave.
“Mrs. Tinsley, thank you for meeting with me and for all
the information you have shared. It will be of great help in our
investigation.” I stood up and shook her hand as we both walked
toward the exit.
I was anxious to open the envelope but knew I couldn’t
do so back at the office. Andover and I did not have a good
working relationship, and I was beginning to become wary
of him. Remembering my conversation with Hank Boucher
concerning my cousin Hubert, I decided to give him a call first.
“Mr. Boucher, this is Detective Cruz of the San Antonio Police
department. We spoke the other day concerning Hubert Manton.”
“Yes, I remember. How’s he doing?” Hank asked.

“He’s coming along. I visited with him yesterday, but that’s
not why I’m calling you.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“I have in my possession an envelope addressed to me from
Charles Thornton. He had given it to his across-the-street
neighbor, Mrs. Barbara Tinsley, to hold and only pass on to me
if something happened to him. She kept it and contacted me this
morning, offering it to me. Unbelievably, she had not opened
it, honoring Thornton’s instructions that it might cause her to
be in danger. I think it contains information that will blow the
TWM case wide open, but I’m concerned about sharing it with
my boss, Detective Andover. I would like to meet privately with
you and the FBI and turn it over to you guys instead.”
“Detective Cruz, you are handling this the right way. Don’t
let anyone even know the envelope exists. I’ll contact the FBI
and arrange a meeting as quickly as I can. What’s your situation?”
“I met the woman at a coffee shop and frankly am at loose
ends as to what to do next. I don’t know why, but something
tells me that I might need some protection. It’s like I’m holding
a bomb that could explode at any moment.”
“Can you meet me for lunch somewhere near you? I will
take you to a safe location and deliver the envelope to our FBI
contacts.”
“I’ll meet you at Luther’s Barbeque near the Alamo at twelve.
Do you know how to get there?”
“I’ve got GPS, and the Alamo shouldn’t be hard to find. See
you there, and be careful.”
“Roger that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hank Boucher
A
fter the call with Detective Cruz, I felt a need to contact
Aaron Littlefield and bring him up to date about my
conversation with Cruz.
Before I could call Littlefield, the phone rang.
“Hank, it’s Julio. Raoul Martez just called and said he heard
there was trouble brewing in the Barrio after last night’s arrest of
Reynaldo. The word is there is a group of gangsters out gunning
for you and me. I’ve got a safe place to disappear into, but what
are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry. I’m about to call the FBI to meet me over at
Luther’s Barbeque in Alamo Plaza.”
“Okay, be careful.”
I called the FBI office in town and asked to speak to Aaron
Littlefield.
“Littlefield here.”
“Aaron, I just got a worried call from Julio Vasquez, my
liaison guy in town.”
“Yeah, I know who you are talking about. What does he
have to say?”
119
“He told me that he heard there was trouble brewing in the

Barrio after last night’s arrest of Reynaldo. The word is there
is a group out gunning for me. He said he had a safe place to
disappear into but asked what I was going to do.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I was contacted by Detective Cruz of the San Antonio
police department saying he had some important information
he needed to share with me. I asked him to meet for lunch
at Luther’s Barbeque across the street from the Alamo. He
wants to go over some information concerning Trinity Waste
Management about why and who killed Charles Thornton. I
think you ought to meet us there.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll bring Bernard Lowe along as well.”
“Great. Thanks.”
The phone rang again. It was Julio.
“I forgot to ask if you needed me to do anything for you?”
“No, stay out of this, Julio. Thanks for the heads up, and
stay safely hidden. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“How about Bernie Talmadge in Austin? I probably should
call him and tell him what’s going on.”
“Yes, that might be a good idea. Tell him to bring some
better hardware and to meet us at the Alamo. He might also
want to bring some backup, like the Texas Rangers, with him
as well.”
“Wow, this sounds like war.”
“You never know. It’s good to be prepared.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Linda Bailey
T
he activity level seemed to be growing in Lenny
Samuels’ office, and I was inundated answering the
phone.
“Mr. Samuels’ office. Linda speaking, may I help you?”
“Yes, I would like to speak with Mr. Samuels,” a woman’s
voice said.
“Who may I say is calling?”
“A friend of Charles.”
“Hold a minute, please.”
“Mr. Samuels, some woman who wouldn’t give me her name
wants to speak with you. She said she was a friend of Charles.”
He hesitated. “Okay. I’ll take the call.”
He got up and closed his door before getting on the phone.
“Yeah, who’s this?”
I forgot to turn off the intercom and could hear this woman
speaking on Mr. Samuels’ phones’ speaker.
A woman’s voice said, “I was a friend of Charles Thornton,
and he mentioned something about a hidden treasure in Linda’s
office that you would be interested in finding.”
“What kind of treasure?”
121
“I don’t know. I would assume you would since you worked

with him.”
“Why would I be interested in it? Do you know what it is?
“No, I don’t, but he wanted me to turn it over to the police.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to sweat
because the world is about to hear the truth about you. You
killed a dear friend of mine, and you will pay.”
After the caller hung up, I turned off the intercom so Mr.
Samuels wouldn’t know that I was able to hear what was said.
Samuels did not have call forwarding on his phone, so he
couldn’t trace the call. For several minutes, he sat quietly at his
desk, planning what he should do next. He knew he needed to
find the evidence the caller had mentioned and determined to
start searching the minute I left for lunch. It was all he could do
to try and restrain himself until then.
As it had all morning, the phone quickly rang again, and I
picked it up.
“Mr. Samuels’ office. This is Linda speaking. May I help you?”
“Linda, it’s Raoul. What’s going on? You sound a little
tense.”
“Oh, Raoul. I don’t know what’s going on, but the phone
has been ringing like crazy, and a lot of the callers don’t sound
like nice people.”
“Are you okay?”
“I guess. Ever since the discovery of Mr. Thornton’s body,
things have gotten a bit hectic around here. Something is going
on, but I can’t put my finger on it. Mr. Samuels is grouchier
than ever, and frankly I’m a little scared.”
“Do you want me to come to get you? We could go to lunch,
and maybe things will calm down.”
I thought about it for a minute. “Yes, I need to get out of

here for a bit, but I need to tell Mr. Samuels I’m going to lunch
first. He’s on the phone at the moment, so I’ll have to call you
back.”
“I tell you what. I’m coming over there and will be downstairs
in my car. Call me when you can get away.”
“Okay.”
I could hear Mr. Samuels shouting in his office but could
not understand what he was saying. Ever since Mr. Thornton’s
death, things around the office had taken on a tense atmosphere.
I was beginning to consider finding another job but hated to
leave the salary I was earning.
Mr. Samuels’ office became quiet, and he jerked the door
open. He stormed out and stood staring at my office, but he
didn’t say anything. Then he hurried down the hall towards the
restrooms. I wrote a note that I had gone to lunch and entered
his office to place it on his desk next to a hastily written note
by him. His note said “Ballas” on it and an address. I hesitated,
worrying he would return just as quickly as he had left, but
was curious about his note. I had heard this name before and,
solely out of curiosity, wrote down the address on a piece of
scrap paper I picked up out of his trash can. I called Raoul as I
stepped onto the elevator.
“Raoul, I’m on my way down. See you in a minute.”
I was standing in the elevator when Samuels returned and
saw me. He noticed that his office door was left open, which
he never did. He grabbed the elevator door just as it started to
close.
“Linda, did you go into my office?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t know if you were coming back, so I left a
note saying I was going to lunch. I put it on your desk.”
“Oh, all right. See you later.” He let go of the elevator door
and entered his office, closing the door behind him.
I came running out of the building and hopped into Raoul’s
car.
“Are you alright? You seem frightened.”
“Just drive away from here. We can talk later.”
I didn’t realize I was still clutching the piece of paper I
had taken from Samuel’s trash can. It was all wadded up, but I
nervously flattened it out. Raoul looked over at me and asked,
“What’s that piece of paper? Whose address is written on it?”
“What, oh, I don’t know why I copied the address down,
but for some reason, I did.”
“There’s writing on the other side as well.”
I turned the paper over and began reading Samuel’s
handwriting. “Ballas, I heard from the guy at Lackland saying a
government inspector was nosing around the missile warehouse.
He discovered several missiles were missing and started a closer
investigation. We have to find all the evidence Charles hid in
Linda’s office before things heat up any more than they already
have. I still think Linda is clueless, but you never know. We
might need to scare her a bit to see what she does know. At any
rate, get a team together and meet me tonight at my office so we
can do a more thorough search of her office area.”
There were a couple more paragraphs, but they had been
crossed through, and the letter crumpled up before being
thrown into the trashcan. I was horrified as I read my name
being mentioned. Raoul pulled over to the curb and grabbed
the letter out of my shaking hands. My mouth was open as if to
scream, but no sound emerged. He silently read the letter and
then reached over to hug me.
“Linda, what the hell is going on?”
“I… I don’t know,” I stammered.

“We aren’t going to lunch. We’re going directly to the police.
I’ll call Detective Ricardo Cruz, Hubert’s cousin, he’ll know
what to do,” Raoul said as he began dialing Cruz’s phone.
“Ricardo, Raoul here. Linda Bailey, my girlfriend, who as
you also know is Lenny Samuel’s secretary, is in danger, and we
need your advice on what to do.”
The car was quiet, and I could overhear the conversation.
“Raoul, what do you mean she’s in danger?” Cruz asked.
“It’s complicated, but she can explain it all to you. Where
are you? We need to get together with you right now.”
“I’m on my way to meet up with some government
agents working on the Trinity Waste Management case.
These are the men Linda really needs to talk to, but they
told me they were expecting to see some heavy-duty action
about now. We are meeting at Luther’s Barbeque near the
Alamo at twelve.”
“I’m the one who overheard that the bad guys from the
barrio were out hunting for this government guy because he
got the FBI to arrest some of their gang members. I told Julio
Vasquez, his liaison here in town, about it and told him to warn
Boucher,” Raoul said.
“I thought you were just involved in trying to solve what
happened to Hubert? How did you get involved in this mess?”
Cruz asked.
“I can’t tell you at the moment, other than Linda’s need to
meet up with you,” Raoul answered.
“I would advise you to stay away from trying to meet with
me right now,” Ricardo replied.
“Sorry. Linda is in trouble, and I need to protect her. I will
meet you guys at Luther’s.”
“Raoul, I remember Hubert telling me you were a gun

instructor after being a military policeman. Do you have a
licensed concealed weapon with you?”
“Yes.”
“Bring it and be prepared for anything. Things could get
wild. Also, keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Got it.”
“Raoul, what’s going on?” I asked, bewildered.
“That piece of paper from Samuel’s trashcan is pure
dynamite. We are heading over to meet with the GSA and FBI
agents working on a case involving TWM and stolen missiles
from Lackland airbase. Ricardo said he’s meeting with them also,
and last night I had heard and warned all of them that a gang
from the barrio was out gunning for them. Perhaps I should take
you somewhere to hide before going to that meeting myself.”
“No, I’m sure they will want to talk with me as well once
they see Samuel’s letter. I’m going with you. Did I overhear
Ricardo ask you if you had a gun?”
Raoul reached over, opened the glovebox, and retrieved his
Glock pistol.
My eyes widened in horror. “Why do you have a gun?”
“I’m a licensed gun instructor and have always carried it. I
used to train gun owners before signing up for night school and
becoming a TWM employee.”
I grabbed the sides of my head and began crying hysterically.
“What is happening to me? Why have I been living in
another universe while all this craziness has been going on right
in front of my face? Raoul, I’m scared. I’m confused.”
“Linda, calm down. I’ll protect you, and you will be just
fine. You never know what will happen next. We may just be
going to meet some guys for lunch instead of into a war zone.”
The car was silent as Raoul drove downtown to the Alamo.

His little speech did nothing to assure me of our safety. I was
on the verge of panic, but there wasn’t much Raoul could say
or do to calm me down. I took several deep breaths, closed my
eyes, and grabbed his hand. When we arrived, he smiled at me
and got out of the car.
“Linda, take the car somewhere and stay with it until I call
you.”
“Raoul, be careful; no one needs a dead hero,” I pleaded.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hank Boucher
I
t was almost time to meet Detective Cruz at Luther’s
Barbeque when my phone rang. I was driving to the lunch
meeting. The call was from Bernie.
“Hank, what’s going on? Julio just called me and practically
ordered me to contact the 101st Airborne about some war that
was about to erupt over in San Antonio.”
“Who knows what’s about to happen? Julio got wind of a
gang uprising to put a stop to our investigations of TWM and to
release their compadres, who we arrested as potentially the ones
who attacked Hubert Manton. It sounds like we have struck
a nerve in the Ballas organization, causing them to mount an
attack on us. I believe they think it’s just me, and maybe Julio,
and we should be easy targets.”
“Are you easy targets?”
“I just got wind of a major find from Detective Cruz, and he is
on his way to meet me with an envelope containing information
on the case. Also, Raoul Martez’s girlfriend, Linda Bailey, may
now be in a heap of trouble with her boss Lenny Samuels, acting
CEO of TWM, because she uncovered damning information
128
tying him to the Ballas organization. The entire case seems to be

heading for a collision of the players involved.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“Luther’s Barbeque near the Alamo in downtown San Antonio
at twelve.”
“That’s only twenty minutes from now. If you can’t go to the
police, where are you going to get the firepower for protection if
something does blow up?”
“I guess we’ll just have to do the best we can. I’m not
planning on sitting in the restaurant waiting for something to
happen. I contacted the FBI, and Littlefield said he would come
to meet us. I’m hoping he brings along some backup.”
“I’ll grab a couple more of our guys here in Austin and head
your way. We’ll take the chopper, so we should get there in the
next thirty minutes. Be careful.”
I drove around downtown looking for the Alamo, and, sure

enough, Luther’s was right across the street. I slowed down and
noticed how crowded the area was, with tourists and people
on lunch breaks from their offices. The plaza in front of the
Alamo was also full of people having a picnic lunch under the
old oak trees, while nearby there was a line of tourists waiting
to tour the famous old mission. In essence, it was a typically
peaceful day
I couldn’t help but realize that this place could become a
mess if those barrio idiots decided to spray the area with bullets
in a drive-by shooting. The last place we should all be meeting
was Luther’s instead of some out-of-the-way eatery in the
countryside. I parked the car on a side street and headed for the
restaurant to alert the manager what might be about to occur.
I got out of the car and tried to act naturally as I walked

toward the restaurant, but there was a sense of tension in the air.
Perhaps it was just my sense of danger being alerted. I surveyed
the surrounding area before entering the restaurant. The first
thing to hit me was the noise level. It was very loud, as the place
had no apparent acoustic abatement being that the ceiling was
at least eighteen feet high.
The interior was decorated like an old barn, with weathered
wooden-plank walls and floors, and all the tables were picnic
tables covered with red-checked oilcloth covers. The place was
already filled with people eating lunch, and at first it was difficult
for me to find the manager. At the back of the restaurant, I spied
a very busy-looking guy who seemed to be directing traffic, and
I walked up to him to introduce myself.
“Sir, my name is Hank Boucher,” and without saying anything
else, I showed him my CIA credentials. “I urgently need to speak
with you. Is there someplace private where we can go?”
At first, he was shocked, speechless, and frozen in place.
Then he waved me over to a back office and closed the door.
“What on earth is going on?” he stammered.
“Sir, I am involved with a case which has drawn the attention
of a bad group of people who we believe might attack your
restaurant momentarily. If this occurs, a lot of people could get
hurt or killed. Do you have an evacuation plan?”
“Evacuation plan? Of course not; we’ve never needed one.”
He laughed nervously and briefly hesitated before regaining his
composure.
“There are at least one hundred people out front eating
lunch. What do you suggest?”
I could tell he was about to panic. I poked my head out of
the little office door and looked back toward the front door, and
was relieved to see the rest of our people enter. The FBI guys and
a guy I assumed to be Detective Cruz saw me and walked back
to where the manager and I were meeting.
“Isn’t there any way to clear these people out of here?” Agent
Littlefield asked the manager.
The manager began looking around, trying to decide
how best to vacate the premises. Supposedly there was such
a plan in case of fires, but it was obvious no one had taken
it seriously. At that moment, we could hear the squealing
of tires out in front of the restaurant, and everyone froze
in place, staring out the front windows. As the older model
sedan turned the corner, it stopped in the street parallel to
the restaurant. As if in slow motion, the patrons quit eating
and talking, and turned to look out of the windows where
they saw a car appear with rifles and automatic weapons
sticking out of the car’s windows, pointed at the restaurant.
Suddenly, the front windows of the restaurant exploded in a
hail of bullets, and everyone in the restaurant fell to the floor.
There was chaos, with everyone screaming and shattered
glass flying everywhere. Our first thought was to exit the
restaurant rather than engage ourselves in a gun battle inside,
potentially injuring more patrons, but there was too much
chaos to initiate an action plan.
“Is there a back way out of here?” I yelled in the direction
where I thought the manager was, but he had disappeared.
At first we could not find him but then saw him crawl out
from behind the bar on his hands and knees, heading for a back
doorway. He unlocked the door and scrambled back behind
the bar. The rest of us, weapons drawn, bolted out the back
and divided into two groups. I took Detective Cruz with me to
the left side of the building, with Littlefield and his guys going
around the right side of the building towards the front. On the
way, we heard measured pistol shots and the screeching of tires,
followed by a loud crash.
Rounding the corner, Cruz and I saw Raoul standing in the
middle of the street with his pistol still aimed at the wrecked
vehicle, which looked like it would burst into flames any
minute. A couple of the FBI guys approached the smoking car
with weapons drawn when one of the backseat occupants leaped
out and opened up with an AR-15 on fully automatic. He had
to have been on some kind of drug because he was screaming
something irrational and not even trying to aim his weapon.
Every gun held by one of us erupted, and the guy disintegrated
in a hail of bullets. As we got to the car, we found two wounded
and three dead gang members. By now, all types of sirens were
getting closer, and we regrouped near the wreck.
The entire plaza was in an uproar with people screaming
and running around looking for safety. After about five minutes,
patrons began stumbling out of the wrecked restaurant looking
dazed and confused. Some police cars had already arrived and
were trying to herd onlookers away from the scene. Several
ambulances stopped with emergency medical technicians
pouring out to set up a triage to assess the wounded. There was
chaos everywhere.
Detective Cruz intercepted some of the police and took over
command while more police and ambulances arrived. I walked
over to Raoul, put my arm around his shoulder, physically
getting him to lower his gun. I was surprised to see how calm
he was.
“Man, that was some shooting you did.”
“I can’t believe they were so indiscriminate as to who they
were shooting at. Did any of you get hurt?” Raoul asked.
“No, but I’m sure there is carnage inside the restaurant.

Hopefully, these idiots were the only crew sent to do the job.
Do you think there might be more?”
“It’s possible, but I would think they will be a lot less obvious
about their approach. These guys were low-level gang members
with more emotions than intellect. They were probably high on
drugs as well.”
Aaron Littlefield walked over to us and said that in a
couple of hours, there would be a meeting at the local FBI
office downtown to discuss this event, and our attendance was
requested.
A car drove up next to us with Linda behind the wheel, and
Raoul opened the passenger side door. He still had a determined
look on his face, and Linda was a quivering wreck.
“Raoul, that was a gutsy move on your part and pretty
dangerous, I might add,” I said.
“I just reacted without thought. I guess it was my military
police training kicking in.”
“Whatever it was, thank you for putting a stop to the
craziness. You’re right about those guys being high on something
because they certainly were not acting rationally.”
“There’s going to be a meeting in a couple of hours at the FBI
office, so Raoul, if you and Linda don’t have plans, join us for lunch.
You pick the place, and Detective Cruz and I will follow you.”
I don’t know whether the adrenaline flow was responsible
for our hunger, but we ate like we were starving. As our
nerves calmed down, I could see my hands were shaking, but
Raoul was cool as if nothing had happened. He was a very
self-contained person. Linda was a wreck and sat at the table
shaking while Detective Cruz was like me, under control but
wired-up.
“My God, Raoul, what is happening?” Linda asked in a

weak, quavering voice.
“Linda, this has been happening all around you over at
TWM but is about to end. Thank God you are okay.” Raoul
reached over and grabbed her hand.
“Raoul, we have to go by my office so I can get my
belongings.”
“Now? Why not wait until tomorrow? You’ve had enough
excitement for today.”
“No, I want to go now, please.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, but if you feel that strongly
about it, we’ll go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bernie Talmadge
I
got notice of a meeting called for two o’clock at the San
Antonio FBI office while still in the helicopter. As per
Hank’s request, I had brought some heavy-duty hardware
with me but figured it was no longer needed, so I told the men I
had brought with me to keep an eye on it while I headed toward
the scene of the action.
As the time approached two o’clock, I walked into the high-
rise, glass and steel building in downtown San Antonio and
rode the elevator to the third-floor FBI offices. Some people
were already there, but I didn’t see Hank yet. Detective Cruz
introduced himself and handed me copies of Samuel’s trashed
letter Linda Bailey had recovered and the contents of Thornton’s
envelope received from Barbara Tinsley. He then placed copies
around the conference table.
Within ten minutes, Hank and FBI guys Aaron Littlefield,
Bernard Lowe, along with Director Fuller, entered and sat down
around the table. The FBI chief brought the meeting to order.
“Gentlemen. We have made progress, but there are still a lot
of unanswered questions. They are as follows. First, who ordered
the death of Charles Thornton, and who was assigned to do
135
it? Secondly, who at Lackland airbase is complicit in the theft

of the missiles? Third, where are the missiles? Fourth, what is
Detective Andover’s involvement in all of this, and who does
he take orders from? Fifth, do we have anything directly tying
James Ballas to any of this? Sixth, when will we be getting a
search warrant for Lenny Samuels’ offices?”
I raised my hand. “I think we need to divide up the tasks
here. I see the missing missiles being a CIA job while all the
other issues belong to the FBI and the police.”
“I can agree with that,” answered Director Fuller.
“Before the police department’s involvement, I would
suggest that the entire police department needs to be investigated
to weed out Andover and his people. Certainly, this is also a job
for the FBI. My concern is the time it will take to accomplish
this. Do we already have enough on Andover to remove him
now and turn the investigation of the murder of Thornton over
to the rest of the police force?” Detective Cruz asked.
“What do you think, Aaron?” I asked.
“I believe we have enough intelligence to remove Andover if
for no other reason than probable cause. We may not be ready
to indict him on a specific crime yet, but we can certainly look
further into his personal life. I’m sure his lifestyle is above a
detective’s pay grade.”
“I think I know enough honest officers to work with to get
our work accomplished without Andover,” Cruz added.
“Good. I would like to recommend searching Linda’s office
as quickly as possible as I am sure Ballas wants to beat us to it.”
“How do we keep Samuels from disappearing?”
“He’s probably tearing Linda’s office apart as we speak in
an attempt to beat both Ballas and us in finding the evidence
Thornton hid in there. I’m not sure we’ll even need a search
warrant to look at a wrecked office. Let’s hope he hasn’t looked

at Linda’s seat cushion yet.”
“Seat cushion? Why do you say that?”
“Thornton spelled out what exactly he hid and where he hid
it in the envelope I got from Mrs. Tinsley. Practically the whole
case and all the players are in that hidden cache,” Cruz said.
“I suggest Detective Cruz lead on this mission since it is
primarily a police matter,” Director Fuller said.
“I disagree. This is an FBI matter since we are talking about
government property,” answered Agent Littlefield.
“Why don’t you both go? Samuels may have help, and it
could turn into a melee,” Hank offered.
Both FBI agents and Detective Cruz got up and hurried
out the door. Hank told me he felt that he should go back to
Lackland and revisit Captain Lawrence.
“Keep your wits about you while visiting Lawrence. We
don’t know enough about him to know whether or not he’s
dangerous. For sure, he is in alliance with some of the airmen
working in the warehouse because he could not have pulled this
off by himself.”
“What about his boss, the general?” Hank asked.
“I think that the whole reason Lawrence thought he could
get away with the theft was that General Blanchard was parked
in his job to await his retirement. He probably doesn’t know
anything about what’s going on in the warehouse and has relied
on Lawrence to run the place.”
“Have you gotten any intel on Captain Lawrence yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. Remember, we’re dealing with the military
bureaucracy here. I’m sure they have the information we need,
but how long it will take them to find it is anybody’s guess,”
Director Fuller responded.
“Hank, I want you to take some backup with you to the

airbase. No reason for you to expose yourself alone. I brought a
few guys with me who will go with you.” I said.
“If you think that is necessary,” Hank replied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Detective Andover
I
sat in my office listening to the police radio going crazy over
the happenings in Alamo Plaza. I couldn’t decide whether
this was some idiotic gang war or something to worry
about. I decided to call Ballas and see if he knew anything.
“Mr. Ballas, James Andover here. Have you heard anything
about what’s going on over at Luther’s in Alamo Plaza? Does this
have anything to do with us?”
“Good question. I’ve been trying to call Samuels, but he
isn’t picking up his phone. Perhaps you should go over to his
office and see if you can locate him.”
“While I’ve got you on the phone, has there been any word
on when the shipment is going to be sent to Mexico?” I asked.
“The latest word I’ve gotten is that it will be on its way
tomorrow. The border has been notified, the people have been
paid, and the only hold-up has been word of some FBI activity
in the vicinity.”
“I’ll feel a lot better when this is all over with.” I sighed.
“What’s the matter, James? You didn’t seem nervous over the
issue with Charles.” Ballas chuckled.
139
“That’s a whole different matter. That was all Janet’s

doing. Have you heard from her recently? She seems to have
disappeared.”
“No, I really haven’t paid much attention to what’s going on
with her. That situation is none of my business. She’s going to
have to deal with her daddy on that one.”
I hung up the phone and called Betty, Ricardo Cruz’s
secretary.
“Betty, is Ricardo in the office?”
“No, haven’t you heard? He has taken charge of the chaos
over at Luther’s by the Alamo. That whole scene is in an uproar,
and half of the police department is over there. I thought you
would have been there as well since you are senior to Ricardo.”
“Uh, well, I’ve been busy with something else. Can you
patch me through to him?”
“Yes, sir. Let me get that accomplished, and I’ll ring you
back in a moment.”
I was immediately concerned that something wasn’t right.
“Sir, I have Detective Cruz on the line.”
“Cruz, what’s going on? Why do you happen to be there?”
“I was meeting some guys for lunch at Luther’s. Man, it’s a
mess over here. The body count isn’t complete yet, but I know
at least twenty people are wounded. I’m surprised you haven’t
shown up yet. What are you doing?”
“I was tied up in something important. Do you need me
there? It sounds like you have everything under control. Who
were you having lunch with?”
“That government agent, Hank Boucher.”
“What the hell is he doing there?”
“Meeting me for lunch, as I told you.”
“Cruz, what’s going on?”

“I mean, why would a government agent be meeting with
you when I’m the senior detective on the TWM case?”
“Would you like to talk to him?”
“No, I still have something I have to do, but I want to meet
with you when you get back.”
“No problem. See you then.”
I hung up and rushed out of my office, heading for Samuels’
office.
On the drive over to TWM, I replayed my last conversation
with Charles in my mind. I remember him telling me that he
had taken precautions to protect himself if everything went
haywire with the missiles. He was paranoid that either Janet or
Lenny were planning to do him in, and he had warned Lenny
that a lot of incriminating evidence had been hidden in Linda’s
remodeled office.
I parked the car and rode the elevator up to the second floor,
where I saw Linda’s office looking like a tornado had passed
through it. The door to Samuels’ office was open, and I could
hear him talking on the phone. He was on speakerphone.
“Janet, I can’t find the hidden material. I’ve torn Linda’s
office apart looking for it.”
“Lenny, it has to be there. Stop panicking and try to be
logical in your thinking.”
“On another subject, I heard your boyfriend Crutcher
chickened out on Manton. Have you seen him?”
“No, he’s either hiding from me or has left town. We argued,
and he got scared of me. Ha, ha, can you imagine?”
“Actually, yes, I can. I’ve got a bad feeling about what’s going
on lately and might just leave town myself.”
I knocked on his door frame, startling him.
“Planning on a vacation, Lenny?”

“Andover, what the hell are you doing here? How long have
you been listening to my conversation?”
“Tell Janet hello for me.”
“Janet, our friend Detective Andover has dropped in
unexpectedly, and Linda is not in today. I’ll call you later.” He
hung up and looked at me as I entered his office.
“What the hell happened to your secretary’s office?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“It must be pretty important. Want to share anything with me?”
“It’s none of your business, Andover. Why did you come
here?”
“Lenny, I think anything so important for you to tear her
office apart is bound to be of interest to me. Want to tell me
about it?”
The elevator dinged, and the door opened, revealing three
men. I quickly looked to see who was arriving on the elevator
and was surprised to see one of them was Ricardo Cruz.
“Ricardo? What the hell are you doing here? Who are these
men?”
“Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Detective James
Andover and Lenny Samuels,” Ricardo said.
The men with Detective Cruz exited the elevator with drawn
weapons aimed at me.
“Andover, we are FBI agents, Aaron Littlefield and Bernard
Lowe, and you are under arrest. Turn over your weapon and face
the wall,” Aaron said as both he and Lowe moved closer to me.
“What? That’s ridiculous. Where’s your warrant?”
“We don’t need a warrant under these conditions. You are in
the process of a criminal act, and we have done enough research
on you to know of your guilt,” Lowe said.
“That’s bullshit.” I lunged at Aaron, but Cruz landed a right

fist to my jaw before I got there. I fell to the floor, holding my
jaw.
“Now we have you attacking a federal police officer as well.”
Cruz flipped me onto my stomach and handcuffed me.
While they were focused on me, Samuels ran out a hidden
door on the left of his office wall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Aaron Littlefield
A
s Samuels was disappearing via the hidden doorway in
his office, I yelled to Ricardo.
“Hurry, we can’t let him get away. Cruz stays with
Andover, Bernard, follow me.”
We bolted through the doorway and were in close pursuit
behind Samuels.
It turned out we were running down a fire escape and could
hear Samuels’ shoes hitting the stairs. The stairway became
momentarily brighter as we heard a metal door open and shut.
As we got to the exit, we found ourselves in the parking lot,
where we saw Samuels with his arm around Linda’s neck, a
gun pointed at her head, and Raoul pointing a gun at him.
He was trying to back away, keeping Linda between him and
the others.
“Don’t come any closer, or the girl gets it,” Lenny shouted.
“Don’t be stupid and add murder to your already long list
of charges,” I yelled.
“Let her go, Samuels,” growled Raoul.
“No, everybody stand back. Ms. Bailey and I are going for
a ride. Get back.”
144
Samuels continued backing up when Linda suddenly went

limp and slipped down about a foot. The next sound was Raoul’s
gun firing, hitting Samuels in the upper chest. Somehow, Linda
was able to grab his gun away from him as he fell to the pavement.
“Samuels, you are under arrest,” Bernard yelled as I ran over
to check on Samuels’ condition.
“Bernard, call for an ambulance. I think he will survive, but
he’s bleeding a lot.”
“Ricardo was calling for police backup to come to the TWM
offices to get Andover as I was coming down the fire escape,”
Lowe shouted to me as he holstered his pistol.
***
Raoul was still in his shooter’s position, and Linda ran over to
him. She threw her arms around his neck while he stood up and
put his gun away.
“Oh, Raoul, I was so scared.”
“Yeah, me too. Did you mean to faint, or were you just
faking it?”
“I knew you were an expert marksman, and if I gave you
an open target, you would hit him, so I just went limp and
dropped.”
“That was a gutsy move, Linda, but it worked.” Raoul
embraced her, and they kissed passionately.
“You saved my life,” Linda said through her tears.
“Raoul, what were you and Linda doing here?” I asked
as they all started back up the fire escape. Lowe stayed with
Samuels while they waited for the ambulance.
“We didn’t know you guys were here and thought if Linda’s
office were empty, we would retrieve her belongings,” Raoul
responded.
After returning upstairs, everyone gathered in the shambles

of what used to be Linda’s office.
“We were given an envelope telling us where to find
incriminating evidence that Thornton had hidden. Linda,
you’ve been sitting on it in your chair,” Cruz said cheerfully.
She threw her hand to her mouth with a surprised look.
As soon as the police arrived to take Andover away, Ricardo
showed us Linda’s chair where he had cut the seat cushion with
his pocket knife. The bonanza of incriminating evidence had
been revealed.
“Wow, Thornton left us a hell of a lot of information, both
in writing and on a thumb drive. All this leaves for us to do
is to locate the missiles before they’re shipped to Mexico. I’m
assuming that there might also be enough information here to
tie Ballas and Janet Thornton in to the whole mess,” Ricardo
said.
I called Director Fuller to tell him what happened.
“We have both Andover and Samuels in custody. It turns
out they were actively searching Linda Bailey’s office, looking
for the evidence. Things quickly got out of hand, and Samuels
got shot. Raoul Martez and Linda had just arrived in the parking
lot as Samuels tried to escape down a fire escape. Raoul shot him
in the chest when Samuels tried to kidnap Linda. I’m not sure
of his condition; we’ve already called for an ambulance. Where
should we take the physical evidence we found?”
“Good job, Aaron. Bring the evidence to me for the present,
and after Samuels gets patched up, we need to set up an interview
with him. Bernie Talmadge is here to help with interviewing
both Andover and Samuels. You know, we might just see if we
can recruit Raoul. He seems to be at the right place at the right
time and is a hell of a marksman.”
Two policemen and Ricardo followed Samuels in a car

behind the ambulance to the hospital. Another policeman took
Andover and me to the police headquarters downtown in a
patrol car, with Lowe following us in our car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Director Fuller
I
arrived at the police department and was taken to the
interrogation room by Detective Cruz. Bernie Talmadge
had already arrived. Within ten minutes of his arrival,
Detective Andover was brought in to meet with me.
“Detective Andover, my name is Director Fuller, and I am
the head of the Texas Section of the FBI. I believe you’ve met my
agents, Aaron Littlefield and Bernard Lowe already.”
“I don’t know what this is all about. I’m a law-abiding
American citizen and refuse to answer any questions without
legal representation.”
“That’s fine. We are not ready to begin asking you to
answer any questions. To cut down on having to wade through
falsehoods, we will demonstrate our case against you for you
to understand the magnitude of what we already know. If you
wish at any time to rebut any of our information, you may do so
with or without an attorney. This meeting is being held in secret
because we are in an ongoing investigation and will not make
anything we talk about public at this time.”
“I demand an attorney,” Andover said.
148
“I’m sure you do. However, the FBI has the right to interrogate
you in a preliminary interview since you are involved in a plot
to steal highly classified military plans and hardware. These
are crimes against the United States and fall under certain acts
Congress approved to combat acts of treason and espionage. You
will have an opportunity to be represented by an attorney later
concerning other perceived crimes, but we are meeting today to
make you aware of what our investigation of you has revealed.”
Andover’s demeanor changed, and his eyes darted around
the room. He seemed to understand that the meeting was akin
to interrogating an enemy combatant versus an ordinary police
investigation.
“First, I’d like to play a recorded phone call between Charles
Thornton and Leonard Samuels. It turns out that Thornton
tape-recorded all his phone calls, and we stumbled across it
during our investigation of his office. The first voice you will
hear is that of Lenny Samuels.”
I inserted the disc into the audio player sitting on the table
in front of Detective Andover.
“Charles, I’m concerned that things are about to get a little
hot with our latest venture. We may have attracted attention
from the wrong people due to its ultra-sensitive nature and
because we have too many people involved. What have you done
to safeguard what we’ve been up to on top of getting Andover’s
assistance?”
“You worry too much. Everything is under control. I have
full faith that Detective Andover will handle his part to our
satisfaction,” Thornton replied.
“So, humor me and tell me what other type of action you’ve
taken to protect us if what we’re doing is discovered. Andover
alone isn’t enough.” Samuels’ voice had a hard edge this time.
“You know, Lenny, everything has a degree of risk. Life, in

general, is a crapshoot. There’s no iron-clad way that I can assure
you that someone won’t somehow discover our activities, but
we’ll deal with that when or if we have to. First of all, our friend
in the police department is watching our backs. He’s a competent
guy, and I believe he will keep a lid on what’s going on. Also,
I have given a friend of mine an envelope of incriminating
evidence to turn over to law enforcement if anything should
happen to me.”
“How is that protecting us? It sounds like you are protecting
yourself from the rest of us. My question pertained to protecting
both of us if the project is discovered. Is it going to be every
man for himself? Look, Charles, we are partners in this and have
equal needs of protection, so I suggest you consider coming up
with the idea that keeps our hands clean if everything blows up.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plans. Oh, and if I do disappear, for
whatever reason, that entire hidden file of our activities will also
be made public. Aren’t you concerned that if anything happens
to me, you will lose everything as well?” Thornton asked.
There was a silent moment of contemplation between them.
“Are you suggesting that I might do you in? We’ve been
partners for a long time, quit looking over your shoulder,”
Lenny said.
“You can never be too careful. Neither of us knows what the
future could hold for us. You might want to do the same thing
I’m doing to protect myself from you or anyone else we know,”
Thornton replied with a hint of a threat. “I hope neither of us
would ever have to resort to this kind of exposure.”
“For one thing, I’m convinced we are protected by having
my wife, Janet’s father, as part of the corporation. The man is
very powerful and has all the right connections. He can squash
any kind of investigation,” Thornton said with bravado.
“I thought we had decided to keep him out of the loop?”
Samuels asked.
“I haven’t told him anything, have you? I’ll bet Janet knows
more than we think and could have brought him into the picture
to protect her ass if anything goes south,” Charles answered.
“What if we draw the government’s attention?” Samuels
asked.
“We won’t. This thing is set up so brilliantly. I’m not worried
we’ll be found out.”
“Look, I don’t want to be the one left holding the bag. Do
you get that? There are rumors that you are not as safe as you
think you are. You’d better watch your back and your mouth, or
everything could blow up,” Samuels whispered.
“What have you heard?” Thornton responded.
“All I’m saying is that you better be careful and keep your
eyes open. Danger may be lurking where you least expect it to
be. If you ask my opinion, I believe it’s coming from the very
top, which means we are both vulnerable. We probably made a
mistake in trying to do this on our own.”
“Other than from my wife, how would they know what’s
going on? Who do we know who would snitch on us?” Charles
wondered aloud.
“I’m working on it. At the moment, I don’t have any solid
leads, but I’m having dinner with Ballas tonight to see if he
knows anything. I’ll keep in touch,” Samuels answered.
“Good. Thanks for the heads up. Pour yourself a drink and
try to calm down. Everything will be fine, and soon we’ll be a
lot richer.” Thornton laughed again.
I turned off the audio. The room was silent. I then spoke in
a non-threatening voice.
“This meeting is being held in secret because we are in an
ongoing investigation and will not make anything we talk about
public.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked.
Andover nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on the
table. He was not handcuffed or restrained in any other manner.
“Let me start with what we know about you.”
I opened a file folder and began reading a litany of criminal
activities perpetrated by the detective over the past five years.
The activities spread over several different situations where
the detective had taken bribes, interfered with investigations,
and met with James Ballas, a known mobster, and records of
expensive properties he owned. I also had copies of Andover’s tax
returns for the last five years, which showed many irregularities
regarding deductions and understating income proven false by
banking records.
Andover had turned white as the blood drained from his
face. He was shocked that the FBI knew almost everything
he had been involved with. He was speechless as the director
continued reading for the next ten minutes, and his hand shook
when trying to lift his coffee cup to his lips.
Eventually, I finished reading Andover’s file to him and
closed it. I now looked directly at the detective.
“You have been a busy man, Andover. We here in this room
are mainly interested, at this point, in interdicting the shipping
of stolen missiles and would take kindly to any assistance you
could offer us. I do not promise anything, but as I’m sure you
know, the law typically is a bit more lenient on those who help
solve crimes. What the IRS and your superiors at the police
department are concerned about will be a different ball game.

The CIA is interested specifically in what happens to the missiles,
and they have their playbook as to what lengths they will go
to resolve their concerns. It seems they can get away with just
about anything they decide to do, seeing how most of what they
deal with never makes the news.”
“You would certainly be helping your situation by telling us
where the missiles are and who is involved in their theft,” Bernie
Talmadge said.
The room was silent as everyone sitting around the
conference table stared at Andover.
He was trembling and looked as if he was struggling with
what he would do next.
“Let me see if I understand you. If I help you find the
missiles, you will go to bat for me on some of the other issues?”
“No promises. However, I will speak with the district
attorney regarding your cooperation,” I responded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Detective Andover
“Y
ou know if I tell you what I know, I’m as good
as a dead man in James Ballas’s eyes.”
“There are risks in everything. However, I can
assure you that Mr. Ballas has been investigated as thoroughly
as you and will shortly be taken into custody if he hasn’t already
been. He will never know about our discussions with you.”
The air seemed to have gone out of Andover as his arms
dropped to his sides and his head dropped so that he spoke
to the tabletop and did not make eye contact with any of the
people in the room.
“Jesus Martin’s moving company has the missiles in their
warehouse and are planning to ship them to Matamoras this
afternoon. They will be met in Matamoras by the Blanco Cartel,
at which point we lose track of them. We don’t know who the
buyer is. The money has already been wired to Samuels’ private
banking account in the Bahamas under the name of L.S. Enter-
prises. This whole caper was originally a private deal between
Thornton and Samuels, who thought they would make extra
money while excluding Ballas. Ballas has his fingers in every-
thing, so I don’t know how much he knows.
154
“I was brought in as security while Charles and Lenny were

actively handling the merchandise. Charles’s death caused a
lot of problems for Lenny administratively. I’m not sure who
killed Charles, but the prime suspects are Janet Thornton and
Lenny Samuels. If it was solely Janet’s doing, it was a separate
thing from everything else. She’s a tough bitch, and it wouldn’t
surprise me if she had him killed over the way he treated her.”
The room remained silent as Andover laid his head down
on his arms. It seemed he had expended whatever energy he had
when he entered the room and was now exhausted. Director
Fuller got up and opened the door to motion to the police
officers in the hallway that they were through with Detective
Andover. They came in and lifted him from his chair, each of
them grabbing one of his arms.
“Do you want to interview Samuels in the hospital or wait
until he gets out?” Bernie asked the director.
“Originally, I thought it best to wait, but since the missiles
are being put into motion today, I think we should reconvene
over at the hospital in case there is more specific information
regarding the shipment that only Samuels knows. Aaron, take
Bernard with you and pay a visit to Samuels. He may not be
completely out from under the effects of the anesthesia yet,
though. See what you can find out.”
“Yes, sir,” Aaron answered.
Aaron Littlefield
B
ernard and I drove over to the hospital and asked at
the information desk where we would find Leonard
Samuels. In response, the receptionist searched her
computer.
“He has not yet been assigned a room and is still in ICU.
You are not allowed to go in there,” she said.
We showed her our FBI identifications and left, heading
down the hallway following the ICU’s signs. We got the same
message at the nurse’s station.
“Ma’am, we are FBI agents, and Mr. Samuels is our prisoner.
We know he got out of surgery only a few hours ago, but we
have important questions for him.” Bernard showed her his ID.
The nurse picked up the phone and called for someone to
escort us to where Samuels was in the ICU. A male nurse came
and motioned for us to follow him. The ICU was much larger
than we had expected and seemed to be a maze of curtained-
off spaces. The nurse stopped at the last one on the right and
motioned for us to enter. Samuels looked like he was asleep but
opened his eyes when we entered.
“Not you again,” he muttered.
156
“How are you feeling, Samuels?” I asked.

“Like I’ve just been shot,” Samuels answered.
“Did the doctor tell you what your prognosis is for the
future?”
“Unfortunately, I’ll live.”
“We’ve got a couple of questions for you, and then we will
let you go back to recovering. The first question is, where do we
find James Ballas?”
“I have no idea.”
I picked up the piece of paper Linda had taken out of his
wastepaper basket. “Would this be his address?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have his phone number?”
“Yes, it’s on my phone. Why do you want to talk to him?”
“It seems that you, Janet Thornton, and James Ballas were
working together to eliminate Charles Thornton. Who of
this group was the most interested in getting rid of Charles
Thornton?”
“Janet wanted him taken out for all the cheating and abuse
he had done. I was amenable because I would then be the CEO
of Trinity and get his share of the profits from our side ventures.
Ballas worked for Janet’s father and was told to facilitate the
action.”
We were surprised he was so forthcoming with his
information. Perhaps he realized that lying to us wasn’t going to
give him any positive leverage in the future. At any rate, he gave
us what we wanted to know.
“I’ll let you know that we now know everything. We are
interdicting the missile shipment right now and arresting you
and Andover. The CIA guy who was posing as a CSA agent will
be picking up Janet and Ballas shortly. What I don’t understand
is why you felt you needed to get involved with all of this when
you were doing so well, honestly, with Trinity?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. Perhaps boredom? It was
mainly Charles’s idea, to begin with.”
Hank Boucher
B
ernie and I left the FBI offices and headed toward
Lackland airbase. I called General Blanchard.
“General Blanchard, this is CIA agent Hank
Boucher along with agent Bernie Talmadge on our way to visit
with you concerning the disappearance of the missiles. Can you
please schedule a few minutes into your day to meet with us?”
“Certainly, even though we haven’t made much progress in
resolving the issue. Perhaps you will be able to enlighten me on
what you’ve uncovered.”
“Yes, sir. We will be there in thirty minutes.”
I hung up and turned to Bernie. “He sounded pleased to
hear from me. I didn’t detect any nervousness in his voice.”
“I don’t think it’s him. I’m more concerned about Captain
Lawrence. He’s the guy more directly involved in the physical
handling of the merchandise,” Bernie replied.
“You may be right. I wonder if he has a group of guys in the
warehouse loyal to him that are involved in the theft?”
“He might have handled this in a totally correct manner on
the surface without anyone knowing what was going on.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
159
“He is in charge of the inventory and can manipulate it

on his computer as well as anybody else. General Blanchard
is just high enough in the chain of command that he is more
focused on politics and other matters and was a perfect patsy for
Captain Lawrence. Who I believe is the real culprit, along with
his sergeants.”
“What about the officers above the captain’s grade? The
majors and colonels? Where do they fit in?” I glanced over at
Bernie, who seemed to be deep in thought.
“I guess they aren’t assigned to the program. It is kind of odd
that there is such a gap in authority.”
“Are you saying that the captain and the general may be
involved?”
“You never know, but I plan to find out. We need to look
into these officers’ backgrounds,” I said as Lackland airbase
came into view.
“You think we should contact headquarters? I believe they
would be able to get us that information without alerting anyone
in the military chain of command,” Bernie said.
I stopped the car and looked at him. “If we do that, don’t
you think we should delay visiting the general?”
“Yes, call him back and make up some excuse for changing
our plans to meet with him.”
I nodded and called the general again.
“General Blanchard, Hank Boucher again. Something of an
emergency status has come up, and we have to turn around. I’m
sorry, but we will have to delay our meeting. I’ll call you when
we can come to visit you.”
“No problem, Agent Boucher. I’ve got plenty to keep me
busy.”
Bernie and I arrived back at my hotel room and called

headquarters back in Virginia. I spoke with our direct supervisor,
giving him General Blanchard and Captain Lawrence’s names
and locations and explained what we were working on, and
asked how we would be able to get such information. He said
that he had a contact at the air force headquarters in Washington
who he was certain could get what we wanted and get back to
us. Maybe not today, but as soon as he could.
After talking to CIA headquarters, my phone rang, and it
was Director Fuller.
“Hank, you and Bernie need to hustle over to Jesus Martin’s
moving company to supervise a police raid to recover the
missiles.”
“What about Janet and Ballas?”
“We’ll get the FBI to go over to Janet Thornton’s house and
arrest her. I’ll ask them to send a team over to get Ballas as well.
You need to hustle up and get that shipment of missiles halted.
Once you get control of them, call me, and we’ll send some air
force people to pick them up.”
“What about Captain Lawrence and his sergeant sidekick?”
I asked.
“He’s small potatoes, and we know where to find him. Now
get going,” Director Fuller demanded.
Bernie and I grabbed our CIA jackets and caps, checked
our weapons, and ran out of the hotel to my car. Bernie
looked up Jesus Martin’s company address, plugged it into our
GPS, and signaled me that we were ready to go. It turned out
that the address wasn’t too far away and situated in the same
neighborhood as Raoul Martez’s house. When we got there, we
saw three police cars and a prisoner van parked out of sight of
the building waiting for us. The building was located in a quiet
neighborhood with homes on either side of it. It must have been
someone’s home before it evolved into a storage facility.
We were approached by nine officers with rifles and
submachine guns the minute we exited our car. A sergeant
stepped forward.
“I’m Sergeant Johnson, in charge of this squad of officers.
What’s our plan of approach?”
“Sergeant Johnson, I’m Hank Boucher and this is Bernie
Talmadge, and we are with the CIA. We need to surround the
building and make sure none of us are in gunshot view of each
other. Secondly, my partner and I will approach the front door
and attempt to gain entry. Do you have an extra microphone I
can carry with me so you can hear what’s going on?”
The sergeant nodded and assigned one of the other officers
to retrieve an extra microphone from his car. When he returned
with it, I concealed the microphone inside my jacket and
motioned to Bernie for us to move out. We spread about ten
feet apart and approached the building as casually as possible in
case someone inside was watching us.
The building was old and showed its age with broken
window panes, roof tiles falling off, and crumbling bricks.
The door opened before we got to it, and three tough-looking
Hispanic men came out to meet us.
“Are you coming to visit us?” one of them asked as if it was
a challenge.
“Yes, we are. Is the owner or manager here? I replied.
“Who wants to know?”
I pointed to the ‘CIA’ letters on my hat. We are CIA agents
and are here to retrieve the missiles you are holding. Also, I
would advise you guys against any aggressive moves since we
have the building surrounded by men with automatic weapons.

There’s no point in getting killed over this.”
The guy who seemed to be in charge laughed. “If this
shipment doesn’t get to our customers in time, we will get killed
by them. So, it’s the same either way.”
He held up his hand to signal those in the warehouse
watching all of this to get in position. All the windows in the
front of the building shattered, and gun barrels appeared. There
were too many to count.
Bernie held up his hand, and six policemen with automatic
weapons appeared, spread out across the front of the building.
Everyone was very tense, and it looked like we were heading for
a bloodbath. Suddenly, the thwap, thwap sound of helicopter
blades arrived overhead, and everyone looked up to see a military
helicopter with an M134 Minigun aimed at the building.
Neither Bernie nor I had drawn our weapons yet but took a step
back to get out of the fire zone if the machine gunner opened
up. The police sergeant stepped up next to us and shouted,
“Don’t be stupid. All of the guys who hired you have been
arrested already. We can’t do anything to keep you safe from the
cartel, but if we start shooting, you won’t have any concerns left
to worry about. Drop your weapons and tell the men inside to
do the same.”
The guy who seemed to be the leader looked like he thought
it over before he sighed, dropping his gun to the ground. The
guys next to him did the same, but some idiot inside the
building had other ideas. He started shooting indiscriminately
with an AK-47, with the quick response from the helicopter
being devastating. The noise alone made it seem the building
was being sawed in half. The front of the building where the
shooter was situated disintegrated in a blizzard of bullets, killing
at least five shooters. We were inundated with hundreds of shell

casings raining from the helicopter and ran back about twenty
feet. This got everyone’s attention, and another eight men
came out of the building with their hands on their heads. The
sergeant spoke into his microphone, telling the other policemen
to secure the building.
When it was safe to enter, we were surprised to see Captain
Lawrence and his sergeant standing with their hands behind
their heads alongside more men who had not yet emerged
from the ruined building. Bernie and I took them outside to
interrogate them.
“Captain, why would you jeopardize your career over this?
Not to mention the exposure to the type of legal action which
will now be taken against you?”
“Money and fear. I have a gambling problem and was into
James Ballas for more money than I would ever be able to scrape
together on my air force salary. They had me cornered, and I
couldn’t find another way out. The sergeant here was attracted
solely by the money. We thought we would do this one time and
be done with it without anyone being the wiser until you guys
came along.”
“It seems like it’s always the evils of money that make good
men make wrong choices. Too bad, but you are being arrested
along with the rest of these people.”
A prison bus arrived to take the remaining men to the police
station, and the helicopter took off. After loading the prisoners
onto the bus, we shook hands with the police sergeant.
“Man, that was too close to being a war zone. I wonder
whose idea it was to send that helicopter? It might have been
the general. Since you told him what was going on, he might
have discovered Lawrence’s involvement, contacted the FBI,
and they told him where we were. I can see Aaron thinking
we could use some backup, and the general was the one who
could provide it.”
“Thank God for whoever it was. There were an awful lot
of weapons pointing at us. Who knows what the results would
have been?” the police sergeant said.
Bernie and I felt our nerves needed calming after the big
showdown, so we exited the scene and drove back to the
hotel’s bar.
“That scene was the closest experience I’ve been through that
was similar to something I was involved in with the Seals, but
that time things got a lot hairier. Frankly, I don’t enjoy shoot-
outs like I once did,” I said.
“Yeah, my heart got to beating loud and fast. That could
have been an incredible mess,” Bernie replied.
Being early in the day, we were the only two guys in the
hotel’s bar.
“What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
“I usually order beer, but I think I need something more
potent. I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, no water added,” I
replied.
“I’ll stick with a Heineken,” Bernie told the bartender.
“What do you think about us calling Raoul and Linda and
invite them to dinner? I’d like to learn more about the goings-on
at TWM, and she might be a good source. Also, he deserves a
reward,” I said.
Bernie picked up the phone and called Raoul. “Raoul,
Bernie Talmadge here. I’m sitting with Hank having a drink at
the hotel bar, and we thought you deserved a nice dinner on us.
Including Linda, of course. You’ve been a great help, and we are
appreciative.”
“Linda is pretty shaken up. Part of which stems from my

stance in the street with the gang members. The rest is from the
total upheaval of her life.”
“I’ll have to admit that was gutsy on your part. Sort of like
‘high noon’ on the main street in San Antonio.”
“Ha, I hadn’t thought of it that way. What’s up with you
guys?”
“Well, we were almost involved in a shoot-out at the OK
Corral. We went to recover the missiles with a small army of
police and came darn close to a war. You should have been there;
we could have used your firepower.”
“Did it come to that?”
“No, thank God. Unexpectedly, a combat-ready helicopter
showed up with an M134 rotary machine gun aimed at the bad
guys, and they came to their senses. That is what most of them
did, but there was some yahoo who wanted to shoot it out with
his AK-47 but was turned into mincemeat by the helicopter
gun. It was close, though. I think Bernie peed in his pants,” I
laughed.
“I did not pee in my pants,” Bernie yelled loud enough for
Raoul to hear him.”
“What’s next?” Raoul asked.
“We’re waiting for some requested data from the air force
and have nothing else going on. Bernie and I thought you and
Linda might like to get together for dinner tonight. I’m sure
neither of you feels like cooking after the craziness today.”
“Great idea. Where did you have in mind?”
“It’s your town. Make a suggestion.”
“How about Chinese food? We can’t possibly bump into
trouble in a Chinese restaurant.” Raoul laughed.
“Excellent choice. What, where, and when?”
“Mandarin Palace on North Austin Street at six-thirty.”

“We’ll meet you there.”
Having nothing else to keep us occupied, we decided to visit
Hubert over in the hospital.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hank Boucher
W
e stopped by the gift shop on the way to Hubert’s
room and bought him a box of chocolates. The
door to his room was closed, so we lightly knocked
and barely cracked open the door to see if he was awake. All of a
sudden, the door jerked open, and a woman smiled at us.
“Hi, I’m Brenda Manton, Hubert’s wife.”
“Hello, I’m Hank Boucher, and this gentleman is Bernie
Talmadge. We are both CIA agents, and I am an acquaintance
of your husband.”
She smiled and invited us in. Hubert was sitting up, and his
leg had been lowered from where it had been elevated.
“Hubert, you look a heck of a lot better than the last time
I saw you.”
“Brenda, Hank is the guy who saved my life.”
“Hubert, we’d like you to try and remember what happened
to you and why,” Bernie asked.
“Okay, I’ll try to remember it, but I’d rather forget it. Early
in the morning, the day I got attacked, I arrived at TWM’s
warehouse. There was a light on inside that got my attention,
and I decided to investigate it. I thought it strange that a bay
168
door would be left open at the end of the workday but shrugged
it off as someone forgetting to close it in their hurry to go home.
I went up the stairs to the door of the warehouse and found it
unlocked as well. By now, I was becoming afraid of whatever was
going on inside but couldn’t stop myself from going in. There
was a light coming from a battery-operated lantern hanging in
the middle of the warehouse, which revealed three men working
on a large wooden box. At first, these men were unaware of my
presence, but a fourth man hidden by the darkness crept up
behind me and hit me on the head with something metallic. I
crumpled to the floor semi-conscious, but the sound I created
got the attention of the other three men.
“‘What the hell is going on?’ I heard someone say.
“‘Take it easy, George. I saw this guy coming in to see what
you were doing. He must have seen the lantern light.’
“‘Did he see anything else?’
“‘You mean the missiles? I don’t know; he just got here.
What do you think we should do with him?’
“‘We can’t let him go. He could have seen too much, which
would jeopardize everything. I suggest we talk with him before
we shut him up for good to see if anyone sent him here?’
“‘Good point.’
“At this time, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing but
decided to continue to play like I was unconscious.
“Two of the men picked me up by my armpits and dragged
me into the light. Although groggy, I began to moan and opened
my eyes.
“‘Hey, what were you doing in here?’ one of the men shouted
at me. I was so shocked by what was happening that I couldn’t
reply; it was surreal. The man who asked the question slapped
me hard across the face. I had never seen any of them before.
“‘Who sent you here?’

“I put my hand to my face and tried to say something, but
I was hit again and kicked in the leg.
“‘I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said as I tried
to sit up.
“‘This guy doesn’t know anything. We’re wasting time. Let’s
get this over with.’
“Three of the men began beating and kicking me with the
intent of killing me. Once again, I became semi-conscious when
a beam of light from a flashlight swept across my face.
“‘Police, what’s going on in here?’
“‘Forget him; let’s get out of here. Quick, seal up the crate
and move it farther back into the shadows.’
“By now, the police had entered the back door with their
guns drawn, and the thugs vanished. The next thing I knew, I
was in the hospital.”
***
Brenda came over and gave me a hug. “Thank you so much. I
don’t know what I would have done if I had lost Hubert.”
“I’m glad I could be of assistance, but I wasn’t at the
warehouse. When they realized he wasn’t dead, they sent
someone over here to silence him. That’s where I came into the
picture,” I replied.
“What’s the news? I’ve been somewhat out of the loop on
what’s going on?” Hubert asked.
“Gee, there’s so much to tell, I’m not sure you can sit through
listening to it. There was a big shoot-out across from the Alamo
and your buddy Raoul was the hero of the day. There’s lots
more to tell, but it can wait until the big article appears in the
newspaper or online.”
“Wow, I guess I missed out on all of the fun. What did

Raoul do?”
“Members of a gang were on the warpath hunting for
me because I got three of their members arrested. They were
not subtle in their attack and sprayed Luther’s Barbeque with
submachine gun fire, practically destroying the place. While we
were hunkered down, Raoul walked out into the middle of the
street with his gun and blew these guys away. It was amazing.
He was cool and steady and an excellent marksman.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s just a kid, for goodness’
sake,” Hubert replied.
“Oh, and we recovered the missiles, arrested Detective
Andover, Lenny Samuels, and the captain from Lackland airbase,
who were all involved in the theft of missiles from Lackland.” I
said all this as if it was an afterthought.
“Wow. Anybody hurt?” Hubert asked.
“Just Samuels, who took a bullet in his shoulder. He’ll be
okay and is currently resting in this very hospital,” I replied.
“So, Brenda, what’s next for you guys?” I asked.
“Good question, but for sure, Hubert is going to resign from
Trinity. What comes next better be a lot safer and less exciting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Janet Thornton
I
had called Lenny earlier in the day before he got shot and
arrested. I did not know that he had spilled the truth to the
lawmen yet.
“Lenny, did you see the television broadcast about the gun
battle at Luther’s today?”
“My television has been turned on, and I heard the news
about it but haven’t had time to look at anything. I have been
busy tearing Linda Bailey’s office apart, looking for the evidence
that Charles said he had hidden there.”
“Any luck?”
“No, I can’t imagine where the hell it is. I did get a call from
Ballas warning me that things were heating up regarding our
business transaction. He also mentioned that you might be in
someone’s crosshairs. What are you doing right now?”
“Packing. I’m going to get out of town before everything
blows up.”
“Where do you plan on going?”
“I thought I would pay dear old Dad a visit.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
172
“Blood is thicker than water, and I’m counting on him to

protect me.”
“We may all need protection the way things are going. Tell
him hello for me.”
I hung up and looked through my suitcase again to ensure I
had everything I wanted to take with me. The thought occurred
to me that I may not be returning. I would certainly hate not to
be able to return to my wonderful house. I grabbed my suitcase
and headed for the garage door. I made it halfway before hearing
the doorbell ring. Who the hell can that be? I rarely get visitors.
Should I ignore it or answer it? Oh, what the hell? I’ll see who it is.
On my way to the door, I picked up my purse in which I had
my gun, just in case.
I was shocked to see James Ballas standing on the front steps.
He appeared to be a bit nervous, lacking in his usual bravado.
“James, what are you doing here?”
“Hello, Janet, may I come in?”
“Certainly. I was just getting ready to go to the airport for a
trip to see my father. What brings you here?”
“Well, Janet, I’m not sure if you are aware that the law is
closing in on us. You, me, Lenny, our police buddy, everybody.”
“So, what’s that got to do with me?”
“For one thing, I believe Detective Andover has spilled his
guts to them about all of us and the things we’ve been involved
in.”
“You’ve been involved in.”
“I did a favor for you where it came to what happened to
Charles. My thinking is that you are the only one left who could
point the finger at me.”
“James, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I need to make sure you won’t be able to rat
me out to the law. Sorry, but I don’t see any alternatives,” he said
while pulling a gun out of his shoulder holster.
“James, wait. You can’t be thinking that I would ever turn
you over to the police? I would never do that. If you hurt me,
think of what my father will do to you.”
“Oh, I have thought about that; however, I don’t see where
I have a choice. I’ve been loyal to your father for years and done
more for him than you ever did. The way I see it is that I’m
an asset, and you are a liability.” Ballas said all of this while
attempting to screw a silencer onto his gun.
I stood still for a moment, shocked at what I heard and
saw. The realization of what was about to happen caused me to
react. I lunged for the hallway leading to the garage. James was
surprised by my sudden action and fumbled with the silencer,
ultimately throwing it onto the floor. He ran after me, but I was
able to get behind my car, raise my gun, and take a shot at him
as he exited the back door. He went down, but I couldn’t tell if
he was still capable of shooting me.
I waited a couple of minutes.
“James, we need to calm down and talk this over.”
I got no answer, so I crept around the front of the car and
moved out and away from it to see what his condition was.
He was lying on his right side with his gun still in his hand.
I was afraid to go any closer, but then I saw blood pooling
around his head. I couldn’t believe I had shot him in the head,
fully panicked, and without aiming. I didn’t go any closer but
returned to the house, gathered up my suitcase, and came back
to the car. There was a big pool of blood spreading out onto
the garage floor, and when I backed out of the garage, my tires
trailed a streak of his blood onto the driveway.
I put my gun in the glove compartment. My heart was still

racing as I tried to keep from speeding. All I needed was to be
pulled over by the police. After a few blocks, I stopped and
took several deep breaths. My plan had been to drive out to
the airport and fly off to Chicago to see if my father had any
ideas on what I should do next. With Charles and Ballas dead,
Lenny arrested, and everything else falling apart, I knew I was
now alone. There was no question of whether or not I would be
implicated in Charles’s death.
My only option was to see if Daddy could help me to
disappear. I put the car in drive and continued towards the
airport.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Raoul Martez
L
inda and I were excited about going out for a good
dinner with Hank and Bernie. We couldn’t afford to go
out to dinner since now neither one of us was employed.
We drove up to the restaurant at the same time as the guys, so
we all entered together. The hostess showed us to a booth next
to a huge fish tank filled with exotic tropical fish.
The restaurant was pretty high-class, with white tablecloths
and waiters all dressed in the same outfits. The owner came over
to the table and bowed, thanking us for coming there for din-
ner. The decoration was what I would term as traditional, rich
Chinese with a lot of Chinese antiques, low lighting, and opu-
lent-looking wall decorations. A waiter asked us what we would
like to drink.
Bernie and I immediately said Tsingtao beer, and Linda and
I agreed to split a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. The menu was
enormous, and we asked the waiter to surprise us with a variety
of seafood dishes. While we waited for our drinks, Hank started
talking to me.
“You know, we were all impressed with the way you handled
yourself at Luther’s. You faced the danger with no fear and
176
looked as if you were in command. Have you ever thought of

law enforcement?”
“I was an MP in the service but found it boring. I would
think what you guys are doing might be a lot more exciting.
What do you have to do to join the CIA?”
“Well, it’s somewhat complex, but you don’t need a law
degree as you do for the FBI. It’s also not as wild an event as
TWM was. There’s a lot of undercover investigative work,
usually outside of the US. If you want to check it out, go online
and pull up the CIA website. There is a lot of information, and
you can always contact us if you have any questions,” Hank said.
“It’s also not as glamorous as you might think, so don’t
embellish it in your dreams,” Bernie added.
“The fact that you are single helps because there is travel
involved sometimes,” Hank added.
“What are you guys talking about?” Linda asked.
“Mainly what a fine young man Raoul is,” Bernie said with
a smile.
“Well, I would agree with that, but I heard questions relating
to becoming a CIA agent,” Linda said.
“It’s just a thought for now, but it is an intriguing one,” I
answered.
“If it matters, I would think that a job with the potential
for danger, and travel away from someone who cares about you,
doesn’t make sense. I thought you were going to go to night
school and become someone who could land a good-paying
job,” Linda said while looking directly at me.
“Linda, I haven’t settled on any one idea yet, and I would
prefer doing something which would keep us together. The
future is ours; we just need to figure out how to pay the bills.”
Linda blushed and grabbed my hand.
Bernie and Hank looked at each other and put their hands
together as if they were praying. We all laughed, which broke
the awkwardness of where the conversation was heading.
Fortunately, our food arrived, and we were all able to shift our
focus onto eating.
The evening became light-hearted, and we all enjoyed
ourselves.
When it came time to say goodbye, both Bernie and Hank
hugged Linda and shook hands with me. Hank gave me his
business card and said if I wanted to bounce my ideas for the
future off of someone, to call him.
***
The next day, Bernie and Hank boarded a commercial flight to
Newport News.
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Murder in the

Dreams Are To Be Lived

If you wish to contact me, my email is jagtrader@hotmail.com

© Copywrite 2022. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of

Book Interior and Ebook design by Amit Dey / amitdey2528@gmail.com

I want to thank, my editor, Gary Smailes at

Chapter Nineteen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .128

it and decided to give it a try. If I didn’t like it, I could quit. I

Tuesday rolled around, and I have to admit I couldn’t seem

“Ms. Bailey, thank you for being so helpful.”

I wondered if this was a trick question and took some time

The difference between him and Ms. Bailey was equivalent

“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Samuels already advised me to do just

“That’s better,” Borden replied. I approached the dispatcher,

“Thank God Larry finally assigned a decent-looking young

We were going to be hauling away the garbage of the rich

He proved me wrong when he jumped out of the cab to lend

“Are you from the ‘hood’?” Hubert asked.

at what people considered trash and was tempted to pull some

“Why aren’t you on a truck picking up garbage?”

been sixty tables and thirty waitresses rolling carts of dumplings

puzzled me why she wanted to work at the company in the job

concrete block building as ordered by ‘the boss.’ We could hear

ten minutes, we heard the whop-whop of the helicopter blades

“Not that kind of tired; I mean, I can’t do this anymore. I’m

I can still physically function pretty well for my age, but I no

After doing some due diligence, I came to the conclusion

beginnings of a receding hairline and a little on the pudgy side.

and sometimes it can get exciting. Your background as a Navy

Not wanting to appear too eager, I waited until the next

miles outside of Washington and were the homes of several

in there. There was a small kitchenette, but Greg told me that I

One of the guys stood out as someone I felt an immediate

“I was in army special forces psychological operations. It

“Morning, gentlemen. We’ve got an important assignment

she grabbed my forearm. I’m not sure if I remember talking to

been due to another cause. I decided to give him the benefit of

Almost immediately, a very pretty young lady in a colorful

of interest, I’ll give you a hint as to what the answer is to your

I couldn’t come up with a quip about a guy who runs a

I called Bernie to bring him up to speed on my activity.

I handed him my fake GSA ID and driver’s license and said

“Welcome to Lackland, Mr. Boucher. Your Mr. Talmadge

“Yes, sir. How far back do you want me to go?”

“Yes, sir. We haven’t had any orders for any of it yet.”

I drew my 9mm Glock and crouched down while winding

warehouse resulting in the disappearance of the airmen and injury

I’m becoming concerned that they are somehow involved. The

me to my car and wished me well. I called Bernie as I began to

a mission in the navy. I think a hamburger and fries could be all

sounds of a myriad of neighborhood dogs barking loudly as if

“You’ve watched too many television shows, besides, it’s

the gaudily decorated, large container. We stood around for a

“After waiting for what seemed to be enough time, I was

“She ignored my question.

a friendly manner which gave us the impression that they were

Barbara wasn’t telling her everything about what Charles had to