LITMIR.BIZ

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thinking process. He had forgotten completely by the following morning, and back at work the next morning it was business as usual.

      Until now.

      In his apartment he fed the flash drives into his home computer and sat reviewing the data. A couple of hours passed. Realization hit home. Carella slumped back in his seat. He took his eyes from the monitor, the on-screen information a blur. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. He stood in the doorway looking across the room at the monitor, trying to decide what to do.

      And it was then he remembered what Ryan had said about looking into the armaments business. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Ryan since that evening. It was not unheard of for the journalist to vanish into the woodwork when he was working an assignment. The man threw himself into his work, moving around as he dug for facts.

      Carella picked up the phone and speed-dialed Ryan’s home number. The phone rang no more than a couple of times before it was picked up.

      “Cal? Frank Carella.”

      “Frank.”

      Carella immediately picked up on Ryan’s monotone response. “Cal, you okay?”

      “To be honest, no. I went to a funeral yesterday. Guess I’m still not over it.”

      “Hey, I’m sorry. Family?”

      “You remember my friend Francis Nelson?

      “Sure. In the military. Was in Iraq a while ago. He’s dead?”

      “Yeah.”

      “What happened, Cal? Was he overseas again?”

      Ryan’s short laugh had a bitter edge to it.

      “He was home. Isn’t that a bummer. The kid was helping me out on an assignment. Looking into irregularities at an army base in Texas. Camp Macklin. Sorry to tell you, Frank, but it was to do with your company.”

      “OTG?” Carella shook his head at the coincidence.

      “Francis was found dead here in Washington shortly after his visit to Texas. A bullet in his back severed his spine. He was alone in his car. Police said the bullet clipped his main artery and he just bled out because the bullet had paralyzed him.”

      “Jesus, Cal, I’m sorry. He was a good kid. I remember him from the times we met. Lesley will be upset. She liked him.”

      There was a brief silence before Ryan spoke again.

      “Why did you call me, Frank?”

      “Would you believe it has to do with OTG? Something that will fit what you’re looking into.”

      “Serious stuff?”

      “High as it can go. Files on altered production specs for combat vehicles OTG builds under contract. I copied it all onto flash drives and walked out of OTG with it.”

      “I’ve been uncovering similar deals. Poor quality body armor for combat troops. Flak jackets. Below specification items. And I have a few names, too. Some government, some military.”

      “You think Francis was killed because he got too close?”

      “Yes.”

      “His father must have taken it badly.”

      “He did. But he promised me further help if I needed it.”

      “This information I have, Cal. I came across it in a dump cache. Looked as if someone was supposed to have deleted it but they didn’t complete the operation. These files should add to your evidence. What do you want to do?”

      “Grab them with both hands, Frank. Listen, if OTG gets a sniff you’ve got this stuff they’ll come after you. I know they killed Francis. That should tell you all you need to know. Jacob Ordstrom is a mean son of a bitch. I’ve learned enough about him to be wary. He has connections that go a long way up the ladder in Washington and the military. I need to get hold of that stuff and lose myself before OTG picks up on it.”

      “Will your paper print it? I mean, if Ordstrom has such clout, will it reach as far as your bosses?”

      “Good question, buddy. Let me do a little thinking. I’ll get back to you. Frank, I’m not trying to scare you but don’t trust anyone from the cops on up. If Ordstrom realizes what you have he’ll use any means to get it back. And that means he’ll pull in everyone on his payroll. Just let me work on this. In the meantime, lay low. Don’t let those files out of your hands. Stay by a phone.”

      “You’ve got my home and cell numbers?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Don’t take too long coming up with your master plan.”

      “I won’t.”

      Carella completed the call. He stood with the phone in his hand, wondering whether to call his girlfriend. In the end he decided against it. Ryan’s news about the way Francis Nelson had died rang warning bells. If Francis had been murdered to silence him, OTG would employ the same strategy if they discovered what he had walked off with. The very thought terrified him. He admitted that outright. Frank Carella was no hero. Just a man who had unwittingly been presented with information he could not, in all conscience, ignore. The accidental discovery of the hidden files on the OTG computer system had most likely made him a marked man.

       4

      Jacob Ordstrom’s office covered enough floor space to house an average family. Ordstrom was ultrawealthy and liked to surround himself with the full set of trappings. A tall and classically handsome man in his mid-forties, his thick dark hair starting to streak with gray, Ordstrom considered himself to be above ordinary people, indispensible and existing on a higher plane. That he was disliked by most of the people around him was common knowledge to Ordstrom, but his wealth and position afforded him the ability to stand above the criticism. He walked in hallowed circles, being on first-name terms with leaders in the government and military. Ordstrom played on his popularity, used his imperial clout to gain favors and was never behind the door when it came to exploiting his influence.

      OTG ranked high when it came to assessing companies who supplied the U.S. military. The products offered by OTG were sought after by the procurement arms of the military. And often there were inducements that went from hand to hand. Inducements went in both directions. Ordstrom had his own mouths to feed. He was, by nature, a highly competitive animal. He would, and did, deal with anyone, foreign or national, who came up with the finances. The word scruples did not exist in Ordstrom’s world. He went after business opportunities with single-minded dedication. He had no equals when it came to the chase. Ordstrom had an innate capacity for seeing problems and dealing with them before they were fully formed.

      Dealing with them. Crushing them. Whatever was necessary.

      When Arnold Hoekken walked into his office, crossing to confront his employer, Ordstrom smelled potential trouble. He recognized the look in Hoekken’s eyes. The South African security specialist was not known for his sense of humor, or his laid-back attitude. He was a consummate professional and he took his responsibilities seriously.

      “Arnie,” Ordstrom said—he was the only person Hoekken allowed to use the abbreviated name—as the six-foot-six blond-haired figure neared him. “Arnie, you’re giving me that ‘I’m pissed about something’ look.”

      Hoekken towered over the desk, and glanced briefly beyond Ordstrom, taking in the wide view of the facility from the large picture window dominating that wall of the office.

      “I need your permission to act immediately on a security breach. If we don’t come down on this fast we are all going to be in serious trouble.”

      “Well, it must be serious if you’re asking my permission. Haven’t we established that as security head you work on your own initiative?”

      “This goes beyond my purview.”

      The hard edge to Hoekken’s

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