crucial that I keep it that way. Besides, you know the consequences. Why involve a kid? They could do the same thing to him that they did to you.”
“There’s a lot of work to do,” the professor said. “More importantly, I’m getting old. My fear is if something were to happen to me, all my work would be lost. I have to share it with someone who understands it and can do something with it after I’m gone. I’ll tell him the risks. Blake is a tough kid.”
“I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like the thought of signing your contract, but I’m willing to make that concession.”
The sudden twist disturbed Grason. “Let me run a check on the kid—Blake. I’ll have to get back to you in a few days. If we proceed, you don’t tell him anything about me. I’ll pay you, and you pay Blake out of your pocket. He’s not part of this operation, and will NEVER handle the materials I give you.”
“I think I can agree to those terms.”
Grason collected the photo from the professor. “You can have this once we make everything official. I’ll give you more info besides the pictures and lay out the ground rules for communicating. As we begin to build a trusting relationship, the information will become more pertinent, and you’ll have a better idea what this is all about.” Grason returned to his car and left, happy that he started a relationship with the professor, but agitated that there was a catch.
CHAPTER 11
Los Angeles boasted one of the larger FBI field offices in the US, stationed in the Federal building near Westwood Village, and was the home base for Grason Kendricks, Special Agent in Charge of Operation Patriot.
A sofa in Grason’s office—an avocado green thing that was someone’s idea of modernizing the furniture in the seventies—served as a second bed. He kept the aging thing around for sentimental reasons. Twenty-nine years with the FBI had taught him intelligence work couldn’t be confined to an eight-hour day. He spent many nights on the sofa and had a feeling that Operation Patriot would ensure that he spent many more.
The Bureau had turned Grason into a pit bull: aggressive and fearless. His toughness was in his mind more than his body; he flexed intellect instead of muscle. Hours of planning and preparation, traits he learned in the Boy Scouts and Air Force and used repeatedly through life, went into everything he did.
For most of his FBI career Grason worked on mob and drug cartel investigations. The RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) statute was his best weapon against crime. He never envisioned his involvement in Operation Patriot would be anything like his days pursuing criminals under RICO. But soon after the investigation started, he saw similarities between the government and the Mafia: corrupt organizations involved in bribery, coercion and money laundering. He realized a simple tag allowed the government’s actions to go unpunished: National Security . Through his work with Operation Patriot, Grason learned disobedience alone didn’t make one a criminal: status in society played an integral part. While gangsters, ruffians and thugs received prison terms for their illicit actions, certain politicians, government employees and civilian contractors drew paychecks for their abuses.
Correctly anticipating freeway conditions in Los Angeles was as likely as seeing a UFO. Grason arrived at Denny’s Restaurant in San Clemente—halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego—at seven fifteen a.m., thirty minutes early for his meeting with the congressman spearheading Operation Patriot. He backed into a parking spot with a clear view of the lot and nodded off.
A few minutes later, the distant whomp , whomp , whomp of helicopter blades roused Grason from his nap. A force of eight battleship gray helicopters flew south over the pacific coast shoreline, less than a half mile from his location. Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base bordered the freeway for eighteen
“There’s a lot of work to do,” the professor said. “More importantly, I’m getting old. My fear is if something were to happen to me, all my work would be lost. I have to share it with someone who understands it and can do something with it after I’m gone. I’ll tell him the risks. Blake is a tough kid.”
“I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like the thought of signing your contract, but I’m willing to make that concession.”
The sudden twist disturbed Grason. “Let me run a check on the kid—Blake. I’ll have to get back to you in a few days. If we proceed, you don’t tell him anything about me. I’ll pay you, and you pay Blake out of your pocket. He’s not part of this operation, and will NEVER handle the materials I give you.”
“I think I can agree to those terms.”
Grason collected the photo from the professor. “You can have this once we make everything official. I’ll give you more info besides the pictures and lay out the ground rules for communicating. As we begin to build a trusting relationship, the information will become more pertinent, and you’ll have a better idea what this is all about.” Grason returned to his car and left, happy that he started a relationship with the professor, but agitated that there was a catch.
CHAPTER 11
Los Angeles boasted one of the larger FBI field offices in the US, stationed in the Federal building near Westwood Village, and was the home base for Grason Kendricks, Special Agent in Charge of Operation Patriot.
A sofa in Grason’s office—an avocado green thing that was someone’s idea of modernizing the furniture in the seventies—served as a second bed. He kept the aging thing around for sentimental reasons. Twenty-nine years with the FBI had taught him intelligence work couldn’t be confined to an eight-hour day. He spent many nights on the sofa and had a feeling that Operation Patriot would ensure that he spent many more.
The Bureau had turned Grason into a pit bull: aggressive and fearless. His toughness was in his mind more than his body; he flexed intellect instead of muscle. Hours of planning and preparation, traits he learned in the Boy Scouts and Air Force and used repeatedly through life, went into everything he did.
For most of his FBI career Grason worked on mob and drug cartel investigations. The RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) statute was his best weapon against crime. He never envisioned his involvement in Operation Patriot would be anything like his days pursuing criminals under RICO. But soon after the investigation started, he saw similarities between the government and the Mafia: corrupt organizations involved in bribery, coercion and money laundering. He realized a simple tag allowed the government’s actions to go unpunished: National Security . Through his work with Operation Patriot, Grason learned disobedience alone didn’t make one a criminal: status in society played an integral part. While gangsters, ruffians and thugs received prison terms for their illicit actions, certain politicians, government employees and civilian contractors drew paychecks for their abuses.
Correctly anticipating freeway conditions in Los Angeles was as likely as seeing a UFO. Grason arrived at Denny’s Restaurant in San Clemente—halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego—at seven fifteen a.m., thirty minutes early for his meeting with the congressman spearheading Operation Patriot. He backed into a parking spot with a clear view of the lot and nodded off.
A few minutes later, the distant whomp , whomp , whomp of helicopter blades roused Grason from his nap. A force of eight battleship gray helicopters flew south over the pacific coast shoreline, less than a half mile from his location. Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base bordered the freeway for eighteen
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