again,” he said. Nicole started to laugh, and Joyce Jefferson and the two men remained silent.
“Mr. Rawlings?” Jefferson asked, confused.
“I’ll explain it later, Governor Jefferson, but for the present, you can count on me to stand by your side in this venture. However, before you proceed down this road, I think you need to hear how California actually came to her conclusions about secession. The back story might not be as you’ve been led to believe.” Dan reached for Nicole’s hand and smiled at her, essentially seeking her confirmation that what he was proposing was correct. Seeing her slight nod, he turned again to Jefferson.
“Governor, gentlemen . . . Californians were duped.”
Chapter 5
Office of John Harford, President
Strategic Initiatives, LLC
Arlington, Virginia
February
“I don’t pay your firm two million dollars a month so I can leave a message on your voice mail. That’s more than I pay my bloodsucking lawyers. For that kind of money, I damn well expect you to be available 24/7.”
John Harford stood behind his massive desk, his eyes boring into the visitor who had just entered his office, the door closing behind him. Harford’s company. Strategic Initiatives, was known in the military world as SI, a multi-national security firm specializing in government contract work around the globe, legal and not so legal. Harford was used to employees, or sub-contractors, which was how he saw Ted Rowley’s PR firm, placing him at the top of their priority list. And from Harford’s perspective, since he paid the biggest fees, everyone would put him at the top of their priority list or he’d find someone else.
Forty-two, a West Point graduate, and a self-professed hard-ass, Harford had served as an Army Ranger and a Delta Force operative. He left the Army after eight years when a fellow ring-knocker recruited him to work with the CIA. Within three weeks of his recruitment, two Latin American citizens had died of apparently self-inflicted gunshot wounds. When Harford discovered that his partner on that job, a freelance, contracted “security expert,” had made over three times the money the CIA had paid him, Harford quickly left their service. Thirty-one, ten years out of West Point, he had resigned from both the Army and the CIA.
Recruiting a few of his former associates, Harford branched out, starting his own security firm with primarily bodyguard work initially, then progressing to contract killing, mostly on foreign soil.
A decade later, Harford remained in top physical shape, although his current position did not require “wet” work or even strenuous activity. He now had “people” for black ops. The only killing he did personally was character assassination of politicians who stood in his way.
Within those ten years, Strategic Initiatives had signed contracts with multiple U.S. government agencies and about a dozen foreign governments, ranging from personal protection to outright destabilization of smaller governments with shadow leaders who thought it was time for a change at the top. The bread-and-butter work came from domestic security in malls, sporting arenas, and federal buildings.
SI employed over 10,000 people, with several hundred more black ops staff who were paid off the books. Gross revenues in the previous fiscal year had topped fourteen billion dollars. Security work had been good to him. The prospects since 9/11, with the increased concern for domestic terrorism, had only enhanced his reputation and his revenue.
Noting the tone of rebuke in Harford’s voice, Rowley responded cautiously. “I apologize, John. I called you within twenty minutes of receiving your message, but I was in the South African bush with a client. In your business, I know you can appreciate the need for occasionally being out of touch.”
Harford just looked at the man standing before his desk for several long seconds, grunted his acknowledgement, then waved his hand toward a
“Mr. Rawlings?” Jefferson asked, confused.
“I’ll explain it later, Governor Jefferson, but for the present, you can count on me to stand by your side in this venture. However, before you proceed down this road, I think you need to hear how California actually came to her conclusions about secession. The back story might not be as you’ve been led to believe.” Dan reached for Nicole’s hand and smiled at her, essentially seeking her confirmation that what he was proposing was correct. Seeing her slight nod, he turned again to Jefferson.
“Governor, gentlemen . . . Californians were duped.”
Chapter 5
Office of John Harford, President
Strategic Initiatives, LLC
Arlington, Virginia
February
“I don’t pay your firm two million dollars a month so I can leave a message on your voice mail. That’s more than I pay my bloodsucking lawyers. For that kind of money, I damn well expect you to be available 24/7.”
John Harford stood behind his massive desk, his eyes boring into the visitor who had just entered his office, the door closing behind him. Harford’s company. Strategic Initiatives, was known in the military world as SI, a multi-national security firm specializing in government contract work around the globe, legal and not so legal. Harford was used to employees, or sub-contractors, which was how he saw Ted Rowley’s PR firm, placing him at the top of their priority list. And from Harford’s perspective, since he paid the biggest fees, everyone would put him at the top of their priority list or he’d find someone else.
Forty-two, a West Point graduate, and a self-professed hard-ass, Harford had served as an Army Ranger and a Delta Force operative. He left the Army after eight years when a fellow ring-knocker recruited him to work with the CIA. Within three weeks of his recruitment, two Latin American citizens had died of apparently self-inflicted gunshot wounds. When Harford discovered that his partner on that job, a freelance, contracted “security expert,” had made over three times the money the CIA had paid him, Harford quickly left their service. Thirty-one, ten years out of West Point, he had resigned from both the Army and the CIA.
Recruiting a few of his former associates, Harford branched out, starting his own security firm with primarily bodyguard work initially, then progressing to contract killing, mostly on foreign soil.
A decade later, Harford remained in top physical shape, although his current position did not require “wet” work or even strenuous activity. He now had “people” for black ops. The only killing he did personally was character assassination of politicians who stood in his way.
Within those ten years, Strategic Initiatives had signed contracts with multiple U.S. government agencies and about a dozen foreign governments, ranging from personal protection to outright destabilization of smaller governments with shadow leaders who thought it was time for a change at the top. The bread-and-butter work came from domestic security in malls, sporting arenas, and federal buildings.
SI employed over 10,000 people, with several hundred more black ops staff who were paid off the books. Gross revenues in the previous fiscal year had topped fourteen billion dollars. Security work had been good to him. The prospects since 9/11, with the increased concern for domestic terrorism, had only enhanced his reputation and his revenue.
Noting the tone of rebuke in Harford’s voice, Rowley responded cautiously. “I apologize, John. I called you within twenty minutes of receiving your message, but I was in the South African bush with a client. In your business, I know you can appreciate the need for occasionally being out of touch.”
Harford just looked at the man standing before his desk for several long seconds, grunted his acknowledgement, then waved his hand toward a
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