Dick Slays the Dragons by Dick Avery - HTML preview

“Perhaps, but that’s not likely because they’re much too difficult to obtain.”

“What’s with the company listed as the supplier at the bottoms of the forms: EG&G? I don’t recognize it,” Barry stated.

“It’s a division of the URS Corporation. Basically, the EG&G Division is a top-tier contractor to the federal government, serving virtually every branch of the Department of Defense, as well as the Department of Homeland Security, NASA and other agencies. It provides systems engineering and technical assistance to develop weapons systems and maintains and repairs vehicles, aircraft and other military equipment to extend their service life. It’s a very reputable company that’s been in business for ages.”

“What role did it play in the transaction?” I asked.

“It was the manufacturer and original vendor for the devices and Abacus Trading Company was the buyer and middleman for the ultimate transfer and sale of the stuff to Osaka Imports in Japan. Using a middleman for these things is not unusual at all. Abacus probably made a bundle of money from these sales. It’s often how it’s done for a variety of legitimate reasons. As long as EG&G was presented with a bona fide export license, its hands are clean. Any sales rep worth his salt would jump at the chance to make these high-dollar sales given the state of the economy.”

“These power switching devices are commonly referred to as Krytrons and sell for about $275 each,” Alistair continued. “But when you’re talking about many thousands, as in these orders, it adds up to a lot of bucks. Krytrons are approximately one by two inches in size and resemble small, old-style radio tubes. As I recall, the U.S. military mistakenly shipped four nuclear-missile detonators, Krytrons in this instance, to Taiwan in 2006 and failed to detect the error for more than a year. Shit happens despite everyone’s best efforts.”

“The Department of Homeland Security is particularly concerned with these devices falling into the hands of terrorists to make a so-called dirty bomb. That’s another reason why they’re controlled.”

“What’s the purported end-use of the items?” I asked.

Alistair put on his reading glasses and glanced at the second page of the forms. “They’re all destined for photochemical use, nothing unusual,” he replied. “But Bob wanted to list them as though they were to be used for mining and land-clearing purposes to make them appear innocuous. Instead, he could have opted to classify the paperwork, but he said that was too cumbersome to deal with.”

“Why can’t the Japanese manufacture them? They must have the technology and knowhow,” Barry interjected.

“They certainly do and can, but they can’t because, politically speaking, they’re also used in nuclear weapons. The Japanese government vowed never to produce nuclear armaments, even in its own defense, given the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“Alistair, you mentioned Bob. Who’s Bob?” I asked.

“That would be Bob Nakamura in EAP and we go way back. In fact, we went through the department’s orientation session together when we both entered on duty. That’s when I first met him.”

“Do you mean Robert Nakamura, the Assistant Secretary for East Asia and Pacific Affairs?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend, a great officer and patriot in my opinion.”

Jesus that was a bombshell! Bob Nakamura was one of the darkest Black Dragons in the department and purported to be of Komodo rank according to the pundits who tracked such things. According to the lore, there were three Komodo dragons, Alpha-creatures of their filthy species, and Bob was likely one of them. He had a corridor reputation for being extremely bright, talented and ruthless. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

“Alistair, it sounds like you were an unwitting party to all of this. Perhaps you’ll get off with a slap on the wrist and nothing more. But even then, you’re eligible to retire so if things go badly, you can put in your papers and get out gracefully,” I assured him.

“Oh, by the way, what did Bob promise you in return for your favors? Those must have been serious favors for you to bend the rules. Perhaps he suggested an immodest contribution to your retirement fund?”

“No, good God no, there was nothing offered of the sort. We both know that would be an act of bribery and I’d never do that. But he did strongly hint that my cooperation just might land me an ambassadorship at one of the small island nations in the Pacific if I played ball. You know the system and how it works here. It’s just the one hand washing the other.”

Jeez, Alistair’s definition of bribery and corruption was certainly different than mine, I thought. Perhaps it came from the Black Dragon dictionary of corrupt terms where distinctions without differences were considered ordinary word usage.

“Remember that what we discussed at this meeting and the meeting itself must be kept confidential. Alistair, if you leak anything to Bob Nakamura or anyone else our deal is off the table and you just might be doing some hard time. Do you understand me?” I asked.

“Richard, I do, but you don’t have to worry about me blabbing. I understand the fix I’m in and I don’t want to complicate matters further. You have my word.”

With that, he pursed his lips and, with an imaginary key, locked his mouth. He then tossed the key into the air. We all politely laughed at his little act.

I wasn’t so sure Alistair would keep his mouth shut, but it didn’t matter now that he’d incriminated himself in front of two law enforcement officers. He was royally screwed and the length of his prison term would only hinge on the extent of his culpability.

“Oh, by the way, have you ever heard of a Gerard Lipinski or Harry Dubs?” Asking him was just a shot in the dark.

“Nope, I’ve never heard of Lipinski. Dubs or Tubs was the name your agent mentioned during his visit. Why do you ask?”

I didn’t answer, but made it clear that if he tried retaliating against any of his employees who might have assisted us, he’d be dead meat. He damn well understood who and what I was referring to.

As Barry and I neared the elevator, Ronnie Brown approached and handed me some papers.

“Is it another DSP-85 application from Abacus?” I asked.

“It is. Alistair told me to expedite it like the others. He approved the export license yesterday. Yep, it’s more of the same stuff. I thought you should know about it.”

“Thanks Ronnie. By the way, I don’t think Alistair will be harassing you anymore. He might be a little cool towards you, but don’t worry about it. The old tiger’s been neutered.”

She laughed as she went back to her office.

As we reached the street, I called Jersey, wanting to update him regarding our interview with Alistair and ask for a favor. I got his voice mail instead and left a message.

“Jersey, we just finished with Alistair and learned much. I’ll brief you later. In the meantime, please order-up Bob Nakamura’s security file because I need to review it soonest. I strongly suggest you randomly request three or four other files in order to keep the clerks in the file room guessing. I don’t want any gossip in the hallways that we’re looking at Bob. Thanks. Catch you later.”

Robert S. Nakamura’s security file was an interesting read if you enjoyed a biography of one of America’s best and brightest citizens: a Horatio Alger story if there ever was one. Jersey took my advice and requested several security folders in addition to Bob’s. That would throw off the guessers and gossips that inhabited the bowels of the DSS headquarters building. Their unofficial motto was: what’s a secret if you can’t tell a friend?

Bob had been subjected to a number of update security investigations over the years given his long tenure with the department. These were required to be conducted every five years by regulation to maintain his Top Secret security clearance. Consequently, his folder was a thick one and it took me quite awhile to go through it because I didn’t want to miss a single word.

He was born March 3, 1943 at the Manzanar Relocation Center in California; an internment facility for Japanese-Americans during World War II. Bob was a Nisei or second generation Japanese-American. His parents were prosperous farmers and landowners living outside of Bakersfield before their lands were seized and interned in mid-1942. Both parents had long been deceased according to his latest security questionnaire. He attended Stanford as both an undergrad and graduate student majoring in political science with an emphasis in Japanese-American relations.

He graduated summa cum laude and was the valedictorian of his undergraduate class. Not surprisingly, he spoke fluent Japanese. He held the diplomatic rank of minister-counselor and had done several tours abroad. He was married and had two grown kids. His neighbors, supervisors, friends and colleagues spoke very highly of him during interviews and each recommended him for a position of trust and responsibility with the U.S. government. There wasn’t a hint of any derogatory information in the investigative reports. He was squeaky clean by all accounts.

I flipped to the assignments and awards section of the folder next. Bob had received two Meritorious Honor Awards during his career. The first was for his service as the Deputy Chief of Mission at the U.S. embassy in Tokyo. Now that was interesting. His assignment and that of Gerard Lipinski would have overlapped by a couple of years and they would have known each other well given their respective positions. The earlier award was for outstanding accomplishments as a junior, rotational officer assigned to U.S. embassy Bolivia in the late 1960s. He’d also done tours in Taiwan, Manila and Korea.

I jotted down the name of a reference he’d listed on each of his questionnaires: a Mr. Trent V. Miller of Glendale, California. If my math served me correctly, they would have known each other during Bob’s college days. I wanted to talk to Mr. Miller very badly to get a good sense of what made Bob tick. The other references were more recent acquaintances and worked for other federal agencies in town. Those people I’d avoid like the plague.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

California Dreaming

Chapter 11

I could tell that Jersey Briggs was in a foul mood as soon as I entered his office. It was easy to conclude given he was screaming into the phone. He was speaking with Elaine, his much better half. I quickly stepped out of the commotion and waited for a more opportune time to make my entrance. I took a long smoke break and tried again.

“Bob Nakamura and Alistair Pennington are up to their eyeballs in this thing.” I’d already explained to Jersey Bob’s role in the scheme. “I still don’t know about Harry Dubs and Gerard Lipinski yet. They could be minor players in the drama, but I’m just not sure.”

“By the way, when I saw Bob’s photo in his security file, I immediately recognized him as the other oriental guy talking to Joey Hernandez on the 29^th at the reception on the 8^th floor. There’s no doubt about it. Bob, the Commodore and Joey were carrying on a conversation shortly before he was murdered.”

“Joey either walked down or was forced down the back stairwell to the 7^th floor restroom where he met his death.”

“Well, that’s interesting, but I’m still not convinced this isn’t a government sponsored enterprise of some sort that got out of hand. You have to admit that it’s a possibility rather than some rogue operation,” Jersey replied. “If it is, you’re stepping on some pretty big toes my friend,” he added.

“Yeah, maybe so, but this apple smells rotten to the core. Regardless, whether it’s officially sanctioned and involves our Uncle Sam or not, one of our own has been murdered. We simply can’t look the other way Jersey.”

“No, you’re right. We’re not going to shirk it off and say it’s none of our business. But Richard, be damn careful where you step. Bob Nakamura is a big, bad dragon and a mover and shaker in the department. If you shoot, you better kill because otherwise he’ll come after you and DSS with a vengeance. That Black Dragon has sharp teeth!”

“What’s the saying? The bigger they are the harder they fall,” I laughed.

“Are you referring to Bob or yourself?” Jersey shot back.

I stopped laughing because he had a point. I’d become obsessed with the case and had to keep my perspective. Maybe I was getting too big for my own britches. Regardless, I didn’t want to take a fatal pratfall at this point.

“Okay, I’ll be careful, but I need you to do a couple of things to move the investigation along. First, send a standard, clearance update package to Bob. You know, the one that starts out: Dear Sir, Madam or Whatever,” I joked. “I noticed he’s overdue for one and that will serve as good cover for what I plan to do next. Put a short turnaround date on it. Bob understands the system and won’t give it a second thought. It’s simply another drudge requirement of an inane bureaucracy and nothing more.”

“Richard, what are you planning? I hope it’s not something too outrageous or dangerous.”

“No, nothing of the sort, I plan to interview a reference listed by Bob on each of his security questionnaires. The two go way back. He might give me some insight into Bob’s personality and any quirks he might have. What are his likes and dislikes? Where’s his head at? You know the drill. I want to put together a personality profile and see if there’s anything that might be useful in our inquiries.”

“Now give me a set of agent credentials I can flash when I introduce myself. After all, I need some credibility as a DSS background investigator doing a routine reinvestigation of a department employee.”

“There’s no way that’s going to happen Richard! You’re not getting a hold of a gold shield that allows you to make arrests and pack a gun. Nothing personal, but I don’t trust you that much buddy.”

“Here’s what I’ll do though,” he mentioned as he reached into his desk drawer and tossed me something resembling a thin, black wallet. “That’s a generic set of contract investigator credentials that we issue to the independent contractors doing background investigations for us. As you well know, there’s no shield and they don’t convey any law enforcement powers, but they’re still authoritative and official enough for what you have in mind. Go with those or go naked. I don’t care which.”

Jersey had spoken. The credentials he gave me would work nicely, but I was still angling for the real stuff. It looked like I’d have to wait awhile longer.

“I’ll call Tom Altizer who’s now the SAC of the LA field office and arrange for things. If your interviewee should be savvy or paranoid enough to make a call to the office to check your bona fides, Tom and his staff will backup your story. No worries. We both know that’s unlikely, but it happens sometimes given all of the anxiety about terrorism and crime. Also Richard, remember to leave your scimitar and ski mask at home this time. You should do fine otherwise,” he joked.

Jersey got the last laugh at my expense, this time. For some sketchy reason, I recalled the old saying: those who can, do, those who can’t, teach, and those who can’t teach join DSS. I didn’t know what my excuse was for doing what I did, but it gave me structure and purpose in my life. Maybe it was simply a matter of semper fidelis and caveat emptor neatly wrapped up together. Nonetheless, it certainly sounded better in Latin. But I really didn’t know where I was at since I couldn’t even get my laundry orders straight; much less decode the meaning of my life.

***

My flight to L.A. via Phoenix was terribly long, but otherwise uneventful. I enjoyed the movie even though I had to pay for the headset and the snacks; the pillow and soft drinks came with a price tag as well. Fortunately, the johns didn’t have coin-operated doors, at least yet.

I arrived on time for my appointment with Mr. Trent Miller. He lived in a smallish house in a very nice, upscale neighborhood of Glendale. With the white picket fence and trellises, it was the picture-perfect American dream home. A whirligig of a goose in flight on the front lawn added a homey, whimsical touch to the whole scene.

As Mr. Miller opened the door, I grabbed for my new set of credentials. I wanted our conversation to have the trappings of a run-of-the-mill background investigation in the event he mentioned my visit to Bob Nakamura.

“Mr. Miller, my name’s Dick Avery and conducting a routine, background investigation on an acquaintance of yours, Mr. Robert Nakamura. May I please speak to you sir?”

“Yes, of course, please come in. I don’t have too many visitors these days so any conversation is good therapy and warmly welcomed.”

He led us to his den and we both sat. I took a seat directly across from him because I wanted to gauge his facial expressions and body language. Those were often useful in distinguishing lies from fibs.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee Mr. Avery? I just made a pot and it’s still fresh.”

I accepted his offer because I wanted our forthcoming conversation to last as long as possible. With more time sitting and chatting, the better, but only if it gave me some insights into Bob Nakamura’s mind.

“Here’s the coffee, but be careful, it’s hot. I put in a little sugar and cream as you asked. Now, you wanted to ask me about Bob Nakamura in connection with his State Department employment. Is that correct? I understand the need for these inquiries since I worked for Lockheed-Martin and held a Top Secret security clearance and special access tickets as well. My neighbors would tell me when you guys came around every five years to update my investigation too. I had to reassure them I wasn’t in trouble with the law. It became a standing joke among us over the years. ‘Martha, Trent’s being investigated by the Feds again. Hide the silverware, my dear!’”

I politely laughed. “Yes, you’re correct and the process is the same whether you’re a government contractor or employee holding a clearance. To begin, where and when did you and Mr. Nakamura first meet?”

“We met at Stanford in 1961 when we both entered undergraduate school as freshmen. By luck of the draw, we roomed together for two years in Sessions Hall and became close friends, and still are. He’s one of the finest persons I know and I’m happy to call him a good friend, although we don’t have much contact these days. Our wives did most of the communicating until my Edna died two years ago of cancer. Ironically, I took an early retirement from Lockheed so we could finally travel the world together. But Edna died less than a year after I retired so that dream was not to be. There’s her photo on the mantel. I really miss her so much that I sometimes get a little maudlin when talking about her. However, I promise not to do so today. I’m working on building a life without her, but it’s been damn difficult.”

I felt sorry for Trent Miller who appeared to be a decent person who’d worked hard all of his life and now was alone in the world. I could readily relate to his condition.

“Mr. Miller, please tell me about those early days in your relationship. What extracurricular activities did Mr. Nakamura participate in? Who were his other friends? Please paint a picture of what he was like so I can better understand him.”

“Well, Bob was extremely studious and didn’t really have any outside activities or close friends that I recall. He focused on his studies to the exclusion of everything else. He was driven to succeed in school and life as though he had something to prove to himself and others. I suspect much was the result of his strict upbringing. His parents were prosperous farmers and landowners in the valley, but the war changed all of that. Bob said his entire family was forced off their land and interned at Manzanar in 1942. Bob was born in the camp, but was too young to remember anything of those bad times.”

“That experience haunted Bob. His mother and father related the stories of those hard times to him when he was older so he could better understand their circumstances. He seemed to have memorized every detail. With him, the question was always: how could a fair and just America do that to its loyal Japanese-American citizens? Why weren’t the German and Italian Americans interned as well? Of course, Pearl Harbor and the ensuing hysteria and paranoia were the obvious answers, but Bob still couldn’t reconcile those things and often talked to me about them. I don’t think he shared the stories or his feelings with anyone else because he was much too proud.”

“Shortly after Bob was born, his sister, Bethany, died of pneumonia. His parents were devastated because they could only stand by and watch her die. Penicillin had been developed a couple of years before and that would have likely saved her life. However, there was a war going on and penicillin was largely reserved for the troops and not the civilian population. A young Japanese-American girl living in an internment camp had no chance whatsoever in obtaining the lifesaving drug. Bob was terribly bitter about her tragic death, although he hid his feelings well from his classmates and casual acquaintances. However, one night, he broke down and cried when he told me the story.”

“At the end of the war, Bob and his parents were released from the camp to return to a very uncertain life because their land and a couple of rental properties they’d owned before the war were seized by the government and sold at auction to loyal Americans. And his parents didn’t receive a penny from the sale. With a terrible, ironic twist, his mother and father returned to their farm, but this time as day laborers on their own land. They were given a sharecroppers cottage on the property and that’s where Bob was raised. It was an incredibly humiliating experience for them, but they never complained about their fate. According to Bob, they also never uttered an unkind word about the United States government and what it had done to them. Doing so would have been dishonorable and not in keeping with Japanese tradition.”

“With the family in desperate financial straits, the state of California granted Bob a full-boat ride to Stanford for his undergraduate studies. Jeez, he was such a brilliant student who excelled at the academics through hard work and tenacity. I was a pretty good student myself, but Bob put me to shame! He majored in Japanese-American studies with an emphasis on the period of Japanese military build-up and expansionism from the late 1800s to World War II. I believe he did his master’s thesis on the subject. In the little spare time he had, he read about Japanese history, particularly the Samurai culture. He was fascinated by the stuff and how Japan evolved into a military power as a result of the warrior mentality and tradition.”

“After undergrad, we went our separate ways and I became an aerospace engineer and Bob became a diplomat. He was actively recruited by many corporations during grad school, but he chose the Foreign Service instead. Over drinks much later, he mentioned he’d scored the highest marks on both the written and oral Foreign Service exams. He could have made a ton of money in the private sector, but opted to work for Uncle Sam out of a strong sense of public service and patriotism. That’s the kind of guy he is.”

“I’d guess that Bob had good reasons for resenting the federal government,” I interjected.

“You’d think so, but I believe you’d be wrong. Bob is a true patriot, pure and simple. Despite his family’s humiliations and deprivations, he’s a strong believer in a strong America. His career at the State Department would attest to the fact. Regrettably, Bob’s a Republican, but I wouldn’t hold that against him,” he joked.

I wasn’t so sure about what he had just asserted about Bob’s loyalty, but I stayed quiet.

“Mr. Avery, that’s about it for Bob in his earlier days. What else would you like to know about him?”

“Just a few more questions and I’ll be on my way. Did you by chance have any contact with Bob while he was the deputy chief of mission at our embassy in Japan?”

“Yes, I did. In fact, Edna and I visited Bob and his wife while he was assigned there. We stayed in his official residence and were treated like royalty. That was the first and only trip Edna and I took overseas and it gave us the bug to travel more after I retired. Bob put together some day trips and tours so we could see and experience the country. Edna and I absolutely loved the place! Work allowing, Bob would join us on our excursions. His fluency in Japanese really made a big difference in getting insights into the people and culture. I visited Bob at the embassy one day and was impressed. The local staff respectfully greeted him with a bow. Now that’s something I’d never seen before! He explained he was the number two guy at the embassy behind the ambassador who was a political appointee. However, he was actually the power behind the throne because the ambassador didn’t speak a word of Japanese and knew little about the country’s history and traditions.”

“Bob ran the real show and the ambassador represented the United States at the many diplomatic receptions and ceremonies. Bob said he liked the arrangement since it gave him more time to concentrate on bilateral relations and important matters of state. Regardless, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool workaholic who typically puts in 11 hour days, including Saturdays. I couldn’t sustain such a punishing schedule even when I was younger. I don’t understand how he can keep up the pace, except he’s still a driven man. However, I don’t know what his destination is these days.”

I didn’t either, but I had my suspicions.

“Mr. Miller, are you aware of any information that might re