The Gargoyle Trilogy

Chapter 5

After slogging through the typical Northern Virginia morning traffic, Morgan arrived at the parking lot at CIA headquarters, parked his ‘Vette, and headed inside. As he did on most mornings, especially if he did not have an early appointment, Morgan stopped briefly on the CIA seal embossed on the floor. He then turned his head towards the Memorial Wall and its anonymous gold stars. He threw a silent salute towards the wall and to all those memorialized there and headed through the security checkpoint.

Arriving at his desk, Morgan logged into his computer, opened his email, and immediately noticed the message from Lloyd with the subject line “CALL ME!” Grabbing his phone, he dialed Lloyd’s extension.

“This is Lloyd.” Morgan heard after a single ring.

“You bellowed?”

“The AIS analysis program finished its run last night. Can you swing by my desk?”

“Sure. I’ll see if Clint Peters is available and we’ll both head up.”

“See you in a bit.”

Morgan stopped by Clint’s desk with a spare coffee mug filled from his Nespresso machine. He grabbed the man’s attention by waving the cup under his boss’s nose.

“Good morning, boss! Here, a little life’s blood for our walk to Lloyd Decker’s office. His AIS data analysis is ready.”

“Perfect,” Peters replied. “The financials are ready as well. We can compare notes and see what we have.”

The pair walked to the CIA’s Office of Analytic Production and Dissemination, home to the Agency’s cyber analysts, where Lloyd’s desk resided. Seeing the pair approach, Lloyd waved them over.

“Gentlemen. I have some news,” said Lloyd.

Peters replied, “So do we. Is your conference room available?”

“This way,” Lloyd said as he grabbed his laptop and notes.

The trio set up in the conference room, and Lloyd projected an AIS display on a big, wall-mounted screen.

“I took a look at a year’s worth of AIS data,” Lloyd began. “I wrote a program looking for any anomalies, especially disappearing tracks, tracks out of expected positions, etc. in the area of West Africa we’re interested in. There was one group of ships that stood out.” Lloyd switched the screen to a list of several ships.

“These ships,” Lloyd went on, “all tracked normally along the African coast from both the north and south. They disappeared once they reached the coast off The Gambia, specifically, at a position 30 nautical miles due west of Serrekunda. The tracks then reappeared further along their intended track. However, if you compute the time distance problem, they all were not where they supposed to be based on the course and speed they showed prior to their disappearance. The discrepancy equates to several hours of dead time. To the casual observer, it appeared normal or at worst a temporary loss of AIS data, but there are too many of them to be a coincidence.”

Morgan looked at the ships up on the screen. Each ship was a medium sized container ship equipped with on board cranes. He noticed the owner of all these ships was RDS Shipping.

“So, none of these ships sailed into Serrekunda or maybe Dakar, Senegal?” asked Morgan.

“No, they went nowhere near those ports nor any other in the area.”

“Interesting.” Morgan said. “Clint, what did the financial folks find?”

“They ran RDS Shipping’s numbers for the past few years. The company was in fairly dire straits until recently. Their revenue stream is now quite steady, at least on paper.”

“Meaning they could have revenue streams off the books supplementing their legitimate income to make it look normal.”

“Correct. And the numbers began to improve shortly before the French began having setbacks in Mali.”

“It sounds like we have the ‘who’,” Lloyd said. “But I don’t understand the ‘how.’ None of the ships went anywhere near a port.”

“They don’t have to,” Morgan said. “Each ship has on board crane capability, and if you use shallow draft lighterage, you can move a lot of cargo. The Gambia River is navigable for at least 350 miles inland. Set up a crane somewhere up-river or put a crane on the barge; unload the cargo, finish the move inland, and you’re good to go. Never use the same place twice and you can keep everyone guessing.”

“Makes sense,” Lloyd said. “Who’s in charge at RDS Shipping?”

“This gentleman,” Peters pulled a picture out of a file folder. “Edward Rasmussen, age 60, Danish citizen, second generation owner of RDS Shipping after the passing of his father fifteen years ago.”

The picture showed a tall man with short, grey hair cut in a military style and wearing an expensive, well-tailored, suit, standing behind a podium. The one word which best described him would be ‘distinguished.’

“He’s quite well known in social circles as a contributor to several animal-related causes. Pet adoption, animal shelters, spay/neuter clinics, that sort of thing,” Peters continued. “He’s grooming his only child, a daughter, as his successor.” Peters pulled a second picture from the file. It showed a strikingly beautiful woman with long, black hair, olive complexion, and Scandinavian facial features sitting on a stage apparently at the same function as her father.

“Lady Aurora Essenhigh, widow of the late Sir Ian Essenhigh, and sole heir to his substantial estate. Her dark hair and complexion come from her Italian mother, Martina, deceased.”

“Guess she’s the light of her father’s life?” Morgan said. His two friends turned towards him and gave him an evil look for the obvious pun.

“What?” Morgan asked as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Lady Essenhigh shares her father’s love of animals, and she’s a major patron of the UK’s RSPCA and the Humane Society International in Denmark.”

Tearing his gaze from Lady Essenhigh’s picture, Morgan gave his head a quick shake and looked at his companions. “Okay, we have a shipping company which is the right size to hide a smuggling operation amongst legitimate business, a company with a near miraculous financial recovery from near certain bankruptcy, and a company whose ships appear and disappear from AIS. As the saying goes ‘Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, the third time it’s enemy action.’ I recommend we see General Bailey.”

The trio picked up their materials and headed to the seventh floor.

Morgan, Peters, and Decker entered General Bailey’s outer office and checked in with always-lovely Ms. Biggins.

“Good morning, Colleen. Is the General available?”

“He has nothing on his calendar this morning…,” she looked at her computer monitor. “Okay, he’s clear until noon,” she continued as she picked up her phone. “General, Mr. Peters, Mr. Morgan, and Mr. Decker are here to see you.” She paused a moment, “Right, sir. Okay gentlemen, please go in.”

Morgan looked straight into her eyes, “Available for lunch?”

“Not today I’m afraid, raincheck?”

“Please.” Morgan turned towards the inner office.

As the three entered Bailey’s office, the General looked up from his computer. “Gentlemen, what do you have for me?”

Peters being the senior member of the three took the lead on briefing the DDI on the team’s findings. After Morgan closed out the briefing, the General smiled and congratulated them on a job well done.

“So, what’s our next course of action?” General Bailey asked.

“Simple, we get someone on the inside.” Morgan said. “Someone who can get a hold of RDS’s schedules and manifests to find the next shipment meant for Mali.”

“Sounds good,” said Bailey. “When do you leave?”

“Excuse me, sir? Did you say me?”

“Bob, you’re perfect for this mission. You know the intelligence inside and out, you’re an expert on maritime operations, and you’re a trained operations officer.”

“Yes, sir, but Stone won’t sanction this, not with my injury and my performance on the Kobiashi Maru.”

Kobiashi Maru“Stone can kiss my Marine Corps ass! I’m about to go over his head so hard he’ll have my combat boots’ prints on his scalp for the next year.” The DDI reached for his phone.

“Colleen, please ring Admiral Fitzpatrick’s office,” Bailey said. Admiral Dennis Fitzpatrick currently served as the CIA’s Deputy Director of Operations, or DDO, and was General Bailey’s opposite number on the Agency’s operations side.

After a brief pause, Bailey continued, “Denny! Ron Bailey here. I have a lead on that request from the DGSE and I need your concurrence with my intended course of action… You know Bob Morgan, call sign Gargoyle? Yeah, that’s him. I want him out in the field. I feel this is none of Malcom Stone’s business, and I prefer it if he didn’t know about this. Great! I’ll send him there right away. Thanks, Denny.”

Bailey said to Morgan, “I’m sending you to see Admiral Fitzpatrick’s assistant, Ms. Frances McCulloch. Brief her on what you briefed me earlier, and she’ll work with you on a plan of action, an appropriate cover and any equipment you may need.”

Morgan looked at the General with a very wide eye and said, “Aye, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, this is just beginning.”

“Yes, sir,” Morgan and the rest began to head out.

“Bob, could you stay a moment? Please.”

“Catch you guys later,” Morgan said as Peters and Decker left the General’s office.

When alone, General Bailey continued, “Bob, before you see Ms. McCulloch, I may have some bad news. Do you happen to know a Gerald Wayne Biggs?”

“Jerry? Yes, sir. We’re high school and Ohio State classmates. He earned a Marine Corps commission the same time I earned my Navy one. He was also best man at my wedding, but we lost touch after my divorce and return to the boat teams. Why?”

“I thought so, I noticed the high school’s name in both his file and yours. Jerry worked for me when I commanded the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Brigade out in Okinawa. He left the Corps shortly thereafter and joined Constellis.”

“The private military company?”

“The same. He worked as a consultant around the globe and since I started here, would pass me information from time to time. Lately, he worked with the French Foreign Legion in Mali and acted as an unofficial conduit between the Agency and the French. Unfortunately, he was in Gao during that last attack and was killed. I’m sorry, Bob.”

Morgan looked at General Bailey with an expression of shock and sadness.

Jerry? Dead? I can’t believe it. Growing up, he seemed invincible.

Jerry? Dead? I can’t believe it. Growing up, he seemed invincibleHe hardened his expression.

“Thank you, General. His passing makes getting to the bottom of this that much more imperative. Anything else, sir?”

“Not right now, good luck.”

Morgan got up and left the General’s office. He passed Colleen’s desk, skipping their usual flirtations, and headed to Ms. McCulloch’s office with a look of grim determination on his face.