The Highlands Forum

 

When Griff came back to the cottage from the fitness center and swimming laps the next morning, Maura was still asleep in her room. He shaved, showered, and dressed, then silently opened the door to look in on her. All he could see was a tangled mass of black hair spilling out from under the blanket which she had pulled over her face. The long, easy draws of breath gave evidence to the depth of her sleep cycle. He smiled at the memory of their day of innocent fun exploring Fisherman’s Wharf, riding the cable cars, and crossing the Golden Gate Bridge for dinner in Sausalito with a view of San Francisco glittering across the bay, which ended innocently, despite his not so innocent thoughts and instinctual urgings when they got back to Pebble Beach as he watched Maura shuffle sleepily off to her room with visions of her in a blue cocktail dress dancing in his head.

Griff quietly closed the door and went to The Lodge for the Highlands Forum meeting. He lingered outside the Stanton Room, sipping coffee and watching for his prey. He was glad to see he was alone.

“Mark Dorsey, right?” Griff asked, approaching the other founding partner of Talon Technology at the coffee buffet. Conveniently, the man was wearing a Department of Defense picture ID on a lanyard around his neck. A second, engraved plastic badge pinned over his heart echoed his name and “OASD(C3I),” indicating he was an employee of the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence.

“That’s right.” The short, rotund man stirred the cream and sugar into his coffee, then turned to face Griff. He had to look up. “Have we met before?”

“Only by proxy. Not face-to-face. I’m Griffith Crowe.”

Dorsey checked the roster on his clipboard. “I don’t show you on the invite list. Who are you with?”

“So, you are here in your official government capacity, then.”

“Yes, to help with the Forum. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Crowe?”

“No. Not yet,” Griff smiled. “I just thought it might be important to put faces to names.”

“Mark, how are you?” JR called out as he walked up to Griff and Dorsey. “Long time no see.”

“Mr. Nickolson. Good to see you again.” Dorsey looked up at JR and extended his hand.

“It’s been a little while.” JR shook hands with Dorsey.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your father’s accident.”

“Yeah…” JR looked at Griff and smirked.

“My, ah, condolences.” Dorsey looked from JR to Griff, then back to JR.

“I see you’ve met one of my guys. Here to help me out for the week.” JR cocked his head towards Griff.

“Oh, right. We were just getting acquainted.”

Griff smiled down on Dorsey and winked. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Okay…” Dorsey frowned.

“So, the Stanton Room, nice.” JR pulled Dorsey along with him as they went into the conference room. “How did Larry do yesterday in the tournament?”

“He had an off day,” Dorsey answered looking back over his shoulder.

Griff gave a little wave.

 

***~~~***

 

Maura met Andy Rousch outside The Lodge at six-thirty that evening. From the big smile on the mechanic’s young face and the uncomfortable tug at the collar of his dress shirt and necktie, her sleek and clinging off-the-shoulder little black dress met with at least as much approval as her blue cocktail dress.

She led Andy inside to the Pebble Beach room which was set up with round tables and a dais at the front of the room for the Forum banquet attended by guests and select support staff. She sent Andy off to the bar for drinks while she moved through the room scanning for Mark Dorsey and Larry Schmidt as the cocktail hour wound down. She found them huddled together at an otherwise empty table next to the terrace looking out on the eighteenth green.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Maura asked Dorsey and Schmidt.

Both men looked up at her, smiled, and quickly shook their heads.

“Please, join us,” said Dorsey, breathing a bit too heavily.

Suckers, she thought, amazed yet again how such a small amount of artfully arranged fabric could reduce men to panting Pavlov’s dogs. She waved Andy over and sat down. “Thank you.”

“Hi. I’m Andy,” He exchanged nods with Dorsey and Schmidt, setting down Maura’s wine and sitting beside her with a beer.

“Larry.”

“Mark.”

“Save that seat next to you, too,” Maura told Andy, putting the napkin from the place setting on the chair next to her. She looked across the table and raised her wine glass in a toast. “This is so nice. Cheers, fellas.”

The three men returned tight-lipped smiles as if to hold back their salivating as they raised their glasses to Maura’s toast.

“Hey. Hey, Larry,” Lance called out. He circled the table, repeating his name as he shook hands with Dorsey, then Schmidt, then sat down between Larry and Andy. “Andy, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Andy asked.

“We’ll get to that.” Lance winked at the young mechanic. He looked at Schmidt on the other side of him and shook his head sympathetically. “Larry…Larry…heard you had a tough day on the links. What, a ninety-five?”

“Ninety-two.” Larry grimaced.

“Nothing at all to be ashamed of, Lar. Only ten percent of all us duffers shoot bogey golf—legitimately. And, what, with Spyglass being the toughest course in the world according to the PGA.”

“How did you do?” Mark asked.

“I was up three going into eighteen. Birdied it to finish two over par.” Lance smiled broadly at Mark.

Larry hung his head low.

“Wow,” Mark said.

“Eh, I got lucky,” Lance shrugged his shoulders and looked around the room.

“Who are you here with?” Larry asked in an impatient, accusatory tone.

“Oh, here he is now.” Lance pointed with his thumb as Griff sat down next to Maura. “You both know this guy. Griffith Crowe.”

Larry’s back stiffened.

“You’re with JR. We met this morning,” Mark said.

“JR is with us, actually,” Griff said. “Nice act with him, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked.

Andy scanned around the table at the men in confusion. He looked over at Maura.

Maura patted his arm. “Wait for it.”

“Andy, do you know these two?” Lance asked, pointing at Dorsey and Schmidt.

Maura’s date shook his head.

“Then you probably never thanked them properly for the fifty thousand dollars they paid you for some special modifications…” Lance turned to Andy and made air quotes. “…that never made it onto the FAA Three-Thirty-Seven form for Major Repairs and Alterations done to that unfortunate Bell 406.”

Andy swallowed hard.

“Cut the kid a break, Lance,” Griff said. “He probably never met these guys. Did you at least thank Seth Valance?”

Dorsey wheezed at the mention of the ex-Army Ranger’s name.

“I—I never saw him again,” Andy said. “I didn’t know.”

“Hold that thought, son,” Lance said, patting Andy on the shoulder.

“We don’t have to sit here and listen to this crap.” Larry raised his voice enough to draw looks from neighboring tables.

“Larry, please,” Lance said in a soothing, lawyerly voice. “We’re having a friendly little discussion here, and I think it might be in your best interest to hear my colleague out.”

“You two are going down. Hard,” Griff said in such a low voice, Dorsey and Schmidt reflexively leaned in to hear. “You can tell Valance that I’m going to take care of him personally for what he did to Eply.”

“That was my guy, you assholes.” Lance stuck his index finger in Larry’s face. “My guy.”

Schmidt and Dorsey exchanged worried glances.

“My firm is cooperating fully with the Newport police. So, I’ve seen all the data on Eply’s laptop he collected on Talon Technologies. And, of course, JR has seen the light and been extremely helpful in sorting out some pretty interesting connections with the social media sniffers his company created for the NSA spy masters. ”

“You can’t prove anything,” Larry said.

“You mean like the Gmail Drafts folder we found where you guys hatched your schemes?” Maura asked. She rolled her eyes back in her head. “Jesus, how did a moron like you ever get a job at the CIA?”

“You are going down, you bureaucratic cockroaches. We clear?” Griff stood up. “Now, Maura and I have to get back to Wyoming tonight. We have a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow. I already know from boots on the ground that Valance is in Kentucky. You feel free to tell him I’m coming after him.”

“And tell him if he puts hands on my grandfather…” Maura said, adjusting the tight black dress around her breasts. She looked up and pointed at Dorsey. “Me and Dewey will personally make that fat mug of yours all FUBAR—and that goes for you, too, ferret-face.” She pointed at Schmidt.

The men looked at her all shocked-faced.

“You’re kind of cute,” Maura whispered to Andy as she stood up, too. “But kind of dumb. You better get some smarts, quick.”

Griff and Maura left to fly back to the ranch.

“Do you think they bought it?” she asked him on the way out.

Griff nodded. “Absolutely. I already filed IFR. No doubt Valance will track us on FlightAware the whole way.”

“Now, I am not your attorney,” Lance said to Dorsey and Schmidt, back at the table, “but as a legal professional, I’d advise you guys to begin drinking heavily.”

The Talon Technology partners got up and left quickly.

“What’s going on?” Andy asked.

“Did I miss the big show?” JR asked as he sat down next to Andy.

“Here’s what is going to happen.” Lance turned in his chair towards Andy and put his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. “Tomorrow, you and I are going to pay a little visit to the local FSDO office and explain to the FAA what exactly you did to the FADEC and nav systems software on Cliff Nickolson’s helicopter. At that point, I am sure that sworn law enforcement officers will be invited to participate in our discussions. I would suggest that you cooperate fully, if you ever hope to see sunshine again on the freedom side of barbed wire fencing. Believe me, son, those two slime-ball civil servants would sell out their moms to cover their own asses and save their pensions. Of course, you will still have plenty of time to contemplate new career opportunities.”

Andy buried his face in his hands.

“Agreed?” Lance asked softly.

Andy nodded, still covering his face.

“But, first, you need to apologize.”

Andy looked up.

“This is Cliff Nickolson, Junior,” Lance said. “You killed his father.”

Andy looked at JR. “I—I—”

JR stood up. Neck muscles taut, he leaned down over Andy, one hand on the table, the other closing into a fist and opening again, closing and opening over and over.

Andy slowly shriveled towards a fetal position.

“Say it,” Lance said.

“I’m sorry,” said Andy looking into his lap.

JR stood up and shook his head in disgust. He looked at Lance. “Thank you.”

Lance nodded.

JR left.

“Come on, son.” Lance stood and lifted Andy to his feet by the arm. As they walked out of the Pebble Beach room, he said, “I’ll introduce you to Allen and Steve. They’ll be babysitting you until our little tea party with the feds.”

 

***~~~***