This is the second book in the OCI Series. It is the sequel to Needle on the Haystack. Gunmen pull over a truck carrying spent Terrier and Talos anti-aircraft missiles to the new Navy Museum in Washington, DC. They kill both drivers and take the primary driver's identification. But it seems that nothing else was taken. Or even disturbed. The Office of Criminal Investigation must investigate this crime because it involved civilian employees of the United States Navy. Captain Rena Skye guides her team of OCI operatives to investigate the murders. Captain Rena Skye guides her team of OCI operatives to find the murderers. But numerous seemingly unrelated events cause Skye to gather her whole team together again. By the time these events are connected, OCI has agents working to uncover a massive plot extending from California to New York and South Dakota to Florida. Follow the OCI investigators in a complex and bewildering case to crack a plot that could possibly destroy the United States in a nuclear holocaust. This book is available at Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle formats. It should also be available soon through Kobo and Barnes and Noble catalogs. Here is the synopsis of the story:
______________________________ Samples from Operation Firethorn:
Dear Reader,
My situation was unusual during the events described herein. The Navy sent me to Great Lakes Naval Training Center to go through Fire Control Technician (FT) schools. This would allow my engineering degree to better match the technical requirements in the fleet.
The Navy school system begins with a Class “A” school, a basic training program, which I had to attend because it was the Navy’s first step for someone who never had any technical training and I had to look like a novice to make future assignments more credible. We had loads of homework in that course. Because I was in this school, I could not play a very active role in the case that our OCI team was working on. Rena Skye was actually center stage this time, more so than when the two of us were a team, which I wrote about in Needle on the Haystack.
When I completed “A” School, I was assigned training on a specific weapons control system in a “C” school. Everything in that training used classified information, so we couldn’t take any materials out of the building. Thus we had no homework. As a result, Rena could send me to some remote locations on weekends and I could do some work on the case. I continued to write the record of our work. Rena did a remarkable job of providing the details of many events and I spent many hours interviewing the more active members of the team, both as events happened and shortly after we closed the case. I had some long conversations with Glenn Oliver and Chaské Hunter. And I was even able to interview Leonid Mazursky, who had worked with the criminal leader. In this way, I was able to fill in and correct a great number of details. I could not have reported this case so completely without their help. Eric Matthews __________
A Major Midwestern City
Loki sat in his secret office in the center of a mansion. Leonid Mazursky, his personal assistant, brought him another vodka martini, which Loki nursed as he fondled the red and yellow rose in his lapel. He looked out into the living room through one of the two-way mirrors. Watched his people. Smiled at some of their antics. Waited. His active mind jumped to the choice of his code name: Loki. Most people remembered Loki as the ancient Norse god who played the role of the vindictive trickster. But he was much more. The Norse Loki was an agent of necessary change. And Loki did, indeed, intend to change the world. The phone on the small table next to his easy chair rang. Leonid answered the call. “Yes?” Loki looked at the Longines on his left wrist. The time was eleven o’clock in the evening. Leonid listened for a moment, then handed the phone to his leader. “Speak,” Loki commanded. The man on the other end of the line talked for a moment. “So the truck has crossed into Illinois. Do it,” Loki ordered and hung up. He sat back and congratulated himself and his team. This would be a major accomplishment.
1. Murders on a Rural Highway
Chicago
I looked around the Red Arrow Jazz Club. The crowd was large. The smoke was so thick that I didn't need to light a cigarette of my own. I watched through the haze as the band laid down their instruments for a break. The musicians were a mixture of Negroes and whites, as was the audience. The jazz was great. Dixieland. I loved it. My name is Eric Matthews. I'm a full lieutenant in the U.S. Navy. I work for the Office of Criminal Investigation or OCI. I thought back over the last eight months when I was part of an investigation led by Captain Rena Skye, who now sat next to me. We busted a drug ring in the Norfolk-Virginia Beach area. Tonight we were enjoying the band at the Red Arrow. The place was famous far beyond Chicago. Its diamond-shaped napkins carried its printed message: “Greetings from the Red Arrow Jazz Club ... where Dixieland Jass is immortalized!” Franz Jackson and the Original Jass All-Stars were tonight's musicians. But this band didn’t limit itself to Dixieland; their repertoire also included traditional jazz, straight instrumental jazz and what might be called saxophone jazz. The band was so good that they’d played at this club for seven years, since 1955. The others in our party tonight were Jennifer Powers and Glenn Oliver, two more members of our team in the Norfolk investigation. Because the band was on break, conversation was possible. “If you know where to go in Chicago,” I laughed, “you can find some truly good jazz!” Rena nodded and raised her glass. “Here's to Glenn who found the Red Arrow!” Glenn wasn't just a fan of Jazz - he was a fanatic. Jennie leaned over and kissed the man being toasted. He raised his drink in acknowledgment of the accolades and sipped from it. It was obvious that the slim and shapely Jennie adored him and that he returned the favor. The four of us were here on well-deserved “R and R,” resting, relaxing and enjoying ourselves. “So, here's to good jazz!” Jennie said. She lifted her whiskey and her bottle of beer, one in each hand. Saluting her date with a raised shot glass, she slammed down the bourbon before taking a swig of brew. Glenn stared at her and laughed through his heavy mustache. “Where did you learn to drink like that?” I asked her. “My great-grandfather,” Jennie said proudly. “He was born in the 1850s as a slave. After the Civil War he left Texas. He later joined the buffalo soldiers and fought Indians. After the Apaches were defeated, he quit the army and became a cowboy in Arizona. You know, he lived to be over a hundred years old. And he swore it was the whiskey he drank every night that did it. So he taught me how to drink when I turned sixteen.” “Sixteen?” I asked. Oliver laughed heartily. “Yeah. I guess he followed his own law.” The band returned and got ready for another set. The music started up again. Rena leaned to my ear and said: “Come on, Eric, let's dance.” We never left the dance floor during the whole set. We showed off our fancy footwork to the fast songs, such as “Clarinet Marmalade” and “Mr. Banjo Man.” We returned to our moving embrace during “Red Arrow Blues,” “Mack the Knife,” and other slow tunes, when I buried my face in her shoulder length auburn hair. When the band took its next break, we returned to the table with Jennie and Glenn. Rena looked at her friend and asked: “Didn't you two dance?” Jennie looked at Rena as if she were crazy. “You didn't see us out there?” Glenn tried to control his laughter. “Lady, they weren't able to see anythin’ ‘cept themselves. I haven't seen folks so wrapped up in each other in a month o’ Sundays!” “Yeah,” Jennie replied, grinning. “Must be true love.” The band returned and began to tune up for their next set. “Be back soon,” I said and found the head. All the stalls were empty. I entered the last one, nearest the wall. Moments later I looked up sharply. Two men had entered the head. They were speaking Russian. “Все направо, это происходит сегодня. Для получения более подробной информации....” I was very surprised that these guys were speaking Russian so openly, considering what they were saying. People generally don’t talk like they did if they don’t want to get themselves killed. Maybe they were totally convinced that they were alone, or that nobody would understand them. But I'm fluent in that language and grew more curious as they talked. I lifted my feet up and put them against the door. I didn't want these guys to see my shoes and stop talking. A short time later, a couple more men came in. The Russians spoke a few sentences in English then stopped talking. I guess they left because I didn't hear any Russian after that. But what I already heard was intriguing. I was soon with my friends again. I gazed out over the crowd, hoping to catch sight of the Russian speakers. I saw two men going out the door. I made my way to the exit as fast as I could, but the packed bodies of the crowd slowed me down. By the time I reached the parking area, I saw the flash of a long arrow-shaped car turning onto the street and then it was gone. I didn't have time to note its license plate number. But I did identify it as a white ‘62 Cadillac with a black top. I returned to our table. I must have looked worried. Or puzzled. “What's wrong, Eric?” Rena asked as softly as she could with the band playing. I leaned over to talk directly into her ear. “I overheard two guys in the head talking in Russian.” “Lots of people in this city speak other languages.” “But they don't say what these guys said....” The music ended and the band adjusted their instruments for the next song. “What did they say?” Rena asked quietly. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” Then I said loud enough for all to hear: “I can't stay out much later. I have to be back at the barracks early in the morning. Weekend duty, you know. Got to love it, it's so much fun.” “You know why you're still playing enlisted man, even here?” Rena asked in my ear, so nobody away from our table could overhear her. “Sure, I understand,” I said quietly. Then I spoke up so everyone at the table to hear. “I wish I could spend the whole weekend with all of you. But I can't.” I finished my beer and turned to Rena. “If you want to stay here with them, can I borrow your car to go back to Lakes?” “She can stay if she wants,” Oliver offered. “We can take her back.” “No, Eric's right,” Rena replied. She reached out and took my hand. “Come on, let's go home.” We got into the car and Rena maneuvered until we reached the road heading to Great Lakes. “So, what’s so secret about the conversation you overheard?” “The first guy said: ‘All right, it happens tonight. The truck is leaving Saint Louis shortly. For more information, you can check with Loki tomorrow. He's at his house.’ The other guy answered: ‘Who is doing the job?’ And the first guy told him: ‘Sasha. He’s so good that these stupid Americans will never find out who did this job. Or that anything is even missing.’ At that moment, two other guys came into the head, but the second guy replied in English as if he were a businessman: ‘Very good. We can do business. Keep in touch. Now, I must go on to other work. I will be at my office.’” I shook my head. “I have no idea what it all means. I don't even know what they looked like or where they were sitting,” I said. “And I saw some guys leaving.” I told her of the car I'd seen pulling out of the parking area. “But that's not evidence. All we can do is report this and let the brass do their thing.” “Crap,” she said. “I have a gut feeling we'd save ourselves a lot of trouble if we could follow them.” “Ever hear of a guy named Loki?” I asked. “No. But you know how my intuitions are,” Rena replied. “And right now they're screaming at me.” “Those guys must have felt pretty comfortable. Pretty safe,” I observed. “Or they figured even if someone else was there,” Rena laughed, “ we’re all such stupid Americans, that nobody here would ever be able to understand them.” Rena was silent for quite a while as she drove. “At least we know a couple names. Loki and Sasha. I sure wish we could follow them.” As we traveled, both of us thought about what I overheard.