The Think Tank

By Ali Mayer

Detective O'Riley investigates the murder of a beautiful young scientist, a member of The Think Tank Global Consulting Team, at a corporate retreat on the shores of Lake Tahoe. Money. Power. Control. The trail of intrigue follows TTT's team members across the globe, from adventures into Tahoe's Rubicon Trail to mysterious and frightening dealings at the Paris Air Show and into the political depths of Istanbul. A thought-provoking read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ali Mayer
• Release date: Aug 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466165250

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THE THINK TANK

by

Ali Mayer

Published by Ali Mayer at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Ali Mayer

All rights reserved.

alimayer.com

DEDICATION

To my son, Hans

Mom, it’s your fault if you’re bored.

&

To my friend, Kim

I think you should write.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 - OLD BLUE

CHAPTER 2 - VENT

CHAPTER 3 - THE TRIPLE T ESTATE

CHAPTER 4 - DANIELLE

CHAPTER 5 - THE MESSENGER

CHAPTER 6 - KLAUS

CHAPTER 7 - THE RUBICON TRAIL

CHAPTER 8 - OLD MAN HALE

CHAPTER 9 - THE DRAGON FLY

CHAPTER 10 - HOMEWARD BOUND

CHAPTER 11 - BRET HALE

CHAPTER 12 - SIERRA SOLITUDE

CHAPTER 13 - SAUSALITO

CHAPTER 14 - KLAUS & FRANK

CHAPTER 15 - THE INVESTIGATION

CHAPTER 16 - MARA

CHAPTER 17 - THE CHEVALIERS

CHAPTER 18 - APHRODITE

CHAPTER 19 - DEMETRIUS

CHAPTER 20 - STOLEN HOURS

CHAPTER 21 - ENDLESS PURSUITS

CHAPTER 22 - PARIS

CHAPTER 23 - NIGHT’S REFUGE

CHAPTER 24 - PARIS AIR SHOW

CHAPTER 25 - ARCHIMEDES

CHAPTER 26 - KATHERINE

CHAPTER 27 - MEMORIES

CHAPTER 28 - REFLECTIONS

CHAPTER 29 - SUNRISE

CHAPTER 30 - THE MEETING

CHAPTER 31 - TURKEY

CHAPTER 32 - ISTANBUL

CHAPTER 33 - ERUTUF

CHAPTER 34 - MESSAGE SENT

CHAPTER 35 - NIGHT ON APHRODITE

CHAPTER 36 - MONTAQIM

CHAPTER 37 - THE MISSION

CHAPTER 38 - LAKE TAHOE

CHAPTER 39 - JULY 4TH

CHAPTER 40 - THE MEMORIAL

PROLOGUE

Midnight.

Slipping through the cover of darkness,

the silvery new moon glimmered

on the placid, dark water.

Silence.

Only the night knows

what the dawn can never tell.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1: OLD BLUE

There’s nothing like the refreshing sound of an ice-cold can of beer popping open. Enjoying the first icy swig, Frank’s state of mind was instantly propelled into welcomed relaxation. After an aggravating week in court over what his citified-friends would consider mundane matters, he finally had a chance to kick back and unwind.

Fishing pole perfectly primed, he gently propped it up against the side of his ever-faithful old boat. Blueberry, his sweet-tempered lab, lay quietly curled in the bow settled in for a mid-day nap. Aging and graying like he was, slowing down with new aches and pains as the days went by, she remained his most loyal companion.

Aging is a bitch for all of us, girl. Fortunately, the mind tends to forget the toll the years have taken. If only our bodies could perform the outlandish feats our brains incessantly tempt them to do.

You can go for a swim in a bit, Old Blue, he said as he gently patted her head. Still playful, her tail would wag feverishly at the mere sight of a tennis ball. He kept it hidden in his tackle box, but she knew. Toss it into the lake, she’d dash in and retrieve it like a young pup. He could just no longer throw it too far.

Taking a deep breath, Frank inhaled the crisp Tahoe mountain air. The reflection of the snow-capped mountains on the mirrored surface of the lake was breathtaking. It was one of those rare calm spring days. His 60-year-old, six-foot-two frame was still in pretty good shape considering the physically demanding and abusive lifestyle he’d subjected it to. He adjusted his 49er cap over his thinning hair and sat back against the tattered, weathered seat cushion.

Thank God I don’t have a woman in my life, Frank chuckled to himself reaffirming his unyielding desire to remain single. There’s no doubt in my mind she’d make me get rid of this boat. Yeah, maybe a bit rusty, but, hey, she still floats.

Well-meaning friends were always trying to set him up with one of the many thousands of lovely, charming, lonely women roaming the world. Frank consistently managed to avoid the dating nightmare. Why is it women immediately want to change me? Yeah, right. Not at my age. Frank cringed as annoying female whines replayed in his head: You didn’t call, you don’t love me. You won’t take me to out to dinner -- or god forbid -- dancing. You don’t love me. Christ. Me? Dancing? That’s just not going to happen. Give me a break. I hate demanding, needy women. Get a life. Why don’t women understand unless they can make themselves happy, no one else can. Frank vented toward the irritating female profiles in the constant monologue of great discussions he had with himself.

The gentle sound of water lapping at the side of the boat calmed the years of hard-earned tension still permeating every muscle in his body. The warmth of the sun beaming down was soothing as he languidly stared at the endless blue sky, jet streams drifting and crisscrossing above. Seagulls hovered in search of a morsel of food. The geese and ducks occasionally paddled by, their black attentive eyes hungrily hoping for a charitable contribution. The tourists and the people who could afford to live in Tahoe two weeks a year hadn’t arrived yet. This was the best time of year, alone on the lake, time to think random thoughts and ponder his admittedly tainted observations of the world.

It was almost noon on a perfect day. Staring above, he admired the grace and immense black wing span of the gray and white osprey gliding over his head. Amazing how effortlessly it floated in the sky. Suddenly it dove into the water like a missile with sheer majestic force and precision. Frank waited and watched. The water churned as it proudly came forth holding a shimmering silver trout which was frantically struggling to escape with its life.

Show off, he enviously called out to the triumphant bird boldly displaying its humble reward. Nice catch. Sure wish I could do that. I’m beginning to seriously doubt I’ll be eating fish for dinner tonight. His stomach rumbled with pangs of hunger. I better stop off at the little open-air market on the way home, pick up a couple ears of fresh corn. Corn and salad. Hold the fish.

God I love it here. He tipped his hat down over his eyes to block the sun. Finally he’d been able to escape from the intensity of San Francisco’s big city life and move to his favorite little hideaway cabin tucked in the tall, lodge pole pines. A short walk through the trees down a pine-needle covered path opened onto a magnificent meadow bordering the lake. Rarely did he have to share it with people, only the squawky blue jays and friendly magpies. Squirrels scampered around playfully in and out of the trees. God damn beavers chewed down his favorite little apple tree last year. Even the California Brown Bears that often meandered through this cherished haven considered it their innate summertime home.

Life does get a little lonely, though, after being such an intimate part of a huge circle of friends and acquaintances with the San Francisco Police Department. Working homicide and special investigations for over two decades, Frank worked closely with the paramedics, the coroner’s office, the court system, the convoluted hierarchy of politicians and each one’s treasured relative support staff. He’d spent a lot of years as part of one big connected, cohesive family of camaraderie.

It was a difficult decision when his old friend from SFPD who had retired early and become the acting Lake Tahoe Police Chief contacted him to see if he would join his department as an investigator. Rarely did any Tahoe crime even remotely come close to the daily horrors of big city life. The job door opened and he eagerly yet harboring equal reticence walked in to fill the void. His and theirs. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet only five years had passed.

Keeping busy is crucial in maintaining ones sanity. Restless, empty days are the kiss of death. Retiring is an art form. A guy really has to be ready. Many don’t understand the empty hollow they are walking into. Far too many go off the deep end upon entering the quiet new world. It is the ultimate change of life. All the time you always wanted and now don’t quite know what to do with. Running. Man seems to be constantly running to or from something. At some point, there is no place left to run.

For some fortunate few, the days quickly become filled and a new life begins. No doubt the transition and settling into restless hibernation can be most challenging.

They say you can never go back in life, never go home again. Let’s face it, retirement can be downright scary. You lose your badge, your privileges, your authority, your connections, your hectic schedule, your revered over-time pay. In other words, you lose your life as you’ve known it for 25 years.

Frank’s mind raced back to a week after his retirement. Let’s see. Would you call it shock? Disappointment? Nope, nope, let’s face it. Anger. It was absolute anger. God damn fucking rookie officer pissed me off when I called the department to get a friend’s home phone number. I’m sorry, sir, that’s classified information. I can’t give it to you. What the…… Talk about the ultimate insult. Bottom line: You no longer belong to the club.

I’ve seen it too many times, the unexpected dejection that happens when a retired officer goes back to the office to visit, to reminisce, to belong, only to discover no one has time to talk or even cares. Some are polite, sure, perhaps wisdom or foresight into their own humble impending departure, smiling with a friendly hello as they walk off too busy to chat. Many are new faces who not only don’t recognize an old-timer’s respected name but never had the pleasure to know him in the first place. Time goes by. People slowly fade away. No one is irreplaceable in the work force. You’ve just gotta say good-bye with pride.

Frank needed to shake the maudlin mood overcoming him. If only he could catch a god damn fish. He adjusted the seat cushion under his back. Pretty damn hard. Maybe a new seat cushion would be a good idea.

Reflecting upon his career path, Frank recognized his good fortune. Police work afforded its members a unique opportunity. One could retire still relatively young, hopefully having somehow miraculously survived 20 years or so on the force, collect a decent retirement. Many were still restless and often looked for new job opportunities. After all, forty-something is a bit too young to totally call it quits. They could easily move on. They were well-trained, had respect, experience. It was nice being welcomed into a smaller community’s law enforcement system. At a much slower pace, he could put in another ten years, then retire again, hopefully joining those notorious double dippers. That is, if he could last that long.

Great retirement plans are becoming a thing of the past. His timing was good. These new kids today, I don’t know how they’re going to do it. They aren’t quite as fortunate as we were from the old school. New kids, that is, as in the blue collar civil service scheme of things. Not the young 30-to-40-something-year-old CEOs and white collar execs. They make so much money, it’s mind boggling. How on earth do they manage to earn those big bucks? And while we’re at it, just exactly what does an investment banker do?

Frank watched their gradual infiltration into Tahoe. The home prices continued to escalate caused by the mega-house flopping game people with money played. Million dollar tear-downs were being remodeled as a hobby. Trendy, unique designs were supported by lavish time and plentiful funds. In the wings, another buyer eagerly hovered awaiting the opportunity to grab up the coveted affluent lifestyle. But then the market took a dive where only the wealthy could survive. When to buy, when to sell, damned if he knew. In fact, the entire world’s economy seemed a mysteriously endless roller coaster ride.

*/*/*/*

Frank’s career change from San Francisco to Tahoe was an eye-opening transformation. A whole new world. More relaxed, much less stress, intensity. Actually, some of the events had even been quite amusing.

Frank thought back to one of his first appearances in Bridgeport, a nearby High Sierra community with its quaint antique courthouse. Waiting on that long hard bench for his case to be called was tough on his old bones. Nothing to do but sit and listen. His curiosity was piqued watching a young guy sitting there so pensively, all alone at the large wooden table, having been charged with a crime. He was surprised at the totally unexpected profile.

Straining to hear as the judge read the charges to the tan, athletic-looking man, the story unfolded. It seems the guy had been out hiking with his dog, Rosco, a mixed breed rescue dog, and allowed the dog to run off its leash. Astonishing. One could hardly imagine the temptation. Unfortunately for the young man, good old Rosco had the unrestrained nerve to chase a snacking, endangered wild mountain goat up a grassy hill. More bad news. A Forest Service agent was perched on the adjacent rocky bluff taking in the unbelievable view and witnessing the whole unlawful event. Busted. Goes to show you, someone is always watching. She cited him into court on the flagrant violation.

Frank felt sorry for the kid just out in the wilderness enjoying himself with his four-legged companion. He couldn’t help but wonder just how much money the government was spending these days making sure goats remained protected and dogs on leashes. Goat was lucky the dog wasn’t a coyote or cougar. Calm down. Don’t get excited. I know. I’ve heard the speeches. No doubt laws and rules are necessary. Otherwise, the world would be completely insane. It just sometimes seems certain laws take on their own form of insanity. That’s it, Old Blue, Frank proclaimed, we need a new law against useless, harassing, unnecessary laws.

Lake Tahoe law enforcement deals with a myriad of issues, but the sheer number of agencies patrolling the lake is the real financial wonder. We just pay too god damn much money in taxes to support this whole agenda. The enforcement agency list is quite long. Let’s see, there are the local city police departments. Need that. That’s my job. Then there are the county sheriffs, the U.S. Coast Guard, the Tahoe Regional Planning Agency, the U.S. Forest Service, Fish and Game, Air Quality, Conservation, EPA. Mostly broken rule-book rules, not much violent crime. That’s the good news. For the most part, Tahoe criminals are unruly drunk dudes getting out of control in casino bars, the all-too-common-everywhere domestic battles resulting in urgent 9-1-1 calls, DUIs, a few burglaries, occasional vandalism, and the universal wayward kids partying too loudly, smoking marijuana, and drinking beer. Sure beats the city’s grim reputation.

Suddenly the boat started shaking. Frank’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Blueberry’s rapidly moving legs. Dreaming. Chasing a ball, a squirrel? Her running increased in intensity, thumping the bottom and sides of the boat. A familiar event which only too often startled him awake in the middle of the night.

Sometimes you get so crazy, Blueberry, I think you’re going to knock a hole in my boat. It’s okay, girl, he said reassuringly as he patted her knobby head. I wonder what dogs really think. Exhaling with a big moaning sigh, she settled down into a deeper sleep.

CHAPTER 2: VENT

Frank stared across the lake at the handful of casinos nestled into the base of the tree-covered, mountain-crested skyline. He’d watched the casinos gradually change over the years. They were no longer controlled by family pride. Now corporate business models ruled. He missed the good old days of dollar well drinks to lure in the crowd, discount tickets for gluttonous buffets, free hot dogs and shrimp cocktails at 2 a.m. His favorite dollar tap beer at the sports bar? Gone. Whatever happened to the giant plastic cups which noisily jingled as you walked holding your precious one-armed-bandit winnings? Wandering the casino floors holding hot lucky quarters, it’s totally impossible to find a slot to deposit a coin into. The handle is still there, but completely unnecessary. Only remains for show. The anticipation, the excitement -- gone. No more shrieking electronic sirens and winning bells as the coveted shiny coins tumble into the clanking bin below. Who ever thought of replacing that with a click? Click. That’s it. That faint response on the digital readout indicating the number of credits you’ve lost.

That’s the casino’s secret, Frank suspiciously concluded. Just eliminate the actual feel of losing real money. One simply logs on to an alluring, brightly lit, animated theme-oriented game or video-poker machine with their treasured player’s card. Be-bopping electronic sounds fill in the silence while flashing cartoon characters and symbols vibrantly dance on the screen. Push the spin-the-reel button – Christ, what genius came up with that fun technique.

I know. I know. Casinos are clearly big business. Competition with the Indian reservation casinos has upped the ante to control the dough. It still boggles my mind watching the mega corporations continue to make mega profits. Sure, the down-turned economy has cut a bit into their draw. Their reaction? Cut the perks even more.

They diligently track everyone, you know. Every bet a gambler places, how long they play, how much they win. More importantly, they track how much you lose. Yep, folks, your prized little engraved card records every move you make determining your gambler’s profile. Their enticing marketing efforts for the common gambler are actually brilliant. They’re specifically designed to make every patron feel special, important, having obtained the esteemed status of being a valued player in the casino’s eye. You are hereby honored with your prestigious Diamond, VIP, or Gold Club Membership Card. Frank scoffed at the concept of prized entitlement to convenient parking spots. Gee, thanks. Play slots for a couple hours, you might eventually get enough points to be eligible for a free buffet. The percentages of casino profits made him cringe.

Take Dave, my good old buddy, finally got him up here to go fishing last week. At least that’s what I thought. We’d only caught two fish and he was done, anxious to head down to Stateline to gamble. Shouldn’t really surprise me, I guess. Crazy guy has been hooked on poker since he was a kid at UCLA playing for spending money in the card room instead of dutifully hitting the books.

Poker is popular again. Those newly remodeled glassed-in private rooms are waiting to lure in the big players. High ante invitation only. High stakes competitions are even held on TV. The winnings -- in the millions. Millions. That’s unbelievably phenomenal. Dave just laughed at me. Frank, get real, he’d said. It is big money, but only for the skilled and lucky few.

I probably should have just dropped him off and gone back home. Interesting, though, wandering the casino floors again. What happened to all the Blackjack tables? And what on earth is Pai Gow? Sure leaves me out. I don’t even have a clue how to play. I guess there are enough eager patrons to fill that need.

Maybe it’s a good thing that the bygone days of wandering around brightly lit casinos inhaling the smell of smoke and stale booze is over.

Personally, I liked the live bands best. Kind of cheered things up. Made people feel good while being totally engrossed in the strike-it-rich fantasy.

Know when you don’t belong? Your feet hurt. I told Dave my feet were aching; I’d just find a place to hang out until he was done. Sure enough, gone are the comfortable lounge chairs where you could just sit and listen to that rocking velvet twang of a road band’s female rock star. Enjoy a cocktail, celebrate your winnings? Forget it. Maybe it’s because the tables and chairs were filled with most of us trying to recover from our losses, just needing to drink a little more until the urge to try hit again.

So there I was, tucked on an empty stool staring at a video screen. If you’re not busy gambling, there’s no place to light. You lose? Don’t want to play anymore? The message is clear: Take a hike.

Frank readjusted his hat from the sun and sank lower into his slouch, legs spread out, dog asleep. It was such a nice day to mull over his obviously tainted observations in his constantly drifting harangue on life.

Retired people used to be the daily bread and butter of casino patronage. Obviously keeping busy, keeping themselves entertained. Bingo was big. Who else had that kind of unscheduled restless time along with a comfortable amount of expendable funds. Frank prided himself on the fact he considered the fresh outdoors and good old healthy exercise a better plan.

Fishing, now that’s exercise.

It’s bewildering how many people sit inside for hours during the day glued to their seat, exercising their fingers by pushing brightly lit selective buttons, claiming their territory with their treasured player’s card. I wonder if you can still play several machines at the same time with only one card.

Remember back in the old days when people would play two or three machines at a time? Became a god damn combat zone. Frank thought back to the times he’d had to comically defend himself against the gray haired ladies all dolled up in their polyester pant suits staked out in front of several slot machines. Eye their machine or make a move toward it, they’d scowl, grumble, or even take a swing if anyone dared come close to their declared domain. The potbellied guys just seem to waddle around, drink in hand, looking for some fortuitous opportunity. Belly up to the bar, boys. The casinos thrived on the crowd. Gambling is glamorous and exciting for some.

Personally, Blueberry, I think losing money sucks. Too many paychecks don’t find their way home. I’ve seen a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread become a family’s weekly mainstay. Now, that’s sad. But that’s usually a very different breed. The addiction for some is frightening.

Just think what it would be like to be able to use that money for the benefit of society; you know, like education, medical research, police salary increases. What about all the homeless and hungry people in the world. Casinos rake in over a billion dollars a year in profit. Sure, before taxes, their obliged contributions to the cavernous government coffers. That’s another story. What do the feds do with all that dough? Ka-ching. Ka-ching.

Who said life was fair. It’s all about money: Those who have it, those who don’t.

Frank glanced up at the famous landmark A of Heavenly Ski Resort now closed for the season. The snow was slowly melting into the needy earth leaving behind another year of exhilarating winter sports. Amazing how the ski slopes draw such diverse ethnic and economic crowds from all over the globe. You just never know who you’ll meet on the way to the top. That woman from Belgium last year, Man, she was pretty, all bundled up in her pricey, high-tech gear. Her breath was frosty as she chattered with excitement, completely thrilled with the tapestry of ice-sculpted pines that skimmed below our skis. When the ride was over, she zoomed off. Damn. Would have liked to get to know that one.

It is hard not to eavesdrop. People are on the phone trying to figure out where to meet, where to eat, where to party, not to mention who slept with whom last night. Oh, and beware of college girls on spring break. I learned that one the hard way. They get so busy talking, they forget to pay attention at the end of the ride. Next thing you know, skis and boards collide sending everyone sprawling. Christ. Just remember, hang back and stay out of their way.

Frank sat up and glanced around the lake. Not another boat in sight.

Well, old girl, summer is not far ahead. I’m ready for the bountiful foray of boats. Well, okay, they’re not really just boats any more. I think you could call them spaciously luxurious marine craft. Or how about mini-yachts.

Frank thought about the invasion to come. Cobalt for decades reigned as queen craft of the lake becoming more elegant and grand through time. The sleek off-shore racers with their spectacular paint jobs will soon be thundering across the lake leaving their wake behind for others to conquer. There’s nothing like the sound of the deep rumbling purr of their engines as they fire up one by one.

Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The answer to one puzzling question still eluded him. Where does one go to find that gorgeously tanned, bikini-clad babe that always seems to be lounging up front? Symbolic. One-knee up, one leg down on the foredeck like a treasured hood ornament on a car.

Power. Money. Men don’t change. They still need their symbols of success and cannot resist showing off their toys. Sea Rays and Carvers will begin to gracefully cruise the lake. Emerald Bay will become the perfect destiny for the menagerie of sun seekers in their floating condos.

Frank shook his head in aggravation. The money to buy one of those boats would always remain totally elusive. I’ve worked my ass off for 30 years and still don’t have much to show for it. No, don’t bother feeling sorry for me. I’m comfortable. Admittedly, seventy grand a year for doing nothing is pretty damn nice; but seeing these young whippersnappers with all these bucks just isn’t fair.

Boy, I’m sounding just like you, dad. He laughed as he talked to the sky.

In a couple of weeks, brightly painted wakeboard boats with lights and rap music rocking through their speakers would start darting through the fishing craft provoking irritated stares. The wakeboarders will dance, flip, and fly across the waves as we die-hard fishermen bob and bounce about. Why is it fishermen and wakeboarders have to frequent the same fucking place, he grumbled to himself. This lake is huge. Could someone please tell me why they drive so closely between our extended lines and quietly drifting boats?

Of course, the ultimate kinetic madness was coming. The 4th of July celebration splurge sponsored by the City and Stateline Casinos was probably one of the most magnificent displays of fireworks and patriotism in the country. Summer officially began. Thousands of people hug the piers and shoreline to watch the dazzling show after having picnicked and partied all day long. Hundreds of boats huddle together near the casino waterfront rocking in the waves under the darkened star-spangled sky to get the perfect view of the colorfully explosive extravaganza. Sonic boom bursts and crackling bright colors falling from the sky emblazon the otherwise stillness of night.

Must be noon, girl. The paddle wheeler is heading our way. Frank could set his clock by the entrance and exit of the lumbering crafts reminiscent of a bygone era.

Frank reeled in his line, checked his bait. Had to be some reason he wasn’t getting a bite.

Nope. Night crawler is still there. He cast it off back into the brilliant sun.

Interesting, how the people always keep coming. Who are these mysterious owners who slip in and out of these magnificent homes tucked in the pines?

Frank jumped, knocked his beer can over, his tranquility shattered by the electronic invasion of galloping William Tell. Shit, the cell, he growled as he quickly fumbled to answer the call. Remind me to change that ring tone, Old Blue.

To think there was once life uninterrupted by the melodic howl of a cell phone. Every time I take a moment out, something happens to screw it up. It never fails.

This better be good, Frank muttered to the chief in the most annoyed, disturbed manner he could conjure up. It’s my day off.

Where are you, Frank? The chief asked.

Fishing.

Still? It’s 12:15. You know you can’t catch a fish now.

Osprey did.

Frank, pack up your shit and get your ass down to the Triple T Estate, the Chief commanded. Housekeeper called 911. She’s hysterical. Found a body.

A body? What, a dead raccoon?

Who knows. Probably a drug overdose or heart attack. Those people just have too damn much money. I dispatched a couple officers to cordon it off until you get there. Besides, you haven’t done shit lately. It’s time you earned your keep.

The chief had the utmost respect for Frank. He was pleased when his old friend accepted his invitation and joined his department. Frank had extraordinary training and experience; but more importantly, the chief recognized Frank’s uncanny knack for analyzing people and crime scenes. Of course, I can meet you there if you think you can’t handle it.

"Yeah, yeah, you keep on polishing that badge and