Mohican

By Richard Haddock

Pulitzer winning investigative reporter Brandon Stewart has been uncovering corruption, scandal and greed in the nations capital his entire career. Yet when the widow of former president Preston Hodges commissions Stewart to write her husbands biography, Stewart finds himself investigating the biggest cover-up of his career.

Wading through a host of conspiracy theories that claim Hodges was killed in a coup detat, Stewart begins interviewing members of Hodges previous inner circle and is soon led down a trail of clues that leads to MOHICAN, an ultra-secret CIA project that was the center piece of Hodges dramatic world peace agenda, a project that disappeared when Hodges died.

With an FBI bodyguard assigned to protect him, Stewart discovers that hes being shadowed by the CIA as he puts the pieces of the MOHICAN puzzle together. But when someone tries to kill him to suppress what he has learned, Stewart launches a counter-attack, bringing his adversaries to the negotiating table and uncovering one of the largest intelligence scams in history.

Filled with political intrigue, espionage, romance and the wisdom of self discovery, MOHICAN demonstrates the lengths some government officials will go to in protecting their covert interests and the power one man can wield in bringing those officials into the spotlight of justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462030637

Richard Haddock

Dr. Haddock is retired and lives with his wife, Marilyn, in Northern Virginia.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgements

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EPILOGUE

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

J. Robert Oppenheimer, 1945

(from the Bhagavad Gita)

I speak of peace, therefore, as the necessary, rational end of rational men. I realize the pursuit of peace is not as dramatic as the pursuit of war, and frequently the words of the pursuers fall on deaf ears. But we have no more urgent task.

John F. Kennedy, American University Address,

June 10, 1963

"But now we got weapons of the chemical dust

If fire them we’re forced to, then fire them we must."

Bob Dylan, With God On Our Side, 1963

"You may say that I’m a dreamer

But I’m not the only one

I hope someday you’ll join us

And the world will be as one"

John Lennon, Imagine, 1971

Acknowledgements

To: Carlos Derr, Claude Wilson and Marilyn Haddock. Thank you for your considerable time and efforts in reviewing various versions of the manuscript as it evolved. Your observations and suggestions have served to tighten the plot, strengthen the characters and remind me how difficult it is to continually improve my craft and be the best writer I can be. I hope you enjoy the results.

1

Washington, D.C. Who had I pissed off this time? As an investigative reporter for the Washington Standard I’ve managed to bend a few noses out of shape uncovering the corruption, fraud and stupidity that is life in the nation’s capital, but unlike earlier transgressions that landed me on my managing editor’s carpet, today I’ve been summoned to meet with Walt Whitney, the owner and publisher of the paper. I must have offended one of his big shot friends or advertisers.

Despite a legion of loyal readers, I’ve also developed a fair number of critics, some of whom no doubt hope that this meeting is for me to be given my walking papers, but I seriously doubt that such a pedestrian task would be chosen by the owner, particularly when there are so many in the Human Resources department who would perform the deed with an effervescent zeal.

As I sped along in the back of Whitney’s limousine towards my uncertain fate I enjoyed the picture post card view of Washington across the river, marble monuments gleaming in the early morning sunlight. When I arrived at Whitney’s two hundred foot yacht that was moored in a marina on the Potomac we proceeded through several checkpoints where serious looking men in sunglasses and earpieces examined my identification and waved me on.

Waiting by the gangway as I disembarked from the limousine were two more behemoths who could have been gangster stereotypes from central casting. Their guns were on full display and they frisked me thoroughly, seeming to take a bit too much enjoyment in their jobs. I thought the level of security was worthy of a rock star, but concluded that maybe Whitney was just paranoid.

The towering white ship glowed in the bright sunlight, its wood and metal trim polished and sparkling. The hot, earthy smell of the river rose to greet me as I walked up the gangway. I was met by a tall, bald–headed man named Marvin who led me towards the bow of the ship, up a set of stairs, and into a living room arrangement of red cushioned chairs and mahogany tables. The room was surrounded on three sides by huge dark windows and the air conditioning provided relief from Washington’s notorious summer heat.

Marvin offered coffee or tea and directed me to sit in a huge chair facing the bow. My coffee was served in a china cup with the Whitney coat of arms emblazoned on the side in green and yellow; the same insignia, I had noted earlier, on the flag over the bridge.

Marvin smiled at me. Mr. Whitney will be with you shortly. Is there anything else I can get for you?

No, this is great. Thanks, Marvin.

Marvin bowed. My pleasure, sir. Then he was gone.

I sipped my coffee and eyed the luxurious surroundings, wondering once again what this get together was all about. Suddenly I heard voices behind me. Two people were exchanging laughs. I instinctively stood up. Entering the room was a man I recognized as Whitney, shorter than I recalled from our only meeting a decade ago, and as he reached for my hand the other person came into view over his shoulder. It was Katherine Hodges, wife of the former President of the United States.

Preston Hodges had been an intelligent, articulate, humorous, down-to-earth man and when he died of a sudden heart attack during his third year in office the nation was robbed of one of its finest leaders. At least, that was my opinion.

I knew that Whitney had been a major contributor to Preston Hodges’ campaigns and a family friend, but seeing Katherine Hodges with him was a surprise. The former first lady had kept a low profile since her husband’s death and rumors regarding her romantic liaisons kept the tabloids energized. Could the twosome be an item, I wondered?

Brandon Stewart, good to see you again, Katherine said, shaking my hand like she was on the campaign trail. I had met the president and first lady years before when Hodges was in the Senate and I had done a profile on him for the paper. Considering all of the people Katherine must have dealt with over the ensuing years, I was surprised she remembered my name.

Thank you, ma’am. Good to see you again too.

Please sit down and relax, Whitney offered with a wave of his hand. Katherine, anything for you?

The former first lady sat down with a smile. No, Walt, I’m fine, thanks.

Katherine was still trim and chic, sporting a Navy blue pant suit with one of her famous white scarves around her neck. Her black hair was cut short and she wore just a hint of makeup. As she crossed her legs, I noted open-toed gold pumps and red toenails.

Well, Brandon, she said, I guess you’re wondering what this is all about?

I nodded. Yes, ma’am.

As unusual as it might seem in this town, let me get straight to the point, she started, flashing another smile. You recall the article you did on Preston during his first term on the Hill?

Yes, I do.

Well, we both loved it. You were direct and objective, but your writing also showed an appreciation for Preston’s passion for peace. It was like the two of you were simpatico and it truly moved him that you were able to capture his perspective so clearly in your story.

I’m flattered. Thank you. I made a mental note to go back and reread that article. Had it been that good?

A frown creased Katherine’s face. Brandon, it seems like only yesterday that my beloved Preston passed away and I think it’s high time that the public learned more about the man’s life and his plans for our country that he never lived to fulfill. She paused and glanced at Whitney who nodded his apparent agreement. She went on. There have been several unauthorized biographies that have not done his memory justice. What I desire is an honest story, one that reveals the essence of the man, good and bad, you understand?

Yes, I said, sensing the drift of the conversation.

As if reading my mind, Whitney said, "Katherine would like you to write Preston’s biography."

Let me be clear, the former first lady continued. You’d have unfettered access to me and to Preston’s official papers and personal material. I’d also provide you with a list of associates to interview if you choose, but you’d obviously be free to interview anyone you want.

Mrs. Hodges, with respect, I’m an investigative reporter, not a biographer. I’m not certain I would be the best choice for your project.

Katherine looked at Whitney, then back at me. There are some unique aspects to this project that you and I can discuss in a minute that might change your mind, Brandon.

Whitney cleared his throat. I’ll leave you two alone, but first let me explain, Brandon, that the biography would be your first priority. We’d cover all your expenses while you wrote the book, plus there’d be a healthy bonus for you when it’s published. Whitney gestured towards the former first lady. Katherine has graciously agreed for you to receive all royalties, but she would retain residual rights. The Standard would like to run a series of excerpts that precede the book’s release. It should help the sales.

And the Standard’s circulation, I added.

Whitney smiled, but said nothing.

The only constraint, Katherine said, is I’d like you to finish the biography by next summer to be a part of the opening of Preston’s presidential library in San Diego.

And to coincide with the presidential election that would be in full swing at that time, I thought, wondering what the possible political motivation might be behind Katherine’s request?

Well, Whitney said, standing up and buttoning his blazer, I’ll leave you two to discuss things in more detail. He turned to me. Brandon, if you’re agreeable to this arrangement I’ll have a contract drawn up and sent over for you to sign. I stood up as Whitney reached for my hand. My chauffer will take you wherever you wish after you two are through here.

I nodded. Great, thank you, sir.

Whitney smiled and turned towards the stairs that led below ship. He reached out and touched Katherine on the shoulder. Take all the time you need, dear. I’ll see you at the dinner party tonight.

As Whitney disappeared down the stairs, Katherine moved from her seat on the couch to the chair next to mine. She motioned for me to sit back down and when I did she leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. I’m sorry for all this drama, Brandon, but there are some things about this assignment that I need to reveal before we go any further.

At close range, and in the morning light, I noted that her face was as smooth and clear as a baby’s. Such as?

Well, in doing your research there are some things you might uncover that will be controversial.

I’d be surprised if there weren’t.

I’m not talking about rumors of an ill-spent youth or illicit campaign contributions and all that nonsense, she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. I’m talking about a plan Preston was working on when he died, a plan that he said would create an economic and political firestorm.

Most of his ideas and programs have been thoroughly publicized, I said. Are you talking about something that wasn’t a matter of public record?

She studied me for a second, as if trying to discern what I was thinking. Yes, Preston had learned the necessity of keeping certain plans under wraps until he’d greased all the skids, as he used to say.

And did the president share this plan with you?

She shook her head. Preston didn’t want me to become a political target or a security concern.

I suppose that every married couple has secrets they do not share, but the president and first lady of the land were not your typical husband and wife. Who would he have shared this plan with?

I don’t know, but Preston said that the plan he was working on had a top secret classification and that details had leaked and there was quite a negative reaction.

From whom?

I’m afraid I don’t know that either.

What about Vice President Edwards? Wouldn’t he have been privy to this plan?

Thurmond Edwards is a two-faced war-monger, Katherine said, a hiss in her voice. His opposition to Preston’s peace agenda was well known inside the White House.

They certainly hid their disagreements well.

Good politicians are also good actors, Brandon. The animosity between the two men was a well kept secret.

So what you’re telling me is that you don’t know the details of this secret plan, who was privy to it, who reacted negatively when news of it leaked, or why?

She smiled. That’s one of the reasons I chose you, Brandon. Your investigative reporting skills are well known and you’ll need them here.

I smiled at the compliment, but recreating the past would not be easy. Many of my sources from the Hodges’ days had retired, died or otherwise faded from the scene.

Katherine looked at me, eyes wide. This plan could have been Preston’s legacy, a legacy I want to share with the world.

Katherine opened her purse and pulled out a piece of lined paper and handed it to me. I’ve jotted down a short list of Preston’s boyhood friends for you. They have nothing to do with his secret plan, but they should give you some interesting background. I suppose that is always necessary in a biography.

I glanced at the dozen names and addresses, noting that they all lived in San Diego, where Hodges had been born and raised.

Katherine reached for my hand and said, Do you trust me, Brandon?

How could I not trust the woman who had handled herself with such grace and poise during the dark days of death and national sorrow? Of course I do.

She sighed. There will be some people who will not like the things that might be said in this book.

Like President Edwards?

She smiled. Yes, but there are others who would not want the public to learn about Preston’s plan.

I nodded. Those who opposed it?

She squeezed my hand. Yes, and I’m not trying to be melodramatic, Brandon, but this isn’t just writing a book about a great man; it could be a powerful statement that undermines the aspirations of those it does not flatter. You need to treat this as a confidential mission. People will be watching your every move and they won’t necessarily be friendly.

She leaned toward me again. I still have friends over at the FBI from the old days and they’ve done a thorough background check on you and you’ll be issued security clearances that will allow you to discuss a variety of material, including anything that might lead you to Preston’s secret plan.

The thought of such a plan being in play when Hodges died primed my investigative pump. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime assignment. Not used to making hasty decisions, I nonetheless knew instinctively what I must do. I stood and reached for Katherine’s hand. I’d be honored to accept your offer, Mrs. Hodges. I hope I can do his memory justice.

She shook my hand and said, Please call me Katherine, and I’m certain Preston would be greatly pleased that it’s you who will be telling his story.

# # #

2

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia. The windowless room offered no distractions. Its empty gray walls and matching carpet conveyed a prison-like atmosphere. The two men, who had never met, faced each other across the room’s huge conference table.

We have a potential problem to discuss this morning, Walter Bennington said, his blue eyes fixed on the folder open in front of him. Bennington reflected the accumulated stress of twenty-five years in the intelligence business: thinning black hair blotched with streaks of gray, dark circles under his eyes, a nervous tic of fingering a non-existent cigarette, the latter now forbidden in this once-smoke-filled room of secrets.

The other man, L. Frank Bloodwell, nodded for Walter to continue. He had no notebook or poised pen. In fact, everything Walter was about to brief was already known to Bloodwell. The real purpose of this meeting was to give Walter a whiff of what was going on with MOHICAN, and to have him coordinate other Agency assets to carry out Bloodwell’s wishes.

There are several ex-Agency employees whose ten year security restrictions on project MOHICAN have just expired, Walter began.

How many people are we talking about?

Walter consulted his notes. There are only four individuals who would know enough about the project to warrant concern. Our original manager was Robert Rosen, then a Colonel Benny Myers from DIA ran the project until it ended. The other two are Chester Stewart and Susan Wurzak, both agency employees who became advisors to President Hodges.

The mention of Hodges’ name always raised the hair on the back of Bloodwell’s neck. Preston Hodges had been a popular president whose peace initiatives had created an uneasy relationship with certain hawkish factions in the military and intelligence communities. His death had ushered in a gradual reversal of his peace program via Vice President Thurmond Edwards, who was currently serving his second full term as president.

Bloodwell considered that if Walter knew the truth about MOHICAN, he’d probably wet himself. But Walter’s knowledge was limited to his need to know, an assessment Bloodwell had made himself. And where are these individuals now?

Walter returned to his open folder. Rosen retired to Del Mar, California, Wurzak and Stewart retired locally. Colonel Myers is now a General on active duty, but is not considered a risk.

And why is that?

He was in an automobile accident that resulted in mild brain damage. He’s been assigned to a remote Army post in Pennsylvania until he retires. Walter looked up. Our contact there says Myers is crazier than a shit-house rat.

Bloodwell managed a smirk at the comment, his well-manicured fingers drumming the polished table as he recalled the secrets he had kept buried all these years. Originally a CIA coup, MOHICAN had turned into a political football when Hodges was elected president and overrode CIA procedures by inserting Rosen into the picture as the project manager. But, when Hodges died Bloodwell re-captured control of MOHICAN, control he held to this day.

But Bloodwell had always dreaded this moment when the details of the most highly guarded secret in his organization might be exposed. It was his job to prevent that from happening. And why would a routine declassification process warrant this briefing, Walter?

Walter cleared his throat. We’ve learned that Mrs. Hodges plans to commission a biography about her husband.

And why would that be a concern?

The person she will apparently ask to write it is a Brandon Stewart, an investigative reporter for the Washington Standard.

I repeat my previous question.

This Stewart fellow is apparently quite a bulldog when it comes to uncovering Washington secrets.

I thought that was our job, Bloodwell said with a grin. What else?

Well, it turns out that he’s Chester Stewart’s son.

Really? Bloodwell said, feigning surprise.

Walter nodded. Yes, and Bob Rosen was quoted by the younger Stewart on several articles he wrote years ago. The fact that they know each other might give us some exposure.

And why do you feel that way, Walter?

Well, as you know, Rosen and Preston Hodges worked here together for several years. It seems logical that Stewart might interview Rosen about what it was like to work with Hodges before he became president.

That’s a good assessment, Walter, but don’t you think young Stewart would also see his father as a source?

Absolutely. But the elder Stewart apparently served only as a diplomatic liaison for Hodges on MOHICAN. We don’t think he was close to the technical details like Rosen. But with the security restriction having expired, both men are free to tell what they know.

I see your concern, Bloodwell said.

Walter cleared his throat. Also, we’ve learned that Katherine Hodges is having Stewart vetted by the FBI.

Really? The Bureau? Bloodwell wondered what the woman might know to have gotten the FBI involved?

"I’ve taken the liberty of