Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (17 page)

“Tony’s assassin was a professional,” Galveston responded.

“No conspiracy theories, please.  The CIA or State Department is not setting us up,” I said, trying to breathe some reality into the conversation.

“We can’t just sit here.”  Galveston got up from the bed and strolled around the room.  “It’s time to get to work.  Let’s at least find an internet connection and do some research.”

“And what would
we be looking for?” Sally chimed in.

“Anything you can learn about Greenland, companies doing business in
Greenland, and anything about how a group could use enriched uranium for a bomb.”

“Sounds good to me,” Joe announced out of the blue.

“It’s something to do,” I replied, and let out a heavy sigh.

“It will get our minds of the murder stuff, gunmen, and nuclear bombs,”
Galveston said, trying to convince me.

I didn’t even bother responding.  I felt it was a waste of time but then saw the looks on the faces of Joe and Sally.  They needed a reprieve, and a good old dose of detective work was always the best medicine.

-Chapter 28-

I had brought an ample amount of cash for the sort of predicament in which we found ourselves, since credit cards and wire transfers could be traced easily.  But supporting four people on the amount of cash I had in my pocket was going to be a delicate budgeting act.  The coffers were running low.

Galveston
asked the rather jolly front desk clerk where he could find the nearest computers with internet access.  He happily obliged and sent us a few blocks to a quaint cafe that housed a few computers in a back room.  I didn’t even know internet cafes still existed with the advancement in smart phones and pads.  The computers were ancient by technology standards, but the price to use them was low, and we would have the anonymity that we needed to do our research.

Each of us took a different computer and set about finding information that could help our cause.  The internet is a wealth of information but trying to slog through the mass of junk to find the good stuff was proving tedious.  The whole idea seemed too daunting.

After two hours of pecking at the keys, I decided to give up.  I had seen enough glacier pictures and news articles to last a lifetime.  The rest of the crew was finding nothing of real use either.

I began to go off course and clicked on the first thing that interested me.  I clicked on a picture that had one of those clever little messages attached to it that people love to send and resend each other.  I went back to the search page and decided to see what was buried deep in the numbers.  I clicked page fifty on a search page for
Greenland mining companies.  It was a click out of sheer and utter boredom.

I perused the links and none of them had anything to do with
Greenland mining, but as I scrolled to the bottom of the page a link stood out.  It was a rant on a forum from an environmental site.  I opened it because I was always intrigued by online fights.  I loved how people became so brazen when their identities were anonymous.

The post was about job opportunities in
Greenland, mostly where to find the best prospects.  A few of the posters to the forum were berating another poster about their insensitivity to the original inhabitants of the continent.  The conversation stretched on and insults were thrown.  It was the best reading I had done all day.  As I went to the next page the tone died down.  “What a disappointment,” I thought.  “Right when it was getting good.” 

A new poster had joined the fray and wanted to ask the forum if they had ever been approached by a mining company like he had.   The man, at least that was what I believed, said he was from
Serbia.  He wrote that he was approached for a job in the mining industry outside of the country.  The poster’s cousin took the position, but he did not.  The last thing he heard was that the mining company moved his cousin to Greenland to start up a mine there, now that the restrictions had been lifted.  He hadn’t been able to contact his cousin and could find no record of the existence of the mining company he had joined.

I perked up after reading the sentence.  “There can’t possibly be a connection,” I thought to myself.  Out of sheer dumb luck, I may have stumbled on a clue.

I continued to read the responses.  They were mostly unhelpful, but as I went to the next page the conversation picked up.  Other men had heard of such a thing, but never experienced it, or known anyone who had.  Then a poster wrote something that really piqued my interest.  It was dated a full week later, and the writer stated that it was probably the work of the Red Hand.  Other writers began to respond saying that it was a myth, there was no such group.  Another debate ensued about the factuality of this organization.  I was intrigued.  Who was the Red Hand? 

Right before the thread ended on the topic, a poster wrote that he believed the Red Hand had been operating out of
Serbia, and one method of getting cheap labor was by using the tactic of what he called, “catch and run”.  The thread ended, and I noted the timeline of the post.  It was three months old.

I kept the new knowledge to myself for the time being.  It was too extraordinary to believe that a clue to our current situation could be found on an obscure forum talking about mining jobs.  The idea of a clandestine group of evildoers pulling people from their homes to work for them flew in the face of conventional wisdom.  It was something one might read in a textbook about medieval times.  But it was at least a lead, and I couldn’t let my realistic mind slough it off.

I leaned over to Galveston at the next computer.  “I might have something.  It’s farfetched, so it’s right up your alley.”

Galveston
raised an eyebrow.  “Really?  Now I am interested.”

I explained the thread discussion from the forum. 
Galveston had never heard of this criminal syndicate but was not surprised such actions were taking place. 

“I bet I can have a heap of information in ten minutes,” he said confidently.

“From your favorite conspiracy websites, right?” Galveston loved looking at these types of sites—the crazier, the better.

He did just what he said, and it took less than five minutes for him to locate a plethora of less than credible information.

“They’re all saying the same thing.  The Red Hand is supposedly a group that started in Eastern Europe, not for political or religious reasons, but strictly for organized crime,” he explained.

He perused into the depths of the internet further before finding an interesting article by a more reliable source.  It was from a German site, and for once it was an actual news article about secret societies.  It mentioned the name Red Hand only once, but the theory behind their formation was intriguing.

Galveston ran his fingers along the screen to show me what it said.  “This writer believes the Red Hand is a conglomeration of organized crime syndicates.  Almost like an association where there is no apparent leader.”  He read the next line verbatim.  “It was possibly formed in a response to the West’s crackdown on international terrorism which made worldwide crime activities more difficult.”

“So it’s their professional trade organization?” I asked jokingly.

“I think that is exactly what he’s saying.  An organization where all the different crime bosses can get together and compare notes,” he replied.

It was a truly interesting concept.  A group of criminals form a secret society to streamline their business and gain access to the resources of another crime syndicate.  The idea now seemed more realistic.  But it still didn’t answer the question of who was operating in
Greenland.  We still needed a link, preferably one that could explain why we were murder suspects.  We needed better answers from an even more reliable source. 

“We need to call Browning.  He may know something about this group,” I said.

Galveston continued to click with his mouse.  “I suppose, but he has to know we’re suspected of murder by now,” he said.

“Well, it won’t hurt to try.  Maybe he can shed some light on who is setting us up.”

Galveston grit his teeth.  “Oh, alright.  But we have to be careful.  We can’t trust anyone right now,” he ordered. 

“Yes, sir,” I answered quickly.

“Let’s get Sally and Joe back to the hotel.  We’ll call Browning on the satellite phone.  Hopefully they won’t be able to trace the call.”

I informed Joe and Sally of our plan before
Galveston could change his mind.

I located the satellite phone as soon as we got back to the hotel
, while Galveston attempted to locate the number Browning had given us in Iceland. 

Joe and Sally watched in helpless amazement.  I was beginning to feel bad that we were leading them around like puppies, but it was for their own good. 
Galveston didn’t inform Joe that a dangerous situation was brewing in Nashville.  He had located a news story dated that morning during our internet search.  Local detectives had raided Joe’s Nashville house and his office at Vanderbilt.  He was also wanted for questioning in the murder of his friend, Tony.  There was no way he could go home now, and the information would devastate the fragile man further. Galveston and I decided to keep the news to ourselves for now.  It was becoming evident that whoever was behind the accusations that we murdered Tony wanted us out of the picture.

Galveston
found the number buried deep in his bag; he never thought he would have to use it.  He dialed and the call was picked up by Browning almost immediately.

“Browning here,” he said with confidence.

“Browning, it’s Galveston,” he responded, for some reason in a whisper.  It wasn’t like we were needed to be covert.

“
Galveston.  I hoped you would call.  You didn’t get on your plane—why is that?” he inquired calmly.

“I was hoping you could tell me,”
Galveston answered.

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone has set us up.  We’re suspected for a crime we didn’t commit.”

There wasn’t a sound on the other end. 
Galveston was convinced Browning knew of the accusations. 

“You know we weren’t there.  We need help.  You know we were in
Iceland,” Galveston said, almost pleading.

He could hear Browning clear his throat.  He spoke softly.  “I know you were, but the authorities in
Connecticut say the murder took place before you left.  That’s when the forensics team put the time of death.”

Galveston
didn’t know what to say.  The people responsible for spreading these lies were very good.  They had closed every avenue to prove our innocence.

“But don’t worry.  I know you didn’t do it.  Someone is setting you up,” he responded.

Galveston was relieved to hear the words but hesitant in believing him.  “Thanks,” he said meekly.  “Is there anything you can do to help us?”

“I can but you’re going to have to trust me.”

This was going to be hard for Galveston to do, but he had no choice at the moment.  Browning was our only lifeline outside the United States. 

Galveston nodded his head.  “We will.  We have to.”

“Good,” Browning answered quickly.  “I need to get you to a safe location.  When you get there I’ll contact you.  I’m going to call the Connecticut State Police and get this taken care of.  Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Mr. Browning.  We’re ready.”  Galveston reached for a pen and scribbled the address of an area on the other side of London. 

“Go to the door of the safe house and ring the bell.  I’ll have an agent waiting there for you.  Come as a group so that we can get you safely inside as quickly as possible.  I need you to follow these orders carefully,” Browning said emphatically.

“We will.  Oh, and one more thing.”  Galveston paused.  He was just about to ask about the Red Hand organization, but thought otherwise.  He needed to use it as a bargaining chip, if it came to that.  “We’ll be there within the hour,” he said instead.

“Good.  Be careful.  I’ll see you soon,” Browning said assuredly.

I put my hands in the air as Galveston put down the phone.  “Why didn’t you ask him about the Red Hand?”

“It wasn’t the right time.  We need to have some information they could use, just in case things don’t work out the way we hoped.” 

It was an ominous statement, but I understood his intention.  We had very few things to barter with, and this bit of information might prove useful in getting us out of a jam, as weak as it was.

We huddled together for an informal team meeting. 
Galveston explained the details of Browning’s instruction.  Sally and Joe were riveted to the information.  I was skeptical of trusting someone from our government so fully.  I thought Galveston had lost his conspiracy oriented tendencies since it seemed he was going to follow Browning’s instructions.  It wasn’t until he finished talking that I realized he had an entirely different plan in mind.

“This is what Browning wants us to do.  But this is what we’re really going to do,” he explained.

His plan was similar, but instead of going as a group, we would go in pairs and in disguise.  We would survey the area first before going in, and Galveston gallantly volunteered himself to be the only person to ring the bell of the safe house.

“If it’s a trap, then I’ll be the only one to be captured.  The rest of you can return here.  It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” he said.

It was the best course of action for a difficult situation, but if something went wrong Galveston was the best person to get Sally and Joe out safely.  “No.  I’ll do it.  You need to stay with Sally and Joe,” I announced.

“You always have to steal my thunder, don’t you?”
Galveston responded.

“No, it’s not like that.  I don’t have the contacts here like you, and you’ve lived here before.  I would end up taking tea at the wrong time.”

Galveston let out a laugh.  “I’ll think about it,” he answered.

Joe had a serious look on his face.  “I’m going to do it,” he blurted, surprising us.

“No, Joe.  We’ll take it from here,” Galveston said dismissively.

“I insist,” Joe replied, as forcefully as he could.  “What could they do to me?”

Galveston knew he had to tell Joe of the news in Nashville now, before he got himself in more trouble.  “Joe, I found some information during our search.”  Galveston stopped to find the right words to tell him.  “The police are looking for you too.  They think you had something to do with Tony’s death.”