The Rescue

By Robert Matthias

When former National Security Agency operative Tom Black takes on a case for his old employer, little does he suspect the life of Beth Andrews, his girlfriend, hangs in the balance. Beth scares up trouble on her own when she starts her consulting business, getting her name added to the hit list of an unscrupulous oil and gas operator. While simply trying to enjoy the mountains on their own time, the pair gets involved in several dramatic climbing rescues and plots to kill the President and kidnap the governor of Colorado. From the streets of Denver to the peaks of the Colorado Front Range and the Wyoming Tetons, the partnership formed in earlier adventures is strengthened as they learn they can rely on each other without question.

Robert Matthias worked for twenty years as a geologist for a variety of firms, followed by another twenty as a professional handyman. He began his mountaineering avocation in the Tetons. He has climbed in the American Rockies, the Canadian Rockies, and the Peruvian Andes. He lives, climbs, skis, and cycles with his wife from their home in Boulder, Colorado. This book is a sequel to The Peruvian Twin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Matthias
• Release date: Nov 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463385319

Robert Matthias

Robert F. Matthias was born and raised in Iowa. He started his mountaineering career in the Tetons of Wyoming upon graduation from high school. He earned a B.A. in Geology from the University of Iowa and an M.S. in Geology from the University of Colorado – Boulder. He later earned an MBA from Xavier University. He has worked as a petroleum geologist, engineering geologist, coal geologist, land manager for major coal companies, and served as VP – Mining for an aggregate producer. After leaving corporate life, he established his own handyman business, doing home repair and remodeling. Matthias was a Boy Scout leader and youth soccer coach. He continues to work, hike and climb, cycle, and ski downhill and cross country. He has climbed in Peru, the U.S. and Canada. He enjoys writing and international travel. Matthias is active in leadership in his church, and with the Boulder Group-Colorado Mountain Club. He has a wife, two sons, and three grandchildren.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Boulder, Colorado

Hey, Dude. Want to join this fraternity or not? the upperclassman asked the freshman pledge harshly as they stood in the grocery aisle with a couple of other young men.

You know I do! retorted the younger man.

We're not asking you to kill anyone; just steal a fucking purse! replied another upperclassman quietly, but insistently. Just pick a woman at random and grab it. She'll be too scared to even yell.

Alright, alright already, the kid replied, looking for a small, easily intimidated woman.

Beth Andrews was almost done with her self-checkout in the grocery store when she heard a woman behind her shout, Hey! That's my purse! As she quickly turned to see what was happening, a college-aged guy wearing oversized sunglasses came barreling at her, purse in hand, shoving people aside in a frantic effort to exit the store. Beth was a 28-year old doctoral candidate in Environmental Engineering at the Boulder campus of the University of Colorado. She had honey-colored hair reaching just below her shoulders, and stood a trim, but well-toned five foot eight inches. She was shopping for dinner for her boyfriend, Tom Black. Beth was dressed in the uniform of Boulder: blue jeans and a tee-shirt which showed off her great figure, and jogging shoes.

Just as the man came even with her, she deftly stuck out her foot as she had done countless times before when tripping her older brothers in retaliation for some wrong, whether real or imagined. Practice paid off, and the man went sprawling into a checkout stand, sunglasses skidding on down the aisle. Without hesitating, Beth jumped on his back, landing on her knees just above his waist, knocking the wind completely out of him. She reached back and grabbed from her purse the package of zip-ties she had bought earlier at McGuckin Hardware to hang a banner in her university office. Before the man could recover his breath, she pulled his arms behind him and zip-tied his wrists together, and then did the same thing with his ankles, glad that she had bought the longer zip-ties instead of the shorter ones she had seriously considered. One more zip-tie hooked his wrists and ankles together, completely immobilizing him.

Looking around to see that a large crowd had gathered around her, and ignoring questions about her well-being, she called out, Has anyone called 911?

I did, responded a middle-aged woman part way back in the crowd. Are you OK?

Yes, I am. Thanks! replied Beth. Whose purse is that? she asked, pointing at the object of all the excitement.

That's mine, and thanks! replied the petite younger woman whose cry had started the brief episode.

I'm afraid you'll need to wait for the police and press charges against this guy, said Beth.

But where are you going? asked the flustered young woman as she watched Beth grab her purse, stand up, and head for the door, abandoning her groceries that had not yet been paid for.

Sorry, I have to be somewhere, announced Beth as she bolted for the door. While fearing nothing from the police, she could only see that being questioned by them would result in her name getting in the paper, again. Like her boyfriend, (Was that the right description of their relationship?) Beth had grown publicity-shy after seeing her name appear numerous times in the newspapers and on the TV news. I don't need my friends or parents bothering me about this, she thought.

Beth decided to go to her office at the university. She'd get groceries at another store after her session at the rock gym later in the day. She'd invited Tom to dinner at her apartment that evening knowing she didn't have much food, and she needed to feed him something. She smiled to herself at the thought of him, and then frowned as she tried to remember what had become of her shopping list in all of the excitement.

Syrian ghetto in Chicago

The five young Syrians sat around the table drinking tea. All had been in the United States for the previous two years doing graduate studies in universities scattered around the country at their government's expense. They had been classmates in engineering at Damascus University. Each had been offered the chance to further his training by studying in the United States with the tacit understanding that his family could not leave Syria, even for vacations, until he returned. As Syrians loyal to their government, that was not a problem for any of them. What was a problem, however, was the level of violence occurring in their homeland with rebel forces trying to overthrow the Assad regime. Worse was the fact that their host government, the U.S., was supporting the anti-regime rebels with weapons and money. Unable to support their government militarily, the five engineers were looking for some way to support it otherwise.

Ahmed, the most charismatic of the five young engineers sat at the head of the table. He had previously held a preliminary telephone discussion with the sole remaining security person at the Syrian embassy in Washington, D.C. The Syrian ambassador had been booted out of the United States by the Obama administration, and only limited staff was left in the embassy. Ahmed called him in the red brick building on Wyoming NW in D.C., but only after Ahmed's careful research had shown that the National Security Agency was restricted to eavesdropping on overseas calls, not on calls made to and from locations in the U.S. Ahmed had called the other four to Chicago, and as their discussions had progressed, the other four had accepted him as the leader of their group.

Where can we have the most impact? Ahmed asked his friends. What are the places you can think of? Collectively, we live in five different cities.

We could bomb the Superbowl, said Nizar. There are usually 100,000 people there.

But that's not until next February, replied Mohammed, who was studying at MIT. We need to do something earlier. How about disrupting the Boston Marathon again? There are lots of people there.

When is that? asked Ahmed.

April, replied Nizar, who was studying at California Polytechnical, after checking his smartphone. There were probably as many people along the race course as at the Superbowl.

That's almost a year away, said Ahmed. To help our government and to teach these Americans a lesson, we need something in the next month or two.

I have an idea, said Karim, who was studying at the University of Colorado at Boulder. There's a foot race in Boulder, Colorado called the Bolder Boulder. It's usually on their Memorial Day holiday in late May. I think there were 50,000 runners last year. There are so many runners that they're lined up solid, curb-to-curb for blocks at the start. We ought to be able to do something with that.

He and the other three looked at their leader expectantly.

Denver, Colorado

Hello. Tom Black here, said Tom into his office phone. He was 33-years old, six feet tall, 175 pounds, with wavy brown hair, a prominent mustache, and a handsome face that had obviously spent a lot of time outside.

Hi, Tom. Rick Ware, here. Haven't talked to you for a few weeks. How've you been? Ware was head of the Technical Services Division of the National Security Agency (NSA) in charge of providing his own and other Federal agencies with teams of programmers and language interpreters to help track down terrorists and prevent or solve crimes. A few years earlier Tom had managed the NSA outpost in Lima, Peru, working for an incompetent and vindictive senior manager in NSA headquarters in the States. Tom had been fired when the woman who was both his girlfriend and subordinate was murdered by a drug cartel in order to halt the good work Tom's team had been doing to help disrupt the flow of illegal drugs from Peru. After Tom was fired undeservedly by his vindictive boss, Ware, who was director of a different NSA department, but knew how effective Tom's team had been, made Tom an offer he couldn't refuse: Ware would provide Tom with steady work if Tom were willing to establish his own consulting firm as a contractor to the NSA. Tom did so by recruiting the best of his former subordinates in Lima who were all under death threats from the cartel. Tom paid his highly talented staff very well and while not getting rich himself, was very comfortable financially.

Well, hi there, Rick. We're all fine here. Have your people thoroughly tested the new algorithm Jeannie sent you last week? We've found that it speeds up our cracking security codes by a lot, said Tom.

Boy, does it ever! gushed Ware. Your team continues to amaze everyone here with how much you get done with so few people!

Well, it helped to be able to pick the best of my people from Lima, answered Tom modestly.

Yeah, but you trained them well down there, and seem to still be doing it in Denver, replied Ware.

Anyway, said Tom, trying to deflect any more love, what's up now?

I thought I'd give you a heads-up and prior approval, by the way, for what the FBI's Special Agent in Charge (SAC) of the Denver office, Peter Lindley, will be asking. They have got wind of a drug cartel working in the Denver area, and need help in cracking into their communications. A couple of calls to Mexico turned up in our monitoring system, so we have a place to start. Call Liz here after the FBI tells you what they know and what they need. Liz will give you what we have. Any questions?

Nope, answered Tom. Sounds pretty routine. I've worked with Peter's people before, and they're good, so this might be fun.

Tom, remember this is an office job, not a field job. We can't have your team, and especially you, getting directly, or even tangentially involved with any cartel. Remember how that worked out in Lima, asked Ware gingerly, half afraid to remind Tom of that tragic outcome.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone line as Tom fought to restrain his emotions. Finally, he said ironically, Thanks for the gentle reminder. I'll remember our limits here. Anything else?

Just, how's Beth?

Great! She had her thesis defense and is working at getting her dissertation published. We're looking forward to a good summer in the mountains. With that, they parted company, and Tom asked his PA, Ashley Higgins, to be alert for a call from the FBI.

Good! came Ashley's response. More paying work!

Boulder, Colorado

Hello, this is Beth Andrews, answered Beth on her office extension in the Department of Environmental Engineering at the University of Colorado-Boulder.

Ms. Andrews, this is George Anderson with High Plains Petroleum. We are based in Denver and need your help.

OK, said Beth guardedly, not sure what was coming next. What kind of help do you need?

We are a petroleum producer in eastern Colorado. We just completed a good well, but as part of the completion work, we are getting a lot of brine out of it along with the oil. We have looked into disposal costs for the brine, and they are high enough as to make the well of marginal value even though it produces a lot of oil. I nosed around and found that you may have the best handle on who might be able to use brine like that as a chemical feedstock. There are a lot more wells to be drilled in that field, and it would be worth a lot to us to find a consumer of our brine.

Unprepared for this, but thinking fast, Beth said, Sure, I'd be happy to look at that for you. How about emailing me whatever chemical analyses you have of the stuff? I'll look at it, think it over, and get back to you in a few days.

What are we talking about in terms of your fees? asked Anderson.

Chuckling, Beth said, That's one of the things I'll be thinking about. She gave Anderson her email address and promised to call him back as soon as she could.

Beth was still gazing distractedly at the phone when it rang again. Hello, this is Beth Andrews.

Ms. Andrews, this is Peter Thayer with Isis Chemicals in Greeley. We need your help.

What kind of help do you need from me? asked Beth, not quite believing this.

We had been buying an oilfield brine from a local oil company to use as a feedstock for some of our products, but they have worked out the play they were in, and have left us high and literally dry. I've checked around and have been told that you know more about who has what chemical wastes in this area than anyone else. If that's true, could we pay you to help us find the right stuff. Our need is pretty urgent.

With more enthusiasm than she had mustered for George Anderson, she said, Of course! How about emailing me whatever specifications you have for what you need, I'll look at it, think it over, and get back to you in a few days?

What are we talking about in terms of your fees? asked Thayer, echoing exactly what George Anderson had asked.

Figuring that it had worked with Anderson, Beth repeated, That's one of the things I'll be thinking about. She gave Thayer her email address and promised to call him back, too, as soon as she could.

Beth sat in her office looking at the phone. Is this some kind of joke, or am I being set up by someone? Just then the phone, which, except for the calls from Anderson and Thayer, had not rung for the five previous days, rang again.

Hello, this is Beth Andrews.

Ms. Andrews, this is Helen Thomas. I am executive assistant to David Joyce, Director of the Colorado Department of Environmental Quality. Mr. Joyce asked me to call you and see if it would be convenient for you to meet in his office here in Denver at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. What may I tell him?

May I ask why Mr. Joyce wants to see me? asked Beth remembering the total lack of response she had gotten from Joyce's office when she had hit a dead end in her data gathering at an old uranium mine near Golden, Colorado for her dissertation on waste recycling

Mr. Joyce didn't bother to tell me, said Helen Thomas, sounding a little put out, but I know who you are and about your graduate studies, so I'm guessing that he wants to offer you a job. Please don't say anything to him about that, because I'm only guessing, she said a little nervously.

Sure, I'll be there, replied Beth, and don't worry. I'll play dumb. They worked out the details.

Beth hung up the phone with a start, realizing she was waiting for two emails. She found them and printed out the attachments for each. Her incredulity increased as she reviewed the emails in detail. The chemical properties of the brine that High Plains Petroleum needed to dispose of closely fit the specifications sent her by Isis Chemicals. They both had a 5,000 gallon per week need. Oh, this is too good to be true! She picked up the phone to call Tom to see what he thought, but remembered that he had a meeting scheduled for that afternoon. She decided it could wait until he came to Boulder for dinner and to spend the night. They'd been alternating nights at the other's place for months. They were trying to figure out where they were in their relationship as it related to habitation, and what that meant about commitment. Her rented apartment in Boulder was small. He owned a large condominium in central Denver, but the amount of space was less an issue than the one of commitment. You're overthinking this! Let's go climbing!

Beth grabbed her pack, bike helmet, and her road bike from her office. It was a quick trip to the Boulder Rock Gym. After climbing with Tom, who was a superb rock climber and mountaineer, Beth decided that she really wanted to improve her ability and comfort level on technical rock. She checked into the choices for indoor climbing in Boulder, and found that she had a choice of a gym that specialized in bouldering, or one that more directly simulated wall climbing. Because she knew Tom was into trad (short for traditional) climbing, where he climbed multiple pitches, putting in protection as he went, Beth figured she ought to spend her time on vertical walls instead of the more acrobatic bouldering. Besides, the music at the bouldering gym was a little too much for her. Beth had been going to the rock gym regularly to practice without Tom's knowledge. While she didn't have enough experience to know it, she had actually worked herself up to climbing at quite a high level of difficulty. What she was certain of was that climbing on actual rock was more difficult that the fake stuff because the holds were not marked or color-coded.

At the rock gym, she went into the ladies locker room and put on her loose-fitting clothes and rock shoes. She was stretching on the mat in the climbing gym when a tall, heavily built man about her own age named Lyle came over.

Hi, Beth, he said enthusiastically. You need a belayer?

Lyle, yes I do, but I've told you that any of the other guys can do it. I'm sure you have more productive things to do with your time. You know I have a boyfriend. Lyle's attention made her uncomfortable.

Yeah, yeah, you always say that, but I never see him here with you. I'm not sure he really exists, said Lyle a little petulantly.

Yes, he really does, and he's a good climber, too, replied Beth. I'll get someone else to belay me today.

Nope. I insist. I'll take better care of you than anyone. Remember that guy last week who almost dropped you?

OK. OK. It's your time to waste. Thanks, Beth said, giving in. She finished stretching, and put on her climbing harness and helmet. Lyle had taken the belay position in front of the part of the climbing wall he thought Beth would choose.

Good choice, Lyle, she complimented him, but today I want to try the overhang. Can you grab that other rope that's halfway out from the wall? I'm going to work on using just the smaller, harder holds in this section, and if I get that far, I'd like to start the overhang.

Sure, said Lyle as he grabbed the rope to which Beth had pointed. You're getting about as good as any of the women here, and better than a lot of the guys.

Insuring that Lyle was ready for her to climb, Beth started up the vertical section, eschewing the easier holds, and using only the tiniest ones. The wall was made to look like stone with handholds and footholds screwed into it of various sizes and spacings. Beth made steady progress up the wall and reached the top.

Lyle, I'm going for the overhang today. OK?

Sure, Babe, gotcha, he replied, making Beth cringe inside.

Holds had been affixed to the sloping ceiling, imitating a rock overhang, or roof. Rather than merely putting her weight on them as was necessary to simply hang onto the wall, she had to exert an opposing force, pulling against her feet with her hands to keep her feet on the holds. Otherwise, they would give in to the force of gravity, and she would be left momentarily hanging from her hands until they, too, slipped off the small holds. Even with the arm strength of a monkey, she couldn't hang onto those tiny holds with just her hands. Applying opposing forces on the roof took a lot more effort than face climbing.

With great effort and care, Beth managed to reach the fourth big handhold out from the wall before her foot slipped and she dropped like a stone. Because she was still about six feet from the carabiner on the roof through which her rope ran to Lyle, she fell that distance before the rope caught her. Lyle held his end of the rope tightly, and her fall was greatly cushioned by the stretch in the nylon rope as it was designed to do. Lyle waited until Beth stopped swinging before he lowered her to the ground.

Thanks, Lyle. You did that perfectly! Glancing at the clock, she said, I'm afraid that's all for me today. I've got dinner to fix. I'll have to return the favor another day.

Beth hurriedly stuffed her work clothes into her pack, grabbed her bike and helmet and went to the desk to check out. Brett, the manager, stopped her and said quietly, Beth, you can do a lot better than Lyle. He's got a mean streak you must not have seen. I've got a guy in mind for you who is a terrific climber and a super-nice guy. You see that new route? he asked, pointing out the holds a man on a hydraulic lift was screwing into the overhang further along from where Beth had been climbing. We're putting in that route for him because he's done everything else we have.

Brett, thanks, but like I keep telling Lyle, I have a boyfriend who is a good climber. I can't seem to shake Lyle, but I'll take your warning to heart. Thanks! See ya! With that she was off to get ready for Tom. Brett was left shaking his head.

Boulder Police Department

Police Detective Sergeant Steve Jones was studying the videos from the security cameras at the grocery store from the previous day's purse-snatching incident. The store had recently upgraded its technology, and the video quality was quite good. Jones had isolated the segment showing Beth decking the purse-snatcher. He had watched it three times, and was still impressed by how easily she had subdued a man who was easily bigger than she was. He had concluded that Beth had not committed any legal offense by disappearing, but he was very curious as to why she had done so. He was thinking about the effort involved in trying to get the store to isolate the transaction she had started at the self-checkout while he was watching the episode a fourth time. A patrolman who was passing through the bullpen stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, She's a tough lady! I've tangled with her once.

You have? You know who she is? demanded Jones of Patrol Officer Vega incredulously.

Oh, yeah. You don't forget one like her, replied Vega ruefully remembering his encounter in a bar some months earlier when she had defended herself and a battered woman from an abusive drunk. Vega described the incident and Beth's reaction when Vega had tried to bully her. Nearly got my own ears pinned back by that one! he laughed.

Alright, who the hell is she? demanded Jones impatiently.

Her name is Beth Andrews. Her boyfriend is Tom Black, the Governor's son. She's the woman who crawled into that car covered by the landslide in Boulder Canyon and pulled out the woman and her baby.

Wow! You're right; she is quite a woman! Why do you suppose she disappeared like that?

She got a lot of publicity for the Canyon rescue, and one up above Fourth of July Mine. Rumor has it that she was involved in that domestic terrorism thing at the old uranium mine in Jefferson County, too, as well as something to do with that race up Long's Peak where the terrorist fell down the Diamond. I'd guess she's publicity-shy now.

Any idea of how to find her? asked Jones.

I'd suggest Googling her and looking for newspaper articles about those events. They might give more details about her than I remember.

Thanks, Vega! I owe you one for this! said Jones.

And I'll be sure to collect on it, too, laughed Vega as he walked on.

Chapter 2

Denver, Colorado - Tom Black's office

Tom, it's Peter Lindley with the FBI on the line, said Ashley Higgins in her decidedly upperclass British accent. What do you want me to tell him?

That I'll be with him in a minute, replied Tom. Beth, I've got to go, he said into the phone. Good luck with the Director. Come on over for lunch when you're done. OK? Good. Love you. Punching a button on his office phone, Tom said, Hi Peter. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone. What's up?

I presume Rick Ware told you to expect this call, and generally what it was about? asked Peter.

Yes, he called yesterday, replied Tom.

Good, said Lindley. Can you meet with us here? I don't like doing this over the phone because you never know who's listening.

Tom chuckled ironically, since he was in the business of doing exactly that, How well I know! When do you want to meet?

How about after lunch today? Here.

Fine. Beth will be here for lunch, and I'll be over after that, probably about 1:30. OK if I bring Jeannie Mellon? She'll be managing the actual work.

That'll be fine. Give my best to Beth. She's quite a lady, said Lindley remembering how helpful she'd been in sorting out the mess after large quantities of chemical wastes had been improperly dumped in the abandoned Schwartzwalder uranium mine west of Denver by a domestic terrorist taking his revenge on the U.S. for putting his drug cartel out of business in Peru.

Will do. See you after lunch.

Denver, Colorado - Department of Environmental Quality

Hi, I'm Beth Andrews here to see Director Joyce, said Beth confidently to the older woman sitting at a desk in the director's outer office that had a name tag on it that read Helen Thomas.

Hello, Miss Andrews, said Helen Thomas formally. If you'll just have a seat, I'll let Director Joyce know you're here. She raised her eyebrows in question.

Beth put a finger to her lips and winked. Helen Thomas smiled gratefully, crossed to the director's office, knocked, stuck her head in the door, and announced Beth's arrival. Beth heard an unintelligible reply. Helen shut the door, turned to Beth and said disgustedly, It'll probably be ten minutes. That's to show you you're not that important.

Beth shrugged her shoulders in response, opened her briefcase, and pulled out the current issue of The Economist, and began to read. As predicted, in ten minutes Helen's intercom buzzed. After answering it, she turned to Beth and said, The Director will see you now. Good luck!

Beth entered the director's office to find a small man in a nice suit seated behind a desk without a thing on it. She crossed to him, offered her hand and said, Hi. I'm Beth Andrews. I understand you wanted to meet with me. What is this all about?

Joyce reluctantly took her hand without standing, waived her to a seat in front of his desk, and said without meeting her eyes, The Governor suggested I meet with you to see if there were any capacity in which you might serve this department as an employee. Is there? he demanded, his eyes now locked on her ample chest.

Slightly taken aback, but only momentarily, Beth replied cooly, Had I known this was a job interview, I'd have sent my CV ahead of time. I do have a copy with me, if that would be of help. She started to dig in her briefcase.

Don't bother, said Joyce heavily. The Governor made sure I have a copy. I understand you have some kind of personal relationship with him. Is that true? he asked accusingly.

Yes, we've become friends as a result of the Schwartzwalder Mine incident, she replied.

May I ask how you came to know him? asked Joyce, thinking about his own very formal and distant relationship with the man.

He's an old friend of my dad's to whom I turned when I needed help in dealing with bureaucracy in State government, Beth replied carefully, unwilling to disclose her relationship with the Governor's son.

You mean the bureaucracy in my department? Joyce asked accusingly again, his eyes finally leaving her chest and meeting hers.

In a word, yes, replied Beth after deciding to plunge fully into the water. I made a series of legitimate requests for non-proprietary information on Front Range Recycling from this department, which were denied. I appealed to your office, and was not even given the dignity of a reply. It was pointed out to me by others that the stakes seemed high enough that I should go around you to the Governor himself. Events proved me correct.

Joyce's lips were compressed into a thin line at the criticism, his eyes locked on her chest again. I don't believe in going outside of proper channels, and I certainly don't abide by trespassing on private property as I understand you did, he said primly.

Yes, well if I hadn't done that, the environmental disaster would have been even worse, with the bad guys aided and abetted by one of your own staff. No sense pulling punches with this officious prick.

If possible, Joyce's lips compressed even more. Your friend the Governor said I'd be smart to offer you a job here. That you'd be useful to this department. I don't see how, but we always need technicians. We have an opening in our analytical department for a technician. Starting pay is $35,000 per year. Let Miss Thomas know your decision by the end of the week. That's all, Miss Andrews. He reached into a drawer, pulled out a file, and started to read it, totally ignoring her departure.

As Beth re-entered the front office, she marveled that the man's eyes had only once left her chest. She caught Helen Thomas's eyes. You were right about the job offer. Well, kinda-sorta. Now, is there a ladies room nearby? I feel like I need to wash my hands!

Chuckling ruefully, Helen said, I'm glad I'm too old for him. I have two years 'til retirement.

Good luck with that, replied Beth as she headed for the ladies room.

Denver, Colorado - Tom Black's office

David Joyce told you he didn't condone trespassing on private property even when what we found in the mine justified committing all kinds of misdemeanors? asked Tom incredulously. And he didn't take his eyes off your chest? Now that one I can understand! he said jokingly.

I don't mind your looking at my chest. In fact, I like it, but that creep is something different! said Beth vehemently. Also, his job offer is insulting! I just earned my PhD!

I think it was meant to be, replied Tom. I'd say he's afraid of you and what you could do if you joined the department at a professional level, especially with your proven level of rule-breaking and your relationship with the Governor. I say forget about him and working for the state. Do what I suggested at dinner last night and build up a consulting business leveraging everything you’ve learned in doing your dissertation. You've already got two eager clients.

I don't know anything about business, Tom. I'm a chemist at heart. I wouldn't know where to start. I've told you that, she said miserably.

Beth, you're smarter than just about anyone I know. The forensic accountants at the FBI told me how impressed they were with your cost models, and David Younggren here told me the same thing. I'll bet you can figure out what the oil company would need to pay to dispose of their brine, and what the pharmaceutical company would need to pay for feedstock. Right?

Sure, I can do that.

Well, figuring out how much you can save both companies is a good starting point. You then charge each company for a few days of your time at $200 an hour to put together a deal, and take a royalty of a set dollar amount per ton or per gallon of material transferred between them. You save both companies a bundle and keep a little for yourself. Everyone comes out a winner. Our company attorney does a lot of odd-ball deals. You remember Dave Younggren, don’t you?

Of course! He’s your financial guy.

Let's have you and Dave sit down with Jim while I meet with the FBI this afternoon. I'll bet the three of you can map out a strategy for a win-win deal all around and provide you with legal liability protection at the same time. If that all works, other people in this office can provide whatever administrative support you need. That sound OK?

I'd have to pay my own way on this, Beth said determinedly. No freebies for me.

OK by me. Let me call Jim and get this set up, said Tom, reaching for the phone.

How do you know he'll be available this afternoon? asked Beth.

Jim and I go way back, replied Tom vaguely as he started speaking to English. Tom described what he was thinking and finished by saying, Dave Younggren and Beth will be there about 1:30. Thanks, Jim! Next he led Beth down the hall to Younggren's office. After describing his plan to Younggren, he asked, Can you go with Beth to Jim English's office about 1:30 to help work this out? Receiving Younggren's agreement, Tom turned to Beth, Let's go to lunch. All this thinking has made me hungry!

Denver, Colorado - FBI office

Tom Black and Jeannie Mellon to see Peter Lindley, Tom said to a pretty receptionist who probably had a gun in her lap, given the security concerns in Federal buildings.

He's expecting you, Mr. Black. Mr. Lindley asked me to put you in the conference room, and he'll join you very shortly. With that, she led them into the conference room and offered them coffee, which they both declined. In marked contrast to the reception Beth had gotten from the state, Peter Lindley came in right away, followed by a fifty-ish woman named Stacy with whom Tom and Jeannie had previously worked. Lindley was about fifty years old, and about Tom's height, looking very fit and dapper in an expensive-looking suit that didn't quite hide the bulge of his shoulder holster.

Hi, Peter, Stacy. Peter, I'm surprised we got you today. This must be pretty high profile to merit your personal involvement, said Tom.

I happen to like working with you, Tom, but you're right, it is pretty high priority, replied the Special Agent in Charge (SAC) of the Denver office. In fact, we need your help with two different things.

Raising his eyebrows at Jeannie, Tom said to Lindley, We're all ears. What's up?

Given the terrible situation in Syria, NSA has been monitoring Syrian assets in the US. As you know, due to capacity limitations, NSA doesn't normally monitor strictly domestic calls except for special situations like Syria. The computers picked up some key words in a call to the Syrian embassy in D.C. They were speaking Arabic, which NSA translated. The call came from a burner cell phone in the Chicago area. The caller was talking to a person in the embassy whom we know to be their last remaining intelligence officer, and after some dancing around, the caller got the embassy person to recognize him without naming names. It sounds like the caller is a Syrian engineering student in the US. The caller said he and his friends wanted to strike a blow for Syria by killing a bunch of Americans. Would the guy at the embassy support them logistically? The guy said yes, as much as he could before he gets sent back to Syria. He told the caller to throw away that cellphone, and that he'd contact him by email. He didn't mention an email address, so we believe he already knew it. Can you crack into the Syrian embassy's email and help us find out what's going down?

Tom nodded at Jeannie, who said, We'll find out who the internet service provider is for the embassy and work with them to try to isolate that email. Can you help us figure out what engineering school the caller is attending? That might narrow down the universe of emails emanating from the embassy if it's going to a university account. If he has an email account with Yahoo, Google or any other major email service, it'll be harder to track down. There can't be that many emails originating at the Syrian embassy these days. The Syrian government doesn't have that many friends left. I presume the Bureau is tracking the burner phone?

Yes, said Stacy. It is exactly that: a burner phone sold for cash at a convenience store in Chicago. NSA is monitoring for any more calls from it, but nothing so far, and we really don't expect any.

OK, said Tom, that's all we can do on that project without more information from you or from the NSA. What else did you need?

Stacy answered this time. This one's closer to home for us. NSA also picked up some calls originating from phones known to belong to a drug cartel in northern Mexico, talking to what may be more burner cellphones in the Denver area. NSA will continue to monitor those cellphones until you guys can take over doing that. So far, it's been in English, but do you have a Spanish speaker on board just in case?

Si, Seniorita, said Tom, smiling at Stacy, who blushed.

Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot, said Stacy, a little embarrassed.

No problema. Can you send us Wave files so we can listen to everything, including both the Syrian and Mexican stuff?

Everything we have is on this thumb drive, replied Stacy, handing him one. Obviously, this needs to be wiped as soon as you're done with it.

Stacy, in case you've forgotten, the data security at my office is even tighter than here. No worries on your part, although I appreciate the reminder of how serious this stuff is, said Tom. We'll contact the cell carriers here in Colorado and track down who's servicing this or these cellphones. Then we'll set up our monitoring system and let NSA know we're on the job. That'll allow them to focus on other things, and let us do what we do best. Turning to Lindley, Anything else, Peter?

No, just give Beth and your parents my best regards, said Lindley as he stood up, shaking Tom's and Jeannie's hands. Please keep Stacy up to date frequently. Too much info is better than too little.

Walking back to their office, Tom asked Jeannie, So how do you want to organize this?

Tom, you're such a great boss! exclaimed Jeannie. "Instead of telling me how to do this, you're asking me what my