No build up or anything, this is chapter one of the follow up to Who Is Olivia Green. I started a few weeks ago and am a few chapters in. This is completely raw. Nobody has seen this and I've never tried any editing. At the end, I'll comment on some of it real quick.
December 4th, 2016 1016 Hours
Charleston County Jail, Charleston South Carolina
“Seriously, Barney, I’m asking you to spank me,” Olivia Green said to the black six-foot-four, former linebacker turned Charlestown County Deputy assigned to the jail division as he escorted her and her associate to the interview room and their client.
Barney didn’t respond, other than a slight smile that formed at the corner of his lips. Gram Morris, Olivia’s, top associate lawyer from her small satellite office of a much larger firm said, “This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You know it would work, Gram. This kid is a dumb ass white supremacist. I get Barney to give me a little spank,” Olivia nodded back at Barney who they had gotten to know over the last six months, “and then grimace. You go to the corner of the room on your phone, and I lean in and say, that jerk thinks he can just touch my ass. The kid hasn’t opened up and this is our fifth meeting, we need to speed it up. He goes to trial in less than a year. We need him to start trusting us.”
They arrived at another set of doors that had to be opened by another deputy who was watching them over one of the hundreds of cameras in the jail. Barney sighed and held onto the door handle. Gram was about to say something when the loud hiss then click signaled the door was unlocked. Barney opened it and motioned them through the door. Gram said, “I really thought you were smarter than this. I don’t know how I’ve worked with you for over two years now and just now figured out you were this crazy.”
Olivia looked over her shoulder and she caught Barney looking at her ass in her recently tailored slacks. “I wore these for you, big guy. I caught you checking me out last month. And I’m asking you to spank me. What’s the harm in that?”
Gram said, “You have officially gone off the reservation.”
They arrived at the interview room and Barney moved past Olivia and held the door handle, waiting for it to be opened by the control room deputy. The loud hiss and click sounded and he held the door open. Barney, with his deep southern draw said, “I’m going to get inmate Hutch. Once I escort him here I’ll be right outside if you need anything. And no, Ms. Green, I won’t be spanking you, ma’am.”
Gram and Olivia set their briefcases down on the desk as the door locked them inside. Gram said, “I can’t believe you actually went through with that. I thought you were making a dumb joke the other day.”
Olivia was taking out a yellow legal pad and put it on the desk. “We got to try something. The kid isn’t helping at all. How can we properly prepare him for trial if he won’t speak to us? We need his help, otherwise he’s going to die in a few years by lethal injection.”
Carl Hutch had been indicted along with his first cousin, Terry Morgan for terrorist acts when he and six other members of a small Neo-Nazi gang imported a dirty bomb into the port of Charlestown. A deep cover agent with the ATF who was working with gang in Idaho was able to alert authorities in the last minute. The FBI Hostage Rescue Team, one of the few law enforcement tactical teams with training on nuclear/radioactive devices led the assault on the Storage Facility where the group of eight had moved the bomb. That assault resulted in six of the gang being killed, and only Terry Morgan and Carl Hutch surviving.
Olivia was running the satellite office for Matthews Stephenson and Griffin in Augusta Ga. One of the largest law firms in the world, and the premier defense litigators in Charlestown, they jumped on the case and were now defending the cousins’ pro-bono. Olivia campaigned hard to be reassigned to the Charlestown office, calling in every favor she had so she could assist with the defense. Gram came with her, which she was happy about, because he recognized that this had the potential to be a career case. He was honest with Olivia that he planned to move back to Augusta once this case was done, both of them still had loved ones and houses there, and open his own practice.
What Gram didn’t know was that Olivia had another set of motives in play, and needed Carl Hutch to start opening up to her. She had been put on the clock last week, and was ready to try anything. Gram said, “The kid tried to bring in a dirty bomb to the United States. If doesn’t get the death penalty it will be nothing short of a miracle, Olivia.”
“You’re his lawyer, Gram. I don’t think that is the attitude we need to have dealing with him. We’ve been tasked with preparing him for trial, and getting his background info. We owe him a solid defense.”
“Sorry if I’m being realistic this morning.”
Just then the loud hiss and click of the door opened and Carl Hutch, twenty three years old, shaved head, Nazi tattoos on his neck and arms, shuffled in the door wearing an orange jumpsuit with his legs and feet shackled to a belly chain. Barney said from the open door, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Ms. Green and Mr. Morris.” He closed the door just as Olivia stood up hoping Carl caught a glimpse of her tight slacks.
December 4th, 2016 1211 Hours
TJ Stones Bar, Alexandria Virginia
Jim Cunningham, a tall well-dressed light skinned black male who had traveled the world fifty times over all for various intelligence groups for the United States strode into the bar well before he normally came in. The bartender, a college student named Misty, eyed him and asked, “You coming in for lunch today, Jim?”
“I am. Which means you can hold the usual scotch and bring me a Diet Coke instead. And a menu. As sad as this sounds, of the hundred times I’ve been in here I don’t believe I’ve ever ate.” Jim sat down at the bar and Misty made his drink. Jim pulled his cell phone and checked the time. He placed his phone down on the bar just as Ian Sellers, Director of National Intelligence for the United States walked inside. Jim nodded at him and Ian made his way to the stool next to Jim.
Ian, a portly white male pushing seventy had been in the intelligence business a little longer than Jim and had traveled the world sixty times over. He took off his coat and laid it on the empty seat next to him just as Misty delivered Jim’s Diet Coke. Misty asked Ian, “What can I get you?”
Ian checked his watch, a Rolex, and said, “Screw it. Bring me the best bourbon you have on the rocks.”
Misty nodded and turned to Jim who pushed his Diet Coke back toward her along with the menu. He nodded at her signaling he now wanted a scotch, neat. Jim asked, “I guess its official, huh?”
Ian nodded. “New administration, we knew it could happen. I met with him three times over the last week, spent several hours with him, and I thought we’d be ok. But, he’s putting his people in play. He called me this morning to tell me personally. I tried to ask who was replacing me, but he wouldn’t say. I met with the President this morning and told him. He was pretty upset, but saw it coming. January 20th and I will be officially unemployed.”
Misty brought them their drinks and they both sipped them. A little early to be drinking the hard stuff, but they had earned it in so many ways. Their personal relationships suffered, the long hours, the constant travel, their own blood on several occasions, and the mental task of what they did to keep the country safe had aged them beyond their years. That they were still alive alone earned the right to day drink.
Jim said, “I’m hearing he isn’t too keen on the intelligence business. I mean, just from a few people and what I’ve seen on the news. I’ve never met the guy but he seems like he only wants to be told what suits his purpose.”
Ian shook his head. “That’s his public persona. He’s smart, and very calculating. He comes across as a buffoon, and I was worried. But he’s not. He listens, and he’s smart enough to know that he needs to listen to other people about foreign policy. The problem isn’t him, it’s his people, I think. They’ve been kissing his ass long enough he listens to them, and they have no idea what they are doing.”
Jim sipped his drink. Then he asked, “What do you think this does to S.C.R.A.G.?” Jim’s outfit, which was formed September 12th, 2001, was a small unit of sixteen employees and eleven assets, men and women who had regular jobs but were actually spies for the United States. The acronym stood for, Strategic Contingency Research and Action Group. They were tasked with doing whatever it took to keep the country safe and the assets operated within the borders of the United States. They were the small group who did what wasn’t supposed to be done, when it needed to be done.
“Your unit was brought up with the President-Elect. He listened to me but some of his advisors who were in the meeting didn’t like the idea of having such an autonomous group and questioned me at length about some past missions and current operations.” Ian sipped his drink some more and added, “From what I gathered they didn’t like that you don’t answer to the President, and you answer to me. I tried to delicately explain that gives the President plausible deniability but they weren’t hearing that.”
Jim nodded and sipped his drink. Then he shook his head, and finished it. He didn’t need to ask Ian what operations he talked to the President-Elect about. He knew what he could say and what he couldn’t. Ian wouldn’t tell him about the Saudi Prince that Olivia Green had assassinated less than two years ago. “I need to start preparing to disband. I need to meet with my assets and…I can’t believe it’s ending like this.”
“Our current President would like you to come past the White House tomorrow at eight for a drink.”
“What about him, can he talk to the President-Elect?”
Ian finished his bourbon. “It won’t help, Jim. It’s time to wrap up anything you have going on. And, from one old friend to the other, you need to disappear. You know too much and can be traced back on paper to too much.” Ian signaled the bartender for another round and added, “Cash in your chips, Jim. Find someplace warm and close to a beach and learn to enjoy fishing. Or golf. Or day drinking.”
Jim shook his head as Misty brought them another round. He said, “Guys like us don’t golf, or fish.”
Ian smiled as he brought the bourbon to his lips. “There’s always day drinking.”
They drank in silence and Jim processed everything that was being said, and unsaid. Jim was about done with his second scotch. “This is it, Ian, isn’t it. I’m never going to see you again, am I?”
“I don’t see how we can, Jim. I’m a pretty public figure. I don’t get recognized but, it’s possible I could. I’ve been the DNI for the last eleven years. I can’t be seen with a guy who’s been in the shadows and ran an intelligence outfit that did some shady operations over the years. The new President is changing the rules.”
Jim said, “What if I can talk to him. What if he wants to keep me around?”
Ian shook his head and drank some more. “I don’t see that happening, Jim. I spent several hours lying to him about what you and your unit does, and he didn’t seem to care but his people do. They are going to micro-manage the shit out of intelligence and every other branch. Your unit can’t do what it does if the President knows about what it’s doing. You’ve said that to me plenty of times.”
Jim nodded and his mind was racing. He set his drink down wondered what in the hell he was going to do. He was in his early sixties, but he didn’t know anything else. He knew how to disappear, but he damn sure didn’t know how to live like a normal person. Ian interrupted his thoughts when he asked, “Old friend, can we get drunk together one last time? My driver and security detail are out front and they will get us home safely. I’d like to buy a bottle from the cute bartender and I think you and I should find a table in the back where we can tell old stories all afternoon.”
Jim smiled. “As long as you don’t bring up Beirut.”
Ian laughed and signaled Misty. He said, “Deal, as long as you don’t bring up Beijing.”
December 4th, 2016 1822 Hours
Les 3 Diables, Nice France
The man who got things done, Elam Boas, sat down for an early dinner. His yacht was anchored in the bay and this was one of his favorite places to eat in Nice. He was slowly preparing for the meeting which he was about to have with Asher, one of his most trusted associates. Elam had four bodyguards, more than usual, who were sitting in empty tables behind him. Elam, a huge man in stature, wanted to make an impression on Asher who was traveling from the United States.
Ten minutes before he was scheduled to arrive, Asher, a tall and lanky male with blonde hair and a long sloped nose walked in the empty restaurant. There were a few drinkers at the bar but dinner in Europe was usually later than America. He walked to the empty seat in front of Elam’s table and stood there, waiting for permission to sit down. The waiter appeared and Elam signaled him away, stranding Asher on his feet.
Elam kept eating while Asher stood there. One of the bodyguards was enjoying the exchange a little too much and let out a little giggle. Elam set his fork down and turned around in his seat. His head bodyguard said to the guy who let out the giggle in Hebrew, “Go out front and wait for instructions.” Elam went back to his meal, ate a few bites and asked in English, “Where are we with Olivia Green?”
Asher remained standing. “I’m sorry to report we are no closer than the last time. She has taken this case in Charlestown at the behest of Jim Cunningham, and that seems to have distanced her from our asset. He’s made several attempts to close the distance between them but she is insistent that it is only temporary. I’m afraid if I push it, she will see his true identity. He agrees with me. They are still close, but she has been focused on this job for the last year now.” Asher sighed and added, “We just seem to be in a tough spot.”
Elam kept eating. Once he was done chewing he said, “I don’t think that’s too tough of a spot. You know what a tough spot is, Asher? Have you ever been in a tough spot?”
Elam knew the answer, Asher had been in plenty of them, but was curious as to how he was going to answer. Asher very smartly said, “I have been but I doubt as if I I’d been in any of the tough spots you were thinking of when you said that, sir.”
Elam smiled and said, “A tough spot is out there on the Promenade des Anglais, where eighty six people were mowed down like a lawn mower by an ISIL sympathizer. Standing there celebrating Bastille Day and watching your family run over by a rented truck and a Muslim lunatic would be a tough spot.”
Asher chose his words carefully and said, “You know I share the same vision as you, sir.”
Elam set his fork down. “Then why isn’t Olivia here working for me? Why is she wasting her time with a bunch of Nazi’s from Idaho? I am the closest thing she has to a father in this world, she should be with me.”
“I don’t think there is an easy answer there, sir. But I will contact our asset and see if we can’t move things forward. The initial extraction is what I’m worried about. It has to be perfect. If I just send our asset to her living room it won’t work.”
Elam went back to eating. “Just get her to me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Asher, who had been standing the entire time said, “Yes, sir.”
December 4th, 2016 1131 Hours
Charleston County Jail, Charleston South Carolina
Gram leaned over and said, “Something must be wrong, that’s the third time she’s called.” He was pointing at his iPhone and Olivia saw that his wife, Kenly was calling. Olivia said, “I’m good. Go outside and see what’s up.”
Gram stood up and banged on the door. Barney looked inside the window, saw Gram answering his cell phone and radioed to the control room to open the door. Gram was talking before it opened and as soon as he was gone Olivia smiled and set her pen down. She had drove last night back to Augusta and slashed all four of Gram’s wife’s tires hoping she wouldn’t see them until she went to her noon Yoga class. It had worked perfect.
As soon as Gram was out of the room Olivia stood up. She was a beautiful woman. Almost five-six, slender, dark olive complexion with what guys called a killer body. Carl inched his seat up and reached out to grasp her leg. Olivia positioned herself so they only thing Barney could see from the window was her back and that she was now sitting on the corner of the table. Carl’s fingertips gripped her thigh and Olivia asked, “I thought you were going to call me last night?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t get to a phone. The damn apes were hogging it all damn night.”
“I’ve told you, they can’t keep you from calling your lawyer. Tell the guard you need to call me. They can’t listen in, they can’t stop you. It’s one of your constitutional rights.”
Carl’s fingers inched up her thigh. “I want to be alone with you so bad.”
Olivia let out a long sigh, albeit fake, but it sounded real. “I’d like nothing more than to get naked with you. You are such a turn-on.” She pulled her leg back and shook her head. “Oh God, I’d get fired for talking this way with you. I’m going to lose my job.”
Carl pulled his hand away and put it back in his lap. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
As the awkward silence started to settle he asked, “Did that giant son-of-a-bitch grab your ass again?” Carl then nodded toward the door.
“Nah, I put him in his place. Just like you told me to do.”
The loud hiss sounded letting them know that Gram was coming back into the room. Olivia said, “Call me this weekend. I want to talk like we did before. I want to know all about you, Carl.”
He reached up and ran his fingers up her thigh just as she stood up. Gram came back in as she was sitting back down across the table from him. Gram said, “You aren’t going to believe what some ass-hat did to my wife’s car!”
I just read that for the first time in a few weeks. I like parts, and there are definitely parts that need work. I laughed when I saw that I capitalized Storage Facility. I've thought about the damn opening sentence for probably close to a year but now that I see it in print I don't know if I like it. The second scene between Ian and Jim is probably my favorite, but I also like how I finally gave the man who gets things done from the first book a name and hint a bit about where I'm going with him. I wanted to do 3 or 4 books, but I think now I plan to wrap this series up in 2.
I'm only three chapters in so far, but just like the first book, it writes quick. I'm going to have to take a break for Masters Week, (I live in Augusta for those of you who don't know and it gets crazy here that week) but hopefully I'll be done before the end of summer. With the first draft at least. Honestly, as I'm sure you can see, there is still lots of work to be done with the first chapter. I self-edit and then go to friends, and then to my cousin. But, I thought it would be cool to put this out there. I was a little surprised that Who Is Olivia Green sold this past week. Twice. That amazes me, it's been out well over a year now, and is still selling.
As always, thanks and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing! David