Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1) (25 page)

“You are all heavily armed and live at a Compound with a checkered past,” Della said.
 
“That frightens certain people.”

Ben chimed in.
 
“Right.
 
Those who don’t give a damn about civil liberties and our Constitutional rights.”

Della shifted her eyes toward Ben and said, “I think I might be in love with your friend, Maggi.”
 
Then she concentrated on Tavis and said, “What have you been doing at the Compound that might raise a red flag?”

Tavis shrugged.
 
“Nothing.
 
We all work for Marlon Telford as independent contractors.
 
We have all been part of the military, and sometimes it can be hard to live among those who have not served.”

Ben understood that sentiment.
 
Perhaps that was why he had sequestered himself in his childhood homestead.

“What about internet presence?” Della asked.

“We don’t even have computers or access to the net,” Tavis said.
 
“Our only technology is our cell phones, and we don’t get service at the Compound.
 
And, of course, our short wave radio.”

Della’s eyes widened.
 
“Short wave?”

“Yeah.
 
We keep in touch with various military friends with the radio.”

Something clicked in Ben’s mind when he thought about the conversation he had come across the other day on his father’s short wave radio.
 
Someone was speaking in code, and now he guessed it must have been those at the Compound.
 
Did their radio use have anything to do with the FBI investigation?

Ben said, “Do you guys speak in code?”

Tavis smiled.
 
“We have our own lingo.
 
Why?”

“I came across a channel my father used to use, and I’m guessing that was from the old Compound people.”

“Kevin said his parents used the Ham to listen to like-minded broadcasts on bootleg stations,” Tavis said.
 
“Also to communicate without the use of phones, since we get no cell service there.”

“Right,” Ben said.
 
“Phones are easily bugged.”

“So are rooms,” Tavis said, his eyes looking around the edge of the ceiling.

“All right,” Della said.
 
“This gives me some idea how to work with the FBI.
 
Are you sure they have nothing on you?”

“There’s nothing to have,” Tavis said.
 
“These are bogus claims.”

“Are they holding you together?” Maggi asked.

“I’m in with Kevin.
 
The other three are in a separate holding cell.”

“Hang tight,” Della said, getting up from her chair.
 
“Don’t say a word to any of them, and don’t speak freely in your cell.
 
There should be no expectation of privacy in there.
 
But make sure you get word to the others that they will be represented by me.
 
I’ll get all five of you out as soon as possible.”
 
The feisty attorney turned and indicated with a swish of her head that Maggi and Ben should follow her.

Maggi gave her brother a parting air kiss and smile.

Once they got all the way back downstairs, out of the building, Della pulled Maggi and Ben aside and said, “It’s my guess that they’re fishing for something.”

“But they have nothing,” Maggi surmised.

“That’s just my guess,” Della said.
 
“Now, there’s the issue of the FBI confiscating the computers of Marlon Telford in your presence.
 
I spoke with the special agent in charge just before the two of you arrived downstairs.”
 
She paused and smiled, her gaze mostly on Ben.
 
“He said he got a lot of crap from a retired Air Force special agent with OSI.
 
I don’t even know about that organization.”

“Yeah, I guess I came on a little harsh with that guy,” Ben said.
 
“But I didn’t like their tactics.”

“They can be a little. . .intense,” Della agreed.
 
“But he isn’t an unreasonable man.
 
When he found out that I was on this case, he seemed a little disturbed.”

“Why?” Maggi asked.

Della shook her head.
 
“I think he expected those from the Compound to be represented by public defenders, if anyone.
 
A lot of times the FBI can scoop up people and have them questioned and released within twenty-four hours, before a lawyer gets a chance to even discover they’ve been hauled in.
 
But we’re lucky Maggi has a friend in this organization who tipped her off.”

Maggi looked concerned.
 
“But what about Marlon Telford?
 
They didn’t take him into custody.
 
They just confiscated his computers.”

“And they told you it had something to do with child pornography?” Della inquired.

Maggi nodded her head.

“That’s a catchall pretext that any judge would approve a warrant for,” Della said.
 
“The judges allow to cover their asses.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ben said.
 
“But I’ve seen stranger things happen during my time in the Air Force.
 
People never fail to disappoint.”

“Wow,” Della said.
 
“Cute and cynical.”
 
The attorney turned to Maggi and continued, “If you don’t latch on Maggi, let me know.”

For the first time, Ben thought he saw Maggi blush.

Della pushed forward.
 
“Does this Marlon Telford have everything backed up?”

Ben said, “He says his critical data is backed up on his jump drive and his entire hard drives from his desktop and his laptop are backed up every hour to a cloud server of his own.”

“Do the FBI know this?” Della asked Ben.

“I don’t know.
 
But if they’re halfway competent, they should have found out by now that Marlon has his system set to back up.
 
But they’ll have a helluva time trying to access the cloud server.
 
Even if they find it, all of the data sits in an encrypted folder.”

“Nice,” Della said.
 
“It’s even better if the FBI know this.”

“Right,” Ben agreed.
 
“Then they can’t find some surprising files on Marlon’s computer.
 
He could always come back and show what was on the computer before the FBI picked up his hardware.”

“Exactly.
 
I like the way you think.”
 
Della winked and added, “Any chance I could hire you to investigate for our firm?”

Ben noticed Maggi seemed a little left out of the conversation.
 
He said, “Not likely.
 
I like my simple little life.
 
Besides, who would milk my cows, feed my animals, and gather my eggs?”

“Too bad.
 
It would be great working with you.”

The three of them stood in an uncomfortable triangle, the cold, damp air blowing toward them from the Cascades.

Maggi broke the silence.
 
“What else can we do to get my brother and his friends out of FBI custody?”

“Let me take care of this,” Della said.
 
“I’ll call you.”
 
With that, the brash little attorney walked back into the FBI building.

Glancing at Ben, Maggi said, “Someone has a new fan.”
 
Then she walked away toward the parking ramp.

26

They got back to Maggi’s place and Ben pulled out his laptop, accessing her wi-fi net.
 
Ben had to assume that the FBI was overreaching with both the raid on the Compound and the confiscation of Marlon’s computers.
 
But why?

While Ben sifted through the internet trying to find any possible link, Maggi was in one of her bedrooms upstairs, which she had converted to an office.
 
Her research was more technical in nature, trying to find a legal way to get her brother out of custody.
 
Of course, as Ben told her before she went upstairs, the law only worked in the favor of the little guy if the government in charge played by the rules and complied with the Constitution.

After about an hour of searching, Ben got frustrated.
 
He needed more information from Marlon.
 
So he found the disposable cell phone Maggi had purchased for him and he called the number Marlon had given him.
 
That number was to Marlon’s own burner cell phone.

“How’s my favorite former military officer?” Marlon answered.

“Hey,” Ben said.
 
“I wasn’t an officer.
 
I actually worked for a living.”

“Right.
 
Well, a neophyte rarely knows the difference.”
 
The former professor hesitated and seemed to be shuffling through some papers.
 
Then Marlon continued, “Sorry about that.
 
I got a new laptop and I’m uploading everything from my jump drive at the university library in Eugene.
 
Those bastards at the FBI can only keep me down for so long.
 
What’s the word on my case?”

“We have a very good attorney in Portland working on your behalf,” Ben said.

“What about my men from the Compound?”

“Still in custody.
 
But the lawyer seems to think the FBI has nothing on any of them.
 
They’re fishing in an empty pond.
 
Anyway, I need some more information about your business.”

“Like what?” Marlon asked.

“I’ve looked into your mushroom and truffle distributor,” Ben said.
 
“They seem to be clean.”

“Of course.
 
They get the product wherever they can find it at the best possible price.
 
What about the Latin Truffle Consortium?”

Ben wasn’t sure how much information he should divulge about his research into Marlon’s background, so he went on a little fishing expedition of his own.
 
“Have you checked your email lately?”

“No, why?”

“Check it now.”
 
Ben waited while the former professor checked his email, knowing what the man would find.

“Just the normal business stuff,” Marlon said.

Now Ben needed to give the man a little shove.
 
“Nothing from the Latin Truffle Consortium?”

“Let me see.”
 
A few seconds slipped by, and then Marlon said, “Holy crap.
 
They’re asking me to join the Consortium.”

“Right.”

“How did you know?”

“Their email server isn’t that secure,” Ben said.
 
“I’m guessing that they wouldn’t be warning you and shooting up your truffle grounds if they didn’t want you to stay in business.”

“True.
 
Unless they were just covering their tracks.”

“You have a devious mind,” Ben said.
 
“But I’m not sure that’s how they think.
 
Especially after I researched the truffle trade in Europe.
 
They can’t fulfill their current demand.
 
And the Consortium refuses to endorse the inferior Asian truffles.
 
It seems the French and Italians like your quality, though.”

“Our quality rivals that of Europe,” Marlon assured Ben.
 
“And we’re barely scratching the surface on production.
 
But I don’t want to overproduce.
 
That just floods the market and drives prices down.”

“It seems like the truffle trade is like American wine production a few decades back,” Ben said.
 
“First, the Europeans dismissed California wines as inferior, literally turning their noses up at the quality.
 
Then when the Americans started winning blind taste tests, they could no longer dismiss us.
 
Now the real quality seems to be in the Oregon vineyards, especially with varietals like pinot noir.”

“That’s an apt comparison,” Marlon said.
 
“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m guessing the Latin Truffle Consortium has nothing to do with the shootings or your troubles with the FBI.”

“Really?”

“Yes.
 
Is there anyone else who wants you discredited?”

Silence.

Then finally, Marlon said, “Discredited?
 
That’s an interesting word.
 
How did you come up with that?”

Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to divulge everything to Marlon, but he needed to throw the dog a bone.
 
“When someone comes forward with an outlandish theory, those who want to discredit that theory must first attack the man who espouses the theory.
 
If they can prove, at least in the eye of the public, that the man is a fraud or a kook or insane, the theory quickly gets dismissed as hogwash.”

“Like pilots who experience UFOs?” Marlon asked.

Damn it!
 
The professor was sharp.
 
“Essentially, yes.
 
It’s one thing to have some yahoo in rural Bumfuck, Arkansas say he saw a space ship in his back forty.
 
That toothless wonder can be easily dismissed as a drunken bumpkin.
 
But say you have a highly decorated fighter pilot report on the same thing?
 
The public might actually believe this man.”

“So, your job was to shut them up and discredit them?” Marlon asked with a snide snarl.

“I’m talking hypothetically here,” Ben said.

“Of course you are.”

“Besides, the military is easy to control.
 
You just classify everything Top Secret and say you will court martial and imprison them if they disclose any classified information.”

“That’s what I thought happened,” Marlon said.
 
“I still don’t understand what you’re getting at, though.”

Ben needed to walk a fine line now, taking the focus off of UFOs and place it on something close to Marlon’s field of inquiry.
 
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that Joe Redneck is up in the Coast Range hunting elk in November, when he comes across what he thinks is Bigfoot.
 
Now, he has two choices.
 
He can report the sighting and hear from every skeptic in America, saying he’s a loon.
 
Nobody wants that.
 
Or, he can keep his mouth shut and pretend he saw nothing.
 
Now, what is your background again?”

“I have two PhDs,” Marlon said.
 
“One in biochemistry and the other in Paleoanthropology.”

“Right.
 
So, you happen to be out in the woods gathering mushrooms in November and sight Bigfoot.
 
You write a paper and publish it in a respected journal.
 
You have the gravitas that Joe Redneck lacks.
 
People might be more inclined to believe you.”

“True.
 
I actually wrote a scientific research paper on the possibility of Bigfoot being a remnant of Gigantopithecus.”

“Giganto what?”

“Gigantopithecus was, or is, an extinct giant ape from South China and Vietnam.”

“How giant?”

“Over nine feet tall and a thousand pounds.”

Ben gave a little whistle.
 
“That’s huge.
 
Do you have any evidence?”

“Just speculation and circumstantial,” Marlon said.
 
“It has some potential validity.
 
Gigantopithecus could have traveled across the land bridge at some point, just like the Native Americans.
 
When you think about it, it makes some sense.
 
The native people have an oral history of Sasquatch that goes back for centuries.
 
Or more.
 
Who knows how long?”

“What about the theory that Bigfoot is an alien?”

“A shape-shifting alien,” Marlon said.
 
“I’m still thinking about that as well.”

“Maybe that’s a bigger stretch than an ancient remnant race of giant apes?”

“Not really.
 
Billions of people believe in an unseen deity with omniscient power to change the human race.”

The man had a point.

Marlon continued, “What are you thinking about, Ben?”

“When did this article come out?” Ben asked.

“A month ago.”

“This might be a stretch.
 
But what if someone read that article and is trying to discredit you?”

Maggi suddenly showed up and took a seat next to Ben on the sofa.

“It’s possible,” Marlon said.
 
“It is a prominent academic journal.
 
But still, these things are usually read by an obscure academic audience.”

Ben hated to go there, but he had no choice now.
 
“What if I told you that everything published in the world is monitored by the governments to ensure nothing unreasonable is disseminated and believed by the general public?”

Maggi shot Ben a bewildered glare.

“I would be shocked,” Marlon said.
 
“How do they have the time or resources?”

“Back in the day they would monitor only a select group of publications,” Ben said.
 
“Things like daily newspapers were easy to monitor, so the government concentrated its efforts on mostly academic publications.
 
You see, there are plenty of crazy publications and blogs out there, but these are written by widely discredited nut jobs.
 
At least in the eyes of the general public.
 
So the government doesn’t have to worry too much about those.
 
But now almost everything is published in digital form.
 
Now the government feeds all publications through a filter with key word recognition.
 
The intelligence agencies only have to review those publications that flag a problem.”