The Krakow Klub (14 page)

Carla was in her
mid-forties
and had spent untold amounts of money on
top-notch plastic surgeons to ensure that she retained her
youthful,
good looks. She worked out every day
with a personal trainer to maintain her fitness.
She
left nothing
to chance.

Although she was a bit shorter than average
height, she knew how to present a striking figure. Her short black
hair was of a style that practically screamed that she was all
business. She usually wore a
custom-tailored
pants suit and stiletto heels that echoed through the marble halls
of the
Capitol
like an advancing war machine.
She was never without her large signature handbag that many
presumed
contained various lethal weapons. Her
slender well-manicured fingers
were always
adorned
with several rings mounted with perfect diamonds or
emeralds of impressive size.

In public, she spoke
softly,
and some even compared her voice to a hiss. She
could mesmerize her audience with carefully selected words that
oozed
promise, and then,
when her prey
relaxed
, she would go for the jugular without
hesitation.

Another affectation was her glasses. She
didn’t need them but would perch them on her nose dramatically from
time to time, especially during congressional hearings. The effect
was striking and gave her the appearance of a serious and dedicated
public servant, at least to those who only knew her through her
carefully orchestrated public appearances.

Carla had already served five terms in the
House of Representatives and would surely win the next election in
her East
Coast
district. She had successfully
obtained government contracts that had heaped great benefits there.
Businesses
had been lured
from the West Coast
through her machinations. In fact, a new international airport had
been constructed in the state capital and some had even suggested
that it
should be named
in her honor.
Political constituents love to dine on pork, and Carla was good at
providing it.

Along the way, she had amassed a fortune from
kickbacks and shady dealings, although she was already wealthy
before she ever ran for Congress.
Her husband, the
founder of a major chain of department stores, had committed
suicide several years ago. He left her his position as Chairman of
the Board and his entire fortune in real estate, stocks, and
bonds.
At the time, several of her associates whispered
among themselves that the man was probably at peace now for the
first time in years. Not surprisingly, that clever political animal
used her grieving widow status very effectively throughout her next
election campaign.

There was only one tiny problem to overcome.
Carla would need to get legislative approval
to
become vice president. There would surely be a
firestorm when her name
arose
. However,
Stoellar had more than one trick up his sleeve. First, he would
have Wilkinson name another
candidate,
and
that person would be totally unsuited for the job. Nothing new
there—throwing out a sacrificial lamb had long been a ploy of
political leaders. The first candidate would
be, as
expected, promptly rejected
amidst a storm of
self-righteous
comments from the members of Congress.
After that, the way would be open for Carla.

Stoellar had another ace in the hole. Carla
had also amassed vast files on her colleagues over the years. It
was rumored
that her secret records would have
put Herbert Hoover to shame. She knew and recorded every detail of
juicy gossip, every clandestine affair, every crooked deal, and
every bribe. She would not hesitate to use the information to her
advantage, especially now.

If her nomination met significant opposition,
Stoellar would just revert to Option 2 of Plan B. No problem. In
the meantime, he had things to do.

Stoellar had one more important call to make.
He punched in the number of Alexei Pawlak. When Pawlak answered, he
didn’t even take the time for a greeting. “Alexei, meet me at the
usual place as soon as possible.” With that, he disconnected the
call without another word. Pawlak would know
exactly
what to do.

The usual place, in this case, was
Moretti’s Italian Grill, a nondescript
little joint a few blocks off
5
^th
Avenue. It
would take Stoellar only a few minutes by cab to get
there.

As expected, the
small ristorante was almost empty at this time of day. Stoellar
asked for a small table toward the back of the dimly lit dining
area and ordered a glass of Chianti. The waiter was totally
disinterested in serving his diners and just shuffled back to the
bar to fill the order, leaving him alone with his
thoughts.

“
Great
,”
he thought aloud,
“I didn’t come here to be recognized.”

Alexei Pawlak was
never surprised by a call for an impromptu meeting. He and Stoellar
had known each other since childhood and Alexei, like
Ivan,
was totally
devoted
to the man.
Stoellar, the brilliant manipulator,
had
ensured that loyalty by generously
rewarding his friend throughout the years. He did not trust Alexei
as much as he trusted Ivan, but it
was
close enough for
Alexei.

Pawlak entered the
restaurant slowly, looking around
suspiciously
, as was
his habit. He always moved deliberately, and now his giant frame
dominated the entire room. At six feet five inches, he towered
above
others,
and his wide
shoulders and muscular frame made
many people
think
of Rasputin. He wore his dark hair with
rather long and unruly tendrils cascaded over his forehead in a
medusa-like display.
H
e always wore black
clothing
that
only added to his menacing
appearance.

He greeted Stoellar
briefly in a deep, raspy voice that bespoke his Eastern European
heritage.

Stoellar rose and
shook his hand warmly. They sat down and leaned toward each other
to converse without the possibility of anyone
eavesdropping.

“
Alexei, my trusted
friend
,”
he spoke in their
native language, “I have a new assignment for you. I want you to
contact General Lew McGowan and tell him to be prepared to initiate
Operation Transplant. I have the appointment set for you. Here is
an envelope for the general containing detailed
instructions.”

He paused to summon
the waiter and order a second glass of Chianti for Alexei and an
antipasto plate for them both.

“
McGowan will
probably protest that he is not completely ready, but he doesn’t
have a choice in the matter. You don’t need to know the details of
the
operation,
but you can
certainly understand that the president’
s
resignation has caused me to have to move
up my timetable. I think that McGowan will see the wisdom of moving
ahead quickly, but if he does not agree with the instructions in
that envelope, have him call me immediately.”

They stopped their
conservation while the waiter delivered the wine and antipasti
plates.

After the waiter
had left,
Pawlak
leaned towards
Stoellar and smiled broadly. “I doubt that such a call will be
necessary after I have properly explained the situation to
him.”

Stoellar smiled and
replied, “My plane is fueled and waiting to take you to Fort
Murray. Just go straight to the airport and report to my pilot. As
usual, you have clothing and other supplies on the
plane.”

The unlikely pair
continued to sip their wine and nibble from the selection of
bruschetta, olives, salami, and prosciutto. They updated each other
on their activities since their last
meeting,
and Stoellar was pleased with the work of
his giant friend.

As soon as they
were finished, they shook hands, paid the bill, and went their
separate ways. Stoellar had absolute confidence that Alexei could
convince McGowan to move forward. When issuing instructions, Alex
could always give an impressive and menacing glare that usually
inspired immediate and total compliance with his
instructions.

****

As Stoellar waited for his taxi for the trip
back to the penthouse, he thought of how easy it had been to
recruit McGowan. He had a
well-recognized
weakness for
women,
and he frequently treated
them very roughly.

While on a tour of duty in Iraq, a young
female soldier had caught his predatory eye. He began to find
excuses to go to the motor pool where she
worked,
but she was not interested. Then late one
evening, he saw an opportunity. He stood at a distance, obscured by
a truck as she and her fellow mechanics finished up their workday.
She waved goodbye to them after saying that she wanted to finish
checking the
retrofitted
floor armor on a
Humvee
that she had been
working
on all that day
.

Soon, she was alone and vulnerable. McGowan
crept silently up behind her and made his move. He grabbed her from
behind,
and she struggled fiercely. She
succeeded in pushing him away and reached for a wrench lying on the
ground. McGowan dodged her blow with the
wrench
and pushed her to the ground with his powerful arm
around her throat from behind.

He felt a sudden surge of uncontrolled rage
and snapped her neck. He stood up slowly and reality flooded back
to him. He almost panicked when a sentry rushed up, having heard
the struggle. McGowan didn’t hesitate. He pulled his service pistol
and shot the sentry in the head.

Now, his adrenaline
surged
and his mind raced. He quickly tore at the dead
woman’s clothing causing a few buttons to fly to the ground.
Then, he took her right hand, the one that she had
used to pick up the wrench, and raked her nails across the dead
sentry’s cheek. He checked his handiwork. The sentry’s face was now
deeply scratched, and the skin cells were under the girl’s
fingernails.

He tossed a few tools around to add to the
appearance of a struggle. Lastly, he pulled the sentry’s body close
to the girl, making it seem that they had been struggling. He tore
the man’s shirt then placed a few strands of her hair in the
sentry’s hand. More DNA.

He pulled out his phone and reported the
incident to the senior military police officer on base. He
came out
as a
hero
. He
reported that he had caught the sentry attacking the woman and
intervened. Unfortunately, it had been too late. The sentry had
broken her neck and was in a state of panic. He had screamed a
death threat at McGowan, and McGowan had no alternative but to
shoot the killer.

McGowan was quite proud of his creativity in
a time of crisis. Unfortunately for him, another sentry had
observed the entire incident from the darkness beyond the motor
pool. That soldier was an unwitting pawn of the Krakow Klub. He had
already made quite a few extra dollars by reporting a few rather
unimportant events to a
low-level
officer.
This time, he would hit the big time because that officer was an
agent of the Krakow
Klub,
and the information
would prove most valuable to the organization.

McGowan, a Lt. Colonel at the time, proved to
be a prime candidate when a Krakow operative learned that his
“heroic event” had
been witnessed
. The witness
had been brazen enough to attempt to blackmail McGowan, who was
already under
the scrutiny
of the Krakow Klub
at the time. McGowan was in a desperate situation. The organization
took care of the
situation,
and his future
cooperation and loyalty was assured. The soldier who had witnessed
the incident at the motor pool left the base on a patrol. He
was never to be seen
again. He
was later listed
as missing in action. And still is to
this very day.

In return for his loyalty to
his new master, McGowan was put on the fast track for promotions,
and he advanced through the ranks quickly.
After several
years,
he received his first star.

After several more years,
McGowan, through behind-the-scenes machinations, now had his fourth
star and was the commander at Fort Murray, one of the most
important bases
in
the United States military command structure. His
base was critical in supplying a rapid response group to aggressive
actions in any part of the globe. McGowan had at his disposal
almost 750,000 troops based i
n
various parts of the world to call
upon when configuring a response group for any
situation,
domestic or
foreign.
All
he required to put a special force into action was an order from
the Commander in Chief.