Chapter 19: General Wessel – Malibu – January 27
Into his cell phone, Hank Wessel appreciatively said, "Thank you again for the great news, Admiral Cunningham. I am mighty impressed with the speed your boys showed gettin' that drill down south for me."
Cunningham answered, "My pleasure, General. You paid the fees!"
Wessel hinted at his political ambition as he remarked, "Yeah, but you over-delivered, sir, and I will remember that in the near future . . . when I change things . . . in this State!"
A lifetime Republican himself, Cunningham responded, "I appreciate you keeping me in your thoughts, Hank. My prayers are with you, of course. I hope you're the next Republican Senator of California. Take care now."
They ended the call, Wessel sat back in his newly fortified smoking room, and then he examined his desktop photos from his military past. He picked up the one in which he and Admiral Cunningham of the US Navy, joined Colonel Webber of the US Air Force for a photo op at the last Republican presidential post-election party.
Hank had no idea then that he would eventually need to call in favours from both his military counterpart friends at almost the same time. Hank recalled that Webber retired first amongst the three, and that the Colonel accepted a consulting job with American Airlines that later turned into a lucrative career there.
Remembering that he thanked the Colonel appropriately after Webber had relayed Hank's important message to Ferengson during his flight to Peru about 10 days ago, Hank appreciated Webber's influence. It would normally cost a small fortune to do that, if you even knew anyone who could do it for you. Hank spared no expense that day because he wanted Ferengson to understand how powerful he was. As Hank lit up his cigar, he smiled thinking about how much more power he might soon have if he could win the senate seat.
He looked at the Admiral in the photo again, and recalled the day Phillip contacted him to let him know that they would soon be neighbours. Phil and Hank were both boating enthusiasts and shared a competitive streak within that area. Phil called him to rekindle their 'biggest yacht' competition and to say he had just accepted a board of directors posting with the Naval Facilities Engineering Service Center based in nearby Port Hueneme.
Hank laughed as he poured a large whisky and remembered that Phil had told him that day that he timed his retirement perfectly. Phil's boss, the federal government, had just privatized the center, and offered him the position of Chief Government Liaison Manager.
Hank congratulated him then, but did not ask any further questions about the 'coincidental' nature of the appointment: it was obviously a patronage promotion. Good for him!
Hank swigged a large shot of his tumbler of Scotch and raised it towards his deceased father's picture on the wall across from him. His father had advised Hank to 'maintain military contacts' always. When Hank suddenly needed a directional drill 10 days ago, he immediately called Admiral Phillip Cunningham to see if he could refer Hank to a manufacturer. He hoped for no more than a reference because Phil's business was naval-based and Hank needed a land-based drill; however, it was a place to start.
To his complete surprise, Hank found out that the NFESC had significantly improved the technology of this sort of mining equipment in the '90s. They had improved both aquatic and land-based technology: they were the world leader in both fields!
Hank laughed to himself at his good luck that he had only to contact someone as close as the neighbouring small town to find a specialized piece of mining equipment. He laughed aloud when he recalled that the self-titled 'expert' Ferengson had advised him that a drill the size Hank needed, would take a year to assemble. Phil had a fleet of the things – hot and ready to go, like goddamned pizzas!
Hank laughed more recounting Phil's earlier confession on the phone that NFESC technology had assisted the Kuwaitis in stealing Iraqi oil in 1990. Such an incident would have started a war! Hank howled with laughter when he recalled how he sarcastically replied to Phil, saying, "Shhh! Admiral, the American public might get a crazy idea like we wanted to provoke Sodomy Hussein into fightin' us or somethin' back then!" People are just like sheep – tame and stupid!
Hank could care less about people, especially those Middle Eastern towel-headed terrorists with sand up their ass cracks. As he saw it, they deserved no better than the pleasure of killing each other and he considered it an honour to have held a trigger from afar, assisting them in their pursuit of genocide. He shouted, "Gettin' rid of a few million Muslims before the Fat Lady sings 'The Star Spangled Banner' sounds like an excellent goddamn start to me!"
He noticed the sound of his voice seemed to stay in the room. He had demanded soundproofing. He had his wetback scab construction supervisor modify it that way in the renovation.
He finished his drink and puffed his cigar. He needed to call both Chuck and Ferengson. He needed an update from Chuck as to how much longer his excavation would take, and one from Ferengson about whether he was satisfied with Chuck's work. He laughed one more time thinking about how lucky he was to have an all-purpose employee like Chuck available to play at bodyguard while really spying, and then who could also blast a secret chamber in the middle of a goddamned mountain as needed.
He walked over to his photo wall and admired the picture of himself with Chuck. He envied the former gunnery Sergeant because Chuck had seen mostly front line fire as a soldier. This was hard to do for an officer these days, and as he glanced at the other pictures on his wall of photos, Hank spent the next few minutes reminiscing on his own military career.
First, he recalled he was too young to kick Commie gook ass back in Vietnam during the 1970s. Born in 1952 into such a decorated military family, Hank had had to follow their rules: 'All Wessels to West Point' his father had instructed him with a raised finger. This meant that Hank graduated in 1974. The same year they persecuted Nixon and a year before the war ended.
Hank considered it unfair that he had served as the Captain of a logistical unit whose primary goal was to assist troops in departing the war zone. It was also disappointing to Hank that the next fight with real potential, literally had trouble flying off the ground: Operation Eagle Claw, code name for the Iran hostage crisis of 1980. It failed because that wimp Carter was a Democrat!
Then there was Operation Urgent Fury otherwise known as the 'Invasion of Grenada' in 1983. By then Hank was a Major and fully experienced to partake in the war effort. Hank enjoyed participating in that noble pursuit. He especially appreciated participating, as usual, from a safe distance. Despite their efforts, though, the Grenada war nevertheless more resembled a police action. It ended about seven weeks later, seemingly, as Hank recalled now, 'as quickly as the world first took notice of it'.
He looked next at some photos of the first attack on Iraq. George Dubbya Bush's Papa named the attack Operation Desert Storm. That initiative was a great success but it still bothered Hank that the damn ever-present media kept reporting that American technology was 'so superior to that of the Iraqis that anything less than a rout of their forces constituted failure'. At least that war saw Hank earn his promotion to Colonel. He drained his glass of whisky and then saluted the photo of George Bush, Sr. We kicked ass for you, Chief!
Hank continued to walk along his war memory lane. When he arrived at the photos of the Yugoslav Wars, Hank decided he needed another whisky. As he poured it, he opted to fill the glass because thinking about the Yugoslav Wars instantly recalled memories of that gutless Democratic socialist, Bill Clinton.
It pissed Hank off that his troops never saw combat in that war. He thought about the compromising ass-kisser, Clinton, and that he only ever agreed to send in an air assault to break up the gang rumble. Hank remembered that he and his soldiers sat on their asses at home and watched the goddamn bombers on television like the rest of the civilian sheep. Clinton could have cost me my promotion to General!
Hank swallowed another large shot, and admired his personally addressed photo from George Dubbya Bush. Hank did not care that the media identified
'Bush Junior' as 'barely literate and incapable of intelligent political thought'. Screw those assholes! Dubbya was a patriot!
He smiled as he admired his autographed photo of Bush Junior. Bush had ordered Hank to join the fight in the usual way – from afar. The second Iraq War earned Hank his promotion to General.
He laughed aloud; saluted Bush Junior's picture; and then thanked God that the average American had been wise enough to accept Bush, as being the man who would restore America's God-given right to crush whomever or whatever it felt needed it next!
Finally, Hank reached his sacred corner. It held two magnificent testaments to American domination. He stood first in front of the waving American flag – Old Glory – because he liked to save the glass case memorial for last.
He saluted the flag and recalled how long it took the carpenter foreman to set things right. Hank demanded that the flag perpetually wave. The little wetback foreman kept telling him, "No vaya! No vaya!" Hank knew this meant something like "Won't work" but Hank stood his ground insisting the little prick position the fans to blow so that the flag rippled in the windowless room like it did on top of the White House.
Running the fans 24/7 would probably raise Hank's electricity usage bill significantly, but he rationalized that soon taxpayer money would pay the tab, and not Hank.
Finally, he arrived at his favourite memory of war. He recalled fondly the trip that lead to good fortune where he found his beloved memento. He felt a swelling of emotion, but stifled the unmanly urge to cry. He drank a shot of whisky and recomposed himself.
He looked into the glass case: there it hung just as he had pinned it a week ago. He admired its prime condition and noted that the passing of years had not faded its color. The helicopter gunships shooting the green-looking figures on the ground were a perfect reminder to Hank of his undying longing to have participated in the glory of Vietnam. He felt tears welling up again and he succumbed to shedding a few.
As he wiped his eyes, he read the green-lettering title 'Search and Destroy'. He remembered he had had a choice of purchasing the T-shirt in three different colours: red, black or yellow. Although the red shirt had tempted him because after all, it remains to this day the Commie flag color; nevertheless, Hank had selected the yellow shirt because it remained to this day, gook skin colour. Thank god, I ventured into that Army Surplus store!
After reflecting for a moment in front of his sacred memento, he gathered himself together; refocused his thoughts on present day matters; and prepared for business. He had two important cell phone calls to place.
He decided to call Chuck first because he would have a spy report on Ferengson, and Hank could find out how Chuck's excavation had progressed. Before he could press the first number on his cell, his landline rang. He was not expecting any calls. The only people who used that line were blood-sucking telemarketers!
Guardedly, Hank asked, "Hello?"
Hank could tell who it was immediately when a female voice politely asked, "Hello, would you be so kind as to connect me to Mr. Hank Wessel, please?"
Deciding to play at politeness for the time being, Hank responded, "This is General Wessel, and I believe you must be Ruth Clarkson-Smythe – sorry, that is, Lady Ruth."
"Very good then, Mr. Wessel," remarked Ruth. She explained, "My geologist has just informed me that she has experienced an unforeseen professional schedule conflict pop up; thus, I will have to reschedule our agreed upon inspection of the Malevcon mining site."
Very pleased that she had problems of any kind, Hank ingenuously replied, "Oh dear, Lady Ruth; why, perhaps we'll just have to cancel the whole thing!"
Ruth explained, "Not at all, Mr. Wessel. We just need to reschedule it for an earlier date."
The lesser side of outraged, Hank repeated, "Earlier?" Firmly, Hank continued, "I am sorry, Lady Ruth, but that would be out of the question!"
Politely, Ruth requested, "Mr. Wessel, please be reasonable." She explained, "My geologist will be taking a prearranged professional sabbatical from her university position that begins at the commencement of the University's reading week in mid-February. She has a small window of time free to inspect Malevcon's facility before she commences her studies."
Returning her politeness, Hank stated, "Gosh darn, that is inconvenient, Lady Ruth, perhaps it would be best to schedule the inspection for after her return. Would her return be later this year or maybe not until the next one?"
Ruth demanded, "Mr. Wessel, I really must insist that you find the time to receive my geologist on February 23rd!"
Shocked, Hank repeated, "February 23rd!" He knew an earlier date like that could be disastrous. He complained, "Why we won't be set-up . . . I mean, we are undergoing some . . . shaft relocations and machinery . . . maintenance – a total equipment overhaul . . . through that period. The place will be a mess. It will be totally unsafe!"
Businesslike, Ruth responded, "Well, if that is your final answer, then I will alert both the media and the shareholders, informing them that you cannot accommodate us with a rescheduling."
Hank angrily complained, "I diarized what you told me – March 16th! I am starin' at the page with that date set as yer inspection date, Lady Ruth!" He wanted to swear at her, but emphasized her name as if it were a swear word instead.
"Yes, Mr. Wessel, I recall you writing it into a notebook of some kind," replied Ruth.
Although Ferengson had finished his report over a week ago, Ruth did not know that. Hank stated, "Well then, you'll also recall that you assured me your people would wait for my man Ferengson to complete a report on the area."
Ruth doubted that there were any real problems, and decided to try a different approach. She said, "Mr. Wessel, I would prefer to speak candidly, sir. Would that be acceptable to you?"
Hank smiled and replied, "Well now, Lady Ruth, I do believe that whenever ya got sumthin' nasty to say, ya gotta pitter-patter and get right at 'er!"
Unimpressed by his slangy reply, Ruth remarked, "Yes, well sir, that's hardly Oscar Wilde, but I understand it almost as easily."
Trying to distract her, he jokingly questioned, "Oscar Meyer? What's the hot dog guy got to do with this?"
"Oscar Wilde," repeated Ruth.
Playfully, Hank continued, "Yeah, I heard ya, but what has Olivia Wilde got to do with this – other than that she's a Brit like you?"
"She's from New York I believe, sir," began Ruth. Then she thought to ask, "Tell me, Mr. Wessel, do you wear a hearing aid?"
She had just provided him with an excuse. Feigning a hearing problem, he replied, "Uh, come agin?"
Raising her voice, Ruth repeated, "Do you wear a hearing aid?"
Almost laughing, he replied, "Jeez, you know, I can't hear ya very well coz my hearin' aid is on the fritz and an 18-wheeler just drove by."
Loudly, but polite, Ruth stated, "I'll wait until you're ready then!"
"Listen, why dontcha just wait 'til the truck's gone," shouted Hank, and then covered the mouthpiece in case he started laughing.
Exasperated, Ruth responded, "Good idea."
Hank paused to recompose himself. He knew he could not keep joking: her request to reschedule had shocked him into avoiding the topic. He would have to answer to her request eventually. A moment later, he asked, "So, whaddya have to say that's candid, Lady Ruth?"
"We both knew," began Ruth, sincerely, "that I would not accept any dalliance on your geologist's behalf in producing his report."
Grudgingly, Hank responded, "I guess I could agree with that statement."
Ruth continued, "We also both knew that he would create that delay at your secret request."
She had just been extremely candid, causing Hank to pause a few seconds before he replied, "Well; now we come round to it like a dog to his own dirt . . ."
Ruth interrupted, "Spare me your imagery, sir!"
"Why, Lady Ruth," began Hank, with a smile, "y'all done said ya like candour."
Firmly, she remarked, "Sir, I do not wish to endure
any more of your stalling tactics." Then she quickly threatened, "Unless you can provide me with a worthwhile reason for February 23rd being unsuitable, then I will instruct my team of two to depart for Peru and to perform a full inspection of the extant mining facility at Nazca. I will instruct them to arrive at the mine for the inspection at 10 AM on the Monday morning of February 23rd." She paused, and then asked, "Do we have an accord, sir?"
While he tried to think of an excuse, he replied, "An accordion? Now what in the heck would I do with one o' those, Lady?"
Not accepting any more delays or excuses, Ruth clarified, and asked, "Do we have an agreement, sir?"
Still stalling, Hank threw a question her way, jokingly asking, "What; no 'please' in front of the sir? That's so unlike you, Lady Ruth."
Ceding to his diversionary request, Ruth asked, "Do we have an agreement please, sir?"
Hank ingenuously sighed, and then replied, "Well, even though it doesn't sound like y'all mean it, I suppose we could." Then he lied again, "But I want you to know that I think the Malevcon shareholders deserve more respect!"
Confirming, she asked, "You will be prepared then, to meet my request on that morning?"
"We'll be ready," replied the General, and then he hung up the phone. He understood that short replies frequently told more than one truth; thus, his response described his plan perfectly: his men would strive to make ready illegally, that which needed to appear readily legal. The bitch pushed me to it!
He picked up his cell phone and called Chuck.
With some desperation in his voice, Hank said, "Chuck, speak to me, son! Tell me you are close to diggin' out our special area!"
With enthusiasm, Chuck answered, "Yes, sir!" Then he explained, "I anticipate completion of that task in three weeks as per our schedule!"
Nervously, Hank explained, "That's great, son, but I just got off the phone with that English Lady Ruth bitch, and I had to agree to let her move the inspection up – she's sendin' two people to inspect on the 23rd of February now!"
Confident, Chuck stated, "That would be cutting it close, but it should not be an issue, sir!"
"I appreciate that, Chuck," said Hank, calming down. "I think I'm as confident as y'all, but I still needed to warn ya, and to hear ya tell me that!"
"Sir, I accepted the drill delivery this morning and stowed it in a warehouse in Nazca. I will make sure it remains hidden there until after the inspection!"
Gaining confidence, Hank remarked, "Excellent, Chuck!" Then he asked, "Now, what do you recommend for the excavated space where the drill has to go eventually?"
"Sir, could you clarify?"
"Well, I guess I mean . . . will it be hard to cover up from pryin' eyes? If ya know what I mean!"
"I see, sir!" answered Chuck knowingly. "No, it will not be hard, but I would prefer to allow my crew to depart the area at the original agreed upon completion point, due to their . . . special status. I believe your geologist could complete the cover-up task alone."
When Chuck paused, Hank remembered that he promised to allow Chuck's work team to leave immediately after the post-blasting excavation ended. They needed to leave as soon as possible because many of them had criminal records. They were a mercenary crew who Chuck sub-contracted upon occasion to perform various jobs: they should not remain in Peru for longer than necessary. Ferengson could stay to create a 'façade'.
Hank responded, "Uh, agreed Chuck. I promise you that you can send yer team home when ya told 'em ya would. I think the doctor can do it, if you say he can." Then he changed tones and asked, "And while on the subject, how has his . . . behaviour been?"
Chuck knew that the General meant 'has he tried to be with a woman yet?' and answered, "Perfect citizen, so far, sir. I anticipate no problems. I smother him with attention. I even told him you hired me because you feared for his life!"
Laughing, Hank inquired, "How'd you convince him o' that?"
"I told Ferengson that the government had spies who would be unhappy to find out someone in their ranks took a bribe to let him inspect first. He then believed his life was in danger every place he inspected!"
Impressed, Hank said, "Shit, son, that's a good one! Especially since it's probably true anyways – buncha money-grubbin' swines need it to pay fer their drug habits and mistresses, I don't doubt!" Hank continued laughing, but then grew serious and added, "Anyways, good work, son . . . but I'll need you to stick around fer those few extra days until this all passes . . . to supervise . . . if you know what I mean!"
Chuck understood that the General would not trust Ferengson until the English bitch's team had completed their inspection and were flying home. This would be especially so if there were any Western females involved in the inspection.
Chuck commented, "Certainly, sir! I can remain for the duration . . . at the usual rate."
Hank praised him, saying, "Good to hear, son; yer a true team leader, Chuck. Keep sendin' me progress reports about yer excavation. I have to call Ferengson now and tell him the good news."
They ended the call, and so Hank called Ferengson, and immediately stated, "Doctor; Wessel here. I appreciate the hard work I know yer doin' but I have an update on the inspection date that Limey bitch requested."
Slightly concerned, Ferengson replied, "Oh, yes?"
"Yeah, she's moved her people up to the 23rd of February in the mornin'. Nothin' I could do but agree or face her goddamn media freak show agin!" He explained, "We can't have any more negative publicity. It's like she knows my plans or somethin' – she knows what she can get away with!"
"She seems quite cunning, General, but not to worry. I will begin preparing a suitable façade for the new space immediately," began Sven. "Incidentally, if you are sending a drill . . ."
"No worries, doctor," interrupted Hank. "I'm ahead on that one. The drill will not appear until after the bitch's shit storm clears." Then he changed topics, asking, "So tell me, whaddya think o' Chuck's handiwork?"
Unreservedly, Sven answered, "Excellent, General. He certainly knows what he's doing. He has already concluded his first blasting stage and has a second slated for tomorrow, I believe."
"Good to hear, good to hear. All right, doctor, I'll sign off with that. Just keep me posted as to what you are gonna do to hide the area, savvy?"
"Fine, sir!"
They ended the call and Hank gulped the remainder of his whisky. After he poured another drink, Hank spotted his brass chessboard across the room and walked towards it.
As he admired the ivory and ebony pieces on it, he thought about how cheaply he had acquired the two sets. The ebony set he bought through Chuck from one of the former gunnery sergeant's underworld connections. Chuck certified that every piece in the set came from the black market in Madagascar.
Chuck had explained that apparently, after the federal government lost control of things over there in 2009, both the poor and opportunistic folks alike went on a tree-cutting frenzy and local ebony became cheap for a while. If they cut it all down, then this set becomes rare the next day!
He picked up the ebony Queen and admired it for a moment. Then, he put that piece down and picked up the ivory King. He recalled that if buying the ebony set cheap was his 'covert coup', then Hank's acquisition of the ivory set was an 'overt takeover'! He had purchased this set through Chuck as well, but it came out of China.
Hank laughed when he thought about the international trade group that 'guarded' endangered species. They had granted China 'approved buyer' status a few years back. Hank laughed, thinking to himself that people in that heathen country would cut the body parts off anything to enhance their sex lives! He was certain they had done so with endangered species without stopping, right up to their being granted 'approved' status.
"Those bullshit regulators couldn't control a bunch of peace commies at a hippie love in," said Hank aloud, then he laughed and sipped from his glass of whisky. He was sure that a regulatory group like that wanted the rest of the world to believe it was protecting enda
ngered species, but what it really did was slow down the extinction rate so its more sensible members – like the richer Chinese folks – could make a profit.
He decided to salute his counterparts, the 'well-cloaked profiteers of the ivory trade'. In adoration, he stated, "A toast to you all – you closet capitalists! Kill all the elephants and the value of my set triples overnight!"
He admired his entire collection as it sat permanently at attention, as if awaiting his instructions. He imagined himself as the ivory King on one side of the board and Ruth as the ebony Queen on the other.
Again, he spoke, saying, "Yeah, you can do it all Queen Bitch, but ya ain't winnin' nothin' without the Boss King!"
As he thought about Ruth's phone call from earlier, Hank began to feel a bit disoriented. He counted the whiskies he had had, and realized the alcohol was perhaps the cause. Undaunted by his addled state, he continued thinking.
He thought about the media and the shareholders and that they reminded him of the pawns on his brass chessboard. Just like in an actual chess game, these real pawns could come back to haunt him later, as Ruth had inferred.
Hank nodded his head and concluded quickly that if he had just given her the authority to mobilize her troops three weeks early, then he should do something similar. He picked up his special cell phone.
Once connected, Hank stated, "Tigris Panthera, this is Heinz 57. I need you to move up the date of our agreement to February 20th – no later, ya hear?"
Tigris acknowledged the request, and agreed to it. They ended the call. Hank produced one of his illegal Cuban cigars from his desk and thought about the first time he met Ruth.
He had just retired and the person who introduced them identified him as General Hank Wessel; after all, that is what everyone knew him as. Ruth, however, made a point of identifying him as a 'civilian now' and addressed him as 'Mister' throughout their discussion. It had really pissed Hank off.
He topped up his whisky glass to the brim; lit up the cigar; and shouted, "That's General Wessel to you, you . . . and before long you will address me as Senator Wessel!"
Enjoying that his room had soundproofing, Hank bellowed, "I'm comin' for you, bitch! Yer nothin' but a herder of sheep, but I am the slaughterhouse, and yer about to have an accident in it!"