POINT OF CONNECTION

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

Present Time

Freezing winter snow and sleet pounded the frosted windowpane. Outside temperatures continued to fall as the snow and ice packed trees whistled incessantly. Brittle branches scraped across the building creating an eerie aura to the boisterous scene.

Dan Jamieson leaned back in the swivel chair, shrugged his shoulders and shivered. The inclement conditions were lingering in his finger tips and toes while taking solace in romantic memories of warm sands, blue skies and Maggie at his side. He folded his arms and smiled.

The glorious memory of intimate moments together temporarily erased the reality of the present. A warm glow of sharing a tropical breeze with the woman he loves, the ocean waves caressing their bodies, the white sand; bonded together as one eternal being. Could it have been only yesterday?

Just minutes ago they walked hand in hand into the familiar sounds and activity of the agency offices. He patted her shoulder, kissed her cheek and reluctantly entered the anticipated turmoil of company responsibility.

The employee issues and client demands they had escaped two weeks ago were now again their reality.

"Does it seem like only yesterday we were on the beach?"

Dan smiled down at her as they braced for the expected onslaught of questions and two-week old issues that inevitably awaited their return.

The familiar surroundings of the agency outside his private office erased some of the apprehension. The ease by which he acquiesced to Maggie's urgings of his first actual vacation in several years was miraculous and something that surprisingly had been an easy decision. Her influence had become a life altering experience.

It was less than two years ago that Maggie Wood entered his workaholic and structured life, capturing his heart forever and becoming his wife. He bragged frequently how this turn of events had been, "the best thing that ever happened to me!"

Within minutes, however, one of his first early morning sensory challenges erased some of that reverie. The old warrior climbed reluctantly back into the saddle, ready for action. Familiar issues and battles were waiting to be waged.

With his competitive juices flowing he charged enthusiastically ahead.

He had found a renewed sense of life and meaning! Maggie became his narcotic of choice and the hardnosed competitor became a little softer because of it.

Frantic phone lines began to buzz with activity as the agency came to life with Dan eagerly responding.

"I'll take that call, Maggie."

He recognized the caller's corporation name illuminated on his console.

"I probably know what he wants us to do!"

Another gust of wind rattled his large picture window. Dan punched the button on his phone and picked up the receiver.

This caller, an eastside foundry Vice President and Director of Personnel, was requesting again the use of armed bodyguard surveillance for the next two months. He required Friday afternoon protection at the same time their factory workers arrived to collect their payroll checks.

Dan listened patiently, recalling a similar conversation with the same executive last year.

Half-day assignments that were long in duration could become extremely difficult to schedule, making it non-profitable and usually a drain on investigator manpower. The Agency investigative staff could be better utilized on more productive investigative efforts.

Dan further recognized the potential that openly armed bodyguard requests were dangerous to his people because those so inclined to cause trouble would obviously take out his personnel first.

"I'd like to have your investigator's showing their firearms when they arrive!"

The gusting wind, mingled with the roar of industry and foundry activity on the other end of the line, fortunately camouflaged Dan's frustration. Dan's initial thought was, "this guy just doesn't get it!"

"We think it's a good idea to let those trouble makers know we mean business!"

"I thought we discussed the hazards of these methods way over a year ago."

Dan struggled to disguise his agitation.

"But Dan, we're getting threats. Even our foundry President had a note shoved under his door a couple days ago".

"My reasons haven't changed! I have to think of your safety and my own people."

Dan Jamieson rose from his desk, exasperated and growing disgusted with this annual verbal contest.

He walked to his picture window for solace, peered out at the blistery winter weather and shook his head. The storm raged on with additional snow accumulating on the parking lot and the vehicles below.

"But Dan!"

A frantic and almost fearful sounding plea emanated over the phone line. There was silence for several seconds interrupted only by the sounds of industry in the background and the pounding sleet on the window.

"It's the same old stuff, these threats are for real! These core makers and the guys out there may not be college professors but I'm telling you man, they can figure what we owe them better than some CPA's. They get it right down to the penny."

"I'm sorry, my answer is the same as before."

Several lines were blinking on his personal phone console. Dan peered out into the reception area hoping someone there would answer them.

"Who do you think will be the first guy plugged when one of your hotheads comes in the door blazing because he's pissed off about his paycheck?"

Only the same factory sounds, machinery and pounding steel responded to his question on the other end of the line.

Dan's memories of his visits to the foundry were the acrid aroma of hot metal in the air and the energy of men at work. He could almost feel the dust and heat filtering through the telephone line.

"It would be my investigator!" His anxiety and annoyance almost spilling into the phone line abated.

He waited again for a response on the other end of the line. Lowering his voice and controlling his annoyance he pushed back in the chair, took a deep breath and calmly addressed his client.

"I have some time tomorrow afternoon. We still have almost a week before your next payday. We discussed some other alternatives a while back."

"We know you're right on this, Dan."

A phone was ringing on the other end, mixing obnoxiously with the foundry turmoil and the frustrations of the nervous client.

"Our attorney tells us almost the same thing, liability you know, that sort of thing."

"Let's get together about two-thirty. Our President also wants a word with you. Believe me, Dan, we trust you, what you've done in the past. We're just not used to this sort of thing."

It was only yesterday that Dan was snorkeling in the clear water of St. John with Maggie, nearby, lounging onboard their small rented sailboat. Life was good!

Tomorrow he'd be sitting in the dust and grime of the foundry.

Thirty seconds later, the conversation ended. Dan loosened his tie and closed his eyes for several seconds. The vision of his gorgeous Maggie frolicking in the surf wearing the purple bikini he'd bought her on St. Thomas three days before. He remembered again the long walks through town.

The endless sand beaches where she had floated so majestically on her stomach filled his memory. The image of her breathing through the snorkel and mask in the adjacent St. Thomas waters continued to interrupt his concentration.

He laughed alone in the confines of his private office, recalling the unexpected and hilarious events following that memorable day. His quiet thoughts transporting him back to that tropical oasis.

Suddenly and without warning, she scrambled to her feet and screamed as if attacked by some savage creature of the sea. Discovering in her embarrassment the terrifying and unseen monster was only the sand bottom lurking eight inches below, rather than some ominous saltwater beast about to gobble her up in one bite.

There she was, the newly wed Mrs. Dan Jamieson, the love of his life stumbling like a drunken sailor for all to see in her purple bikini glory. It was to his astonishment this proud sophisticated woman had fallen and collapsed once more, exhibiting sheer panic, into the warm waters of the Caribbean.

It was quite an exhibition and one not soon forgotten by the dozens of other sun worshipers there that day.

Her face mask and snorkel were hanging precariously, the purple bikini glowing brightly and defining unforgettably her figure in that tropical paradise. Her fellow beach bunnies, male admirers and even a lifeguard stared with growing curiosity.

"WHAT IS THAT CRAZY WOMAN DOING?"

Dan laughed so hard his stomach ached. He chuckled silently now in the confines of his office.

The initial thought was perhaps that of just walking on past her exhibition and the spectacle she created was tempting. He'd admit later the possibility of not admitting he was with this woman was a consideration he wisely chose to ignore.

"Daniel, I thought something was nuzzling my stomach," she panted.

Most of the crowd had dispersed and some sanity returned to the area. Dan turned away, pretending to shield his eyes from the sun. It required super human will power, inner strength, and even a Zen moment to keep from collapsing again in uproarious laughter onto the sand.

"I know, Maggie! Are you OK now?"

It was months before a ledger was initiated in which Dan jotted notes of reminders concerning the incidents, oddities and occasions similar to that experienced today. Friends and associates derived even a new word to describe her many adventures.

Those idiosyncrasies became known far and wide as MAGGIEISMS.

A notorious collection and assortment chronicled for posterity. There were dozens of Maggieisms to be shared with family and friends. Perhaps someday they could even become a successful collection of short stories.

Jolted back to reality by incessant phones ringing, chatter and activity outside his door Dan was forced back to the present. Reluctantly his thoughts centered again on business and the world of here and now.

He preferred to have remained with those happy thoughts, resenting the fact he could not gather her up in his arms and escape again.

He glanced again into the reception area just as Maggie passed his door.

"You really looked good in that bikini!" He whispered softly. Dan impishly grinned as she blushed and cocked her head as only she could. She tried to ignore his implication.

"Dan, you best keep your mind on work today."

She smiled and winked back at him. She turned back.

"You've got a ton of reports on your desk," she smiled once more. "Besides I've got plans for you tonight."

"Maybe we could talk about it here in my office when everyone goes out for lunch."

"Dan," she whispered again, "Behave yourself!"

By early afternoon Dan had completed briefings with three undercover investigators concerning their assignments, using the required closed telephone connection always mandated for that purpose.

He completed case reviews with two other street investigators and was in the process of editing their reports.

Permissive daydreaming eventually evaporated to essential business responsibility and eventually demanded his zoning into the mundane work ethic of the agency. At least for now the islands would become a distant memory.

Ernie Nichols, Dan's long time right hand man of almost twenty-five years, charged in and out of the office half a dozen times with his stories and wise-cracks. He was now sitting in the reception area finishing his third cup of coffee.

"Don't believe a word he tells you, Maggie," Dan called out from his open office door. He's got more stories than a cranberry merchant."

Maggie extended her right hand like a traffic cop, stopping her gabby protagonist.

"Ernie, get lost will you, I have to answer these phones."

Ernie pouted, extended his lower lip and slumped away toward the investigator room near the back of the building.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ernie! Now get lost I've got work to do!"

As Dan returned to the piles of yet unread papers and reports littering his desk Maggie signaled to him that he was needed.

"It's another call for you Dan, a Mr. Katsolous. He says the two of you go back a few years."

"Thanks, I'll take it in my office. What line's he on?"

"Line three, said he has something urgent to talk to you about."

She held the phone at her side as he turned to accept the call in his office. Ernie strolled across the room to fill his empty coffee cup.

"Hello George, been a long time!" Dan crossed the room and closed his office door.

"How are you doing?"

Although both men had occasionally been together on the golf course and engaged in an infrequent game of racquet ball at the same club, they really didn't know much about each other.

It had been almost eleven years ago and quite by accident the subject of profession and activities took place over a couple of beers at the end of eighteen holes. As a result George Katsolous contracted with the Jamieson Agency when internal survey undercover work and general investigative skills were required.

They had not communicated at all during the past several months. Upon bringing each other up to date on golf scores and racquetball competition the conversation drifted to family, Dan's recent marriage and the weather. George eventually brought the subject of why he called back into perspective.

"Our principal competition is in Illinois, no not Chicago, more on the other side of the state. I think you know who I'm talking about."

It was obvious to Dan who the mentioned competitor is since it was an industry with few real opponents. Because of that competitive atmosphere, the resulting edge of hostility and the necessity to know and understand the enemy prevailed throughout that business community.

During the early years of the Jamieson Investigative Agency, Dan and his investigative personnel were summoned frequently for "dumpster diving" and discreetly obtaining "inside" information that might be contained or discarded in the documents of their competition.

With the computer age most of that same information was now being obtained by "geeks" sitting at a computer keyboard.

On the distant occasions when valuable and informative information was thrown out with other trash, the reminder of foraging like a thief in the night at three in the morning was not a cherished memory. It was not then, nor would it be today a task Dan relished or broadcast as being among the agencies menu of services.

The client cleared his throat and coughed. "They've brought in a new President and Chief Executive Officer."

He coughed again. "I got a cold from one of my grandchildren last week. We'd like to know more about this guy!"

"Maybe it's just allergies, George."

"Could be, but every time I get around that little prick he gives me something."

"Just a reminder, we've done background work for you in the past. From what you're telling me now I'm guessing you're looking for something a little more in depth."

Dan opened his lap drawer and retrieved two ballpoint pens. He adjusted the yellow legal pad on the desk, prepared to take notes.

"I can't talk much about this over the phone. You understand."

George stifled another cough, blew his nose and sneezed.

"I have a source here at one of our plants who know a little about this guy. I met him a few times. Can you come down here in the next couple of days?"

"I just returned from the Virgin Islands with my wife."

"I didn't even know you were married. Well congratulations my friend!"

George laughed at the news, which set him off into an almost uncontrolled coughing fit, finally regaining his breath and composure.

"Sorry about that!" George resisted another attempt at laughter. "Hope the poor girl knows what she's got herself into."

"I'm a very lucky man, George!" Dan smiled confidently, "but then again, she's damn lucky to have me."

Dan studied his ever-present diary. "I can be there Friday afternoon. Say about three o'clock?"

"I've left it open for you. Oh, and by the way, just a little inside dope. This guy does not seem to be who he wants everyone to think he is."

"Care to explain that just a little bit?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from POINT OF CONNECTIONby Earle E. (Doc) Van Gilder Copyright © 2011 by Earle E. (Doc) Van Gilder. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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