For All Nails #135: Undercover Of The Night
Black Rock, NY, NC, CNA
November 29, 1974
Chief Superintendent (1) Kevin Fleming walked toward the Confederation office
building and the CBI facilities within. It was chilly, just below freezing.
He would never get used to the weather in this city. In fact, he had rarely
been outside the Southern Confederation except for CBI Academy outside Burgoyne
and this posting. He'd wondered every day what would happen if he'd stayed
as the second man in Charleston. A warmer slot of this level would've opened
up soon. The head of the Norfolk office was said to be retiring at the end
of the year, but he thought it was a rumor.
Now he was troubled by more than weather. There'd been a lot of army club
activity going on recently, and it may have had an illegal element to it.
It was especially worrying if you believed the news about what Mercator
had been up to in Mexico, and what he'd been approving. But Fleming and
the rest of the CBI wanted evidence from this end. Anything Moctezuma may
be willing to provide them wasn't enough; it had to be backed up.
The other CBI offices in the NC, Indiana, and Manitoba had all taken steps.
A secret general directive had gone out shortly after Liddy went missing
and the new director took over. Burgoyne suspected something was up, and
Sir Benjamin Anthony wanted all offices to gather as much information as
they could on these movements. Fleming had put a plan in motion for Black
He had decided to get information that it would need to come from the army
clubs themselves. So he had sent an operative to infiltrate them. Now the
plan had borne fruit. Agent Richards-Keith had eavesdropped on a conversation
containing the description and airmobile flight agenda of the man believed
to be the clubs' USM contact. _Make that ex-contact_, he thought. The USM
seemed to have gotten out of this business.
Yes, Richards-Keith was doing well. The contact was due to fly to New York,
then to Berlin. From there was unknown, but it didn't matter. He had stationed
his men at the airport, contacted the local millies, and alerted the Boston
office. He might catch some heat from Burgoyne over this for ordering the
detaining of a USM official while Moctezuma looked to be improving relations.
He didn't care. This was _Mercator's_ agent, so Moctezuma would be likely
as not to overlook it. Besides, Richards-Keith had said there was information
>from CNA research sites that had gone back to Mexico on previous trips.
If they could prove this, it would mean espionage charges.
Boston Airport, Security Office, 8:12 AM
Harold Pickett was glad he'd left his Edward Allen papers in a long-term
storage locker at the Black Rock airport. The security men had taken him
20 minutes after he disembarked from the airmobile. Now the only ID he had
on him was that of ex-Sergeant Schultz of the German Army. As soon as the
security team had confronted him he put on his German accent. _I may just
get out of this_, he thought. He just hoped there was no problem getting
a flight to Europe to replace the one he'd missed.
The CBI man walked in. "Ah, Herr Schultz. I'm Agent Gray-Patrick. What
were you doing with John Hanson in Black Rock, New York?"
_He gets right to the point_, Pickett thought with approval. "I vas not
vit zis man Hanson. I vas visiting ze sights; I have heard much of ze vaterfall
zere. Most beautiful, ja."
The agent frowned. "A likely story. We have a man with your description
known to be meeting with Hanson and many anti-Confederation dissidents planning
a mission of violence. We know you're lying."
Pickett allowed himself to sweat a little under the hot light. The only
illumination in the room was one bulb directly overhead. "Please, mein Herr,
I know nothing." He allowed a little panic into his voice, like an unjustly
accused man would.
"You'll forgive me if I doubt you, Sergeant Schultz. Your papers indicate
you were in the German Army, right?"
"Ja. I spent my time as an infantryman, und zen I left ze service. I spend
my time now as a simple chemist in Munich. I tell you, I know nothing."
"Then why were you also-" Pickett never did find out his next question.
Someone knocked at the door. Gray-Patrick opened it and another man peeked
"Sir, we'd better let him go. We finally got a look at the passenger list
for that flight, and it seems there was an Edward Allen on it transferring
off a flight from Black Rock. Just like we'd been told to expect." Pickett's
earlier approval went down a notch. If these two thought they were talking
low enough that they couldn't be heard, they were wrong.
"And we took this man based on our description, which he matches well. I'd
say he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Can we get the flight to
"Unlikely, sir. They're already in international airspace, and out of our
radio range. I don't know if the Germans would cooperate with an extradition
request. I certainly wouldn't hold my breath."
"I'll contact the Germans anyway." The agent walked back to where Pickett
was sitting. "We're very sorry, Herr Schultz. Seems you just have an unlucky
face is all."
Over the Atlantic, 9:00 AM Boston time
Eddie Allen of Black Rock leaned back in his seat. He was looking forward
to this vacation to Germany. It had been twenty years since he'd really
been able to get away from his lawyer job for a while. His mother's family
was from Bavaria, and he was going to be happy to see them.
Outside Black Rock, 10:00 that night
Agent Wyman Richards-Keith of the CBI was looking around the shed at the
Sam Adams Brotherhood house. The house was removed from the city and the
surrounding communities. In his months here, he'd seen all sorts of things.
Now he was seeing the motherlode of all arms buildups. Just in this shed
there were pistols, automatics, rifles, and crates upon crates of ammo and
explosives. It would explain why the shed had been so big, and why it had
a door in the floor leading down to a basement. How many tool sheds had
a basement? "F--k," he whispered, then made his way out. He decide he would
probably need some evidence on the acquisition of all this stuff. Whoever
was dealing illegal arms and explosives on the black market needed to be
dealt with as much as the nuts planning to use them.
1. One step up from Chief Deputy Superintendent (see FAN #89). Black Rock
is a bigger posting than Falmouth, Maine.