One Hand on the Podium

Contents

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

Special thanks to Ettie Berneking.

Thanks Ettie. Your fine editing contributions along with your push for authenticity here is thoroughly appreciated.

Ettie is a journalist and free lance writer from St. Louis, MO.

Thanks to Linda Hines,

of Maynardville, TN, for her professional editing services.

I would like to thank all those who have taken the time over the years to read and evaluate earlier versions of my manuscript. Your input and suggestions were invaluable.

Thank you, Mom, Jeanette Harper, especially, for all the many hours you worked, so many years ago, typing my original hand-written story and making the first-draft edits. Your encouragement is always a gift to me.

All my love to my parents, Bill and Jeanette, my brothers, Bill, Tom, Rick and Ron, my sisters, Jane and Kim, my three children, Alison, John Jr. and Megan, and especially all my grandchildren.

Other works by the author can be found at

www.johneharper.com

For my one true love, Cheryl

PART ONE

Alex Spencer

Flies and maggots feasted on the open wounds of the nude female body that workers were exhuming from under piles of landfill garbage. The young woman’s wrists and ankles were bound together behind her back with twine. On that thick, muggy July morning, U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation agent Tom Merritt, and his partner, Steve Frankano, stood in the mist from the dense fog hugging the mounds of refuge. They looked on in disgust at the victim’s bloated, pale gray naked body, holding handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses to cope with the rotten stench, their eyes watering, as police search teams and their dogs scavenged the area for further evidence.

Jesus, that’s horrible. The agents walked back to their car and leaned against the front fender. Is she the girl we’ve been looking for? Merritt asked.

’Fraid so, Frankano muttered. He had a habit of running his hands over his clean shaven head as if he hoped he’d find the black waves he’d once had. He’d shaven it on his fortieth birthday, refusing to opt for a comb-over like his dad.

Merritt looked down, shaking his head at his mud-covered shoes. He picked up a stick and scraped each one as clean as he could get them.

Well, Tom, Frankano asked, what do you think? Frankano found an unbuttoned button on his shirt and stuck his forefinger through it to scratch an itch on his large dark black hairy stomach that nagged at him right then. He didn’t worry that anyone might have seen his stomach showing through, since his dress habits weren’t much better than his sloppy housekeeping at his home back in Maryland. Except for his drinking binges, Frankano had many other personality traits that were more redeeming, so his close friends and associates easily overlooked his grooming.

I’ll tell you what I think, Merritt said as he tossed the stick aside. I think this whole investigation has gotten out of hand. He looked at his partner, then raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

I agree with you, Tom. But there’s not much we can do except wait.

Damn it, Steve, come on. You saw what he did to her. She’s been mutilated, for Christ’s sake! Merritt rubbed his red-bearded chin and looked at his fingers to see if any mud was on them. Then he did it again, to be sure. We promised this little Illinois farm girl we would protect her and we failed. We’re responsible for this. We fucked up, big time.

I’m not blind to what’s going on here, Tom, Frankano said. I know how you feel. It’s very frustrating for me too. But we came here to do our job and that’s what we are going to do.

I’m not sure anymore, Steve. I don’t think it’s our job to stand by and let this continue, Merritt said. This is a whole new thing, right? How long can we let this go on?

I wish I knew, Tom. I really wish I knew.

Well, I’m ready to get out of here and head back home to Maryland. I never liked the Midwest. It’s so fucking depressing here. Besides, I miss my wife and kids, Merritt revealed. Jenny wants me home for my twin’s birthdays this year. I’ve missed it the last few years.

I’m ready to get out of here too. I’m supposed to report in to the Washington Bureau tonight to get our next orders. Hopefully a decision will be made soon.

Merritt paused, looked around, then over at Frankano. Your shirt’s unbuttoned, Steve. He nodded his head indicating the open button hole.

Frankano clumsily looked down over his big belly, making a face with his mouth as though to help him see better, Oh, yeah, I knew that. He didn’t bother buttoning it.

Does the agency realize the extent of what this guy is doing, Steve?

Yeah, Tom, ‘fraid so. They know everything.

***

An old fighter jet plane, used in the Vietnam War, a useless piece of machinery, was still listed in Washington’s inventory database and had to be accounted for, something no one was able to do, at least up until now. The Pentagon sent their man, Spencer, to locate it and take inventory of all its parts.

The hotel clerk waited patiently for Alex Spencer to sign the register. At six-one and a hundred eighty-five pounds, Alex towered over the clerk, but his baby face easily knocked ten years off his thirty-five years. He had just arrived in St. Louis along with his new bride, Mary, for what was a combination honeymoon and assignment.

Here she comes now. Mary! Mary! Over here!

Hi, Sweetheart. Almost done?

You bet. We’re just finishing up here.

Here’s your key, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer. You have a lovely room on the tenth floor, real nice, great view. I’ve written the number here, on your key holder, he said, indicating room 1011. We hope you enjoy your stay.

Thank you, uh—, Alex stooped to read the clerk’s name tag, —Robert.

If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call the front desk or room service. We do our best to accommodate.

Okay then. Ready, Mary? Do you want to take the small suitcases and leave me the others?

Sure.

Robert quickly interrupted, Oh, no, no, no, please, the bellman will bring the bags to your room. You let us do the work. We want you to enjoy your stay.

The couple smiled at each other. Holding hands, they turned towards the elevators, headed to their room.

***

Word had reached Alex’s supervisors at the Pentagon that a retired Air Force colonel, Simon Moss, who still kept an unofficial office at Scott Air Force Base, located near Belleville, Illinois, about twenty-five miles east of downtown St. Louis, knew the whereabouts of the missing jet. Alex’s assignment was to find the colonel, talk to him, and inventory the airplane’s parts.

Under normal circumstances, Alex Spencer would not have been the person sent from Washington to investigate this sort of thing. Procedure required someone with much more experience than he had, with very little other than a few minor-league investigations in the D.C. area.

Alex had worked as an intern at the Pentagon through a program at his university during his senior year in college.

A career military man, a staff sergeant, recognized Alex’s ambition and intelligence and took him under his wing in the press briefings department at the Department of Defense (DOD), where Alex could use his communications degree. Alex loved that job and enjoyed working closely with his mentor. But after five years on that job, the sergeant was reassigned to Iraq during the Gulf War, and Alex found himself reassigned to a more mundane position, researching for the DOD library in the archives and records department.

Alex was low man on the totem pole and never seemed to make his mark. But any time the opportunity presented itself, he vied for a better, more responsible job, working on more visible projects. After three years passed, a new supervisor, a civilian, was aware of, and appreciated Alex’s motivation and also his willingness to take on more than his share. His boss gave him this plumb assignment without hesitation when it came up. Alex’s wedding plans and honeymoon trip to Chicago had been in the works for quite awhile when the assignment arose. His superiors asked if he would detour first to St. Louis for a couple days and stop at the Air Force Base before heading to the Windy City for his honeymoon. To sweeten the request, the Pentagon would foot the entire bill for the plane fare.

Alex jumped at the opportunity and convinced Mary it would not affect their honeymoon plans. Rumor had it the colonel was up to something more deviate than what was on the surface, and probably couldn’t be trusted. This was a high-visibility case. The daily drudgery of Alex’s desk job could not compare to this. He figured this was his big chance to prove to those in charge he could handle an important job and maybe it would prove to be the impetus his superiors needed to promote him to a much-coveted field investigator position.

***

Alex and Mary entered their suite. True to Robert’s description, its location in the hotel held a sweeping view of the St. Louis downtown riverfront and the Gateway Arch. They removed their coats and walked around the room, taking in all the details. Mary was in awe of the decor and amenities. It seemed the interior design team had overlooked nothing. Alex turned on a small lamp sitting on the corner of a desk next to the king-sized bed.

This is really nice, Alex, Mary said with an innocent, excited glow as she bounced her small, shapely frame on the bed.

No kidding, he answered, eyeing his bride. Alex was madly in love with Mary. In all his years of dating her, he had always been captivated by her looks. She had long blond hair that she usually wore tied back in a cute, bouncy ponytail. Her eyes were brown and her full lips shone with soft red lip gloss. Her teeth were bright white and almost perfectly straight. She created higher cheek bones with her rouge and darkened her brown eyebrows to accent her eyes. She wasn’t drop dead beautiful, but she was pretty and she took great care to present herself in public that way. Her breasts were large and her stomach flat. Alex always complimented her on what she wore. She liked it when he did.

Alex had a certain amount of