CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Witherspoon”
Thursday morning.
After breakfast in their room Otto and Steve walked to a nearby Habitat for Humanity thrift store. Using his credit card Otto bought pants, shirts, underwear and a nice set of BK running shoes with hardly any mileage. He wore a tan sport jacket over a black tee and new jeans. They arrived at FBI HQ at ten. The receptionist and wand operator waved them through without a check.
Otto and Steve went to their cubicle. Otto googled Fonzelle Armstrong. The CEO was believed to have died in the blaze. It was too early to determine what caused the fire or where it had started.
Otto googled Pawnee Grove. Wikipedia came up. “Founded in 1912 by Theodore Roosevelt and John D. Rockefeller, Pawnee Grove is an exclusive camp for movers and shakers occupying its own mountain top outside Estes Park, Colorado. Originally conceived as a weekend getaway and hunting lodge, over the years Pawnee Grove has been transformed into a social and business-networking event of far-reaching implications.
“As a measure of the club’s exclusivity, it is reported the waiting list for membership is from fifteen to twenty years. While a fast track, three-year membership process is possible, two current members must sponsor the prospective member. A non-refundable initiation fee of $25,000 (as of 2006) is required in addition to yearly membership dues. New members are allowed to prorate the initiation fee into annual payments until they reach the age of 55.
“Members may invite guests to the Grove although those guests are subject to a screening procedure. A guest’s first glimpse of the Grove is typically during the “Spring Jinks” in June, preceding the main July encampment. Pawnee Grove club members can schedule private use events at the Grove any time it isn’t being used for club activities. Its exact membership is a closely guarded secret.
“Pawnee Grove has come under criticism in recent years for its refusal to admit women.
“The Grove has long served as a launching pad for ideas. Although no records are available, attendees claim that everything from the internet to the rail gun was discussed at Pawnee Grove years before they became reality.
“Emil Witherspoon has been camp director since 1972. He lives on the property year-round with a skeleton staff. During peak season, the staff swells to thirty-five, all former military.” There was a link to Witherspoon, which Otto tapped. The photo showed a tall, taciturn man with jowls and a widow’s peak. It was taken in 2004 at Ronald Reagan’s funeral.
Otto returned to the main page and scrolled down. The single aerial photograph showed a cluster of tiny buildings next to an ovoid lake.
Otto returned to Witherspoon. Wikipedia: Born on April 14, 1941 in Cleveland, Ohio, Emil was the sixth of seven children… Served two years in the Army, graduated cum laude with a business degree from Princeton. Witherspoon joined the Chicago law firm Totleben and Bissette in 1965, became a partner two years later. He served on President Johnson’s Advisory Committee on Foreign Affairs. In 1972, the Pawnee Grove Institute offered him the directorship.
Witherspoon’s decision to abandon a promising law career baffled friends and family, but it must have been a good fit because he’d been with them ever since.
Or could it be, Otto thought, that as director of the Institute Witherspoon exercised far greater power than he would have as a lawyer?
By one p.m. Otto had established that fifteen of the victims, including Fonzell Armstrong, had visited Pawnee Grove over a span of twelve years. That left eighteen who appeared to have no connection to the think tank. However, two of the latter had contact with Grove attendees. One was the personal assistant of the head of a multi-national communications conglomerate. The other was a Hollywood lawyer whose client list included celebrities who had attended the Grove.
Whatever was causing the immolations was highly selective. Big shots only. No women. And now this tentative connection to an old boys’ club in the mountains.
Malik had never been to Pawnee Grove, but he had met with the American Secretary of State who worked closely with the Undersecretary of State who had attended the Grove in ‘08. Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Otto began a new file. Former Undersecretary of State Norman Rushfield was the first name. At the top he wrote, “Carrier?”
The Grove was not on the net. The earliest confirmed SHC had occurred on Sep. 11, 2001. Because of other events it did not receive much press coverage.
Steve licked Otto’s pants.
“Don’t lick the pants, Steve.”
It was one-thirty. They needed a break. Otto locked his office, took Steve with him to the men’s room, then down the elevator out the front door and across the street to Humberto Uribe Park, a swatch of green rimmed by blue spruce with a playset and a sandbox at one end. A series of benches occupied the rim. Otto sat on a bench gazing at the gleaming mountains beneath the cerulean sky. On such a day it was difficult to fathom the nature of evil. Even for Otto.
They returned to the building. Otto stopped at Alvarez’ bullpen. The tech had on a pair of ear buds and watched a series of numbers scroll across his screen. Steve laid his snout on Alvarez’ leg.
“How’s it going?” Alvarez said, swiveling to face Otto and patting Steve on the head.
“Fine. Fifteen of the vics attended Pawnee Grove. You’ve heard of it?”
Alvarez nodded. “Up by Estes.”
“I need a vehicle.”
“Barnett will get you one. You have a driver’s license?”
Otto nodded. He went down the hall, let himself into his office and phoned Stella. Going straight to voice mail he asked her to call him back.
Two hours later he had written software that would locate similarities among the victims. All male, all over thirty-five, all successful. Seven Americans, three French, four Russians, five Chinese. Six each from Singapore, Australia, Taiwan, Canada, Brazil and Argentina. Nineteen whites, six blacks, seven Asians. One Aborigine.
When he looked at the clock, it was after five. Otto phoned Barnett about a vehicle.
“Sure,” the agent answered. “Come on down to the motor pool.”
***