His thoughts were interrupted when Trevor came through the front door. “You’re home early,” Blake said.
“There wasn’t anything for me to do.”
“Maybe you should get a real job.”
“The minute I get a real job, the dream is over.” Trevor held two jobs. In his first he was Assistant Producer at a small production company. A wonderful sounding title, part of the “Biz”, but six months living in LA and people began to realize that Assistant Producer, Producer and Executive Producer ranged from someone who edited home-shot videos on their VCR and called the finished product a short film, to millionaires with household names who bankrolled blockbuster movies and spent Christmas in Aspen. Trevor’s position was an unpaid internship, but nonetheless, the job he carried business cards for and talked up at social functions. He earned a living waiting tables. He woke each day inspired by the same hope that drove people to buy lottery tickets, knowing the odds were stacked, but without an effort there wasn’t a payoff.
“Hey, did you see a FedEx package out front?” Blake asked.
“No. Expecting something?”
“I thought so.”
“Porn video?”
“No, research materials.”
“Speaking of porn,” Trevor said, “some guy in my acting class told me about this party Saturday. It’s a kickoff for some new x-rated video series.”
“I’m not going to something like that. Besides I’ve got plans.”
“Date?”
Blake figured he’d tell Trevor sooner or later about what he was up to, so there was no point making up stories. “I’m going to a UFO meeting.”
“That must be what all those books are for in your room. What the hell is going on?”
“Something for Professor Eldred. Let’s not get into it now.”
“Well let’s get into it before the meeting,” Trevor insisted. “I don’t want to go in there clueless.”
“You don’t want to go.”
“Heck yeah I do. I’ve been thinking about writing a movie script. Maybe I’ll find some good material there.”
“You can’t write. Besides, I don’t want you coming along and acting like an idiot.”
“I’ll behave. This is business. And I don’t need to know how to write, just talk. Scripts are conversations on paper.”
“I think they’re a little more than that, but you can go as long as you drive. I hate driving to the valley.”
Blake assumed everyone other than the professor would find his new research odd. But giving it further consideration, he realized that of all his studies, this was rather intriguing to the layman, and afforded him a chance to involve Trevor in his studies for the first time since high school.
CHAPTER 23
A few blocks shy of the Santa Monica city limits, a four-story uninspiring office building occupied land on a side street between Pico and Olympic Boulevards. Although zoned commercial, the structure’s top two floors contained spacious three bedroom apartments. At street level, a steel door barricaded access to a parking garage, and a small elevator lobby served as the only pedestrian entry point. The building had no address or signage posted.
Meyers, Ingram & Barnes, a small, nondescript import and export corporation, held title to the property. The company posted enough profits to cover expenses and paid all required taxes on time with few deductions; the kind of company the Internal Revenue Service ignored. If someone did probe the company’s corporate records, they would find one name on the stock ledger: Stephan Erickson Trading International, a foreign company incorporated in the Caribbean nation of Antigua. Due to privacy laws, any further investigation would hit a dead end in Antigua unless requested through the United States Attorney General’s Office. Although an Assistant US Attorney might still have trouble investigating the corporate records because Antiguan law required substantial proof of illicit activity before releasing any information about the country’s incorporated businesses.
If someone did obtain corporate documentation for Stephan Erickson Trading International, they would not have a list of stockholders, but one name, an agent for the corporation who managed the stock ledger. No registered documentation of the stockholders existed, another perk that made offshore corporations attractive to those seeking privacy.
The listed agent for Stephan Erickson Trading Internationaclass="underline" Eric Tell. Eric Tell existed only as a name on paper, with an address that looped any investigation back to where it started: Meyers, Ingram & Barnes at the side-street office building between Pico and Olympic Boulevards in West Los Angeles. At worst, a probing federal agency could seize the office building, a local bank account and offshore assets that rarely totaled more than $50,000 in ready cash. Other office buildings with similar ownership facades were located in key locals across the United States.
Owens drove Kayla in a rented Town Car to the unassuming building that his LA agents called home. Before pulling into the gated garage, he retrieved a black silk hood he had stowed in the glove box and dropped it in Kayla’s lap, “Put this on. I don’t want anyone seeing your face.”
Months back, Kayla might have found it odd that he often dressed her in hoods and blindfolds, perhaps even sadistic. However, the long hours she spent with Owens, learning his unique style and procedures, made her admire his commitment and dedication. Any thoughts of oddness in his actions were replaced with enticement about what he would expose her to next.
After parking in the garage, Owens escorted the hooded Kayla to a passenger elevator. Inside, he placed his palm on a metal pad protruding from the control panel. After verifying his identity, the elevator began its lift. Nearing the second floor, Owens took hold of Kayla’s shoulder and eased her into the corner so she could not be seen when the doors opened. As he expected, Bogota was waiting near the elevator. Of all the Aquarius agents, Bogota was second to Owens in tenure. He also qualified as the smallest in the bunch, a rawboned 5’ 9”, but was viciously fast, and a conniving opponent who targeted the testicles, larynx and eyes when he fought.
“Wait in the conference room,” Owens told him.
Through notches in her hood, Kayla watched Owens as he led her down the hall to a guest room, methodically advancing her to the next stage in her new career — her new life.
Like the esoteric ownership structure of their office buildings, every aspect of the Aquarius agents’ actions had a cover. On the off chance they failed to remain secret, no trails linked their operation to the military, the Central Intelligence Agency, or more importantly, the individuals they served.
Congress approved formation of the Central Intelligence Agency in 1947 to conduct foreign intelligence and keep America’s leaders abreast of national security issues. Critics long feared the power and anonymity held by the CIA could be used to conduct unethical practices or investigations against Americans. As a preventive measure the intelligence community was divided into branches, distributing the power. The FBI, not the CIA, had jurisdiction over domestic intelligence matters. Since its inception, however, the CIA’s parameters slowly and quietly broadened, legally allowing the agency to participate in covert activities, foreign and domestic. The agency soon realized the power and control in secrecy. Those in charge also realized the desire by forces, foreign and domestic, to tap the power and embezzle information. Secrecy became a game of hide-and-seek, a battle between government factions. Segmentation and manipulation were key elements in controlling the game.
Compartmentalization evolved to protect information from ever-changing ideologies brought on by new presidents and their cabinet members, including the CIA Director, a presidential appointee. Offshoot, covert departments started that were sanctioned and funded through the CIA, but not under direct control, breaking the link with the agency’s Director, the National Security Council and the President.