Andy looked at the telephone receiver in his hand and muttered, “I wonder why he kept repeating my name, oh well, he must be tired. I have work to do—” Andrew was ready to go back to the Times and suddenly remembered, “I don’t have a car… ahh, but I do have the bike.”
In the garage he uncovered the Harley, fastened his helmet and rode out into the cool night. At the Times he searched the files for information on GCI, but found little of what he was looking for. It occurred to him that Harry Browne, the business editor, might have the answers to some of his questions. “I’ll talk with Harry tomorrow and see what he can tell me,” he muttered to himself.
It was late, nearly 2:30 in the morning when he parked in the garage of his apartment building and covered the Harley. He entered his apartment, made his way to the sofa and welcome sleep.
Chapter 17
Wednesday, October 1, 1980
7:00 AM
The doorbell was ringing—Andrew stumbled off the couch where he had enjoyed four and a half hours of sleep. Looking at his watch he muttered, “Who?” Opening the door a crack he saw the familiar face of Detective Jim Savalza, wide awake and cheerful.
“What are you doing here?” Andy mumbled the question.
“Came to see what this big hunch of yours was—, about Ramsey,” Jim responded, “I told you I was interested.”
“Oh.”
“Got any coffee?”
“No, I’ll make some—come in,” Yawning, Andrew invited Jim in with as few words as possible.
“Beautiful day!” Jim posited enthusiastically.
“I hadn’t noticed…” Looking out he said sourly, “It’s raining.”
“Well, that’s where we live; now, Andrew, what is this big hunch about Ramsey?”
Andy cleared his throat and tried to clear his head, “Yes, well, ah, maybe I was a little premature, but I really don’t trust him.”
“Oh, is that so?” Jim queried, eyebrows raised. “That’s a good hunch—so that’s why you called me last night? You don’t trust Ramsey.”
After finishing half of his cup of his coffee, Andrew was waking up. Shaking his head, “No, I don’t, though I jumped the gun a bit last night. I just need to do a little more investigating before I say anything else, Jim, I’m sure that telephone number is not a coincidence.”
“How is Charlene, Andy?” Jim asked changing the subject.
“She’s good… I’m going to see her this morning. She’s going home or rather to the Convent of St. Helena tomorrow.”
“Can she see?” Jim asked tentatively.
“Dunno yet,” Andrew answered softly, “The bandages come off in a couple days. Ben says she’s going to be fine.”
Savalza nodded in agreement. “I think he’s right. He has a direct line to the ‘powers that be’.” Jim finished his coffee and looked at Andrew, “I’ve got to get going. Listen, Andy, I am going to run Ramsey’s private telephone number past Captain Martin this morning. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” Jim set his cup down and said, “Thanks. It was nice of you to invite me in for coffee,” smiling as he started to leave. Kincaid was becoming one of his favorite people.
“Just a minute, Jim, will you give me a lift to Harborview?
Agreeably, Jim answered, “Sure, but hustle,”
“I’ll be ready in ten.”
After a brief stop at the hospital to see Charlene, Andrew hailed a cab to the Times. As he paid for the ride he was thinking that he needed to talk to Savalza about the Land Cruiser, “I’ll bet it’s been impounded,” he grumbled.
Inside the Times Andrew headed for Harry Browne’s desk. The editor was on the phone when he saw Andrew approaching and noting Andy’s scratched and scarred face, he remarked as he put the phone in its cradle, “What happened to you, Kincaid? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”
Overhearing the question, one of the reporters whose desk was close to Browne’s, opined, “Naw”, Harry, he’s just recovering from one of his explosive relationships.”
“Ha ha,” several others could be heard.
“That’s funny, very funny…,” Andrew responded dryly.
Turning to Browne, he said, “I need to pick your brain, Harry.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“What can you tell me about a large company known as GCI or Global Construction International?”
“What do you want to know about them?”
“Well, for starters, what do they do and where do they do it?”
“Whoa, Andrew, they’re a very large company. And they do everything all over the world; from dam building to bridge building and much more. Something like Morrison-Knudsen only bigger, much, much bigger. And MK is a US company; GCI is internationally owned and headquartered in Switzerland, Zurich to be exact. In a sentence, they are a large, maybe the largest, multinational construction company in the world.”
“So in other words, they have no allegiance to any one government. Is that right?” Andrew asked as he was writing rapidly.
“That’s right,” Harry responded, his curiosity growing.
“Terrific!” Andrew exclaimed somewhat derogatorily.
“Well in a way it is, Andy,” Browne said in defense, “For example, GCI has the wherewithal to go into areas that have literally been devastated by major disasters and completely rebuild from the ground up-including the infrastructures. They operate without getting involved in all the petty international politics. There are not many companies that have that capability.”
“That’s all well and good, Harry, but I don’t believe in Santa Claus, so humor my skepticism and tell me what’s in it for them. How do they get reimbursed for their generous investments?” Andrew asked.
“Well, Andy they get a piece of the pie, so to speak. Countries that are cash poor generally have underground wealth-oil, gas, minerals and so on, even real estate, these countries hand over ownership to GCI of some of their natural resources. It’s a pretty good deal for everyone; at least it appears to be.”
“Harry, do they do that in war zones as well? You know, I mean places that have been at war, but are no longer.”
“I don’t know about post war zones, Andy; I suppose they could-they’re big enough and they have the capacity to do it.” Harry mused. “Why all this interest in GCI?”
Ignoring Browne’s question, Andrew pressed on, “Who runs GCI, who’s on their Board of Directors?”
“I don’t have the names at hand, but I can find out. It might take me a little while; I’ll get back to you on this. I’ll ask you again, why do you want to know?” Harry persisted.
“I can’t tell you right now, but if I’m right you may have a great tidbit for the front page. You may have your very own international business scoop.”
Harry just smiled, “You’ll have the names ASAP.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Andrew was thinking he needed to talk to Neil Klein; not today, Kelshaw’s service is today.
Savalza pulled the plastic bag with the mysterious phone number out of his drawer and called Captain Martin. Then collecting Ed Peterson, they proceeded to the Captain’s office.
“What’s this about, Savalza?” Captain Martin asked peering at Jim over the top of his glasses.
Jim laid the plastic bag with the scrap of paper on the desk in front of the Captain.
“What’s this?” giving Jim a puzzled look.
Jim and Ed proceeded to tell the Captain about Dora Maxwell’s discovery and Jim’s subsequent call to the number on the scrap of paper.
“You mean that Lyle Ramsey answered this on his private line? That’s very interesting.”
“Yes, Captain, I think so…,” Jim started.
“No, no, you don’t understand, Jim,” Martin cut him off. “Lyle Ramsey called headquarters about arranging for the burial of that fellow who was stabbed at the Seamen’s Center on behalf of some do-gooder client.