I made no attempt to rise to my feet, as I lay next to the lapping water on the slanted ramp. The reddish dirty bag rope dangled from my right hand. When I’d been out in the pier-end restaurant with Shawna, neither she nor any of the members of the Dwarfs, really had much to do with the Western White House machinations, except for Gularte and now Bob Elwell. In thinking about what Paul had said in guiding me, with respect to the ‘sinking of the Porsche,’ as my mind always went to in thinking about the incident, and my ever more strange meetings with Mardian, I’d come to realize that having certain information could risk the person who had the information. The White House’s level of power was so great that just a hint that somebody might need to be ‘taken care of’ at a lower level, particularly when things were falling apart all over, could be a terminal kind of discussion, or instruction, or order.
I was cold to my core. The canvas sack dangled against my leg, water cascading its way through the rough canvas threads. Whatever was inside the sack was soaked through unless somehow water repellant in some other way. Mardian had no trouble believing the package would be destroyed by the smallest of explosives, even the pound of C-4 I’d been saddled with wouldn’t have left much of the car to be recognizable if and when the wreck finally surfaced. There was little doubt in my mind that Butch wouldn’t be after the Porsche first thing in the morning. His enthusiasm had been most evident when he’d talked about it.
The car lights sat thirty yards away from the eastern end of the ramp. Butch was gone and so was Richard, although it surprised me a little that he hadn’t returned since it was rather obvious that his mast-high video camera picked up a lot more than I would have guessed…unless he knew who was in the car.
I pulled the bag slowly up and eased it over my left shoulder. The light illumination from the car’s headlights wasn’t likely to be enough for anyone inside the thing to see much detail. On top of that, Bob and I were soaking wet and so was the bag.
“Go do your thing,” I said to Gularte, who hadn’t spoken at all since Bob and I had completed our dive. Gularte only nodded and then moved toward the front of the mystery vehicle. I walked over to Bob and handed him my goggles and the bag.
“Just toss your own goggles and mine, plus the bag onto the passenger seat of Gularte’s truck. I’ll approach the scene over there slowly and wait to see what Gularte finds out. There was no package, and we didn’t get into the frunk of the thing.”
Bob nodded and took the stuff from me.
“Wait inside the truck,” I instructed, as Bob moved, making no reply.
I walked slowly toward the car, which I identified as I got closer. It was one of the compound limo vehicles, not the regular Lincolns I normally rode in that were called limos but weren’t really. Gularte was at the driver’s open window leaning down and speaking so softly I could not make the words out.
I stopped on the passenger side of the vehicle and nearly jumped backward when the rear window, located right next to my left shoulder, silently descended.
“Report in,” the voice said.
I was surprised to my core. The voice was that of H.R. Haldeman himself. The President’s Chief of Staff was out in a staff car, coming to visit me at Dana Point Harbor in the middle of the night. Whatever was in that bag was of vital importance, but I could not be sure, or really have a clue, as to why.
“The package, as you have termed it, may be in the trunk of the Porsche but we lacked the tools to get it as the latch will not operate,” I replied, keeping my voice and tone as analytical as possible. “Mardian said we should ‘blow it in place,’ if we couldn’t get it out and deliver it to the compound but the fallout from that would be pretty terrible so I decided to go another way.”
“Mardian,” Haldeman hissed out but said nothing more.
“You want us to go back down, retrieve the package, and get it to the compound or do you want it destroyed in some other way that doesn’t involve engaging and possibly enraging every police department within fifty miles of us?”
I knew I was risking almost everything, as I’d known Haldeman took it very badly when anyone gave him an idea that wasn’t his own.
Another voice spoke out from the darkness, it being so black inside the limo that my eyes, even though adjusting, still could not make out facial features. I knew that voice, as well, so I didn’t need to see the speaker.
“Do what you think is best, but turn nothing over to anyone, including any information whatsoever to no one except the Chief of Staff or myself and that includes Mr. Mardian. Do you understand?”
I waited for a few seconds, not to comprehend the strange but very trusting comment, but to see if Haldeman was going to support it by saying something. Haldeman remained silent, which I decided was his form of supporting the direct order.
“Now, go to tell your gorilla to leave the Staff Sergeant alone,” Haldeman ordered, raising his voice a bit as if to let me know that he, and he alone, was the one in command.
I walked around the car and came up behind Gularte. I was trying to suppress a laugh, which would have been a big mistake to let out I knew. Gularte was hassling the Staff Sergeant over the vehicle’s insurance, registration, and even the Staff Sergeant’s driver’s license.
Gularte turned to face me, displaying both hands, his left wearing the black glove he was known for, the right glove folded into his leather belt.
“He has no identification and there’s nothing on this car, nothing at all,” he said, sounding serious, although I’d come to know Gularte pretty well and could read some of his basal dark humor being restrained.
“Come on, we’re out of here,” I said as we both stepped back. The Staff Sergeant smiled, closed his window, and put the limo in reverse.
“What the hell was that all about?” Gularte asked. “All this over some little canvas sack, that you sure as hell are going to tell me about before the sun rises on the morrow.”
“Haldeman, the President of the United States of America’s Chief of Staff told me, and I quote: “…now, go tell your gorilla to leave the Staff Sergeant alone,” I said before I started to laugh out loud.
“That’s a racial slur,” Gularte said, sounding like his feelings were hurt.
“Gorillas are black, not pleasingly brown like you,” I replied.
“That’s not entirely true,” Gualarte shot back, peeling his signature glove.
“Oh, you’ve met a real gorilla in the wild or even seen one in a zoo?” I asked.
“That’s got nothing to do with this,” he replied, finally going silent as we both headed over to the Pickup.
“This never happened, and I’m sure both of you know that. A lot of people knew and know about it but that’s just the way it is, as only three of us have our butts on the line if this formally gets out.” I said.
“Gularte, let’s head to my house,” I added. I felt the cold moisture bleed from it as we drove.
When I got home, both Bob and Gularte immediately left and I carried the package inside, wrapped inside my U.S. Navy sweatshirt. Julie was no doubt in bed, Mary was in the kitchen and Bozo was nowhere to be seen. I placed the wet mess in the upstairs bathroom tub. I changed into my robe and went immediately downstairs to assure my wife that I was home, as, after all, she would have had to have heard me coming through the front door and closing it.
“Hi,” I began. “ I was at the Dana Point Marina and the mission was to retrieve a package from the submerged Porsche Little Mardian owns. I was sent by his father to get the thing.” I walked by her to get a Coke out of the fridge, popped the top, and waited.
I knew that most husbands wouldn’t show up after dark to make such an announcement. I sat at the counter. My wife was finishing the dishes from the dinner I hadn’t had time to eat. Since she wasn’t talking, responding, or doing anything but concentrating on working through the silverware and whatnot I knew she wasn’t happy.
“A package,” she finally said, “and what was in the package, or did you return it already?”
“No,” I answered, fatigue from the tension of the mission washing over me. “It’s up in the tub as it’s in a canvas bag that sat down there at the bottom for a few days.”
“Is it, as you might say the word, pyrotechnical?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, realizing that tossing the package into the tub, unexamined, right next to a wall my daughter was sleeping right next to was another of my many mistakes.
The missions in Vietnam’s awful Valley had been so much more violent but so much simpler to execute with a minimum of mental errors, or so I had thought at the time. I got up and headed for the stairs, leaving my Coke bubbling over on the counter where I’d set it down with too much force. I walked deliberately but smoothly and climbed upstairs as quietly as I could. I didn’t need Julie rising, coming out to join me, or raising any other kind of ruckus.
I’d left the bathroom light on so all I had to do was ease inside the narrow room and kneel down. The canvas bag was as before. There had never been and was not now a knot to secure the short but heavy rope that secured the top of it. The container was no longer weeping sea water, although a very tiny trail of it seeped toward the tub’s drain.
As gently as I could, I eased the rope slowly loose, not failing to remember that I’d treated the entire package with no sensitivity at all when the mission was underway and concluding. I was playing with very powerful forces I had little understanding of, I reflected once again, and it might be very likely that pyrotechnics could be a part of whatever they did. I trusted Mardian. to a degree, to have informed me if the bag was booby-trapped, but then again, he hadn’t seemed to have a good idea of what the package was when we spoke so briefly.
I peered down inside the bag, once the opening was about the size of my closed fist. The light in the ceiling, directly over the center of the tub, allowed me to see inside. A very wet, weathered, and falling apart cardboard box was what the bag contained.
“Strange,” I murmured to myself.
I eased the canvas sack as fully open as it would go, having a pretty solid idea that no explosives were involved in its contents, and there appeared to be no trip wire or detonator materials present either. I brushed the soggy cardboard aside with my fingers.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Wow, what?” my wife said, having crept up behind me to stand leaning over my right shoulder.
I knew there would be no lying that would work with her under the circumstances.
“It’s a wet cardboard box, about four inches on a side,” I recited, staring down into the mess. Inside are seven tape reels, three-and-a-quarter-inch ones, I think,” I said. “Audio tapes.”
“That’s it?” Mary asked, straightening up as if discovering that there were no explosives or other dangerous materials inside the package and so none of it really mattered.
“It’s not the tapes themselves,” I said, easing one out of the bag. “It’s what might be on them.”
“There’s a little tag on one, red and gold,” she murmured, looking down at my exposed hand, the tape sitting flat on my palm.
“It says: “RQ-3005.”
“Does that mean anything?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I know somebody who might,” I replied, and I better call him right now as these tapes have been sitting at the bottom of Dana Point Harbor for at least 48 hours, in salt water.”
“Are you turning them in and do you really want to know what’s on them?”
I turned the tape reel over. Etched in the clear plastic were the letters and numbers I never expected to see: “San Clemente Three USMC.”
I inhaled slowly and deeply. There was only one situation I’d been involved with, and, in fact, had forced me to become something much more than merely a beach patrol Bronco driver for the Western White House. The three dead Marines was where and when it had all started, and now, in front of me, was a small audio tape reel that might hold the key to everything. No wonder that Mardian was afraid of what was in the package. He’d known, at least part of it, but had remained almost totally stoic about the contents. Had he been right in expressing his opinion that the package was better off destroyed and that I didn’t really want to know what the thing contained? The question of what it was doing in his son’s frunk was another issue entirely. It seemed that every time something revealed itself to possibly be an explanation for the strange behavior of the people at the compound another piece of information appeared to either parallel it, run in opposition to it, or explain it. Which of the three was I involved with, or was it all three?
I put the tape back inside the bag. I knew one thing, and that was about salt water. It was extremely corrosive to almost all metals, and audio tapes had metallic elements within the body of the tape material. I laid the bag back on its side, put the bathtub plug in, and started running the cold water. The first thing I was doing was hoping to minimize the damage done to the tapes by their submergence.
“Chuck Bartok,” I said, turning to stand and face my wife, while the tub water ran behind me.
“The answer to the next question I was going to ask?” she asked.
“You’re not done with the questions, I know,” I said, with a tone of fatalism in my voice. “Chuck is a stereo nut and he’ll know what to do to save the tapes, and that’s of course, if they can be saved. This may all be a moot discussion.”
“Do you want to tell Chuck?”
I was amazed once again by my wife’s ability to leap over hurdles where there was nothing there to support the direction of her inquiry. I hadn’t read the inscription to her and it was too small for her to have read while I was holding it down in my palm. She knew about the three Marines but she didn’t know that the tape, and more of them that I didn’t know about their content, might be truly dangerous to have or even know about.
“I’ll tell him that we were at the beach with our tape deck and dropped some tapes when a higher-than-normal wave swept up the sand.”
“Does he know we don’t have a tape machine to play these, since the big one you bought is for those large cartridge things? Where is that machine, by the way?”
I turned to the tub and shut off the water, as the level was already above the top of the sack, which I’d gently laid on its side. I got up, walked past where Mary stood, seemingly rooted to the scene, and headed for our bedroom and the telephone. Chuck answered my call on the second ring, which was just like him. Chuck was my boss in the life insurance business but truly acted more like the nearly perfect assistant.
I told him my fairy tale about the damaged tapes.
“You need distilled water, not regular tap water,” Chuck replied when I was done. “Tap water will dilute the salt solution but not leech out the salt from the tape itself, depending upon what kind of take it is, of course.”
“What kind of tape are you talking about?” I asked him, already making up my mind to walk quickly to Coronet’s store up on the corner of Ola Vista and Del Mar to get a few gallons of distilled water, the same that my wife used in her iron but her supply was not nearly enough.
“How thick is the tape you have?” Chuck asked.
“What do you mean, how thick?’ I answered, realizing I was getting farther into detail than I wanted to be.
“Microns,” Chuck said. “Do the tapes say C60, C90, or C120 on their labels?
“Labels were washed off,” I lied, not knowing what else to say, other than wanting to get off the line as quickly as I could.
“You have a micrometer with mils on it. Just take one tape and refold a piece about thirty times and measure that in mils and you’ll be able to convert to microns.”
I knew I was way in over my head with Chuck. “Why does the thickness matter?” I asked, hoping Chuck wouldn’t go deeper into the details.
“So, you can clean the tapes once you soak them for a day or so in distilled water,” he replied. “If they’re less than a micron then you want to be super gentle because you’re going to have to hand dry each section of tape with a soft cloth. Don’t use Kleenex or toilet paper though, as that will leave lint which will affect sound quality.”
I went downstairs, thankful that my wife hadn’t come down. I checked my Seiko. It was too late to go to the Coronet. The tapes were simply going to have to wait, soaking away in tap water.
“What’s wrong?” Mary asked, stopping just before coming all the way down the stairs.
“Coronet is closed and I need some distilled water to soak the tapes in or they may be a total loss,” I said, sighing as I said it.
“I’ve got distilled water,” she said, coming all the way down the stairs to join me.
“I probably need at least a gallon or so,” I replied, shaking my head.
“I have an extra gallon, what with the amount of ironing it takes to keep you and your daughter in clean, pressed clothing.” She turned as she finished and headed for the kitchen. “Take the tapes out of the bag, which is full of salt water in its fibers, put them in a cooking pan, and pour this jug of distilled water over them.”
I took the pan and headed back upstairs, thankful that I’d married a woman who bought oversupplies of almost everything. I pulled the tapes from the bag and carefully placed them in the bottom of the pan. I wanted there to be no mistakes of any kind in the handling of the pan so I put it, half-filled with distilled water inside our bedroom closet and closed the door.
I went downstairs and talked to my wife.
“I have to go over to Gularte’s and let him know what I found,” I said, expecting an argument on her part.
“I understand, although I don’t really,” she said, surprising me, “you have to have all the help you can in this thing whatever this thing really is.”
I changed out of my robe into shorts and one of my Marine “T” shirts. I wore tennis shoes with white socks, since, as a kid in Hawaii, I’d always hated flip-flops, which had been called ‘go-aheads’ for obvious reasons if you ever wore the strange toe-thong things.
Gularte wasn’t on duty, which I could tell, not just from his pickup truck sitting in his driveway, but from the music blaring out from his front door.
“It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son…” confronted me as I went through the door. Gularte was sitting on his couch holding a bottle of Hamm’s beer, a smile on his face, as he’d no doubt, heard the chattering exhaust of my Volks pulling in behind his truck. I walked over to the stereo and turned it off.
“If we’re going to talk about what I think we’re going to talk about then you might want to turn that thing back on,” he said, motioning toward the television/stereo with his beer bottle.
I realized the wisdom of what he was saying, given the contents of the package and evidence compounding daily about the capability of the operators working for the Western White House when it came to surveillance. That we were supposed to be the ‘good guys’ with them didn’t seem to make any difference, not so far as I’d observed. I turned the music back on, which picked up the lyrics of the song it’d been playing when I walked in. An audio tape, most probably I reflected a smile on my face at the coincidence of almost everything in my life recently.
I sat next to Gularte and filled him in on everything. When I was done, I waited to see what he was going to say. I’d kept my word and succumbed to his demand that he be filled in on the mission and what was in the package, but I had no idea how he’d handle the information once I gave it to him.
“The one tape is stunning, with that writing on it,” he said, taking a sip from his Hamm’s bottle. “What was written on the other tapes?” he finally asked, while Creedence Clear Water Revival sang another of their Vietnam war songs: “Over on the mountain, thunder magic spoke…let the people know my wisdom, fill the land with smoke…”
“I don’t know,” I said, wondering why I was delaying getting just that information. Even the titles on the tapes might be of great import, much less what was recorded on the reels. I was beat to the bone, both physically and mentally, I knew. The tapes would soak, and I’d deal with them in the morning as they weren’t about to go anywhere.
“What if they come for them in the night?” Gularte asked as if reading my mind. “You know, SWAT style.”
I’d considered that very thought but wasn’t going to admit to it. I’d also considered the huge supply of pyrotechnic equipment still loaded into the trunk, or frunk, of my Volkswagen.
“See you tomorrow with more,” I said, getting up, trying to figure out how I could ensure that my family was fully protected from what I’d gotten myself into.
“You gonna tell Bob anything?” Gularte asked.
“No, not unless he wants to know, and I don’t think he will. Bob’s a different animal entirely from us, but if he wants to know then he gets to know, with the same rights you and I have, He stepped up and rode for the brand, and not for the first time. He’d have been a good Marine.”
LT another very good chapter! The tangled web I referenced earlier is becoming more tangled with each chapter!
Thanks, Terry, for the nice comment and compliment. I am working away on the next chapter and I
hope you like it as much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Now this is truly headlong down the rabbit hole ! Given Nixon’s history with missing minutes, and the caption relating to the 3 marines leads one to believe perhaps there were other tapes in other places that weren’t part of the “official” record but daming none the less.
You obviously were subject of signifigantly more surveillance than you were aware of, and many players with “skin in the game” like Richard and Cobb, not all playing on your team.
Another superbly crafted installment, keeping us glued to the edge of the seat ! Trying to link all the tantalyzing morsels you’ve dropped for clues, Nixon tapes, JFK assassination, 3 dead Marines, Cobbs Yacht… it’s all lines and shadows…
Curiouser and Curiouser….
Thanks James, as your kind of in depth comment carries so much meaning and also offers additional insight
to others on here reading and commenting, as well. Thanks for that and the compliments inherent inside
the body of your work here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Never commit anything to paper or tape that you don’t want to come back and bite you in the ass !
Certainly reasonable advice Chuck, although such communications can also be set ups for allowing beliefs to be grown that would otherwise
have insufficient credibility to be invested in.
Thanks for the comment and for being you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well it’s very obvious the Western White House is watching you all the time.
How else could they show up at the pier just as you have come out of the water. I would not feel comfortable with the tapes anywhere near my family knowing what you know so far. After all three marines died for some unexplained reason very close to the compound. A lot going on in this chapter. Thank you.
What is ‘near my family’ and how does it pertain when the reach of the powerful, compared to me, was beyond comprehension.
As today, although more so today, there was already no hiding out as technology had come so far, and much farther today.
Osama’s location was known and tracked from day one. It was just that they didn’t really want him for quite awhile.
The guy in Pennsylvania found out that there’s really no going to ground or being off the grid. The grid is everywhere.
As this same joker will discover up in Maine.
A lot going on, very true.
Thanks JT for spending the time and effort thinking things through.
Semper fi,
Jim
Never ever thought that is what would be in the frunk!! And again you leave us holding our breath to get more answers. Great read, don’t stop now Lt. Semper fi sir!!!
No stopping in sight Bob, and happy on a Thursday night to be half way through the next chapter already…
driven by the powers of motivation which you are very much a part of.
Semper fi, and thanks Bob,
Jim
James, Curiosity killed the cat. Information brought him back. We know you survived. Just how it will play out remains to be seen. Richard is the wild card. Who does he report to? Better to ask Butch to hold off on finding and raising the Porsche.
In Chapter 51 Gularte’s truck is used to drive to Dana Point. In this chapter the Volks is the means of transport. I’ll make some suggestions.
My opinion is to stick with the truck.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
little doubt in my mind that Butch wouldn’t be after the Porsche first thing in the morning
Context implies Butch “would be”
little doubt in my mind that Butch would be after the Porsche first thing in the morning
/Some changes from the end of chapter 51./
Here: I pulled the bag slowly up and eased it over my left shoulder
Chapter 51: rushed the soaking package to the back of the truck and threw it inside.
/Suggest drop the sentence from chapter 51./
Chapter 51: I headed down to the street where Gularte and Elwell waited in his truck. The cab proved so large that the bench seat held all three of us with plenty of room to spare.
/Suggest we keep the truck and change references to the Volks in chap 52/
Here: The Volks, just toss your own goggles and mine, plus the bag onto the passenger seat and come back
Change “The volks” to “The truck” or “Gularte’s truck”
“and come back” is negated by the following
“Wait inside the car,” I instructed,
Drop “and come back”
The truck, just toss your own goggles and mine, plus the bag onto the passenger seat.
OR
Gularte’s truck, just toss your own goggles and mine, plus the bag onto the passenger seat
latch will not operate,” replied, keeping my voice
Add “I” before “replied”
latch will not operate,” I replied, keeping my voice
risking almost everything, as since I’d known Haldeman took it very badly
“as” and “since” seem duplicate. Drop one.
risking almost everything, as I’d known Haldeman took it very badly
information whatsoever to no one but either the Chief of Staff or myself
Reads a bit smoother if “no one but either” is changed to “no one except”
information whatsoever to no one except either the Chief of Staff or myself
In Chapter 51 “Gularte’s 1970 Ford F100 was our choice of vehicles.”
as we both headed over to the Volks.
I climbed in and took the wheel before starting the little German people’s wagon.
Change “volks” to truck.
Drop second sentence
finally going silent as we both headed over to the truck.
I said the words, started the Volks, and headed for my driveway.
Maybe end with “I said,”
Begin new sentence “Gularte let’s head for my place.”
I said, “Gularte let’s head for my place.”
Bob had thrown the package in front of my seat
Sorta works as is – but since single bench seat in truck maybe change “seat” to “feet”
Bob had thrown the package in front of my feet
I felt the cold moisture bleed from it as I drove.
Change “I” to “we”
I felt the cold moisture bleed from it as we drove.
There had been and was not now a knot to secure the short but heavy rope
Seems contradictory:
Could substitute “but” for and”
There had been but not now a knot to secure the short but heavy rope
/which assumes you untied the knot/
OR
Reword to “never been”
There had never been and was not now a knot to secure the short but heavy rope
I trusted Mardian to a degree, not to have informed me if the bag was booby-trapped
Maybe drop “not”
I trusted Mardian to a degree, to have informed me if the bag was booby-trapped
there appeared no trip wire or detonator
Could add “to be” after “appeared”
there appeared to be no trip wire or detonator
staring down into the ness.
“mess” instead of “ness”
staring down into the mess.
I could never expected to see: “San Clemente Three USMC.”
Drop “could”
I never expected to see: “San Clemente Three USMC.”
The three dead Marines, where and when it had all started
Add “was” before “where”
The three dead Marines, was where and when it had all started
Had he been right in his expressing his opinion
“his” twice. drop “his” before “expressing”
Had he been right in expressing his opinion
face my wife, while the tup water ran behind me.
“tub” instead of “tup”
face my wife, while the tub water ran behind me.
leech out the salt from the tape itself, depending upon what kind of take it is
“tape” rather than “take”
leech out the salt from the tape itself, depending upon what kind of tape it is
C60, C90, or C120 on their labels
/ Number after “C” is play time. – these usually were cassettes?
/Longer play time may have thinner tape./
“You have a micrometer with vermeils on it. Just take one tape and refold a piece about thirty times and measure that in vermeils and you’ll be able to convert to microns.”
/I cannot find “vermeils” anywhere as a unit of measurement./
Maybe “mils”
“You have a micrometer with mils on it. Just take one tape and refold a piece about thirty times and measure that in mils and you’ll be able to convert to microns.”
/mils are one one thousands of an inch./
taking a sip from his Hamms bottle
“Hamm’s”
taking a sip from his Hamm’s bottle
morning as they weren’t about to go anywhere.”
No need for closing quote
morning as they weren’t about to go anywhere.
Blessings & Be Well
Dear DanC: Much needed repairs to the artwork here and especially in picking up the truck and Volks juxtaposition.
As usual, you make the work better than it would ever be without you.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jeepers,, Jim! You get into more stuff than my new Siberian Husky pup! If I didn’t believe you are still alive…
Really wondering if you are still going to listen to those tapes, especially “The San Clemente Three”.
I’ll leave the small edits to the customary crew.
Semper Fi, my friend – hope we can meet sometime before Agent Orange finally does me in.
Thanks Craig for your usual special form of compliments. I cannot write some things here because the
answers to some of your apropos questions follow in the next chapters…which, of course, you already know.
Semper fi,
Jim
Deeper and deeper into the abyss we go!!
A strange but accepted form of a compliment. I’ll take it as such.
It was a sort of abyss, but in plural form.
Thanks for the help in thinking about it and all the other rare, but quite a few, people like you helping me along.
Semper fi,
Jim
Those tapes were so hot I’m surprised they didn’t dry off immediately. Can’t wait for the next chapter. Thank you again Jim
Tim
Most welcome Tim, and yes the tapes were something else indeed, and a shock to discover
as I had no idea what could possibly be kept in Mardian’s son’s trunk that would be of
any relevance whatsoever. But that was life then, and as I came to know in later years with
the CIA, not that uncommon at all for powerful figures and situations.
Semper fi,
Jim
staring down into the ness.* Inside are (* mess)
while the tup * water ran (* tub)
depending upon what kind of take * it is, of course.” (*tape)
“Tapes” , Haldeman , !!! Oh boy here we go, from the White House or was that later in time ??
Then there’s the one marked about the three Marines, so that’s really intriguing !!!
Great read James, wow what next ??
Semper Fi
Thanks for the help SgtBob and the compliment, as well…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Thanks for a new chapter.
Especially one that ties back into the 3 dead marines.
MAYBE we will have SOME light shed on that “incident.”
Next time you plan a caper, you might as well post a note in the local newspaper. Seems like a lot of unexpected people showed up to the dive to get the frunk package.
Secret information is damned hard to keep secret, not typically because of its value in being sold or any of that,
but simply because humanity loves to be in possession of secrets but loves even more to be known as having such stuff…and, unfortunately, usually the only way a person can prove that he or she has such information is to reveal some or all of it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Don’t tell me, let me guess. The voice from the back of the Lincoln was President Nixon. Another outstanding chapter James.
Thanks for the thought and guess Charles. No, it wasn’t Nixon.
No president travels at night in a limo without a huge entourage and Nixon was no different.
Thanks for always being on here to comment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good point, Jim
As a side note with Nixon.
When we played gin in the men’s locker room at the golf course, it was very
‘private’
Just the four of us, Nixon, Jack Brennan (a loyal Marine and Aide to Nixon who just passed away on October 20, 2023), and my golf partner.
Believe it or not, there were a few Secret Service wandering around the area
Thought I heard a rumblin’
Calling to my name
Two hundred million guns are loaded
Satan cries, “Take aim
Exceptional writing. I am surprised Kissinger let Haldeman speak first. However, HK probably save your ass. So is this the missing tapes from Nixon’s secret tapes. Nixon’s personal secretary, Rose Mary Woods, claimed to have accidentally erased the missing minutes, which are you found?
Two things strike me is who was giving up the dwarfs? Why were you bugged ? I guess paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you’re always afraid Step out of line, the men come and take you away
What astounds me is that these tapes were valuable so why not put them in a baggie then in the bag in case of water or rain?
Why were they treated so lackadaisically?
Engrossing stuff.
I know this is going to turn out to be a mauve herring.
Chills
Thanks Rich for the usual interesting and great comment.
There were no little plastic baggies back in those days, not available in regular grocery stores
anyway. The bag was not secured for underwater exposure because the person who placed it there
obviously never could have conceived of the Porsche spending time underwater (that part was me, as you know).
At least that’s my conjecture.Things that are truly secret many times are not classified that way, or even at
all. The classification alone declares the stuff to be vitally secret and important, like all the stuff that
is being bandied about today with presidents and others possessing it when they shouldn’t. If nobody thinks it’s secret
then nobody much cares about it unless it looks obviously that it might have cash value.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
What was in the bag was a surprise but remembering the Nixon problems shouldn’t have been….wow, that picture an actual?
Comment on mistakes vs Ahau….even as a Basic School rookie we were train in an order thought process; your little slice of heaven in California was a much more complex space! You are correct in turning up your video surveillance now!!!
I probably shouldn’t ever admit that I have surveillance where I live, everywhere
nad in many forms. PTSD strikes deep and is often shared with substantial paranoia.
Thanks for the usual great comment and more will be reveal as this thing continues to develop.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Are you leading in to a story on DALLAS? 🙂 By chance James. sounds possible to me. great segment, by the way!!
Thanks for that analogous comparison Harold. Very complimentary.
Much appreciate the support and loyalty
Semper fi
Jim