Author's Note - Like almost all of you, I was very disappointed in the last episode. Needless to say, like my idea for this story started somewhere in seasons 3 and 4 so Christopher LaSalle's not going anywhere! I WILL drive an alternative goodbye to LaSalle that's much more fitting than how the show ended his character arc. But for now here's the next update.
NCIS OFFICE
"Pride! I got a lead on the mystery woman Prescott went to Hawaii with. And it's definitely a solid lead"
"Already? I thought you needed a warrant for State Police to deal with the DMV," said Gregorio.
"Nah, dealing with the DMV, I gotta wait till the cows come home just for their website to load when I'm renewing my overpriced vehicle registration," Patton said. "Of course I used a back way online, just don't ask me how. Plausible deniability, like they say."
"Fair enough. What did you find?" At first, Pride was concerned about Patton's hacking, just in case he got caught, regardless of how important certain investigations may be. But he's since learned that Patton was good enough to never be caught.
"Her name is Kelly Ann Matthews of Burnside, Louisiana, a mere three miles from the Garner Plastics plant. I confirmed it with security camera footage from the lobby of the Sheraton Kona Resort. She works for Falcon Security, which sure enough has a contract to provide on-site security with Garner Plastics. This must be where she met Prescott, so Prescott must be spending a lot more time at the facility than we had assumed. Also, this also has implications for Prescott's finances as he indeed pay for almost all their expenses on the trip. The only times Matthews's credit card was used was at a gas station outside Volcanoes National Park where she bought two packs of Marlboro Menthol Lights and at a souvenir shop in South Point plus a few drinks at the hotel bar."
"Excellent work. We need to follow up with the security company and finally pay Garner Plastics a visit."
"One more thing about Garner Plastics," Sonja said. "That part of corporate America isn't even American anymore. Six months ago, Garner Plastics was acquired in a backroom deal by Wiesbaden Polymers, a multi-national company based in Germany despite heavy opposition. There were serious concerns about one of the largest locally owned companies in the Gulf South falling into foreign control. A parish councilman who led the opposition to the deal resigned for personal reasons after his wife died of a previously undiagnosed medical condition."
"Very convenient indeed," Pride said frowning.
"I know we'll be paying the facility a visit soon, but has LaShawn contacted you yet with the word on the street?" LaSalle asked.
"Yeah, what's this history between you and him?" Gregorio asked.
"LaShawn is suspected of running one of the largest crime syndicates and drug crews in the state and his crew is now part of the Black Guerilla Family gang, with close association with the Baltimore chapter. The BGF has taken advantage of the lawlessness in Baltimore following the Freddie Gray riots and have grown increasingly powerful and have been trafficking drugs and guns into New Orleans. But of course none of that is proven."
Pride paused. "I've known Garner since my days at NOPD. He's always been one step ahead of us. Probably even more slick than Carlos Marcello." That was a reference to the Godfather of New Orleans, who ran a major Mafia family until he went to prison following an FBI investigation, though he eventually had his charges dismissed and retired peacefully in Metairie.
"And this man of the people thing?"
"He's extremely respected by people in the Lower Ninth and parts of Algiers," Pride said. "He considers himself a cross between Pablo Escobar and Vito Corleone, especially the loyalty that people in his community have for him."
"Escobar was a folk hero in Medellin. They called him the Robin Hood of Colombia because of his philanthropy and saw him as a leader opposing the corrupt elites" LaSalle remembered from his criminal justice classes at the University of Alabama. "His popular support was what hindered DEA and Colombian government efforts to bring him down."
"And that's exactly true for LaShawn Garner. Yes, he's a violent criminal but the BGE also owns many legitimate businesses that provide opportunities to the locals, and I'd say at least half the people in the Lower Ninth trust them more than they just the mayor's office or the police department. They got issues, they go to him, not NOPD. The BGE has also protected the neighborhood from illegal alien gangs at a time when NOPD isn't even allowed to collaborate with ICE."
"Patton, you look more into their other high ranking members?" Gregorio asked. "Maybe others within the organization are making their own moves, undermining LaShawn's authority."
Patton pulled up a picture of a man named Tre'Vonte Harris.
"That's our buddy at the quick mart today. Extensive criminal record obviously. Part of the muscle. He was put on trial for murdering a police informant six years ago, but the state had to release him after a witness in that trial was killed in a drive-by shooting."
"As for the transnational street gangs, what about MH-11 or MS-13?" Both of these were notorious Central American gangs with an increased presence in New Orleans, though the situation wasn't quite as bad as in some other major U.S. cities. "You think one of those gangs could be trying to strike fear into the local community before they make another attempt to establish a presence in New Orleans?"
"Not impossible, but unlikely," Pride decided. "If they were making a move, they would act against LaShawn's crew directly. "They're also more known for very brazen public attacks vs dumping a body in a river hoping nobody would find it." If anything, the Central American gangs and the Mexican cartels they allied with were known for dumping bodies on the streets to sow fear amongst their enemies. "No matter who did it, the fact that they tried to dispose of the body means they were not trying to send a message. Most likely something personal against Prescott or to cover up something bigger. We just need to find out what."
EN ROUTE TO NCIS
Gregorio sped onto St. Charles Avenue from Tulane's well-kept grounds, cutting in front of a streetcar dangerously close to the point that the conductor blared the horn at her, eliciting cheers from several of the tourists on board.
"Watch it, this isn't New York anymore, Gregorio, jeez," Sebastian said, unnerved by her aggressive driving.
Gregorio ignored him. "LaSalle, Pride," she said, dialing the office. "Any match yet?"
"No luck," Pride said, shaking his head. "We checked the student records from the University of Texas, nobody with the name Josef Blakjovic. I've reached out to the State Department so see if our embassy in Prague can contact the Czech police but I highly doubt that's going to go anywhere."
"Yeah something about this picture doesn't suggest he's just a college student, not even just a violent one," Gregorio said. "I have a bad feeling about this. Look at his eyes, the way he walked into that hall. I think our answers lie with whoever this person is."
WIESBADEN PLASTICS MANUFACTURING PLANT, DARROW, ASCENSION PARISH
It was like déjà vu, going back westbound once more past the Bonne Carre Spillway toward the petrochemical corridor. This time, they took the route through LaPlace and the giant Shell facility, which was brightly lit up by the natural gas burning into the darkening sky.
"Smells like home, right?" LaSalle joked to Gregorio who just glared at him. They continued for short while more through LaPlace, following the River Road from the other direction back toward Darrow and the sprawling former Garner Plastics facility, now owned by Wiesbaden Polymers. Perhaps for PR reasons, the large sign still read "Garner Plastics" but in small print, it did say "A Wiesbaden Subsidiary" and the new parent company's slogans in both German and English.
They pulled up to a large security gate, manned by officers from Falcon Security. The officer at the guard station looked at Pride.
"NCIS, Federal Agents, I'm Special Agent Pride."
"Nobody called ahead to say you were coming," the man replied, curious but not particularly hostile.
"It's an unannounced visit, we just want to talk to whoever dealt most with Eddie Prescott."
The guard nodded. "Quite a shame. He was here quite a bit actually, good guy, we're going to miss him. He and Kelly here were a thing too. Don't blame her, he can be a charmer."
Just love it when people volunteer information, Pride thought but didn't say out loud. "Would Kelly Ann Matthews be working now by any chance?"
"She's actually still taking a few days off to deal with the whole situation."
"Can't blame her," Pride said, making a mental note to pay Kelly a visit at home.
"She stays less than two miles from here," the guard said, offering more info. "A lot of her family works in this factory in various capacities, her connections actually got a small company like ours this contract. But anyway, here are your passes, they're ready for you in the main office building."
They drove deeper into the facility past several large storage tanks and webs of hissing industrial pipes belching out steam, though the many workers on site ignored them, probably assuming NCIS would be involved since Prescott was also in the Marine Reserves.
They pulled right in front of a modern low-rise office building where the local corporate offices were located. They were led by more security officers into a spacious lobby, then up an open staircase to the second floor, where the plant manager was waiting in his office.
Pride flashed his badge. "I'm Special Agent Dwayne Pride from the NCIS New Orleans office."
The man nodded and motioned for Pride and the rest of the team to enter. "I'm Donnie Cooke, plant manager here at Wiesbaden Polymers Darrow Operations."
"Oh, that's the name now, officially?"
"As of two months ago, yes. Now what brings a bunch of Navy investigators all the way up from New Orleans?"
"I'm sure you know one of your employees, Eddie Prescott, was found dead recently not far from this factory, and he happened to be in the Marine Reserves."
"I wasn't aware of that fact until they announced you were here to see me."
"Which fact? That he's in the Navy, or that he's dead?"
"Neither," Cooke replied. "You see, Prescott was never directly employed by Wiesbaden Polymers, nor before that by Garner Plastics. He was a liaison with local public schools, setting up internships for students. It's something our company has been promoting, more outreach with local school districts to encourage more local kids to join the industry, and to make sure schools and community colleges are always the most up to date on the skills that are most needed. Especially as we're continuing to expand our presence in this area."
"In that case he must be the most highly paid liaison ever," LaSalle retorted. "We've obtained financial records of deposits into the St. George Trust Bank in Bermuda."
"And how have you obtained this info given Bermuda's banking secrecy laws? I highly doubt they legally…."
"How we obtained this information is irrelevant," Pride said. "It only matters that we have it. My team finds things off the books, and does things off the books, and that's how we've been getting results for years."
Cooke sighed. "We brought him on as a consultant for a special research project, the details of which are propriety secrets, or I guess the business equivalent of classified, as you spooks might call it."
"We're law enforcement, not spies," LaSalle pointed out. "And now why would you bring someone like him in?"
"As you probably know, the acquisition of the Garner Plastics company by Wiesbaden Polymers has been very controversial here. People here in Louisiana don't seem to understand or appreciate the nature of our globalized economy, they see that our headquarters is now in Stuttgart rather than than Tchoupitoulas Street and making an unnecessary fuss out of it."
"When this money is flowing out to the other side of the world instead of staying in this community I'd say its worth a fuss," LaSalle interjected hotly.
"Anyway, because of this," Cooke said, "We've also found we couldn't trust many of the original experts employed by Garner Plastics. Recently one of them started working for a competing polymers company in South Carolina and we believe she divulged trade secrets, yet the courts both here and South Carolina refused to charge her claiming there's no evidence to back up our claims. We need someone from the outside, someone new, to engage in these consulting activities."
"And you pay him under the table, using a protected bank in Bermuda?"
"Prescott is among the best chemical experts we know," Cooke said, "And didn't wish for this to be known publicly, especially given the conflicts we've had with the teachers union over the industrial property tax exemptions. Now that's a conflict we inherited from Garner Plastics. Anyway, I'm not aware that any crime was committed. At least that's what my lawyer in Bermuda told me. Now is there anything else?"
"You know anything about Kelly Ann Matthews, who works security here on site? She and Prescott were a thing, apparently."
"Once again, security is provided by a separate company that we gave a contract to so I imagine they handle their own affairs. And besides, even if both Prescott and Matthews did work for me, which they don't, I'm not into getting into the personal lives of these employees. We employ too many people for that even if I wanted to." He said that with a matter of pride, motioning back toward the sprawling industrial plant.
"Now I hope I've been as cooperative as possible," he said. "You should understand that the details of the project Mr. Prescott worked on are under legal secrecy."
"Yes, proprietary information, I get it." Patton will be able to get to it, Pride didn't add.
OUTSIDE OF DARROW, LOUISIANA
"Patton, what do we have on Kelly Ann Matthews?" Pride asked, driving back on River Road back in the direction toward New Orleans, though their destination was only a few miles from the polymers factory.
"Not anything particularly suspicious," Patton said, bringing everything from his screen onto Pride's iPad. "25 years old, born and raised in Ascension Parish. Been working part time at Falcon Security for a year and a half. Goes to school at River Parishes Community College in their vet tech program. Only criminal record is a DUI in Livingston Parish three years ago."
"So not particularly dangerous, though she's trained to shoot."
"Yes, Falcon has both armed and unarmed guards, someone in her position would undergo some additional training, but then the murder weapon isn't a firearm and its not much hand to hand combat training. Its unlikely she would have been able to restrain a combat Marine like Prescott and then murder him that way."
"We can't assume anything," Pride said. "But in any case, we have to find out exactly what she knows, given how close she was to our victim."
Pride drove further past a sleepy small town with only a non-branded gas station and convenience store then entered a rural landscape with live oak trees mixed with overgrown fields with flowering thistle, finally turning down a long dirt driveway. Toward the end of the driveway, there was a grassy lawn cut among the field and two trailers. A semi-official sign actually read Matthews Lane. One of those signs that was commonly found in the rural South.
Suddenly, the door to the trailer on the left opened and automatic weapons fire rang out.
"Shit, take cover!" Sonja said, hiding behind a parked vehicle.
A young man emerged in the doorway holding an AR-15 and sprayed several more rounds in their direction.
"This is NCIS!" LaSalle shouted, "Put your weapon down!"
"King, I'll take him out the moment I get a clear shot!" LaSalle said as Gregorio tried to flank their position.
"We need them alive if we're to get answers," Pride said.
"Fuck y'all!" the young man yelled, firing again. "You don't look like law enforcement to me! This is my fucking property and I stand my ground! Real cops would know that!"
"I'm going to toss over my badge! Just stop shooting!" Pride said. In their haste to enter the scene it didn't occur to them that they might have been identified as trespassers before even reaching the door. Whoever was here was paranoid, but didn't do anything illegal under Louisiana's castle doctrine. He hadn't actually introduced themselves as law enforcement.
Weapons fire rang out from another direction, past a grove of oak trees.
"We're Federal agents! NCIS! Naval Criminal Investigative Service!"
"Toss that badge over!" the man yelled from the trailer door.
Pride hurled his NCIS badge as hard as he could, the badge landing on the man's feet. He whistled to the other armed civilians in the area. "Hold your fire!"
"Put the weapon down!"
"You shoulda identified yourselves the moment you came onto our property!"
"We didn't know anyone was here! We were going to knock but you…"
"Like we should trust the fucking government!" the man yelled. "You people, the chemical plant, you all…"
"Just stay calm! I showed my badge now, so put down your weapon of you're under arrest. You're not under arrest yet, this was a misunderstanding, but if you don't put down that weapon, you will be commiting a crime."
This entire interaction was alien to Gregorio, coming from a state where the 2nd amendment might as well not exist.
"Okay!" Pride said, approaching the trailer, "I'm Special Agent Dwayne Pride from the NCIS New Orleans office, we're investigating the murder of Lieutenant Eddie Prescott whom I'm sure you know if you live next door to your sister Kelly Ann. We were coming to speak to her."
"She ain't here!" the man said suspiciously.
"Let me see some ID, son," Pride said. He had a drivers license identifying himself as Dennis Matthews. "You part of the family too, um, Dennis?"
"I'm her brother. Look, she took Eddie's death pretty hard, they were real close."
"It's my understanding they went to Hawaii together," Pride said. "They seemed happy?"
Dennis agreed to open the door to Kelly Ann's home, a much more spacious double wide. Gregorio looked down on trailers, but was pleasantly surprised when she walked in. The double wide had far more living space than the typical New York City apartment, with a large living room, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a kitchen with the newest appliances.
"Yeah, I mean, Eddie was a cool guy, our family, we all loved him. We have no idea who would do something like this, hence us even more defensive than usual," Dennis said. "You check with the plant? That's where they met, she worked security there and he was there a lot visiting the site, that's how they met."
"They couldn't give us much information," LaSalle replied. "But we do need you to think carefully, and I'm sorry for having to ask this question. Did Kelly and Eddie have any problems?"
They looked around Kelly's bedroom, which had several pictures of her and Eddie together, looking perfectly happy.
"You serious, man?" Dennis said, dumbfounded. "You honestly think she might have killed him? She would never do anything like that. And like I said she was in love! They had no relationship issues of any kind! We….we were glad that she was able to find someone like him."
"Obviously we'd like to talk to Kelly ourselves. Did she mention where she went?"
"No, she just needed some time alone, she said. She left her daughter with our mother in Port Vincent, said she was going to her friend's in Denham Springs but never showed up. I….we really need to give her some space, this is very difficult for her to deal with."
"Is there anything else you can remember, about the factory, anything that happened there? Did Eddie have any enemies?"
Dennis shook his head, then paused. "She…..she did have this bag once that I saw when I went in her place to borrow some tools. Some kind of chemical kit, she just said she was going to take it to the animal hospital to test some samples, but some of the equipment in there was from the plant. She said she was borrowing it for a research project they were working on….now it sounds kinda weird. You think Eddie might not be as innocent as she thought? Maybe he's using her access to the factory to steal materials?"
"How can that be linked to her being in a vet tech program?" Pride's mind was spinning. Did Prescott really do this much research on her to target Kelly? But then he didn't have to spend all this money with her, even taking her to Hawaii. Things were still not adding up.
"The animal hospital is part of a larger research facility with all kinds of labs, so I don't know. But I really haven't been able to get in touch with Kelly. I hope y'all do find her and that she's alright."
NCIS OFFICE
"Gregorio! Patton!" Pride said, strolling into the NCIS office with several takeaway boxes from Galatoire's restaurant, including their delicious Oysters Rockefeller, which some people swear taste better than the original ones from Antoine's. "You mentioned y'all were going to do a cross check on any possible individuals with links to all of these factions that have been threatening Lieutenant Prescott?"
Patton beamed as he looked up from his computer screen. "That's like child's play for Triple P." He displayed a large image of a New Jersey driver's license with the name James Richards on it, then the same face on a number of foreign passports with different aliases. Finally, it showed a German passport with the name Franz Guttmacher on it. "I backtracked the security camera footage and he was also seen entering LaRose Liquors in Westwego, and LaShawn Garner's vehicle was parked in the lot during this time so its safe to say they met too. Though I did have to hack into the German government's intelligence databases given he's one of their former agents. This is all coming together given that Garner Plastics is really Wiesbaden Polymers now, and the Germans own all that shit."
"On the record I did recommend against that," Gregorio blurted out, "If there's an international incident Patton here is alone responsible."
"Nah, if the Germans make a big deal out of this, they'll have to admit their so-called German engineered secure software is even less secure than Hillary Clinton's e-mail server! And they'll also have to admit their own former trained agents are up to no good."
"So what did you find?" Pride asked. "This guy is the link behind all these threats, perhaps he has his own agenda against Prescott?"
"Guess what?" Gregorio said. "My connections in FBI worked out and got us access to our own American counterintelligence databases and we were able to confirm the match that Mr. Plame found."
"Triple P is the name," Patton corrected her.
She rolled her eyes and pulled up the picture of the German on the screen. "His real name is Franz Guttmacher, a former agent of the BND, Germany's foreign intelligence agency. He was fired for insubordination after he disobeyed direct orders during an operation in Iran, causing three of his fellow agents to be captured and tortured to death by the Iranians."
"Surprised he didn't go to prison for something like that," Percy said. "I mean we've all gone against protocol and even orders sometimes but we were always right."
"Lucky for Guttmacher, several European corporations wanted someone with his skill set and experience, and he's been freelancing as an industrial spy for years. According to MI6, there's suspicions that a consortium of German companies including Wiesbaden Polymers helped pay for his defense. He was defended by one of Berlin's most prominent trial lawyers. He's worked for several rival entities but one of the few he's never gone against is Wiesbaden Polymers.
"Industrial espionage, yes, but murder?" LaSalle asked. "Isn't that a jump?"
"His file doesn't indicate he's carried out any assassinations before the attempted hit on the Iranian nuclear scientist that ruined his team."
"But he's highly trained in those skills even if he hasn't officially used them," Pride concluded, "And Guttmacher's desperate to prove himself to his new employers after his failure working for the German government."
"Additionally," Gregorio pointed out, "Guttmacher was especially known for planning false flag operations among the various Islamic terrorist groups in the Middle East, including the car bombing outside the radical Sunni mosque in Aleppo, Syria that was attributed to Hezbollah."
"Keep them on their toes. The more they're fighting amongst themselves, the less they're planning attacks against the West," LaSalle theorized.
"So we know if Guttmacher has a typical MO?"
"I've done a deep dive and haven't been able to find something that specific," Patton replied. "He's a professionally trained assassin. I've tried to backtrack his travel patterns – airline tickets, hotel reservations, border crossings – he's not had a single confirmed kill since he left the BND. Except for one in St. Clairsville, Ohio."
"International assassin shows up to kill someone in the middle of rural Ohio?" LaSalle remarked.
"I'm going to have to work my contacts on that one," Sonja said.
"Do we have any idea where Franz Guttmacher is currently?" Pride asked.
"Of course," Patton said. "You know we always come to you prepared, King."
"Well, continue," said Pride with anticipation.
"Well, once we found out Guttmacher's identity, we knew he'd be travelling under fake alias so we used facial recognition software and placed into a program mixed with such alias. He's traveling under the fake identity of Neil Tyler, a Scottish businessman. He used that identity to check into the Marriott Lakefront Hotel in Metairie. Room 2419. He also used that identity to rent a Nissan sedan shortly after his arrival in New Orleans."
Patton displayed a security camera image onto the large screen. "Still parked at that very hotel."
"Good work," Pride said, "Let's move out."
NEW LIFE MEDICAL CLINIC, PATASKALA, OHIO, 15 MILES EAST OF COLUMBUS
This was one of the quickest doctor's visits in Meredith Brody's life, and that was a problem. And right now, she wasn't even Meredith Brody, she thought as she sat down in front of the middle aged doctor.
"You must be Dr. Sarodia," she said with a smile. "My friend from class told me about you, said you be able to help me, no questions asked."
"What is it that you need, Miss Ross?" Dr. Ankur Sarodia asked, glancing at his computer to look at the electronic intake form his patient had filled out. Her fake background story was that she was a nontraditional student who was having trouble adjusting to the new workload after transferring to Ohio State University from community college, and also had to balance a job and two kids.
"My regular doctor won't give me a prescription for Adderall or Vyvanse because I don't officially have ADHD. But I've got 3 midterms on the same day and the bartender that usually picks up my shifts is in Cozumel right now. If I don't pass these tests I'm fucked. These meds got me through finals last semester."
Dr. Sarodia nodded, even though his medical specialty was neurology and had nothing to do with ADHD. "I will write you a prescription for Vyvanse 70 miligrams. And if you pay me an extra $150 I will write another one dated for a month from now, when you'll be studying for your finals. Unless you prefer Ritalin?"
"That would be awesome! Thank you so much! And Adderall's totally fine!" Brody said in a perky voice. "Can you send them electronically to the Walgreens on Waggoner and East Broad? Or to Jack's Drugstore so it can be ready when I get there this evening?"
"No, they ask too many questions about the prescriptions I write even though it's not really their place to challenge me," Sarodia said as he wrote out two hard copy prescriptions, one for Vyvanse 70 mg and the other for Adderall 30 mg, both the highest available strengths available for these controlled substance medications. "Take these to Miller's Pharmacy. They're guaranteed to fill them. I have an understanding with them," Dr. Sarodia said, with a wink.
Brody nodded. "Thanks! You're a lifesaver."
She grabbed the prescriptions and walked out of the dingy looking clinic that stood as an eyesore in the well kept strip mall. This was an interesting change from the past two months which she spent in southern Ohio, pretending to be a washed up pillhead going to different pill mill pharmacies and doctor's offices, sometimes dropping off forged prescriptions.
Not there weren't quite a few obvious drug addicts right in this parking lot, some of them with license plates from Kentucky and Illinois, several hours drive away. New Life Medical Clinic, including Dr. Sarodia, was also on the DEA and local law enforcement's radar. The thing was, many of these unscrupulous doctors also knew that the police were paying attention to their activities, so Brody decided asking for an inappropriate prescription for ADHD drugs wouldn't attract as much attention from Sarodia than if she had asked for a narcotic pain medication like oxycodone or fentanyl.
Brody suddenly felt her purse vibrate and took her cell phone out of it. SONJA PERCY. It said. She felt a mix of emotions as she thought back to her final days in New Orleans and her old friend. But despite everything Pride and them had done for her, she still felt out of place and on the run, though at this point she wasn't even sure what she was escaping anymore.
She silenced the call and got in her car, pulling into the wide suburban commercial strip and approaching the on-ramp for Interstate 70 west toward Columbus. The phone rang again. The a text message. "Brody, I really do need your help with something. Please get back to me. Sonja."