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Tenacious Bulldogs
Tenacious Bulldogs
Tenacious Bulldogs
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Tenacious Bulldogs

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“Tenacious Bulldogs” is the story of two young reporters, who work together to expose a highly unlikely, but truly disturbing, covert operation by the Central Intelligence Agency.

When their puzzling and often obstacle-laden investigative journey begins, Nicole Robins, a young, general assignments reporter for a daily newspaper in Savannah, Georgia, and Rick Scott, the newest Pentagon correspondent for one of the national television networks, are working on two, seemingly-unrelated news stories.

Nicole, who looks like a beauty queen but pursues news like a bulldog, tries to write a story about a routine emergency landing of a civilian cargo plane at the local airport. When she does, she discovers that the Army, Air Force, and the CIA are trying to cover up the incident.

At the same time, working on an investigative report about government wrongdoing in Washington, Rick finds that there could be a connection between their two stories. At that point, they decide to join forces and use their reporting skills, instincts, and tenacity to find out what the government is hiding.

As they begin to peel back the layers of a covert operation, their relentless pursuit of the truth ultimately leads them to uncover a plot by the CIA that has them questioning whether it could really be happening.
The novel is a dogged reportorial journey that gives readers an in-depth and realistic look into the worlds of both print and broadcast investigative journalism.

As you watch the two young reporters turn their local stories into a national media frenzy, you’re left asking a troubling question, “Can we ever fully trust the people who run our government?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJim Hipps
Release dateNov 14, 2012
ISBN9781301228867
Tenacious Bulldogs
Author

Jim Hipps

Jim Hipps is a product of the Deep South. Born in Helena, Arkansas, he lived in five different Southern states as a child, and most of his early education was in the public school system in Memphis, Tennessee. He attended Memphis State University and the University of Tennessee, before joining the Army during the Vietnam War. While serving in the military, he was a reporter for, and editor of, two Army newspapers, and a correspondent for the “Stars & Stripes – Pacific.” After his tour of duty, he began a successful 40-year career in both print and broadcast journalism. By the time he retired in 2006, he had been the owner and publisher of: “PMT: Pulmonary Medicine & Technology,” a national medical trade journal, and had held almost every position in a radio or television newsroom. He served as a News Director, Assignment Editor, Anchor, Reporter, Photographer, and Talk Show Host, working at WREC-AM-FM-TV (now WREG) in Memphis, Tennessee; WSAV-TV in Savannah, Georgia;, KETK-TV in Tyler, Texas, and WFAA-TV in Dallas. Jim has one son, Alan, who lives in Florida pursuing a pro-golf career. Both Jim and Alan are rabid fans of the Dallas Mavericks and Dallas Cowboys. (Jim’s wife, Amelia, says she becomes a basketball widow while the Mavericks are playing.) In 2006, Jim joined Amelia at their present home in Lebanon, Tenn., where she was the managing editor of the local daily newspaper. In 2011, the couple founded Capitol Newswatch LLC, a news service for small, community-based newspapers across the state. They are the proud parents of four, four-legged children - Trixie Anne, John Coal, Onyx Jasmine, and Sir Robert Redbone.

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    Tenacious Bulldogs - Jim Hipps

    Tenacious Bulldogs

    By Jim Hipps

    Copyright 2012 Jim Hipps All Rights Reserved

    Smashwords Edition

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the intellectual property and hard work of the author.

    Table of Contents

    Chapter 1 - Covering the Nothing Story

    Chapter 2 - Talking With a Friend

    Chapter 3 - Understanding the Three Types

    Chapter 4 - I Owe You One

    Chapter 5 - Finding the Prepared Body

    Chapter 6 - A Highly Improbable Story

    Chapter 7 - Eliminating the Other Possibilities

    Chapter 8 - Launching the Untraceable Solution

    Chapter 9 - Making the Unlikely Connection

    Chapter 10 - The Fun Filled Reunion

    Chapter 11 - Meeting With the Players

    Chapter 12 - Searching for the Pieces

    Chapter 13 - Knowing Which is Which

    Chapter 14 - Bad News and Worse

    Chapter 15 - Asking for the IOU

    Chapter 16 - Doing the Right Thing

    Chapter 17 - Handcuffing the Legal Process

    Chapter 18 - Telling the Whole Truth

    Chapter 19 - Not Enough to Publish

    Chapter 20 - The Search for Jake

    Chapter 21 - Getting Commitment and Confirmation

    Chapter 22 - Something Jason Didn’t Know

    Chapter 23 - Looking to the Future

    Epilogue

    A Few Words From the Author

    About the Author

    Connect With Jim Hipps Online

    Chapter 1

    Covering the Nothing Story

    It was one of the last things Nicole Robins wanted to hear coming out of the newsroom scanner … a sharp tone, followed by a man’s voice, calmly giving a pilot permission to make an emergency landing.

    Nicole really didn’t hear what the air traffic controller said. She had pretty much learned to tune out the squelching and squealing receivers when she was at work. To her, the sporadic police, fire, and other emergency broadcasts were just irritating background noises, but she’d also learned to watch the photographers who sat near the scanners. When one of them leaned forward with a concerned look on his face, she started listening.

    After asking Bill Henry, the newspaper’s chief photographer, to fill her in on everything the controller said, Nicole hated what she knew would happen next. She and Bill would drive to the Savannah International Airport, where her friend Judi would tell her the plane had landed safely, no one was hurt, and there was no damage. As a reporter for The Savannah Times in the historic Georgia city, she’d covered five other emergency landings at the airport, and none had been eventful enough to write anything about. Today’s would probably turn out the same way. Still, it would delay her trip to Chickamauga.

    Nicole was planning to go to her parents’ home to celebrate the birthday of one of her uncles. She was an only child but had three-dozen aunts, uncles, and cousins. Her father had five brothers and sisters, her mother four. All of the siblings, except for her mother, had at least two children. As a teenager, Nicole couldn’t wait to leave home and not have to bother with what seemed to be a constant stream of family birthdays, anniversaries, and holiday celebrations. Now, in her late-twenties, and having been away from home for more than nine years, she found that thinking about returning to the place where she grew up filled her with warm memories. She truly was looking forward to seeing her relatives and friends again, but the family get-together would have to wait. She was the only reporter in the newsroom, and early in her career she discovered that personal plans always take a back seat to breaking news, even if it means driving to the airport to cover a nothing story.

    Enroute, Nicole decided to wait until she returned to the office to call her parents and let them know she’d be late getting home. Looking out the window, she sighed and quietly said, Maybe this is the one.

    Bill heard her, but didn’t respond. He knew what she meant. Going to many assignments, Nicole would tell herself, This could be the Pulitzer Prize winner. It was a way she had of psyching herself up to do a good job of covering a story she really didn’t want to cover.

    After a few moments, she turned to Bill.

    You know, we may be the only two people in the world who are headed to the airport, hoping the plane will be in a thousand pieces, and there’ll be bodies all over the runway. What does that say about us?

    Bill continued to watch the northbound traffic on the interstate, but a wry, knowing smile crept onto his face.

    Oh, I don’t think we hope people have tragic accidents or get killed, but I guess it does make our jobs a little more relevant. You know, I was working in Macon one Christmas and there was no news that day. Then, about three in the afternoon, we got a call that there was a multiple car accident on the freeway and fatalities were probably involved. We jumped up and cheered. I mean, people were dying in a car crash and we were cheering. How sick is that?

    Ahh, it’s not sick, Nicole replied. It’s just what we do.

    When Bill dropped her off in front of the Departing Passengers entrance, Nicole hurried inside and was glad to see Judi Wentworth, the airport’s public relations director. Judi was waiting in the lobby for her and the other reporters who would be descending on the airport to cover the emergency landing story. Judi had always been a good source for Nicole about almost anything that went on at the airport. They became friends the first time they met while covering the same story.

    Before taking the job at the airport, Judi had been a reporter for one of the local television stations, and a cameraman had labeled them the dynamic duo. They looked like sisters and probably should have been labeled the desirable duo. Both were tall, curvaceous, and had long, honey blond hair, but Judi had large sapphire blue eyes, while Nicole’s were almond-shaped and hazel. They looked more like swimsuit models than reporters, but neither ever had a problem asking public officials embarrassing questions. Judi liked the money she made now as the public relations director for the airport. It was a lot more than she had made as a reporter, but she missed her old job. Of course, she enjoyed being interviewed now by the reporters who had once been her colleagues, and she especially liked being their anonymous source for stories about the airport. With a big smile, Judi greeted Nicole and inquired as to how she was doing.

    I’m fine, Judi, Nicole replied, What’s up?

    Well, since you’re here, I guess you know that a plane requested to make an emergency landing. It did. And, that’s it.

    What do you mean ‘That’s it?’

    Well, the Army sealed off the crash site, or I should say the landing site. You won’t be allowed to take any pictures, and any other information will have to come from the Public Information Office at Fort Stewart.

    Did the plane crash?

    I don’t know. I don’t think so.

    What kind of plane was it?

    I don’t know.

    Anyone hurt?

    I don’t know.

    Okay, if it’s an Army plane, why didn’t it land at Hunter?

    I don’t know. Like I told you, a plane asked to make an emergency landing, it did, and that’s all the information I have about it. You’ll have to get anything else from Fort Stewart. Sorry.

    Nicole closed her reporter’s notepad and began the banter she and Judi had devised over time to say goodbye to each other,

    Thanks for all the information. Let’s do lunch sometime. Have your …

    … people call my people, Judi ended.

    With that, Nicole turned to find Bill and give him the news they’d both expected. There really wasn’t anything worth reporting. Still, as they drove back to the paper, Nicole kept repeating to herself a question she’d asked Judi,

    If it’s an Army plane, why didn’t it land at Hunter?

    Hunter Army Airfield and Savannah International are only a few miles apart and a plane could easily land at either, in just about the same amount of time. Why would you land a military plane at a civilian airport when there’s a military airfield, with a longer runway, less than a minute’s flying time away? She also wondered why the Army sealed off the area if the plane didn’t crash. It didn’t make sense. Something else about the seemingly routine emergency landing didn’t add up. How could soldiers from Fort Stewart in Hinesville, Ga., normally more than an hour’s drive away, get to the airport and seal off the runway before she and Bill arrived?

    They must have come from Hunter, Nicole thought. But, if that’s true, why didn’t the plane land at Hunter? She decided the oddities probably didn’t mean anything, but inconsistencies always bothered her and never just accepting them had contributed to making her a good reporter.

    Even as a child, if people said things to her that weren’t logical or were vague or evasive, Nicole immediately would want a detailed clarification. She would ask question after question after question until she fully understood and accepted what the person was saying. She was like a bulldog back in the days of bull baiting, when the dogs were bred to rush in, grab the bull by the side of the face and wrestle it to the ground. The bulldogs were trained to not to let go for any reason, and when she sensed someone was lying to her or intentionally being evasive, she didn’t let go of them until they told the truth. Her mother often told her, You can go to hell for lying, just as you can for stealing, and Nicole hated liars. She rarely just accepted anything anyone told her; a trait that didn’t always endear her to her classmates or boyfriends, or the people she interviewed.

    More than once, when Nicole would re-ask a question or ask for more specific details about something, the person she was interviewing would become indignant and ask, What? You think I’m lying? Nicole would always answer politely, No. I’m just trying to understand, and then she’d ask another question and another and another and another, until she got an answer that either made sense to her or she decided the person was truly lying.

    Bill had covered a number of stories with Nicole, and he was in awe of her ability to ferret out the truth and wind up with a much better story than expected. Several times, the two of them had attended what was supposed to be a routine press conference, and after the announcements were made, Nicole would start asking questions. In seemingly no time, she’d have the people who made the announcements admitting that things weren’t exactly as they had said they were, and what they said wasn’t the whole truth. On more than one occasion, Bill had left an assignment with Nicole, shook his head, and asked, How do you do that? How did you know he was lying? It’s like you’ve got a lie detector in your head.

    Nicole knew Judi hadn’t lied to her, but the plane landing at Savannah International instead of at Hunter and soldiers from Fort Stewart sealing off the runway in a matter of minutes after the plane touched down, just didn’t compute. Maybe she’d get the answers from the Fort Stewart Public Information Office.

    The loud, staccato phone greeting caused Nicole to shake her head. It was far too military for her.

    "Good Afternoon. Public Information Office. Specialist Jami-

    son speaking. How may I direct your call, Sir?"

    The ‘Sir’ part must be what pisses me off, she thought.

    Yes. I’d like to speak to the duty officer, please.

    Yes ma’am. That would be Major Thompson, ma’am. He’s not in the office right now, but he’s on-call and I’ll get him for you. Just a moment.

    After a couple of minutes, Nicole heard the phone ring and a voice answer.

    Major Thompson.

    Major, this is Nicole Robins with The Savannah Times. I’m calling to get some information about the emergency landing at the Savannah International Airport this afternoon.

    Ms. Robins, any information on that incident will have to come from Colonel Whitmore, and he is unavailable until Mon-day.

    Why is that?

    Why is what, ma’am? Why is Colonel Whitmore unavailable?

    Well, that, and why can’t you give me the information?

    As I said, any information on the incident will have to come from Colonel Whitmore.

    Major, it was an emergency landing. We didn’t invade Cuba.

    Her attempt at humor, laced with sarcasm, seemed to go unnoticed by the major. He continued with the same tone and dispassionate demeanor.

    Ms. Robins, as I said, any information on the incident will have to come from Colonel Whitmore, and he won’t be available until Monday.

    Well, if you can’t give me any information about the emergency landing, can you at least confirm for me that there was an emergency landing and that your soldiers sealed off the runway at the airport?

    No ma’am. Any information regarding that incident will have to come from Colonel Whitmore. You’ll have to wait until Monday.

    After hanging up, Nicole thought, Great. I have a three-sentence story.

    An airplane made an emergency landing at Savannah’s International Airport shortly after 4 p.m. Friday, according to an airport spokesperson. The spokesperson also said that after the landing soldiers from Fort Stewart in Hinesville sealed off the runway and denied access to the plane.

    No further details were available at press time.

    Somehow, I don’t think this is the one, Nicole muttered to herself, as she began thinking about the information she didn’t have.

    Who? She really didn’t know anything about the airplane, other than it was military, but that was an assumption on her part, and she never assumed.

    She had interned at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution one summer and had seen a typed piece of paper pinned on a bulletin board that read, ASSUME – it makes an ASS of U and ME. She took the message to heart, and applied it to both her professional and personal life.

    Who? A plane.

    What? Made an emergency landing.

    Where? At the Savannah International Airport

    When? Shortly after 4 p.m. Friday.

    Why? Only God knows.

    Nicole was wrestling with whether she should write anything about the landing when the phone on her desk rang. It was a call from a local scanner freak, a person who has emergency broadcast scanners in his home and enjoys listening to the police and fire department calls. She recognized the voice. The man had called the newspaper dozens of times before when there had been breaking news to make sure they had heard the scanner traffic and were covering the story. Most of the time, someone at the paper had heard the call. However, a few times they hadn’t, and because of the man’s phone call, sent a reporter and photographer to the scene. Everyone in the newsroom had instructions from the paper’s managing editor that whenever the man called, whoever answered the phone was to thank him and encourage him to call again any time he thought they might have missed something.

    Hey. This is Bob. I’m calling about the crash landing at the airport. Did you guys get that?

    Yes, sir, we did, but I thank you for calling.

    Well, I’ve got a recording of the tower talking to the pilot if you want it.

    Hmm, well thanks again, but if we find that we need the recording, we’ll get it from Fort Stewart since it was an Army plane.

    No. It wasn’t.

    What do you mean it wasn’t?

    It was a civilian plane, some kind of an international transport plane. When the controller talked him down, he called him Inter-national something or the other. It wasn’t an Army plane. It was private. Do you want to listen to it?

    Sure. Can you play it for me?

    Well, not on the phone, but you’re welcome to come to my home and listen to it.

    Nicole really didn’t like the idea of going to a scanner freak’s home. She always thought people who listened to the squealing noise all day – and claimed they enjoyed it – had to be a little weird at the very least. She also didn’t want to wind up being the victim of some wacko. However, she did want to listen to the recording. She decided to take Bill with her, and after getting Bob’s address, she was even more nervous and truly glad she’d asked the photographer to accompany her.

    Bob lived in the eastern part of downtown Savannah near the projects. It was an area you didn’t want to walk through by your-self at any time, and if you drove through it at night, you’d keep your car doors locked. Still, it was in part of the historical district of Savannah, where a lot of renovation was taking place. Dozens of the old, two-story mansions that dated back to the 1800s had been restored and sold recently for several hundred thousand dollars. It was a neighborhood in transition. Next door to a beautiful, two or three-story mansion there might be a one-story, dilapidated house, best described as a crack house. As Bill and Nicole drove to Bob’s, they both wondered which his would be.

    Bob, whose last name Nicole had never bothered to ask, lived in the 500 block of East York Street. It was only a couple of blocks south of the Davenport House and Museum, a Federal-style house built in 1815 with lace-like ironwork on the front porch and a huge spiral staircase inside its lobby. In 1954, to keep it from being demolished and turned into a parking lot, seven women started the Historic Savannah Society, raised a little more than $22,000, and bought the historic mansion. It took them more than 10 more years to raise enough money to restore the house and turn it into a museum, but their efforts started the downtown renovation movement. For the next 40 years, the Historic Society saved nearly one hundred of the historic houses from the wrecking ball, and many had been renovated. Nicole was relieved to find that Bob’s was one of them.

    Bill guessed the house had been built around the time of the Revolutionary War. However, construction actually began in 1860, a year before the Civil War. Nicole thought it looked like it should be in New Orleans instead of Savannah. It was a two-story structure, with freshly painted, Colonial blue vertical siding and a narrow overhanging porch on the second floor, with an intricately patterned wrought iron railing. There was no front yard, porch, or steps. You entered the house directly from the sidewalk. There also was no place to park. Nicole and Bill had to leave their car about a half-a-block around the corner and walk back to the house.

    Nicole’s nervousness eased somewhat when she found that Bob didn’t look like a typical scanner freak. Of course, she really had no idea what a typical scanner freak would look like, but she was sure it wasn’t Bob.

    He was wearing a monogrammed and heavily starched white pinpoint Oxford dress shirt, with the top button undone and the knot of his expensive silk tie loosened. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but his blue, pinstriped suit pants had pleats and cuffs, and his black, wing tip shoes were highly shined. His clothes screamed, This person has money and good taste.

    When he answered the door, he extended his hand to Nicole.

    Hi. I’m Bob Tanner. You must be Nicole, and …? he said, turning to Bill and extending his hand to him as well.

    Oh, I’m sorry, said Nicole, moving to her right to let Bill return Bob’s handshake. This is Bill Henry, our chief photographer at the Times. Please don’t be offended, but when you gave me your address …

    You felt the need to have someone come with you, Bob interjected with a knowing smile. A wise decision. No offense taken. You don’t know me, and this neighborhood, as I’m sure you know, still has a ways to go, but we’re getting there. Nice to meet you, Bill. Please, come in, both of you.

    Bob’s house was equally as impressive as his clothes and his demeanor. The foyer had marble flooring. The walls were covered with gold-leafed patterned wallpaper, and its baseboards and large, decorative crown molding were painted bright white. In the middle of the foyer, hanging from a domed ceiling, was an over-sized, crystal chandelier. A very large, gold-framed mirror hung above a sofa table made out of burled cypress. Beyond the foyer, the hallway had dark mahogany flooring and on both walls hung about a dozen oil paintings, all of which Nicole was certain were original, probably from Europe, and very expensive. Each of the rooms off the hallway looked as though a professional decorator had designed them. They were filled with ornate antiques, custom-made furniture, and still more expensive oil paintings. Bob’s house was what everyone hoped his or her Savannah mansion would look like after renovation.

    Bob led Nicole and Bill down the hallway to his study. Before they got to the room, they could hear the police department dispatcher’s voice coming out of the scanner, which Bob had sitting on the gleaming mahogany credenza behind his desk. Entering the room, Nicole noticed the large, professional looking tape recorder, also sitting on the credenza. It was the type with twelve-inch round spools of recording tape on both sides of the machine, turning at a very slow speed. Apparently, for whatever reason, Bob recorded every transmission.

    I made you a copy, he told Nicole as he turned down the sound on the scanner. He put a cassette tape into a small player sitting next to the large recorder and pushed Play. At first, Nicole couldn’t fully understand what she was hearing. She‘d expected to hear the pilot asking to make an emergency landing and the control tower responding. Instead, she could only hear the air traffic controller, periodically giving the pilot instructions about how to make his approach and descent and which runway to use.

    Nicole asked why they couldn’t hear the pilot, and Bob explained he could only record the controller. His scanner didn’t pick up airplane frequencies.

    But, listen …

    International Air Transport 61697. Turn to a setting of 172. Descend and hold at 1,200 feet.

    In between there were several other police and fire broadcasts. Then, International Air Transport 61697, turn to a setting of 198. Descend and hold at 1,000 feet.

    Again, more police and fire broadcasts in the cryptic code the dispatchers use to communicate with cars in the field.

    409 … 1120 Broadmore Street … 10-16.

    Nicole knew what that coded message meant. The dispatcher was telling police car number 409 that there was a domestic disturbance at 1120 Broadmore. 10-16 was one of about a dozen 10 Codes she’d memorized.

    Then, after several other calls, the controller’s voice broke through again.

    International Air Transport 61697 you are cleared for a straight in landing on Runway 15. Repeat. You are cleared for a straight in landing on Runway 15.

    Bob knew Nicole understood the last transmission, but she had cocked her head to the side seeming somewhat puzzled, and he was eager to jump in and explain.

    International Air Transport 61697. That’s the plane’s identification and number. It’s an International Air Transport plane, number 61697. It’s a civilian airplane, definitely not Army or Air Force.

    After thanking Bob for the copy of the tape and complementing him on his home, Nicole and Bill said goodbye and walked back to the car. Once inside, she smiled, reflecting on the fact that the man with very good taste really hadn’t fit the scanner freak stereotype she envisioned. It turned out that Bob was a former police officer (hence the enjoyment of the scanner) who had worked his way through law school and now was in-house counsel for a major import/export firm in Savannah. However, while Bob seemed highly credible, and the information he shared with her appeared reliable, she still didn’t have enough for a story.

    Who? An International Air Transport plane.

    What? Made an emergency landing.

    Where? At the Savannah International Airport.

    When? Shortly after 4 p.m. Friday.

    Why? Still don’t know.

    Okay, she thought, "a civilian plane would land at Savannah International, but why would the Army be involved and seal off the runway? Sometimes the Army contracts with civilian airlines for different jobs. Maybe the plane was hauling something for the Army. Maybe soldiers were on-board. Maybe a diplomat was on-board. Maybe it was carrying weapons. Who knows? … Who knows? … International Air Transport will know."

    For Nicole, the Internet had become her friend and a valuable reporting tool. It was during her final year of graduate school that she realized just how valuable the Internet could be in pulling together a lot of information quickly. She was by no means a computer expert, or so-called geek, but she was fascinated by the wealth of information that was available on the different websites. She had used the Internet during her first year on the job at The Times in 1997 to get the history of a company planning to move to Savannah. It had taken Nicole less than an hour to gather the information, as well as some interesting background material on the man who would be running the company. As a result, her story had been far better than the other reporters’ articles. After that, she was hooked and read as much as she could about the development of all of the new directories and search engines that were expanding the Internet’s reach. There seemed to be a new one almost every week. Although Nita Wilson, the managing editor of The Times, had been concerned about the accuracy of the information Nicole found on the Internet, she never stopped her from using it.

    A few minutes after sitting down at her computer in the newsroom, Nicole found what she was looking for – a listing for International Air Transport airline. As she perused the information, she muttered to herself and

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