Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) Read Free Page B

a
defense contractor and a member of what many colloquially refer to as the Iron
Triangle.
    Jackson knew the term Iron Triangle to refer to the three
components of the all powerful military-industrial complex that rule cities
like Washington D.C. and towns like the nearby Norfolk. He had always considered
the three sides of the triangle to be the US military, defense contractors like
Carmike Industries, and the political leadership of Washington.
    Carmike Industries was a charter member of this unrecognized
fraternity.
    Not only was Carmike Industries heavily involved in
political lobbying and influence pedaling in Washington, but the company was
also deeply in bed with military leadership. They could be found exploiting
opportunities in every corner of national defense and government contracting.
These activities included things as varied as contracting galley service at
local Navy installations to providing deadly and well trained contract security
officers to US companies and federal agencies in war torn countries worldwide.
    Jackson's feet touched the asphalt of the empty parking lot
as he maneuvered the bike towards the small white guard house that stood silent
sentinel before the large chemical distribution center's warehouse.
    He pulled his Carmike Industries ID card from the storage
compartment of his sports bike and hung it around his neck, but didn't need it.
For the first time in the six months that Jackson had worked at Carmike
Chemical, there was no guard at the gate.
    He shrugged.
    The guard must be on a round, Jackson thought as he gripped
the throttle of his bike and proceeded through the wide open gate past the
imposing twelve foot security fence.
    He pulled the bike up to the rear of the chemical storage
facility and shut down the Harley-Davidson, tucking his riding gloves into his
helmet. He set both on the supple leather seat of his motorcycle and walked to
the back door of the facility.
    He swiped his access card and walked into an area which
contained the darkened offices and cubicles of his former coworkers. Within the
work space, a large floor to ceiling glass window pane separated the office
area from the warehouse itself. During working hours, the glass afforded
management a constant view of the main chemical distribution facility's
warehouse floor.
    This evening, with the office empty and the fluorescent
lights of the warehouse on, the window bathed the otherwise dark office in
refracted fluorescent light.
    Jackson walked through the office and stepped into the
nearby men's locker room, a dingy and dark room filled with rusted metal
lockers of assorted colors. He opened the rusting door of his locker and found
his final paycheck.
    In the envelope, along with his final paycheck, he found a
handwritten note which read simply:
    Please turn your
identification in to the guard house upon your departure.
    Sure will, thought Jackson as he wryly recalled the empty
guardhouse upon his arrival.
    Jackson surveyed his locker. The rusting metal box was empty
except for a small orange prescription bottle containing the powerful narcotic
Vicodin and his dirty gray work coveralls. He abandoned the coveralls but
tucked the bottle of painkillers in the pocket of his black leather motorcycle
jacket.
    Admittedly, at first Jackson didn't pay much attention to
his surroundings as he stepped through the door of the men's locker room and
back into the darkened offices of the warehouse.
    But as his steps fell on the hard concrete floor of the
office, something drew Jackson's eye. He turned and faced the large window that
overlooked the warehouse floor and took a step closer, peering into the
brightly lit facility.
    Interesting, he thought. There shouldn't have been anyone
here since the facility closed at 4 PM, but there appeared to be a large Penske
rental truck idling noisily near the center of the facility.
    Jackson was not overly concerned with the goings on of his
former employer, nor did he care why a rental truck