Book Reviews

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An Intriguing Novel Is Released By Publisher
A New Novel Titled - The Ambassador's Agenda - Fiction - Suspense
For Immediate Release:

The Ambassador's Agenda, an intriguing novel by Author James T. Stumpo, is included in the publisher’s lineup of fiction.

ERIE, PA, September 18, 2005 – The Ambassador's Agenda, a new novel written by author James T. Stumpo, who is a Detective with the City of Erie Police Department Office of Criminal Investigation Major Crime Unit, is available through most major bookstores and online.

Frederick, MD -- 10/24/05-- PublishAmerica is proud to announce that it has acquired the rights to publish The Ambassador's Agenda, by McKean's James Stumpo. Executive Director Miranda Prather expressed confidence today that Mr. Stumpo's book will quickly resonate with an audience. "The Ambassador's Agenda is a well written and crafted work of contemporary fiction that fits our specialty like a glove. PublishAmerica primarily publishes works by, for or about people who face a challenge in life, and who overcome it by turning stumbling blocks into stepping stones. We believe that Mr. Stumpo is a promising talent in this field."

The novel is about a Private Investigator summoned by a U.S. Ambassador to locate a fictitious suspect in a diamond heist. The trail seemingly leading to the perpetrator was a cleverly devised scheme. An elaborate foreign counterfeiting distribution ring operated by the C.I.A. was unearthed and a surreptitious entry into the facility was made—capturing evidence of a vast conspiracy.

A woman posing as a photographer but agent incognito became involved with the Private Investigator. A major News Syndicate was secretly presented the damaging proof, which was artfully exhibited to the media for purchase. The Black Operation Branch intercepted communications between the media and P.I. Grave things started happening to journalists. The media agreed to rendezvous with O’Keefe in Seattle. Agents intervened at the last moment—which was too late. The P.I. and his accomplice eluded government agents and the incriminating documents were seized.

The P.I. later met with the Ambassador in Switzerland. Key officials later discreetly dismantled the program.

A resident of Pennsylvania, James Stumpo grew up in Erie County and is a veteran Sergeant that served in the United States Marine Corps elite STA Teams as a Recon Assistant Team Leader, assigned to an intelligence section. Stumpo brings the story to life, drawing from his military and police background. He received his formal Municipal Police Officers Education at Mercyhurst College.

An excerpt of The Ambassador's Agenda is available by visiting the author’s website:

http://www.AuthorJamesStumpo.novels.com
Order directly:
http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/shopquery.asp?catalogid=10864

Publish America is a traditional publisher and a member of the Association of American Publishers (AAP). The publisher specializes in fiction and nonfiction books about, for, or by people who confront a challenge in life, and who are determined to overcome it, real or imagined.

*The Ambassador's Agenda
By *James T. Stumpo
Fiction | Publish America
Softcover | September 2005
$ 19.95 | ISBN No. 1-4137-7659-0
Contact: Publish America
Ph. 301-695-1701
To order directly:
http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/shopquery.asp?catalogid=10864
###

Sample Chapters
PublishAmerica
Baltimore
The
Ambassador’s
Agenda
A Novel by
James T. Stumpo
© 2005 by James T. Stumpo.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored
in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means
without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a
reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a
newspaper, magazine or journal.
First printing
ISBN: 1-4137-7659-0
PUBLISHED BY PUBLISHAMERICA, LLLP
www.publishamerica.com
Baltimore
Printed in the United States of America
For Carie…

5
Prologue
The Bernese Oberland Railway train departed Geneva,
Switzerland amid a frostbit December night. It would travel to
Lauterbrunnen and four unfamiliar passengers would exit the
platform for a brief bone-chilling wait. They would soon board
a different passenger rail car at the junction, en route to Wengen,
Switzerland by the Wengernalp Railway.
The timeworn scarlet colored locomotive pulled through the
ascending mountain rail tracks, it was the only means of
transportation to and from the Wengen village community—
which occupied an altitude of four-thousand sixty-five feet.
This had better pay well…hopefully, better than the Legion did, the
Frenchmen thought to himself whilst glancing into the railcar
window at his shoulder, and sporadically viewing the reflection
of passengers.
All the way from Perth—this had better be a good case. Mercenary
contracts have been good, so far. Heck, the action’s everywhere, can
pick up a contract in almost any bar. That’s the beauty of Australia, it’s
legal to be a Mercenary, but just do it out of country, the Australian
thought to himself while watching a British couple arguing.
This train ride really stinks, the German said to himself, while
tearing off the corner of a chocolate-covered peanut candy
James T. Stumpo
6
package. The German came from a well-to-do family with the
last name being Niemollen and had recently separated from a
military career with the elite GSG9. His father was a member of
the German Consulate.
The American was fast asleep in an uncomfortable stiff train
booth, clasping his hands behind his head to form a makeshift
pillow. He was snoring piggishly and a victim of jet lag.
7
Chapter One
The United States Ambassador to Norway, Fitzgerald Allen
was en route to the International Monetary Fund Conference. In
attendance were one-hundred and eighty-two representatives
of various countries. Ambassador Allen had to perform his
sworn duties to his motherland, although he had on his mind
more pressing matters, which kept him distracted all afternoon.
Among the topics discussed at the conference were
improving exchange rate policies for importing companies and
financial institutions. The present system was sluggish, which in
turn affected all forms of international business.
The conference was finished just past four o’clock, and he
breathed a sigh of relief. Allen departed quickly with his
daughter, who oftentimes attended with him out of pure
attentiveness for her country’s welfare. She had previously
worked for the United States Department of State, and was
extensively educated, thanks in part to her father’s affluence
and her resolve to be the best at everything she aspired to
accomplish. She was not much different from her father in that
aspect, but very dissimilar in other ways.
They headed toward the Geneva Airport in a black
Mercedes-Benz Limousine.
James T. Stumpo
8
Skeletons in the Diplomatic Closet
Ambassador Allen had been in the employ of the United
States Department of State for eighteen years. He was a
charismatic figure, who captured approval from political
audiences around the world. Covetousness had sometimes
gotten the better half of him and he loved gambling, coupled
with playing the stock market.
At forty-eight years old, he was willowy, of lofty stature, ashy
colored hair and was in marginal health. He appeared smartly
distinguished.
He had numerous international political connections, yet he
had become a rogue ambassador by accepting proceeds and
gratuities from problematic foreign sources. In many cases, his
actions could be construed as borderline treasonous. He was
operating beyond the scope of U.S. Department of State
diplomatic policy. Allen owed too many favors and made
promises that he could not keep.
It had been ten years past since meeting his present wife Helene,
whom he had courted in Warsaw. She grew up as Helene
Grylenski, and her family shared fervent ties with the president
of the Polish Republic. Helene had straight, long flaxen hair, her
body was slender, yet pleasantly shapely and she could charm
her way out of almost any given situation. Helene would stop at
nothing to get what she desired, and she usually got it.
Ambassador Allen also knew things that he had neglected to
disclose to the United States Government after taking an oath of
office.
Things such as identities of foreign espionage agents,
perpetrators that conspired in American trade secret thievery
and double agents operating in American sectors. He was well
aware of a cleverly designed U.S. Government conspiracy,
whose goal was to topple foreign governments by attrition.
The Ambassador’s Agenda
9
Many recipients were countries that participated in the
International Monetary Fund, based in Washington, D.C. Allen
was also the Chief Executive Officer of an insurance company
designated Allen Insurance Associates. The company was
newly developed and insured precious gems and metals.
Allen intended for this to be his livelihood upon retirement
from the State Department.
Infiltrated deep within the United States intelligence
community lurked a double agent—Lecht Grylenski, who was
Helene’s half brother. He grew up in Bialustok, Poland, which
was approximately one-hundred miles northeast of Warsaw.
Lecht had attended Chicago State University and had studied
political science. He had thinning russet hair, a chiseled visage
and was of intermediate stature.
The Central Intelligence Agency recruited Lecht after
graduation. Allen and the family name had facilitated his
acceptance into the Agency. He entered the Case Officer
Program and successfully completed all phases.
Lecht and Helene’s father, Val Grylenski, was an associate of
the Polish Socialist Party. He was an abnormally obese man,
weighing in at just under three-hundred and fifty-pounds and
swaggered when he walked. He also worked for the Polish
Economic Advisory Council as a senior analyst. It concerned
him that the Polish zlotych continued to dwindle well below the
United States dollar.
Helene was always inquisitive and a relentless snoop. Allen
had developed a lousy potentially compromising habit of
bringing sensitive material home from work. She overheard
telephone conversations and reviewed Embassy documents
while he showered in the evening. For the ambassador and his
wife, this was a nightly ritual.
Helene would not believe the pending events that were soon
to be exposed. Subsequently, her discovery brought about a
family meeting with her husband, brother Lecht and father Val.
James T. Stumpo
10
Despite work and entertaining dignitaries, Ambassador
Allen would depart the Norwegian Embassy on Drammensveien
Road, en route to Bialustok, Poland.
Everything was on hold.
His father-in-law had sent for him. Allen did not afford an
explanation to anyone, with the exception of his Security
Advisor, who Allen relayed only that there was some family
business to attend.
The Ambassador and Helene’s airliner arrived in Warsaw at
the Braathens concourse.
Allen’s chauffeur retrieved the luggage from the incoming
conveyor track. They departed the Okecie-Frederic Chopin
Airport. Val Grylenski summoned his personal limousine
driver to rendezvous with, and drive his son-in-law and
daughter Helene back to Bialustok.
The meeting would take place in the wine cellar of Val
Grylenski’s extravagant vintage cream domicile.
Helene would remain on the third floor kitchen with her
mother reminiscing about old times. The teak wood wine cellar
of the Grylenski’s Victorian antiquated mansion was always off
limits to the women, as it always had been an unwritten rule.
Helene curiosity concerning her husband’s business affairs
had brought him to this meeting and placed him in a
compromising position.
Her fidelity to Ambassador Allen was in question but loyalty
to her motherland—not.
Also summoned by his father, Lecht arrived and took a seat
on an old weathered wine barrel with tarnished silver straps,
propping one leg up casually on a wooden crate positioned
conveniently below him. He had been deep undercover and was
not ready to surface. However, when Val Grylenski beckoned,
one could not decline.
A cleverly devised fiscal scheme by the U.S. government
continued to plunge Poland into political and economic
calamity.
The Ambassador’s Agenda
11
It became clear to Ambassador Allen during the family
meeting that his beautiful, sneaky wife was the reason he was in
this compromising position. Allen denied fervently any
knowledge of the conspiracy against foreign governments to his
father-in-law.
As Lecht assured his father, he would look into the matter
and confirm the validity of what Helene had communicated. He
was in partisanship with Allen, and was engaged in the
elaborate plot’s physical operation to cover up Allen’s
involvement.
Ambassador Allen facilitated Lecht’s hire by the CIA and
assisted him with the approval of certain waivers regarding
Lecht’s non-U.S. citizenship status prior to formal recruitment
by The Agency.
Lecht eventually transferred to a secret program, which was
the same program that Allen was involved in.
Ambassador Allen was receiving sizeable packages of cash
monthly, and the contributors being a handful of wealthy,
influential persons, with close ties to a few members of the U.S.
Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. The currency was to
ensure that Allen continued to manipulate key U.S.
Government Officials and their subordinates in the continued
evolution of the conspiracy.
The Ambassador had to do something.
Therefore, he developed a plan to have Lecht set up. Orders
were issued to certain CIA Officers to be tasked with following
him twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. The
designated CIA Officers obtained videotaped evidence of Lecht
engaged in extramarital affairs and then secreted these items
onto the front passenger seat of his vehicle, this ensured Allen of
Lecht’s cooperation.
Val thought of himself as well informed, and had some
exceptional Polish governmental contacts. Even so, he remained
largely oblivious of the fact that both Allen and his son were
involved.
James T. Stumpo
12
Ambassador Allen carried many deep-rooted secrets. Val
became steadily aware of these and knew that he could expose
Allen, but for the love of his daughter would attempt corrective
actions by lesser means.
Val had always been amicable toward Allen, but realized that
soon there would not be an alternative. If he only knew the true
extent of his son and son-in-law’s involvement, he would have
arranged for execution rather than calling a family meeting.
The subversive program had to cease. Allen would leave
Bialustok with the choices of compliance, or risk the U.S.
Government finding him guilty of treason. He wanted no part of
that.
Therefore, it was, he would return to the embassy in Oslo
with a plan in mind. This would take place in Wengen,
Switzerland after the International Monetary Fund Conference
in Geneva.
The Closet Opens
The Ambassador could see the breathtaking outlines of the
spectacular ice-capped Jungfrau mountain peak as the taxi
transported him from the train terminal at Wengen.
It was eight o’clock p.m. and the windshield wipers barely
passed over the dense frost-like snowfall. The taxi was equipped
with ineffectual heat, which appeared to benefit the cab driver,
but Fitzgerald Allen could still notice the steam coming from his
breath while seated in the cab’s rear.
Allen turned and patted his daughter’s knee, giving her a
quick wink. She smiled sweetly in return.
The driver passed numerous fully matured pine trees and
turned to the left. They entered a small, unimproved road, and
the driver pointed his index finger toward the Hotel
Schweizerheim. It took the shape of a colossal barn, and three of
its floors hosted the guests. The Hotel Schweizerheim name sat
boldly positioned on top of the steeple style snow-covered roof.
The air was brisk.
The Ambassador’s Agenda
13
The night was gloomy.
Ambassador Allen passed five Swiss francs to the driver, and
they shuffled toward the hotel front desk. They registered for
room number twenty-seven, which was located on the third
floor.
The hotel was adjacent to the foot of the Jungfrau’s, and at
that moment, their room would have provided a breathtaking
view if it were not for the tumultuous glacial like downfall.
Fitzgerald sat across from his daughter at a hazel-colored
hard wood table. They discussed the things that would be of
importance during the meeting within the next hour.
The four others would soon arrive.
The Frenchman.
The Australian.
The German.
Lastly, the American.
Upon reaching the hotel, they would soon realize that they
had traveled on the same train from Geneva. That was
unimportant. However, it was pertinent that each was equally
skilled in investigations. Ambassador Allen had summoned
them. He conducted background checks on each through a
contact at Interpol.
Allen’s daughter would hide within a deep walk-in cedarscented
closet moments before the first knock on the door.
Ambassador Allen would insert a rusty bronze skeleton key
into its lock and stiffly turn the key. The pinhole camera with
monitor was already in place, and its miniature optical lens
protruded slightly beneath the hearty closet door.
The four men assembled briefly and then excused
themselves.
Ambassador Allen would interview them separately whilst
the remaining applicants waited within the Hotel
Schweizerheim’s second floor guest room. Each interview
would last fifteen minutes and they left the room with a specific
directive to report back.
James T. Stumpo
14
The first three were already predestined for failure, which
they had not a clue. Allen would use their investigative talents
purposely as a scheme. Each of the men had received monetary
advances.
Allen was complex and slightly eccentric. In his mind, he
wanted it to emanate as if each were investigating an equally
important issue and did not want to arouse the suspicion of his
intended selection for the contract offer. This is precisely why he
had them meet in unison.
Forty-five minutes had passed when the American knocked
on the door to room number twenty-seven. He entered and
closed the firm creaking door from behind.
“Please, have a seat,” Ambassador Allen sat at the table and
stated, while motioning with his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” Derrick replied, while assuming an
affirmative-seated posture.
“My name is Fitzgerald Allen, it’s a pleasure to meet your
acquaintance…let me see, it’s…” Allen said while glancing
down at a portfolio and pausing.
“It’s O’Keefe, my name is Derrick O’Keefe,” he interjected.
“Yes, please forgive me. I don’t think I have yet completely
thawed from the numbing frost,” Allen said straightforwardly.
“Not a problem, sir. Myself, I’m forgetful with names, but
extremely accurate with faces—never forget them,” Derrick
replied.
“Really? That’s a rather eminent quality for one to possess. I
am envious. Anyway, you have traveled quite a distance. All the
way from Escondido, California…” Ambassador Allen
inquired.
“Correct,” Derrick replied.
“I’m going to ramble on for a little bit, and please just listen,”
Allen said while clasping his hands and forming a praying
figure, waiting for a response.
“That’s fine, sir. Please, by all means-proceed,” Derrick
replied.
The Ambassador’s Agenda
15
“In addition to being the United States Ambassador, I am the
Chief Executive Officer of Allen Insurance Associates. We at
Allen are in the business of insuring precious gems and metals.
We represent numerous exporting companies within Cape
Town, South Africa. I am not sure if you are aware, but we
excavate approximately seventy-thousand rough carats through
the mining process each year,” Allen said.
“No, Ambassador, I wasn’t aware.”
“Yes, well not to mention, we also mine up to seven-hundredthousand
kilograms in gold. We insure the intermediary, the
exporters and importers, not the local jewelry stores.
Additionally, I have numerous contacts within the World
Diamond Commission. Some of our clients have suffered losses
attributable to piracy, which in turn makes their insurance rate
to soar. There are certain unsavory elements that deal in illegal
arms that strive to obtain financial reward from the diamond
market,” Allen said.
“Just to let you know, I’m not familiar with the diamond
market,” Derrick said.
“That’s okay—I’ll explain. Their schemes range anywhere
from extortion to murder. I have many claims examiners who
work diligently attempting to discern if said companies claims
are legitimate or corrupt. If they recover the property—we
charge a finder fee. This has proven to be quite successful. We
retain their business, and they do not stray to another insurance
provider…”
“That’s an interesting concept,” Derrick responded, trying to
add in the conversation.
“You are correct, and it’s lucrative too. Two months past, we
had eight-thousand-four-hundred rough carats were stolen
from a diamond processing station in Cape Town. The
perpetrator has possible ties with the Clarence Makwetu, which
is a South African anti apartheid Group. His name is Balkwi
Hwandepeku,” Allen said.
“Balkwi—what?” Derrick asked.
James T. Stumpo
16
“It’s pronounced Hwan-dep-eku. However, do not let the
name fool you. He was educated at North Carolina State
University and the Haileybury School of Mines and is extremely
dangerous. Hwandepeku spent six years in the French Foreign
Legion after attending both colleges. An unusual career change
after receiving a Bachelor’s degree and possessing the skills in
international metals and diamond management, I might add.
He ended up serving the Legion as a mercenary…”
“He went from being a Legionnaire to businessman—
definitely sounds unusual,” Derrick said softly.
“Most definitely odd, I must agree. That is precisely why you
sat after the three others from Australia, Germany and France.
We do know that Hwandepeku served with three unknown
individuals from the countries brought forth here in this
interview. He very well may be in any of these countries, and
perhaps in collusion with former Legionnaires…or possibly
radicals from Clarence Makwetu. Sources have indicated that
he may be staying in North Carolina, near the Albemarle Sound.
He’s been sighted in Washington and Tyrrell Counties,” the
Ambassador said.
“He’s probably fishing,” Derrick dryly stated.
“Fishing—I sincerely doubt it. In fact, he’s probably up to
something more unpleasant. That is, not to take anything away
from fishing—I do occasionally do so myself. Anyway, if you
choose to accept this assignment—his dossier and everything
you need is right here,” Allen said.
“I am definitely interested,” Derrick said.
“Do you have any questions, Mr. O’Keefe?” Allen asked.
“Yes sir, I have to ask, how did you learn about me?”
“Mr. O’Keefe, I am a very objective man and I always
carefully research things before making a decision. If I needed
an electrician…well then…then I would do my research on as
many companies as possible to find the best. In addition, I had
careful research conducted on you before narrowing you down
The Ambassador’s Agenda
17
for an interview. You are a private investigator with
paramilitary experience. You served in the Marine Corps as a
sergeant. You also served as a reconnaissance operative in a
Special Operation unit…you had extensive scuba and
parachutist training. I needed to know that you would be able to
complete this investigation in any given situation,” Allen said.
“I understand,” Derrick said.
“Keep this in mind, recovery of the diamonds sets
precedence over prosecution. Now, I will advance you twentyfive
thousand dollars and will pay for all travel and lodging.
This is my offer, and it is imperative that you decide this
instance,” Allen stated, and became suddenly silent.
“Yes, I will, sir. What kind of time frame are we
contemplating?” Derrick asked.
“Six months maximum, after which point our client cannot
recoup their loss. If you recover the diamonds we will pay you
well for your efforts. Let us say, seventy-thousand dollars.
Hwandepeku let us say, thirty-thousand dollars. Payment shall
be issued once it has been confirmed that you…and only you,
turn Hwandepeku over to the authorities,” Fitzgerald Allen
said.
“I understand, what about progress reports…how often?”
Derrick asked.
“Mr. O’Keefe, I trust that you will do your job and shall not
belittle nor micro-manage your progress like most employers
do. Let me reiterate—I am the United States Ambassador to
Norway and have connections throughout the world.
Therefore, every penny that I will pay you shall be
commensurate with productive work on your behalf,” Allen
said.
“I am honored with being requested to meet with you.
However, I want to make sure that you are kept abreast of this
investigation,” Derrick said.
“Let me finish, Mr. O’Keefe…frankly, I do not have the time
for telephone calls at the Embassy. In other words, if I do receive
James T. Stumpo
18
a personal call, I have to walk all the way down the corridor to
the bug-proof room to speak. The Norwegian Embassy workers
secrete listening devices in just about anything conceivable after
hours. Only call if necessary and don’t advert to the word—
Allen Insurance Associates.”
“Hopefully, this file will cover almost any questions that I
may have?” Derrick asked, while Allen slid the file across the
table.
“It is. Mr. O’Keefe! It’s everything that we have—names and
addresses—so forth,” Fitzgerald Allen replied.
“Thank you, Mr. Allen. I can assure you all of my other cases
will be on hold for now. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, sir,”
Derrick said, while shaking his hand as they both stood up.
Fitzgerald Allen handed Derrick a white envelope that had a
cashier’s check tucked safely within.
“Will you be staying the night?” Allen asked.
“No sir, I’m on my way back to Geneva. I have a flight
scheduled for departure at six o’clock in the morning, and it’s
getting late,” Derrick said, and turned toward the door.
“Good evening, Mr. O’Keefe,” Allen said.
Derrick departed, and telephoned the Jungfrau Taxi Service
from the Hotel Schweizerheim front office. He would return to
Escondido, California, prior to departing for North Carolina.
Fitzgerald Allen walked over to the yawning closet, turned
the skeleton key. His daughter stepped out.
“Mr. O’Keefe appears to be a good candidate,” she said,
while smelling the warm, steaming, rich aroma of her fresh cup
of coffee.
“He does…loyal…he seems very loyal,” Allen said.
“Do you think he will suspect anything?” she asked.
“How could he? Nobody knows that Hwandepeku is dead
except for us. They will never locate his remains. At the very
least, we have Mr.O’Keefe on the right track. I need to have this
whole conspiracy unearthed and stopped without any trace of
me or my name being attached,” Fitzgerald Allen replied.
The Ambassador’s Agenda
19
“I know. We must see this through. Our livelihood depends
on it. Lecht will be waiting for him and I will see to it that he has
this tape and dossier on Mr. Derrick O’Keefe. He should have
things running smoothly in no time,” she said.
“Thank you for supporting me through this. It means so
much to me. You be careful…develop a good pretext, and I am
confident that you will. You are a natural born actress,” Allen
said.
“I don’t have much of a choice—but you’re welcome,
Daddy,” she said.
20
Chapter Two
It was just after ten o’clock in the evening when Derrick
O’Keefe had to veer off Route 64 and into the second-rate
parking lot of the Shamrock Inn B&B. It was peculiar that his van
had suddenly started acting up at that precise moment in front
of the B&B, although he thought to himself, How lucky am I?
Though he would not realize that remote electric wizardry
was the reason being, not happenstance. The North Carolina
June air was stifling and sultry, while the acrid sweet aroma
emitted by the Albemarle Sound permeated the moderate
winds.
Derrick grabbed his old green duffle bag and walked to the
front door. He glanced up toward the tiny neon sign, that bore
the red lettered word “Vacancy” and gently rocked in unison
with the sporadic wind surges.
The historic home was of nineteenth century design,
grandiloquent and antiquated. It was located in the town of
Woodley, North Carolina. Derrick would have much rather
preferred a Motel Six and didn’t choose the Shamrock Inn Bed
and Breakfast for it’s fine dining, hospitality and lavish
decorum, but out of pure necessity. The estate had been recently
repainted white, its shutters dark hunter green and it had two
The Ambassador’s Agenda
21
enormous white pillars at the top of the few stairs he had
climbed to the old oak freshly lacquered front door.
Derrick was of average stature, but had a stocky muscular
build thanks to his continued health regimen; his hair was a
thick wavy dark auburn, although it was hard to tell he kept it
quite short, even though out of the service for many years. His
eyes matched his hair exactly, and when laughing have a
childlike mischievous gleam to them. He usually dressed quite
casual in his favorite worn blue jeans and t-shirt under a buttondown
shirt, although he knew how to dress appropriately for
any occasion that the job may require of him, and kept his closet
stocked accordingly.
It had been a long journey from Escondido, California, and he
felt ready to proceed. Within a day or so Derrick hoped to be hot
on the trail of Balkwi Hwandepeku. Derrick was resourceful,
unrelenting and unorthodox, qualities that assisted him in being
a successful investigator. His caseload was quite arduous at
times, but nonetheless he enjoyed the freedom of his work.
After leaving the service, Derrick entered the City of San
Diego California Police Academy. He spent a couple short years
on patrol and then was promoted to the Detective Division.
Derrick worked Robbery-Homicide. He spent the last year and
a half working undercover within the San Diego Police
Department’s Joint Counterterrorism Task Force. The unit was
comprised of various Federal, State and local law enforcement
agencies. They worked together to locate, detect and apprehend
terrorist cells operating within San Diego County. Derrick
eventually left the police force on his own accord.
Derrick soon thereafter applied for his California State
Private Investigators License through the State’s Desk of
Security and Investigations. Derrick found that his private
caseload was more manageable then when he was a police
detective. Derrick worked numerous surveillance cases,
missing persons and enjoyed providing executive protection
services. His clientele would learn how to travel and reside in
James T. Stumpo
22
various locations and live virtually undetected. If they would
stay at a hotel, multiple rooms would be reserved for his client
on various floors and their identity would be under a pretext.
The sun rising from the east projected itself through Derrick’s
second story window. Amid the nineteenth century decor, he
awoke with one eye open, while sprawled out on the king-size
mattress of the elegantly covered cherry sleigh bed. Derrick
stumbled to the window and reached forward to close the
annoying gap in the curtains. He fell asleep again for roughly
fifteen minutes and arose.
Derrick did his morning routine quickly, and headed down
the spiral staircase into the guest dining room. He removed a
velour-backed chair from underneath the polished oval dining
table, being careful not to scratch the newly refinished black
cherry hardwood floor; and heard a female’s high-pitched voice
coming from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, young man! I did not mean to be so abrupt last
night,” Mrs. Brinsley stated while beginning to round the corner
with a plate stacked with buttermilk pancakes and a side of
sausage links. “It was rather late and I am not used to having
guests check in at the wee hours,” she said.
“No, ma’am, you need not apologize. It was late—my van
broke down in front of the inn,” Derrick replied.
They made small talk while Mrs. Brinsley served breakfast.
Upon finishing, he asked for directions to an auto parts store.
Mrs. Brinsley indicated that the closest place was Brekman’s
Auto, that was located in Creswell. It was approximately ten
minutes westbound and just south of Route Sixty-Four.
Mrs. Brinsley was seventy-five years old and seemed to have
a considerable amount of energy. Her hair was wisely gray, that
she kept neatly in a bun, and her posture took the shape of a
piece of elbow macaroni, which was due to her osteoporosis.
She had moved from Hartfordshire, England to Baltimore,
Maryland, at the age of eight, which is where she was wedded to
the late Mr. Walter Brinsley at the age of twenty-three. His
The Ambassador’s Agenda
23
demise was a result of pancreatic cancer, which had transpired
fifteen years past. Before Walter Brinsley’s death, he was a
cultured, renowned archeologist who discovered and exhumed
the tomb of the Egyptian Pharaoh Tunekharen. Walter
Brinsley’s lifelong revelation eventually became factual and
enabled them to achieve social and financial prosperity.
Derrick turned over the ignition to his Chevy Van. It started
without hesitation, and he was puzzled. Derrick moved onto the
roadway and headed west on Route 64, as he fumbled with a
bronze chewing tobacco cuspidor. The traffic was minimal for
eight-thirty a.m. Derrick reached into the glove compartment
for a compact disk to play while half-paying attention to the
road. He inserted the disk into the Alpine stereo player.
Suddenly he heard a loud, “Whoooom!”
Derrick firmly grasped the steering wheel and maintained
control of the van as it jetted to the right. He moved to the
highway’s shoulder and exited the van.
“Oh darn it!” he said, realizing that the right front tire had
experienced a blow out.
Derrick opened the rear door and pulled out a tire jack and
lug wrench. He crouched down and began to undo the lug nuts
and simultaneously felt the vacuum created by several semi
trucks in passing.
Derrick manipulated the jack and watched the front tires
clear the ground. He started to remove the first nut, placed it on
the ground, and accidentally struck it with the heel of his shoe.
The lug nut launched into the weeds, just off the shoulder.
Derrick grew thoroughly disgusted and restrained himself from
an outbreak of anger.
He said under his breath, “Okay, be part of the solution and
not the problem!”
Derrick parted the weeds with his hands, meticulously
searching for the lug nut. Something caught his eye.
He peered downward, discovered the bottom portion of
something black in color, and picked it up.
James T. Stumpo
24
“A handheld radio, a Motorola. How odd…Hmmm, I
wonder if it was accidentally dropped?” Derrick said to himself.
A few moments later Derrick found the lug nut and finished
changing the tire. He made a mental note of his surroundings
and observed a small unimproved road, that went in a northerly
direction and perpendicular to Route 64.
Derrick traveled down the road and examined the radio,
while paying attention to both tasks. He turned it on and heard
a single beep followed by static and then adjusted the squelch
knob accordingly. It appeared to Derrick the radio was recently
dropped, for the battery supplied ample power. He also noted
that whoever misplaced the radio neglected to turn it on.
Derrick was unaware that a member of the agricultural site
team dropped the radio during an evening security detachment.
The patrol had probed the compounds perimeter three days
prior to his discovery.
Lecht Grylenski had conveniently been a member of that
specific detail. The missing radio became the focus of a major
internal investigation. An intensive search within the
agricultural compound followed, its loss was a serious security
breech.
Derrick was within five minutes from Creswell as he trailed
behind a silver Oldsmobile sedan. Derrick prepared a mental
list of parts needed to complete a tune-up.
Suddenly, a series of radio transmissions interrupted his
thoughts.
“Alpha Three, this is Sierra-One…over?”
“Sierra-One, you have a level one access arriving at ten
thirty…(Break)…Enter control number Victor Three-Four-
Seven-Two…(Break)…Authenticate subject’s access code upon
arrival, over?”
“Alpha-Three, I copy to enter and authenticate…(Break)…The
description of vehicle, over?”
“Sierra-One, this is Alpha-Three…(Break)…Vehicle is a
commercial semi trailer marked Northwest General
The Ambassador’s Agenda
25
Foods…(Break)… Verify subject’s license plate per your
screen…over?”
“Alpha-Three, this is Sierra-One, copy…out.”
Derrick listened and said to himself, “What’s this? A food
truck confirmed through an access list. Authenticate and enter
control number? It sounds…suspiciously military or something!”
He pulled into the parking lot of Brekman’s Auto Parts at
nine-fifteen a.m. He walked through the aisles looking for a set
of spark plug wires, distributor cap and rotor for his brown
Chevy van. The store clerks seemed polite and accommodating.
Derrick approached the register and paid cash for the items.
Derrick walked across the street to a filling station and
purchased twelve gallons of gasoline, a chocolate bar and a
daily newspaper. He glanced over his right shoulder while
filling up the tank and observed a blue semi-truck with a white
trailer pulling into the gas station. In large blue letters it read,
“Northwest General Foods.” Derrick realized it was the same
company stated in the recent radio transmissions.
Two occupants were in the semi rig as it rolled in and both
clad in navy blue coveralls. A middle-aged, slightly disheveled
male appearing to be of Arabic descent exited the passenger
side, looked around and deeply inhaled a cigarette while
standing beside the tractor-trailer. The driver exited and briskly
walked toward the fueling stations glass double doors and
paused for a moment scanning his immediate surroundings
prior to entering.
Derrick remained in his van tapping his fingers and waited
for the semi truck to depart. He had the uncanny ability to find
trouble, and his suspicions usually proved to be accurate.
At ten a.m., the eighteen-wheeler moved onto the roadway
and headed eastbound on Route 64. Derrick shadowed the semi
from a distance of about an eighth of a mile, being vigilant not to
alert the tractor-trailer. Derrick monitored the Motorola for
radio traffic.

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