Frank Johnson grinned. “I’m very interested.”
That was the beginning. The next meeting took place in Ottawa, Canada, and Frank Johnson met some of the members of the committee. They represented powerful interests from a dozen countries.
“We’re well organized,” a member explained to Frank Johnson. “We have a strict chain of command. There’s a Propaganda Division, Recruiting, Tactics, Liaison…and a Death Squad.” He went on. “Almost every intelligence organization in the world is part of this.”
“You mean the heads of—?”
“No, not the heads. The deputies. The hands-on people who know what’s going on, who know what danger our countries are in.”
The meetings took place all over the world—Switzerland, Morocco, China—and Johnson attended all of them.
It was six months before Colonel Johnson met Janus. Janus had sent for him.
“I’ve been given excellent reports about you, Colonel.”
Frank Johnson grinned. “I enjoy my work.”
“So I’ve heard. You’re in an advantageous position to help us.”
Frank Johnson sat up straighter. “I’ll do anything I can.”
“Good. At the Farm, you’re in charge of supervising the training of secret agents in the various services.”
“That’s right.”
“And you get to know them and their capabilities.”
“Intimately.”
“What I would like you to do,” Janus said, “is to recruit those whom you feel would be most helpful to our organization. We’re interested only in the best.”
“That’s easy,” Colonel Johnson said. “No problem.” He hesitated a moment. “I wonder—”
“Yes?”
“I can do that with my left hand. I’d really like to do something more, something bigger.” He leaned forward. “I’ve heard about Operation Doomsday. Doomsday is right up my alley. I’d like to be a part of that, sir.”
Janus sat there, studying him a moment. Then he nodded. “Very well, you’re in.”
Johnson smiled. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry.” Colonel Frank Johnson left the meeting a very happy man. Now he would have a chance to show them what he could do.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Day Eight
Waco, Texas
Dan Wayne was not having a good day. As a matter of fact, he was having a dreadful day. He had just returned from the Waco county courthouse, where he was facing bankruptcy proceedings. His wife, who had been having an affair with her young doctor, was divorcing him, intent on getting half of everything he had (which could be half of nothing, he had assured her lawyer). And one of his prize bulls had to be destroyed. Dan Wayne felt that fate was kicking him in the balls. He had done nothing to deserve all this. He had been a good husband and a good rancher. He sat in his study contemplating the gloomy future.
Dan Wayne was a proud man. He was well aware of all the jokes about Texans being loudmouthed, larger-than-life braggarts, but he honestly felt he had something to brag about. He had been born in Waco, in the rich agricultural region of the Brazos River valley. Waco was modern, but it still retained a flavor of the past, when the five C’s had been its support: cattle, cotton, corn, collegians, and culture. Wayne loved Waco with all his heart and soul, and when he had met the Italian priest on the Swiss tour bus, he had spent almost five hours going on about his hometown. The priest had told him he wanted to practice his English, but actually, as he thought back on it, Dan had done almost all the talking.
“Waco has everything,” he had confided to the priest. “Our climate’s great. We don’t allow it to get too hot or too cold. We have twenty-three schools in the school district and Baylor University. We have four newspapers, ten radio stations, and five television stations. We have a Texas Ranger Hall of Fame that will knock you out. I mean, we’re talking history. If you like fishing, Father, the Brazos River is an experience you’ll never forget. Then, we have a safari ranch and a big art center. I tell you, Waco is one of the unique cities of the world. You must come and pay us a visit.”
And the little old priest had smiled and nodded, and Wayne wondered how much English he really understood.