- About the Book

CRINKUM CRANKUM
by Robert Eringer

A serial terrorist is on the loose. A struggle between FBI and the CIA ensues over who can catch him. A freelance government operative is on the job. He has Tourette syndrome and looks exactly like Bruce Willis. It gets even zanier.

When agents from the IRS appear, two divergent stories become hopelessly intertwined. The recalcitrant characters revolt and fight for primacy, and a reluctant author is forced to arbitrate. He uses the opportunity to have some fun of his own.

CRINKUM CRANKUM is a thriller that takes a sharp twist into surreality. This is an unusual, outrageously funny yarn that plunks the traditional novel on its spine. It may be a metaphor for something. Certainly, CRINKUM CRANKUM is one writer's brave attempt to wave his pen as if it were a magic wand.

 

- Excerpt

 

CRINKUM CRANKUM

by Robert Eringer

INTRODUCTION

The excerpt, below, is taken from Chapter 7 of CRINKUM CRANKUM, a comic thriller by veteran author and journalist Robert Eringer.

Jeff Dalkin is a freelance government operative with a problem. He suffers from Tourette Syndrome, not to mention a striking resemblance to actor Bruce Willis. Called in by the FBI on a critical mission, Dalkin spews obscenities as he tracks Kurdish terrorists through Geneva, London, Washington D.C., and Germany.

Along the way, author Robert Eringer gets his digs in, using his background as an investigative journalist to air some of America's dirty laundry. The result is a hilarious, fast- paced book that makes fun of the thriller genre while still delivering a darn good story.

---

From Chapter 7

by Robert Eringer

Henry Kissinger was not in a buoyant mood when he arrived at the J. Edgar Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He was accompanied by his lawyer James Boggles the Third, immaculately suited in Saville Row pinstripe and J. Foster handmade brogues.

Inside the director's suite, Westgate and Jim Thompson rose to greet their VIP guest. Kissinger shook hands coldly with the two men and said nothing.

"Please sit down, gentlemen." Westgate gestured to his sofa and three easy chairs around a coffee table.

They sat. Kissinger glared wordlessly at the Bureau chieftains; Boggles sat expressionless, thin lips glued together.

"Henry," began Westgate. "When you served on the President's Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board, you sat in on monthly intelligence briefings, all classified at the highest level, dealing with the nation's most sensitive secrets." It was a statement, not a question.

Kissinger grunted. "Yes."

"And then you habitually used tidbits gleaned from those meetings to solicit new business for Kissinger Associates among foreign leaders and multinational corporations."

Kissinger said nothing, but shifted uneasily in his chair. It was obvious to Westgate that the statesman had been instructed by his lawyer to keep his mouth shut, whatever the temptation to speak.

"Henry," continued Westgate, in a soft tone. "That's treason."

"You'd better be able to prove that!" Boggles erupted staccato-style, like a machine gun.

"I can," said Westgate. "And I will if necessary. I hope it won't be necessary. I would prefer that your client cooperate with the Bureau on another matter."

"My client has a fee schedule for government consulting," shot Boggles. "Ten thousand dollars per day."

"And I'm sure he earns every penny." Westgate smiled. "But I ask that your client waive his fee on this occasion. A trade- off."

Kissinger leaned over and whispered into his lawyer's ear.

"My client is prepared to waive his fee," announced Boggles. "On the basis that the matter with which you require his cooperation be resolved before lunchtime today."

"Agreed," said Westgate. "Henry, do you have a bank account in Switzerland -- a numbered account?"

Kissinger cleared his throat, twisted, and again beckoned his lawyer's ear.

"My client's financial affairs are his own business," said Boggles. "I fail to see..."

Westgate raised his hand. "Okay. Let me rephrase this." He turned to Kissinger and held out a piece of paper. "Henry, is this your bank account number?"

Kissinger didn't look. "You are harassing me," he droned.

"Look, Henry, I'm not the IRS -- I'm not interested if you're hiding money in numbered accounts to evade taxes" -- Westgate filed a mental note to tip off the IRS Commissioner next time they met at the Cosmos Club -- "it's just that this account number has surfaced relative to the terrorist attack across the street two weeks ago, and it is also linked to the attack at the Hard Rock Cafe in London last week."

Kissinger sat poker-faced.

"Here," Westgate prodded, "look at these." The FBI director plucked copies of his two Skorpian faxes from a leather portfolio and handed them to Kissinger.

Kissinger read. He paled visibly. Then he spoke slowly, deliberately. "I helped open this account."

"Don't say anything!" Boggles interjected.

Kissinger waved him down. "I had no idea... you don't think...?"

Westgate was silent.

Kissinger shook his head vigorously. "Our only involvement at Kissinger Associates with this account was to open it for one of our clients. They asked that the account be in my name. They were prepared to pay for this service. And I saw no reason..." Kissinger looked at the faxes. "This is inconceivable."

"Who, Henry?" said Westgate. "Who is the client?"

Kissinger hesitated. But he realized it would be ridiculous to claim client confidentiality under such circumstances. "Faud Hadi Hamade."

"Who is that?"

"A Kurdish leader. He retained my consulting service a year ago to advise him on building a foundation for the establishment of Kurdistan."

"I thought lost causes were St. Jude's domain, Henry?"

"It is unlikely that Turkey and Iraq would ever agree to an independent Kurdish nation," intoned Kissinger, as if he were speaking before the Council on Foreign Relations in New York, "but it is a worthy cause nonetheless. In my opinion the Kurds deserve support."

"What did you *do* for them?"

"Our activities centered on lobbying and gentle education in Washington. Congress, the State Department. Our European friends. We know how to bring attention to their plight, and highlight the reasons they deserve aid. And we opened this account." Kissinger shook his head. "It was a mistake."

"Like Vietnam and Cambodia, Henry?" Westgate couldn't resist.

Kissinger said nothing.

"Did you ever register as a lobbyist for the Kurds?" asked Westgate.

"They aren't a nation."

"A loophole, eh, Henry?"

"Our relationship with them has already been terminated," Kissinger thrummed. We're still waiting for our bill to be paid. They're now three months overdue and they don't respond to our requests for payment."

Westgate pointed at the faxes Kissinger still held numbly. "They're waiting for a windfall."

"My God," said Kissinger. The full impact of what had transpired -- of what he was in the middle of -- had finally hit him. "None of this should get out."

"None of it should, but it will," said Westgate. "You're an old pro at failing to plug leaks. I could book you this minute as an accessory to murder -- and call a press conference -- and I reserve my right to do that. But I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Henry."

"Thank you." It was tough to detect from Kissinger's drone whether he was speaking sincerely or with sarcasm.

Westgate picked up his intercom phone. "Cheryl? Send Dalkin in."

Kissinger flinched. Already the circle privy to his secret was widening.

Dalkin swaggered into the director's office. The men rose. Westgate greeted Dalkin. Kissinger did a double-take. What the hell was Bruce Willis doing here?

"Jeff, this is Henry Kissinger, and his attorney, James Boggles. Henry, Jeff Dalkin."

"Dalkin shook Kissinger's hand. "Kiss ass, kiss ass," said Dalkin, struggling to maintain, but not succeeding. "Speck and sauerkraut."

Kissinger recoiled.

"He has Tourette's," Jim Thompson whispered.

Kissinger nodded, an uncertain nod.

The men sat.

Westgate spoke, "This is the situation, Jeff. Dr. Kissinger opened an account at UBS -- the account of interest to us -- for a Kurdish leader named... Henry?"

"Faud. Faud Hadi Hamade."

Dalkin crouched forward on the edge of his chair, taking mental notes, as Westgate explained the situation.

"It's very simple," said Dalkin, "I should establish a legend as a kiss ass, kiss ass, kiss-kiss-Kissinger -- whew! -- Associate and attempt to renew contact with this Kurd. Butt- buggering bastards!"

"Ridiculous." Kissinger dismissed Dalkin's idea with the backhand wave of his hand. "I cannot allow my office to be used for this purpose."

"The way I see it, Henry," said Westgate, "Allowing us to use your office is the very *least* you can do to help us resolve this little problem -- *your* little problem."

"But if it comes out that I permitted Kissinger Associates to be a front for the FBI," said Kissinger, "my business would be ruined!"

"Less ruined than if I book you right now as an accessory in the murder of over 20 people?"

Kissinger said nothing. The trade-off was clear.

Westgate turned to Dalkin. "There may be a problem to the approach you suggest. This Kurd owes Kissinger Associates money -- how much does he owe, Henry?"

"I don't involve myself in invoicing," huffed Kissinger disdainfully.

"C'mon, Henry -- how much approximately?"

"I believe it is in excess of half-a-million dollars."

Westgate turned to Dalkin. "The Kurd hasn't paid-up and he's several months overdue. So he may want to avoid any contact with Kissinger Associates."

"Easy," said Dalkin. "My first order of business will be to quash the fee."

"You can't do that!" Kissinger protested.

"Sure I can," said Dalkin. "This will ingratiate myself with him. When you're dealing with a rug merchant, you need something to trade. Butt-buggering bastards. In return for quashing the fee, I'll ask for a favor -- and that's what'll get me through his door. Crinkum crankum, pop-a-nut."

"But, but," Kissinger sputtered. "I can't just wipe their debt clean! There were expenses involved!"

"I think, Henry," said Westgate, "you're going to have to tighten your belt and go along with whatever plan we come up with. I must say, Mr. Dalkin's plan sounds damn good. *And* it's all we have."

Boggles leaned toward Kissinger and whispered in his ear. Kissinger nodded.

"We need," Boggles enunciated, "a formal deal in writing that will grant my client full and total immunity from this unfortunate set of circumstances, though we make no admissions as to any guilt."

About the Author

Robert Eringer is known to many conspiracy buffs for his non- fiction book, "The Global Manipulators." He once infiltrated the South Carolina Ku Klux Klan and wrote about his findings in the British "Sunday People." An interview he conducted with former KGB chairman Vladimir Kryuchkov appeared in the "Toledo Blade" (Sunday, Feb. 15, 1998).

Eringer has lived in Monaco and London, and currently makes his home in Washington, D.C. He is the author of several books, including "Strike for Freedom" (the story of Lech Walesa and Solidarity), and "Zubrick's Rock," a novel that brought him a spot on The Today Show.

 

 

 

Copyright ©1998 by Robert Eringer. All rights reserved. Please request permission from the author before duplicating or distributing this file. Thank you.