The Great Game

by D. R. Bell

  In the end, the states agreed to part ways in a civilized manner, work through the logistics, and declare separate countries on January 22, 2024. Internet-based services sprang up helping people to trade houses, so they could move from “red” to “blue” states, and vice versa. The Pacific Coast states had been among the blue ones, but ended up being cut off from their brethren by the red states. David cynically thought that it did not take long for some ambitious politicians to decide that geographically this didn’t make much sense. Why run for governor of California if you could run for president of California? So California set its own referendum. Of course this presented Washingtonians and Oregonians with a dilemma of whether or not to join with the Californians.

  David started reading the article about Jonathan Schulmann when he heard “Wow!” behind him. Startled, he looked back to see Maggie standing there squinting at the screen in those ridiculous cat-eye glasses.

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 5:25 p.m. PDT

  Earlier, Maggie had stepped into the bathroom to give herself a brief timeout alone while she calmed her nerves and got her churning stomach under control. How many people involved with this were now dead? And the bad guys had her phone number, so they likely had her name and address as well. Andrei was clearly concerned, and that was not good. Yes, she and Andrei were friends going back eight years, were more than friends at one point, but Andrei was moving in different circles now. If she became a liability, who knew how he would react?

  When she was about to flush the toilet, Maggie heard voices outside the door. She quietly sat back and waited. Andrei and Petr were speaking in Russian.

  Andrei said, “Who did she bring in here? I should kick that David character out. Devil take him! I don’t want the damn Chinese on my tail. Won’t be good for business.”

  “Let’s not rush,” Petr said. “The Chinese don’t know he’s in your house. I think he knows more than he is letting on. There might be some opportunity here.”

  “What opportunity? The fool doesn’t know anything!”

  “We can’t be sure. And even if he does not know anything, the Chinese think he does, which makes him potentially valuable. Let’s give it a couple of days.”

  Andrei grudgingly agreed. Steps faded away.

  So David has at the most two more days, Maggie thought. She went to his room. He wasn’t there. Not in the kitchen either. She wandered toward the study. David was indeed there, so intently staring at the computer’s screen that he didn’t hear her come in.

  What was she going to tell him?

  She could not get back to her life, to be free or safe—both things essentially the same under the circumstances—without figuring out why these people were after them. And David was the key to this puzzle. But she also couldn’t keep him at Andrei’s if it got too dangerous. She had to play for time a bit longer.

  Looking over David’s shoulder, she saw the headline on the computer screen: “Jonathan Schulmann killed in the Williams explosion.” Below the headline there was a picture of a man in his forties, smiling broadly, intelligent eyes, prematurely gray hair.

  She gasped. David turned around.

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 5:41 p.m. PDT

  She sat down next to him, and they started learning about Jonathan Schulmann. After a few minutes, Maggie fetched her laptop. It was an old 2D computer, but it started quickly and without asking to log in. She said, “It’s a small screen, but I am used to it.” David thought she had trouble with him controlling the display.

  Schulmann had joined the Securities Exchange Commission (SEC) in 2017, after working for three years at the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC), and before that being a partner at a well-known Washington, DC, law firm. His name was tied to successful prosecutions of large insider trading cases at SEC and to investigations into the manipulation of various commodity markets at CFTC. Some had wondered why he’d left a successful legal practice for much less financially rewarding work at government agencies, even speculating that he’d been interested in a political career.

  When the 2019 dollar crisis hit, with the usual calls for investigation, his name was mentioned in the context of a commission that would be formed “to get to the bottom of what happened.” Jonathan was killed September 10, 2020 in the explosion at the Ritz Carlton in Philadelphia, together with Mitchell Williams. His death was overshadowed by that of Williams and hadn’t received much attention. A couple of obscure blogs speculated that there was some significance to Schulmann being there, but mostly it was assumed to be a collateral damage.

  Maggie turned to David. “Are you sure he said Schulmann’s file?”

  David shrugged. “I think that’s what he said. I’m not sure of anything. It was pretty crazy. Maybe I didn’t hear correctly. I don’t know what I could possibly have to do with this stuff. Do you think I got it wrong and he said something else?”

  Maggie was silent for a minute. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s about your engineering documents. But all those killings. And the police seemed really interested in that Thomas Mann character. We should try to find out more about Jonathan Schulmann. He was investigating the 2019 crisis. What do you know about it?”

  David spread his arms in mock irony. “Besides it wiping me out and destroying my marriage? Not much.”

  “What happened?”

  David looked away. “I was aggressive in the market, trying to make money for the kind of house my wife—I mean, my ex-wife—wanted. When the market crashed, we lost pretty much everything. And then Judy’s real estate business took a dive. She couldn’t take it. She needed safety.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “So many people suffered and continue to suffer.”

  “What about you? Weren’t you affected by the crisis?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have any wealth to lose. I could not get by on my teaching assistant stipend any longer, rent and food costs went up. My parents started sending me additional money, and I had to take on part-time waitressing, a bit of income plus free food. But then a bloodied stranger showed up, and I’m not sure I have that job any longer.” She gave him a wry smile.

  David shook his head. “Sorry. But you’re the economist. What do you know about the crisis?”

  “Not as much as I should. I’m studying to be a historical economist; I specialize in particular periods, mostly of many years ago. In 2019 the US dollar lost its reserve currency status, and it was orchestrated to happen essentially overnight. If you are not a reserve currency, you can’t easily print your money to pay for the goods from abroad, so the value of the dollar dropped.”

  She tapped her lip with her forefinger. “You know, my advisor at UCLA is an economics professor. He knows a lot of people and would be a good person to talk to. I’ll call him.”

  Maggie got up to go. David said, “Wait, please. I know we just talked about this, but the way Andrei asked questions, I don’t think I should stay here much longer.”

  Maggie hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Andrei is concerned that this is getting too big for him to be involved in. He does have a nose for danger. I tell you what, it’s almost seven. Too late to make other plans for tonight. Let’s stay here and think about this tomorrow.” She left to make a phone call.

  David logged back into his e-mail, still nothing. One thing was sure, he would leave Andrei’s house tomorrow at the latest. But where would he go? During his marriage, it seemed that eventually most of their friends were Judy’s friends, and when he and Judy broke up, he lost touch with many of them as well. His Facebook page had been abandoned a long time ago. Besides, being David’s friend had become a dangerous business. He thought of going to his parents in Massachusetts, but he’d be jeopardizing them, too.

  David sat staring at the wall. He remembered King Theoden’s words from Lord of the Rings—“No, my lord Aragorn, we are alone”—and felt sorry for himself.

  Maggie’s “Hello, Earth is calling” interrupted his gloomy thoughts. He involuntarily smiled. “Are you too
tired?” she asked.

  “No, why?”

  “I called the professor. The old guy has nothing better to do on a Saturday night and said to just come over. He’s not too far; in Brentwood.”

  “OK.” David wondered if “the old guy” actually wanted some peace and quiet on Saturday night, but Maggie just would not take no for an answer.

  Her hand hooked the air. “Why don’t we grab something in the kitchen and get going then.”

  By now David had figured out that the kitchen was the focal point of Andrei’s house and that there were no formal dinners. People would just gather around the monster island counter. So he was not surprised to find Andrei, Tamara, Oleg, and Alex there. While they were grabbing some pelmeni, Maggie explained that they were going to Brentwood to do some research with a professor from UCLA. She did not go into details and said that it was probably a “wild goose chase.”

  Andrei said, “Oleg, take the Audi and drive them.”

  David protested that they had cars and would be fine, but Andrei insisted, either trying to be a good host or keeping tabs on them. David wasn’t sure which.

  Saturday, 4/23/2022, 7:54 p.m. PDT

  “It is incumbent on every generation to pay its own debts as it goes.

  A principle which if acted on would save

  one-half the wars of the world.”

  —Thomas Jefferson

  Oleg was driving fast. David sat in the front, Maggie in the back. She’d changed into jeans and a different blouse.

  Maggie asked, “Oleg, where are you from?”

  “Saint Petersburg. Grew up on Vassilevsy Ostrov.”

  “Big family?”

  “No, I am the only child. Never knew my father. My mom raised me.”

  “How did you end up in LA?”

  “It’s a bit of a story. When I was finishing high school, I was running with some pretty bad company. My mom was working two jobs to make ends meet and was too busy and tired to control me. I would have ended up in jail if not for my uncle. He was in the army, so he arranged to get me into SpetsNaz, figuring only they could break me.”

  David turned to him. “What’s SpetsNaz?”

  “Special Forces. Six months of training, pure hell. Less than half of us made it. But my uncle was right—I was a stubborn SOB. I stuck it out. Anyway, that’s where I met Alex. Alex was the one who got the job with Andrei. He talked me into coming here when Andrei needed another enforcer.”

  Maggie leaned on the back of David’s seat in order to continue talking to Oleg, and David caught a scent of her perfume.

  “Are you close with Alex?”

  “Yes, you could say that. I’d do anything for him.”

  “Anything?”

  “I owe him my life. We were in Tajikistan together, covert operations against local Taliban.”

  David was surprised and jumped into the conversation. “There is a Taliban in Tajikistan? I thought they were in Afghanistan.”

  “Of course. They call themselves different names in different countries, but they are cut from the same cloth. I got captured at one point. They wanted to videotape cutting my head off. Alex got me out of there.”

  This all was light years away from David’s world. “So how long have you worked for Andrei?”

  “About two years now.”

  “And how do you like it?”

  “It’s OK. I like working with Alex.”

  “What about Petr?”

  “Petr has been Andrei’s main ‘advisor’ since well before I showed up. I think he’s got his own interests.” Oleg didn’t seem too fond of Petr. There’s a lack of trust here, David thought.

  “What about Tamara?” Maggie said.

  “She showed up recently. Don’t know if she’ll be around for too long. Andrei likes change. I think Tamara’s in it for the money.”

  They got off 405 and onto Sunset, turned left on Barrington, then right on one of the small side streets and parked in front of a one-story ranch house. Maggie was first out of the car. She marched to the door and knocked.

  A man in his sixties opened, looking a bit like a shorter and plumper version of Sean Connery. Bold features, fleshy face, neatly trimmed short white beard. He wore a tweed jacket, white shirt, and a bow tie.

  “Margarita, dear, it’s been a long time! You have forgotten your old professor.”

  “Hello, James. It’s only been three weeks. And you know it’s Maggie.”

  “I know. I also know your parents named you Margarita after Bulgakov’s immortal novel, and I refuse to Americanize it.”

  James and Maggie hugged. Maggie introduced David and Oleg.

  James bowed. His eyes were warm and friendly. “James Bowen, at your service. Ferguson, is that Scottish?”

  David confessed that it was.

  “Well, I am Welsh myself, and it’s a pleasure to come across a fellow British islander in the colonies— even if a few generations removed.” To Oleg he said, “And it’s great to meet one of Margarita’s compatriots.”

  Maggie started right in. “We wanted to find out about—”

  Bowen interrupted her. “Let’s first proceed to the study and, like civilized people, get ourselves a drink.”

  James moved through the house, with Maggie, David, and Oleg trudging after him. They came to an old-fashioned study, lined with books, a fireplace, two chairs, a couch, and a small bar. James said, “I am personally having sixteen-year-old single malt Lagavulin. What can I offer you?”

  David and Oleg opted for Lagavulin as well, while Maggie chose brandy. James took one chair, David the other, Maggie and Oleg sat on the couch.

  “Now that we’ve been properly equipped,” James said, “what are you interested in?”

  Maggie said, “We’ve been trying to follow some of Jonathan Schulmann’s work. I don’t know if you know of him?”

  James’s folksy expression changed. After a pause, he replied, “I did not know him personally. I know someone who probably knew Schulmann well. Can you tell me why you ask?”

  Maggie hesitated. Then she said, “It came up in some context. We’re not really sure ourselves. We want to understand what he might have been looking at.”

  James nodded. “OK. You know that he was killed in the same blast as Williams. Most people thought it was an accident and that he was not the target. Some people thought otherwise. This much we know: he was investigating suspicious trading prior to the 2019 dollar crisis. Combine this with the murder of a presidential candidate, and all kinds of dangerous theories can be constructed.”

  David spoke up. “What exactly happened in 2019? I know the headline reporting, of course, but I haven’t studied the events too deeply. First, I was trying to put it out of my mind due to personal losses, then other things started happening.”

  James set his glass on a small table. “All right. As I said, I can introduce you to someone whom I believe knew Schulmann well. As to what happened in 2019, the US dollar lost its reserve currency status. The US dollar has been the king of currencies since anyone alive can remember, but it was not always so. The British pound had been a reserve currency for a long time before that. All the way to ancient Rome there were reserve currencies. And having one bestowed advantages on that nation.”

  Oleg interrupted. “If this is so advantageous, why would anyone let it go?”

  James got up and took a few steps around the room. “I’m sorry, I guess I can’t help but slip into my natural role of standing in front of a class and lecturing. The best answer I can give you is—human nature. Having a reserve currency is a great responsibility. It’s like having a blank check to print money that will actually be accepted outside of that country’s borders. As Benjamin Franklin warned, at some point people realize that they can vote themselves more money. So they elect politicians that do it for them. And the privilege gets abused to the point that it can’t be sustained anymore. It’s not possible to create money out of thin air without consequences. For the currency to have credibility, it must be b
acked by something.”

  “You mean by gold?”

  James smiled. “That’s a simple question that does not have a simple answer. Gold has certainly played a major role as a store of value throughout the ages. It has some interesting characteristics that made it the monetary choice in earlier economies. Countries tied their currencies to gold via a fixed exchange rate, the so-called ‘gold standard.’ The UK was on the gold standard for many years, and the US was on a gold standard until 1971. However, gold standard has some serious drawbacks as well. To support a growing economy, a country needs more money in circulation. The government wants to print more money but can’t because it doesn’t have the gold to back it up. Governments like fiat currencies, since they control them.”

  “So is gold good or bad?” Oleg asked impatiently.

  “Harry Truman once quipped: ‘Give me a one-armed economist! All my economists say on one hand, on the other hand …’ It’s not all good, and it’s not all bad. I used to believe gold has no place now and that pure ‘fiat money’ is the way to run modern finance. But over the years I’ve appreciated more and more the wisdom of the American founders that were warning about uncontrolled issuance of currency. It’s not the gold per se; it’s the ability to impose limits on the government that’s important.”

  James comfortably slipped into his teacher persona, now standing in front of Oleg and gesticulating excitedly. “Centuries ago the Roman Empire debased its currency into oblivion—and that was with coins. When governments figured out that they could make money out of paper or even out of electrons, they really went to work. Fiat currencies have only been around for a few hundred years, and the vast majority of them are already gone and forgotten. It’s common for our age to assume that we are so much more developed than our predecessors that this time will be different. But human nature has not changed nearly as much as technology has. Gold may well be a barbarous relic, but using a gold standard puts a brake on a government’s abilities to destroy its currency and carries an implicit promise to act responsibly.”