The Return of Elliott Eastman

by Ryan, Ignatius

  “Really,” Bruce said. “That must have taken some arm twisting.”

  “Arm twisting and then some,” Elliott replied with a smile. “Also a team of lawyers, at my behest, has approached the SEC with a proposal for a new source of tax revenue that should generate trillions of dollars in a few years. Sam Goldman, the Chairman of the SEC backs the idea enthusiastically.”

  “Could you expand on that please?” General Holland asked leaning forward in his chair.

  “It’s a small fee imposed on stock, commodities, futures and derivatives contracts. The experts figure it could generate 1.8 billion dollars a day and will fall most heavily on speculators and flash traders. Just the people we want to hit rather than the average Joe. But there is another aspect to this campaign against the deficit, and that’s where you come in. I’ve asked some experts to compile some data. It’s only a dozen pages or so, and I must admit it’s some very boring reading. I’ll summarize it for you. Out of 1,100 military bases we have around the world there are upwards of 400 to 600 bases that could be shut down at a savings of 600 billion dollars a year. For instance, one base in Saudi Arabia, one in Diego Garcia, one in the Philippines, along with our carrier fleets in the region are more than sufficient to protect our interests in the Indian Ocean theatre. Yet we have over a hundred and fifty bases and two hundred thousand men and women of our armed forces and contractors deployed there. We send $500 million dollars a year to Pakistan, $1.8 billion to Egypt and another one billion to the Saudi’s. It’s all detailed in the summary here. All told, the savings could be approximately 400 billion dollars a year.”

  Dick Henghold laughed. “You’ll never get Congress to pass cuts of that size.”

  Elliott gave the director of the Office of Management and Budget a nod.

  “True, but let me continue. I’ve heard it said that certain people, off the record of course, feel the war on the Taliban is a joke.”

  Elliott stared pointedly at the Secretary of Defense for a moment.

  “The figures I’ve seen, which are also compiled here, indicate there are maybe 5,000 Taliban fighters, maybe a few more when the harvesting is over. They don’t have planes, missiles, or anything in the way of modern weaponry and yet we are supposed to believe they pose a threat to our national security?”

  “I argued the same point ten years ago,” Robert Gates interjected.

  “The expenses far outweigh any gains we have in fighting a war against them. All the facts and figures are here,” Elliott concluded.

  “I still say you’ll never get it passed through Congress,” Dick argued. “The military lobbyists will be all over them.”

  “Which is why I’ve waited to tell you the other half of the plan; the two of you labor in relative obscurity. The average American will know the starting lineups and slugging percentage of the home team, but know nothing of you or what you do. That’s because what you do, at least in their perception, has no impact on their lives. I’m proposing to change that starting today if I can get your agreement to spearhead this approach. I will take out full page ads in the Washington Post, The New York Times and The USA Today with a photo spread of the two of you, Bob here, and the head of the SEC touting you as the leaders of the War on the Deficit. The article will outline the plan of attack and the proposed dollar amounts we are saving. You will be instantly vaulted to celebrity status and you will become household names. Who knows where it might lead your careers? President, vice president, hell Ron Reagan was a spokesperson for General Electric or something before he became president. But more importantly I’m hoping to educate the public in a big way, and in doing so counteract the influence of the corporations.”

  Elliott took a breath.

  “Seriously, you will be spearheading the single most important effort in the history of this country, aside from perhaps D-Day. Our national debt is the single greatest threat our nation has faced, and it is largely being addressed with aimless drivel by our leaders. You gentlemen are in a position to save our nation. If the opposition is too strong in Congress I’ll post more articles. I have a team of free lance writers who are ready to go to work on this, naming names of those lobbyists and members of Congress who would stand in our way. Lastly, if it appears Congress is to stand in our way, I will personally fund a national referendum so that the American people can vote directly on these measures. We cannot let corruption in high places ruin our chances here.”

  As Elliott ceased speaking the room fell into an eerie silence. The two men seated opposite him were quit literally stunned. Neither had been sure exactly what this meeting was to accomplish and had merely agreed to meet out of respect for Senator Eastman and General Gates. What had been voiced was nothing short of mind numbing.

  Finally General Holland collected the brief and stood up. “Obviously a proposal of this magnitude will take some time to consider. I must confess I find it somewhat interesting.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dick Henghold agreed, his face looking a little flushed as he stood as well.

  “There are a number of players in other facets of this plan. I don’t want to push you, but I’ll need an answer as to whether you can back this or not in the next forty-eight hours,” Elliott softly explained.

  “I’ll need to run this by the President,” General Holland advised.

  “I’ve already spoken to him. I think he’s on our side,” Elliott responded. “But do as you see fit. You know how to reach us. Good day.”

  Elliott strode from the room with General Robert Gates beside him.

  Once they were in the corridor Gates couldn’t suppress his enthusiasm. “Good lord Elliott. You blew them away. Hell, you blew me away. That plan would change the world as we know it.”

  “I think it will. It’s really nothing new. Most of the plan has been kicked around in various forms for years.”

  “A tax on derivatives, commodities and futures transactions, I’ve never heard of such a thing. I say it’s brilliant!”

  “Actually, England has had a half percent tax on her stock transactions for years,” Elliott added, “and it generates about 40 billion a year in revenue.”

  “Oh, still, it was a master stroke. And a National Referendum?”

  “Actually, we can’t initiate a National Referendum without an approval from Congress, but there are about 29 states that already have approved state referendums over the years.”

  “Still, just the threat of a National Referendum will start them shaking in their boots on Capitol Hill. It’s the perfect approach. The power is with the people, or so the constitution would have us believe, so let them vote directly on the issue.”

  “It’s just a dream at the moment Bob, but perhaps someday. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t like the way both Holland and Henghold backed off so quickly. It was as if they were worried someone might have been listening in,” Elliott replied as he climbed into the limo again. “It was as if they were suddenly handed a hot potato and wanted nothing to do with it.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into it. I think they were just dumb struck by the scope and boldness of the plan.”

  “You know, with Twitter and texting I wonder if maybe the time has come for a National Referendum,” Elliott mused out loud.

  General Gates laughed. “Don’t go pushing your luck there kiddo. They would have to work out some way of verifying the votes were legit, rather than one kid sending in a couple thousand text messages an hour.”

  Elliott smiled. “I think you may be right. We’re a couple of years ahead of ourselves, but I could see a text message or e-mail including a PIN number to vote becoming a reality in a few years. Thanks for helping out.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” the General responded, glancing at Elliott as he climbed out of the limo. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “I don’t feel so hot either. I’m just tired. Very, very tired.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was late afternoon when Elliott let himself into the Colorado ranch
house and laid his car keys on the vestibule table. Slowly he walked over to the bar in the living room and poured a stiff double shot of scotch. The pain in his side came and went, but seemed to be lingering longer each time. Elliott pressed a speed dial button on his phone and then hung up.

  A moment later, the longtime ranch hand Greer knocked discreetly on the den door.

  “Come in.”

  Greer stepped into the room, removed his cowboy hat and lowered it hesitantly to chest level. Elliott studied the sun bronzed wiry old man for a moment. Many years ago Elliott’s father had found Greer as a young boy sleeping in the hay loft. Greer claimed he was hungry and had no money or home. Elliott’s father liked the boy’s forthright manner. When he got the boy a change of clothes he noted the deep bruises that covered his body and the fact that he was rail thin. He suspected what the boy’s home life was like and why he had run away. Right there and then Elliott’s father had taken him in and decided to teach him the ways of ranching. The young boy and old man working together had helped frame the enormous new ranch house and overseen the layout of the pond and orchard. As the work progressed over the course of many months, the two had grown very fond of one another. When Elliott’s father passed away Greer had simply stayed on. He’d been a fixture at the ranch for as long as Elliott could remember.

  “Greer, how long have you worked here?”

  The old ranch hand reached up and scratched his head. “I don’t rightly know sir. I reckon it’s gotta be close to forty years.”

  “Closer to fifty. I have a proposal for you Greer. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be around. I’ve asked my attorney to draw up papers and have them recorded at the county offices. I’m going to split off twenty acres along with the original house down by the creek and deed them to you.”

  “You don’t need to do that Mr. Elliott. I like sleeping in the bunk house just fine,” the ramrod protested.

  “I’m not through. Remember I said this was a proposal. Your part of the bargain is to be sure my parents’ graves are properly tended to, they are never to look neglected.”

  Greer smiled. “Heck Mr. Elliott, I been doing that for years anyhow. Wait, maybe you think they don’t look so well cared for, is that it?”

  “No, no, I think they look just fine, but I want to be sure they are kept that way.”

  “Say, what’s going on here? Are you going away somewheres?” Greer asked, suddenly squinty-eyed suspicious.

  “Nothing lasts forever,” Elliott replied, “including me. I want to be sure we get this done right. You’ve been very loyal to me and my family. You deserve this.”

  “I don’t rightly know what to say sir,” Greer replied softly. “It’s a mighty fine house and it’s way too big for the likes of me.”

  “Greer, I plan on leaving the other seventeen hundred acres, this ranch house, the barns, corrals, bunkhouse, and everything but the old ranch house and your twenty acres to the state of Colorado as a park.”

  “That there is a mighty big gift. I wonder if your pa would approve. He loved this ranch and all.”

  “Oh I think he’s looking down on us and smiling right now. Why have the ranch locked up? Let’s let young city people come on down here and go riding. Let them learn to love the land like we did.”

  “When you put it that way I guess it does sound pretty good.”

  “And I know my father would want to be sure you are well cared for. The old ranch house along with some money set aside should do you very well.”

  “I still don’t know sir.”

  “I know, Greer. Do you ever just know when something is the right thing to do? I mean really know it from deep down inside?”

  “Sure, I reckon I do sir.”

  “Good, then it’s settled. If you’ll go saddle up Dusty I think I’ll go for a ride before it’s too dark.”

  “Yes sir, right away sir.”

  Dusty was a golden bay stallion with white mane and tail. He was getting up there in years, but still loved to run flat out. At the sight of Elliott he whinnied with pleasure. The senator approached him, gave him a sugar cube and talked in low tones to the big horse. He took him out through the big barn doors. Greer stood aside as he mounted up.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” Elliott said.

  Greer nodded and watched him ride out of the yard. The old cowboy knew where he was going and smiled when he saw Elliott turn off the road and head for a little known hanging valley. The beautiful little valley was another thousand feet higher than the ranch. It consisted of about ninety pine-clad acres and had a small creek flowing out of the mountains with a lush meadow and small three acre lake right in the middle of it. Several spires of granite marked the entrance where a narrow hint of a trail wound its way up the last few hundred yards.

  Greer shook his head.

  “Going up to where he always used to take Miss Stephanie,” he said to himself as he turned back for the barn.

  Climbing higher, horse and rider topped out on a hogback ridge and saw the entrance to the valley in the distance. One would never suspect that a few boulders and a thick stand of pine could hide such a perfect patch of heaven. Riding around a house-sized rock outcropping and ducking low beneath the pine boughs they covered the last few yards to where the trail ended. The basin lay before them with the small pond in its center surrounded by a scattering of ancient pine and spruce. Suddenly a horse whinnied. Elliott, and Dusty, with his ears primed, turned in the direction of the sound. There, on the far side of the water, stood a pure white mare. She flicked her tail and whinnied again. Dusty snorted and stepped a few paces closer. They had seen her several times before, always alone in the valley, and she always seemed to brazenly study Dusty. Elliott laid his hand along the big stallions neck and whispered, “Steady there boy. She’s teasing you, but I think she likes you.”

  Dusty snorted again and took another step closer. The mare whinnied, shook her mane, then turned and disappeared into the trees. Dusty moved forward several steps, but Elliott tugged on the reins. Obediently the big horse stood firm. They rode around the pond to where an ancient lightning-struck pine stood and Elliott tied up the horse near some sweet grass. Elliott, as he always did, leaned back against the trunk of a fallen tree and a half buried granite boulder in the cool shadows and watched the rays of the setting sun dance across the water. A cool breeze came down the mountains and dragon flies darted and dashed across the still water of the pond. As Elliott closed his eyes he murmured, “Such a beautiful land.”

  After Elliott returned Dusty to the barn he walked slowly back to the ranch house. As old as the big horse was he still had heart. He could run for miles and had worn Elliott out. He was more tired than he could remember being in a long time. He switched on the Hi-Def big screen in the den. He clicked through some of the news channels and they were all covering the same thing; the simultaneous massive escape of prisoners. CNN was calling it ‘The Great Escape II’ and many commentators were speculating as to who was behind it and what the purpose might be of such a concerted effort. FOX News was sure it was a terrorist plot. One PBS station reported forty former prisoners had been recaptured and the spike in crime which had been anticipated had so far failed to materialize.

  Elliott sipped his scotch and rubbed his eyes. Reaching over he picked up the phone and called his attorney.

  “Robert, it’s time to start phase two.”

  “Yes sir. The writers have been itching to start.”

  “Good, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  Elliott rose, padded to the bedroom, changed into his bed clothes, brushed his teeth, took six Advil and went to bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The proper authorities were approached by Robert Dale, Elliott’s lead attorney. An agreement in principal was reached and a news conference was hastily called. A team of writers, well paid by one of Elliott’s closely held corporations, submitted articles to TIME Magazine, People Magazine, Newsweek and a host of other weekly standards. Blogge
rs took to the Internet and other writers submitted editorial pieces to major newspapers across the nation and the Associated Press. They all carried the same message. The escapees were being offered amnesty. If they turned themselves in they would be given food and shelter, but more importantly they would be offered vocational training in a field of their choosing and their sentences would be commuted.

  Standing before the sea of news cameras and microphones, Attorney Dale spoke slowly and purposefully.

  “I am speaking to the prison escapees. I hold in my hand a check for 1.2 million dollars. Upon orders from my client I will sign a purchase agreement for the former and now empty prison complex outside Beaumont, Texas. It will be converted into a virtual university. Libraries, gymnasiums, pool and spa as well as specialized vocational wings will dot the campus. Job training and special vocational classes will be available. Meals will be provided at no cost. All convictions will be reviewed and sentences will be commuted upon completion of your chosen course curriculum. All you need do is approach the nearest police station and surrender to the authorities. You will be transported to the Beaumont facility as quickly as possible. You are being given a new lease on life. You will be housed, fed and given a general education as well as vocational training in the field you wish to pursue. This is not a trick, ruse or underhanded attempt to place you back in jail. This is an attempt at total rehabilitation. It is being offered to you with the belief that you have not been given a fair shake in life. You will be given a second opportunity to prove you are good people and good citizens. Thank you very much.”

  The news wires sprang alive carrying the speech to every corner of the nation. Again speculation ran rampant as to who the mysterious benefactor might be and what he, or she, might have in mind long term. FOX News was certain it had to be a plan hatched by Oprah.