“Correct. They have developed nanotechnology to a degree that many in the public sphere would find hard to believe. Sure, they’ve trotted out a few things like a mechanical hummingbird that sits in your hand, a dragonfly and moths with micro-transmitters attached to their bodies and computers controlled by GPS satellite. The claim is they will be used to monitor battlefield conditions. What was not disclosed was they have developed full Hybrid Insect Micro-Electric Mechanical Systems. We have been provided an opportunity to purchase sow bugs. These little guys are equipped with a full complement of micro-listening devices and transmitters. To give you a little perspective, a nanometer is one billionth of a meter. A human hair is about 75,000 nanometers wide. These little sow bugs are mechanical, nearly invisible, and can be dropped anywhere in the senator’s office and will listen in on every conversation he has until the magneto-batteries run out about two months down the road. We intend to arm you with a wonderfully comfortable United Parcel outfit and a letter to deliver to every senator cordially inviting them to a big bash meeting at the Four Seasons Hotel with a representative from their favorite lobbying group. At that time a listening device will be placed in his office.”
Eddie paused.
“And it is true. We are sponsoring a big bash at the Four Seasons. We will have a number of special assistants at the party who will photograph each senator enjoying the party and well, from there we’ll take it the rest of the way …”
Eddie gazed at the men scattered about the room. Some sitting on couches, Lazy-Boys, foot stools or standing. A heavy-set man in the front with a thick black beard stood up and began clapping. The applause slowly spread until it reached a thunderous crescendo a moment later.
Once the applause died down Eddie asked, “Any questions?”
The man with the beard stepped forward saying, “Where do I go to get fitted with my UPS delivery boy outfit?”
“George, first things first, we’re going to have to use a machete to cut the underbrush off your face,” Elliott replied. “UPS drivers are clean cut young men.”
The room exploded in laughter.
After the meeting adjourned most of the men went to the bunk house for a little card playing and reminiscing while Elliott strolled out to the porch. It was long after midnight, but a full moon was up and the soft white light glistened off the small trout pond not far away. Elliott sat down and sighed. He was going to miss this place. The pain in his side was constant now in spite of the barrage of pills he was taking, and the jaundice was sapping his strength. How much time did he have before he met his maker? This was a question he could not answer. Elliott was determined to leave this planet a better place than when he found it. There simply had to be enough time. Elliott took a sip of his drink and tried to dispel these dark thoughts. He sat staring at the moon floating on the water for a long time and finally stood and went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Senate bill 1190 was spread across the various committees of the Senate just as Cobbings, Bainer and Whitback had requested.
Elliott’s cell phone rang and he answered it on the first ring.
“Elliott, Paul here.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Elliott said sensing the seething anger on the other end of the line.
“It looks like they are setting up to do battle with us.”
“How so?”
“My people in the Senate confirmed they have sent SB 1190 to the Senate Committee on Appropriations, the sub-committee for Financial Services and General Government, as well as the Senate Armed Services Committee. They will send it to their sub-committee for Emerging Threats and Capabilities and lastly the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs with the intention of sending it to their sub-committee on Economic Policy.”
“So they are going to amend the hell out of it and then send it back to the House for revision,” Elliott said softly with a sinking feeling that he had no chance of seeing this through.
“We can’t be sure what they’re going to do. We knew they weren’t going to simply forward it to me for signature, but I didn’t think they would send it to three committees and three sub-committees.”
“Triple whammy times two,” Elliott commented.
“I think Cobbings is behind this. My sources say they have never seen him so angry. He was throwing things around his office and fired one of his favorite interns.”
“Rightfully so. I might do the same if my mug had been photo shopped into a conversation where they are planning to attack Medicare in an effort to kill a bill and it was plastered over every newswire, newspaper and website in the nation.”
“There’s not much we can do for the time being. The next move is theirs,” the President concluded in a dejected tone.
“Actually, we’ve already put the wheels in motion for the next move, but let me think on this a bit,” Elliott said. “I think we need to approach this very carefully. We’ll need the names of every person sitting on all those committees, what pet projects they have in their districts, and when they are up for re-election.”
“Okay, I’ll have my secretary forward the info to you via e-mail shortly. I’ll talk with you later.”
Chapter Thirty
The ancient clerk of the Senate Armed Services committee looked about the expansive room, noted everyone was here and leaned forward speaking into the microphone.
“The Senate Armed Services committee pursuant to the Senate calendar is hereby in order on this the 3rd day of January, 2018 at 2:30 p.m. to consider SB 1190, ‘The War on the Deficit’. The Honorable Senator Carl Nevin presiding.”
One of the oldest standing committees on the hill, the members thirty six strong sit in a semi-circle with the chairman sitting in the center facing the eighty some odd seats open to the public.
Senator Carl Nevin entered the oak-paneled room through a side door and took his seat.
“Hello ladies and gentlemen. The meeting is now in order. The Bill will be considered read by a simple vote of the yeas and nays. The yeas will be heard first. Those in favor of considering the bill read will say aye.”
A rumble of ayes rumbled from the seated senators.
“And the nays?”
There was no sound. None of the senators were interested in spending four hours reading the entire eighty page bill before commencing the meeting.
“An opening statement will be read by the Honorable Joseph Blieberman, a senator from Connecticut.”
“Thank you Mr. Chairman. I rise in opposition to this bill. It is too far reaching. The closing of so many bases at this dangerous point in the history of our great country is unwise. I have spoken to members of the sub-committee on Emerging Threats and Capabilities and there is grave concern that new cyber attacks could cripple our capabilities. Our ground troops are the front line of defense against aggressors who would harm the American people. They are the face of our great nation across the world. They are the reassurance to our friends across the world that America stands ready to side with them in defense of their lands, their families, their very lives. It is easy, especially during times when our budgets are under the microscope, to say these good people of our armed services aren’t earning their keep, but I personally find this disingenuous, dishonorable and unpatriotic. I yield to the chair.”
The chairman noted Roger Portman, Senator from Ohio was standing.
“For what purpose does the good Senator from Ohio stand?”
“I rise in favor of the bill. This bill is far reaching, but the portion we are gathered to deal with is an age old question and one that I feel is high time we dealt with effectively and sensibly. Ladies and gentlemen, we have one million four hundred eighty thousand troops deployed around the world. We have 762 bases, or it might be 862, or it might be 1088, or it might be 1077. The Department of Defense isn’t even positive how many bases we have, although in fairness to them it depends on how one defines ‘bases’. They don’t count anything under ten acres in size. The point is we have so many ba
ses we can’t be sure what the total count is. I ask you, and please remember I mentioned the word sensibly, do we need 54,000 troops in Germany on thirteen different bases? Are we afraid if we left that Russia would attack Germany? Do we need 39,230 troops on 29 different bases in Japan? Do we need 8,300 troops in England? Do we need 9,170 in Italy? We spend 20% of our annual government income on defense. The good Senator and colleague from Connecticut mentioned cyber crimes. I agree with him cyber crime is the wave of the future. If we were to close just 400 bases, some which have been around for sixty years after World War II, we would have that much more in the way of funds to combat the wave of cyber crimes coming our way. I yield to the Chair.”
“Thank you Mr. Portman.”
Tom Coryn stood to be heard.
“For what purpose does the good Senator from Texas rise?”
“I rise in rebuttal to my colleague from Ohio.”
“Proceed.”
“Closing 400 bases at once is outlandish. It will flood the country with unemployed ex-service people. It is irresponsible and unconscionable to even consider such a move. We will abandon our friends around the world. Our word to defend and protect our friends overseas will mean nothing. Are we to turn our backs on our patriotic obligations? I cannot in good conscience consider such a thing. I yield to the Chair.”
“Thank you.”
Senator Portman stood to be recognized again.
“For what purpose does the good Senator rise?”
“I rise in rebuttal to my colleague from Texas.”
“Proceed.”
Portman turned to face Coryn, which was out of the ordinary. In most cases the senator would face the chair.
“Since 2001, defense spending has gone up 416%. We have the most extensive network of bases the world has ever seen. The Byzantine, Ottoman, Roman and British empires had nowhere near our numbers. We have bases in 150 countries. 360,000 pounds of mail are delivered to Iraq and Afghanistan every day. The military operates 172 golf courses. You want patriotic Mr. Coryn? You want protection for every country around the world? You want honorable … ?”
“I do not like the way you are addressing me, sir, and suggest you stop this instant!”
“You want patriotic Mr. Coryn,” said Portman almost shouting. “Let’s start the ball rolling in the right direction. Let’s get this great country out of debt. Let’s… !”
Chairman Nevin was smashing the gavel on his table, shouting, “To order! To order!”
Senator Portman finally fell silent.
“Another outburst by either one of you gentlemen and I will move to have you censored. Do you understand?”
Each of them nodded and sat down.
“For the record, make note they both have agreed,” Nevin instructed the keeper of the journal.
Senator Portman stood again.
“For what purpose does the Senator from Ohio rise?”
“I have a question for Senator Coryn.”
“Proceed.”
“How much have you been offered to kill this beautiful bill? What are they promising you?”
Coryn stood again, shouting, “This is outlandish. You will impugn my character in front of my colleagues?”
Coryn lunged at Portman as the gavel came down again.
“Order! Sergeant at Arms! Sergeant at Arms!” Nevin cried.
The portly Sergeant at Arms rushed down the aisle, but Coryn held up a hand. “I move to recess.”
“Move to recess denied,” Nevin nearly shouted, then reconsidered. Soothing his coat and wiping his brow with a hankie he intoned, “A vote of the yeas and nays is ordered with regard to recess for fifteen minutes.”
Thirty-six yeas responded almost instantly.
Chapter Thirty-One
The meeting in the Senate Finance Committee chambers was a much more subdued affair. The Chairman, Senator Graham and his staff along with the ranking members had been very careful in selecting who was to bear testimony in regards to the Financial Transaction Tax aspect of the ‘War on the Deficit’ bill. The room only sat 150 people and Graham made sure it was packed with representatives from the American Bankers Association, the ABA Securities Association, the Managed Fund Association, the Futures Industry Association, the Institute of International Bankers, the Financial Services Roundtable, the International Swaps and Derivatives Association, the Investment Company Institute and the Securities Industry and Financial Markets Association. Not a single soul represented any of the myriad groups who stood in support of SB 1190.
“The meeting will now come to order,” Graham said. “The first guest to speak will be David A. Stanwick from the Managed Fund Association.”
A rail thin man with wavy grey hair and horn-rimmed glasses approached the podium, cleared his throat and said, “Thank you Mr. Chairman and members of the committee for inviting me to speak today. The MFA appreciates the opportunity to express its views regarding the proposed Financial Transaction Tax, or more specifically the Securities Transaction Tax. As a result of market structure changes, many aspects of our equity market-spreads, fees, execution speed, efficiency and pricing have drastically improved over the last several years to the benefit of investors. Although the MFA supports the committees efforts to review our rapidly developing market structure and to collect data to assist in the evaluation of a Securities Transaction Tax, our overall judgment is that such a tax is ill-timed and will result in a rollback of many of the efficiencies we have achieved. With hundreds of thousands of trades per hour, the MFA believes the STT is going to slow down each trade while a certain percentage, however miniscule, is removed. Even if it takes a tenth of a second to identify the dollar amount and remove it, this will add hours to each trading day. I thank the committee for its time.”
Elliott was watching on the Banking Committee’s streaming video feed online and commented, “You already trade after hours. And if a trade takes a split second the fee can be reconciled later,” he growled.
If he already didn’t like the tone of the committee hearings he liked them even less when Graham didn’t allow for a question and answer period, which was standard procedure in an investigative hearing, and moved right along to the next speaker.
“The next speaker is Chris Edwards, President of Futures Industry Association,” Graham announced.
“Damn,” Elliott shouted as he slammed his fist on the coffee table. “Isn’t a single senator going to question this blatant breach of procedure?”
Edwards dove right into his testimony. “Thank you Mr. Chairman and esteemed committee members. The Futures Industry believes that any legislative proposal that seeks to expand regulatory control in this area and to establish a new tax compliance framework will, in the end, be counterproductive. The ultimate effect of enacting such legislation will be to drive the industry overseas. At the very least it will make the U.S. Futures exchanges much less competitive vis-à-vis foreign exchanges. Examples of similar failed attempts at a similar fee abound around the world. Japan imposed a transaction tax in 1987. At first it generated significant revenues, but in four years revenues dwindled over 80% because market volume shifted overseas. Sweden experienced similar results when they tried a transaction tax. In 1993 Taiwan imposed a transaction tax on the value of commodities futures contracts and lost trading volume to the Singapore Exchange. The Futures Industry has a long and successful and innovative history in clearing futures contracts including previously ‘unclearable’ over-the-counter derivatives such as energy and credit default swaps.
“The tax structure you are considering would, I fear, result in the same experiences as the aforementioned countries. I thank you again for your time.”
“Hey Chris, you forgot to mention that both Japan and Taiwan imposed fees that are thirty times higher than we are recommending,” Elliott spoke to the computer screen, his anger growing by the minute. “And maybe someone could mention that France, Germany, and England already impose such taxes and England gets $40 billion a year with a tiny fee. Hel
l, many cities have a transaction tax on the sale of a home.”
There was a soft knock on the door and Greer stuck his head in the door. “Can I get you something sir? Perhaps a sedative is in order?”
Elliott laughed and then grabbed his side. “Sorry Greer, I’ll keep it down. They are just tearing the guts out of SB 1190.”
“I understand sir,” Greer acknowledged and eased the door closed behind him.
Senator Graham moved right along to the next speaker, calling up Michael Ettlinger from the American Bankers Association.
“Thank you Mr. Chairman and Committee members, I thank you for asking me to speak here today. The ABA is deeply concerned that in a climate of extreme joblessness the leaders of this great nation would impose a potentially crippling financial fee which could exacerbate the situation and cost thousands of jobs on Wall Street. There are often unintended consequences as my esteemed colleague Mr. Edwards pointed out. One such consequence that may pose a great peril to us all is that such a fee structure would be a constant net drain on the money supply and would be highly deflationary. It is the ABA’s position with no equivocation whatsoever that such a fee structure would establish an unnecessary impediment to investment activities and job creation in the United States. And again, I thank you for your time.”
Elliott almost slammed his fist down again but hesitated because it still ached a little from the earlier blow. “Deflationary? And what do you think, my good banker friend, is the impact of paying $400 billion a year in interest on our debt to the Chinese and Japanese? And the proposed fee will only exist for a few years. Damn them they are so self-serving!”
His cell phone rang. It was the President.
“Did you see that charade?” he asked, his voice filled with pent up anger.
“Yes, and not one person on that committee questioned an obvious disregard for the committee rules.”
“If this is how it’s going to be then I will call an emergency joint session of Congress and bring in my Economic Council and give opposing views to every damn one of the points they just made.”
The Return of Elliott Eastman Page 12
