Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2)

by Russell Blake

  “You know how I feel about luck. There’s bad, and there’s worse. We just got both in one helping.”

  Daniels nodded. “Yes, we did.”

  “Who have we got in-country?”

  “Several specialists are on their way.”

  “If she goes public with what the damned boyfriend downloaded…”

  “I know. So the question is, do we scuttle everything now and begin throwing up a smokescreen, or do we wait to see what happens?”

  “There’s too damned much at play here. We can’t just pull the plug on some of these operations. They’ve been years in the planning, as you know.”

  “Perhaps we should begin leaking our own snippets, to prepare the media for what’s to come? Diffuse the situation before it gets any worse? If we can control the spin, stay ahead of it…”

  “How do we control the spin on domestic assassination, Sam? ‘They needed killing because they were onto us’ won’t wash, and we both know it.”

  “In the end, it’s our word against hers. I’m thinking we need to discredit her before she can go live.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Maybe rumors of a drug problem? Orgies? Roommates that said she was taking antipsychotic meds?”

  “Sure, but many won’t buy it. Those are the ones I’m worried about. Good Lord, think about how it will look if some of those documents were leaked in the New York Times? It could bring down the government.”

  “We’d just deny they were genuine.”

  “Right, but some of this speaks directly to what even a controlled press will construe as criminal. We won’t be able to play the national security card. There will be too many questions.” Holt turned to look directly at Daniels. “Questions we can’t answer. She’s got it all, Sam. The entire money chain. From the DOD, to the Saudis, to Wall Street, to you know who…we’re talking almost ten trillion. People will pay attention.”

  “Then we’ll need to set up some fall guys. It worked with Iran Contra. We’ll find someone willing to take the heat for it who ultimately refuses to testify, who claims he was following orders. He’ll get a token sentence and then retire somewhere tropical with a ton of dough. It’s not like it hasn’t worked before.”

  “There are too many enemies out there now – it’s a different world. Nobody’s buying most of our spin these days.” Holt shook his head. “We may have stepped on a real mine this time.”

  Daniels frowned. “There’s always a way out of any trap. We both know that. The question is how we proceed from here. Hell, as complacent as most of the population is, it might not even matter that much. If the right talking heads say it doesn’t, then most of the country will believe it doesn’t. Look at what they’ve swallowed so far.”

  “The problem isn’t just our own people. Think about the international repercussions. We’ll lose Latin America right off the bat if the truth about Venezuela slips out. And Europe won’t be far behind when the French learn about the magazine bombing. There’s only so much the market will bear. Christ, the Russians will go berserk once they have definitive proof about Ukraine. And eventually, even the dimmest taxpayer’s going to want their money back or someone’s hide nailed to a wall. I think we both know that we’re candidates for that honor.”

  “Then obviously priority number one is to find her and neutralize her.”

  “Obviously.” Holt stood. “I want you to personally supervise this. Get on a plane if need be. Do whatever it takes, pay off whoever we need to. She can’t hide forever, especially in that part of the world.”

  “What about domestic loose ends?”

  “I think we need to start sanitizing, don’t you?”

  “It could get messy.”

  “I’m sure it will. But put it in motion. There are some whom we simply can’t have testify.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Keep me informed. You understand the stakes.”

  Holt stood and marched away from the bench, his shoulders square. Daniels waited until Holt was out of sight to check the sound on the tiny voice recorder he’d used to tape the discussion. Daniels knew how the DOD operated, and he wasn’t about to be collateral damage. This tape would be his insurance policy. Better to see Holt hang for high crimes against the nation, after all, than himself.

  If it really came down to it, Daniels could vanish in South America until enough of the shit storm had blown over. Assuming it ever did. There were some things that could cause seismic shifts in the globe’s underlying power structure; the knowledge that most of the industrialized world’s truths were actually lies propagated to benefit an elite coterie of super-rich was one of them. The sheep were complacent and apathetic, but history had shown that during times of great stress, that could turn on a dime.

  This could be one of those times.

  If it was, Daniels didn’t want to be within five thousand miles of ground zero.

  The nation would forgive a lot in the name of patriotism, but some things were unconscionable no matter what the explanation.

  “If only she didn’t have the money trail,” Daniels muttered as he stood. That was the most damning. There was no way to interpret it other than that the U.S. was being operated for the benefit of foreign and, in some cases, hostile interests – or rather, transnational interests that knew no allegiance to any country or ideology besides the accumulation of power and control.

  Daniels walked slowly back to the parking lot where he’d left his anonymous sedan, just another man in a gray suit, unremarkable and uninteresting except for the hard gleam in his cobalt blue eyes and the way he carried himself, the years of drills and training impossible to hide even had he cared to.

  He would do what he had to in order to protect his ass. Daniels hoped it didn’t come to that, but he wasn’t about to become a John Doe pulled out of the river, which was where it was all heading, barring a miracle.

  Chapter 52

  The Piper bumped through rough air coming off the Myanmar hills as it headed west. Joe hummed to himself as he changed altitude to stay below any radar but above easy shooting range from below. He’d warned them that he might have to take drastic evasive measures at any moment, so they’d stayed strapped in for the trip. The only positive was that he’d estimated a total flight time of less than thirty minutes, and they were now nearing their destination.

  “There they are,” Allie said, pointing to their right at the pair of karst formations. “The twin sisters.”

  Drake nodded beside her, his complexion slightly pale from the jostling of the plane.

  Joe dropped another five hundred feet as they approached the road they planned to use as an improvised airstrip, and after several tense minutes, he called out, “Thar she blows!”

  Spencer eyed the narrow beige ribbon dubiously. “You can land on that?”

  “It does look kinda tight, doesn’t it?” Joe acceded.

  “What’s the wingspan on this? Thirty-something feet?”

  “’Bout that.”

  “That’s narrower.”

  “Hopefully it widens some.”

  “If not?” Drake asked from the rear seat.

  “Then we set down wherever we can. Just means we’ll need to walk more.” Joe wet his lips as he scanned the terrain. “Positive vibes, remember?”

  “That might work,” Spencer said, indicating a stretch where the trees pulled back from the road.

  “Little short. We still have to be able to take off again.”

  They banked and overflew the area again, but after ten minutes of widening circles it was obvious that the short area was their best shot. The sky above them darkened, and it began raining on approach. Drake shook his head. “Great. How does this get any worse?”

  Spencer’s expression was dour as they dropped toward the earth, and he flinched when Joe came down hard and immediately fought to slow the plane on the mud, the bald tires refusing to grip as they hydroplaned forward, the plane yawing slightly as they decelerated. The section where t
he road narrowed came up fast, and Allie cried out when the left wing tip smacked against a tree trunk and shredded as though it were made of tinfoil.

  They ground to a stop, and Joe shook his head. “Graham’s not going to be happy about that.”

  “How do we get out of here now?” Spencer asked.

  “Not many ways besides walking that I can see. Damn. We almost made it,” Joe said.

  “Kind of like being almost dead, huh?” Drake asked.

  “Let’s get our gear. No point hanging out jawing. We’re exposed here,” Joe said and threw his door open.

  They climbed from the plane, and Spencer surveyed the fuselage as Joe retrieved their backpacks and distributed them. Branches had torn some of the remaining fuselage paint off, and the wing looked like it had taken a grenade blast. He shook his head as he studied the damage and turned to them.

  “This thing’s definitely not going to fly again.”

  “Probably not,” Joe agreed. “Hope we can find Graham another one for a decent price.”

  “Be hard to find an older one,” Spencer replied.

  “Got the job done,” Allie said.

  “Or half of it, anyway,” Drake grumbled.

  Spencer checked the GPS and shouldered his backpack, and then chambered a round in his AK. “We’re a good four miles. No question we’ll be camping out.”

  “At least we’ve got tents,” Allie reminded him. “Positive energy, remember?”

  “Right. I forgot about the vibes.” Spencer sighed in resignation. “Let’s get moving,” he said, and moved down the road as rain fell around him.

  The walk turned ugly once they veered off the road and were forced to cut their way through the undergrowth until they could find a promising trail. Joe did most of the hacking, Spencer’s shoulder in no shape for exertion, and he traded off with Drake and Allie every half hour. Eventually they came across a track, and Joe knelt and studied the ground while they took a breath. When he stood, his easy grin had been replaced by a scowl.

  “These are footprints. Judging by how fresh, maybe, two, three hours old.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The water level and the depth of the impression. The ground was dry when they were made. You can barely see them; but here, and here, it was spongy and they left marks,” Joe explained, pointing to the footprints.

  “What do you think?” Spencer whispered.

  “I think the flight in was the easy part.”

  “But you know all the Shans, right?” Drake asked.

  “Sure. But why would the Shans be traipsing around here?” Joe shook his head. “I’d bet this is some of the remaining Red Moon gang. Or maybe an independent group. But whoever it is, it’s not good. I figured we’d have the area to ourselves with all the action at the factory. Guess not.”

  “Any way to tell how large a party?” Allie asked.

  “Large enough that I don’t want to be on this trail. Looks like we keep cutting our way through.” Joe held the machete aloft and simulated a sword fight.

  The journey took hours longer than they’d estimated, due to the circuitous route, and by the time they arrived at the base of the outcroppings, fog was creeping between the towering formations, enshrouding the valley. They paused at the gap between the peaks, and Joe scanned the surroundings.

  “Maybe this time it would be a better idea to make camp a decent distance from the river? Just in case we have more visitors,” he suggested.

  “Sounds good to me,” Drake replied.

  They followed the stream to the cave and then climbed the slope above it until they were perched a hundred yards beyond the rock pile that marked the opening – which they noticed had been rebuilt in order to conceal the cavern. They pitched their tents out of sight of the river, and by the time they were done, the sky was darkening.

  Drake and Allie sat together as they ate their ration of energy bars, and he managed a smile when she was done with hers. “Hey, it could be worse, right? I mean, we’re in a tropical wonderland on a unique adventure, and with any luck tomorrow we’ll find our second treasure,” he whispered as they watched the sunset.

  “Exactly. And the company could be worse, too,” Allie said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

  “What happened to the ‘to be continued’ part? I was looking forward to that.”

  “Let’s get out of the jungle first, okay? Not that a long day’s sweat and a layer of trail grime isn’t appealing,” she said, rising.

  “On you it looks good.”

  She beamed at him and shook her head slightly. “Good night, Drake. There really will be a ‘to be continued.’”

  He watched her walk to her tent and nodded. “I’m banking on it.”

  Chapter 53

  Beijing, China

  “This is unacceptable,” Xiaoping’s superior snarled, slamming the table with his hand. “You assured me that our systems were bulletproof.”

  Xiaoping nodded, taking measured breaths, commanding himself to remain calm. “Yes. I was relaying what I was told. As you’re aware, I am not a technological expert. I must rely on their assurances, which it appears were…overly optimistic.”

  Xiaoping paused and surveyed the room, which was a who’s who of government ministers – all demanding answers. Xiaoping stalled for time by taking a sip from his water glass, and then sat forward, his hands folded.

  “So far what has leaked is embarrassing, but not disastrous. Our record on human rights has never been our strength, so that portion of the revelations won’t matter to our allies. Our intention to ramp up our defense spending? Again, relatively predictable, given that the U.S. has encircled us with bases and aircraft carriers. So far there is nothing that will change our position on anything, except perhaps the speed at which we move forward with our investments, and our official announcement of our precious metals reserves.”

  China was the largest manufacturer of gold in the world and exported exactly none of it. It was also the largest buyer of foreign gold through a network of shell banks as well as through legitimate channels. The propaganda it advanced to outsiders was that its population had a long tradition of hoarding gold – that it was a remnant of primitive habits, of a lack of sophistication in an era where Western financial groups referred to the yellow metal as a barbaric relic from a bygone age.

  The truth was that in order for China and its allies to escape the U.S. dollar’s grip, a superior solution needed to be advanced; and throughout history, when paper currencies failed – which they ultimately did, with one hundred percent regularity – the new global standard that was used for trade and for settling debts was always backed by gold in some manner. That had been true of the prior reserve currency to the dollar, the British pound, and it had been true of the dollar when the greenback had replaced the pound as the world’s reserve currency. But the U.S. had made the classic mistake that all others before it had – namely, to reject the discipline that backing its currency with gold enforced – and instead turned on the printing presses, after declaring that the quasi-gold standard was inadequate for the modern world.

  China and Russia had quietly begun amassing gold, all the while nodding along with the U.S. agenda. That the dollar was doomed to be relegated to a lesser role than the one it had played since the Second World War was not only predictable, but inevitable. China’s policy had been to support the U.S. central bank’s efforts to keep the price of gold artificially low, all the while shifting its dollar inventory quietly to gold without moving the price higher – taking advantage of the hubris of the nation’s bankers and their belief that they could mislead the world indefinitely.

  The amount of gold in China’s government vaults was one of the country’s most jealously guarded secrets, and in the last twenty-four hours, a report had been posted on the Internet detailing precisely how much it held, and where. The Chinese response had been typical – no comment – but they could only stonewall for so long.

  “It is intolerable that our secret
s are displayed for all to see,” the defense minister said. “If you can’t guarantee that they are safe, why did you put them where they could be accessed by some hacker?”

  “With all due respect, Minister, I did no such thing,” Xiaoping corrected. “The decision was made by a collective, and I was not invited to offer my opinion to that esteemed group.”

  “What steps are being taken to ensure this never happens again?” the chairman’s deputy asked, his voice deceptively quiet.

  All eyes moved to Xiaoping, including his superior’s – the man was a veteran of the byzantine infighting of the party and had survived many crises during his career. Xiaoping had no doubt that he’d be thrown under the bus if a scapegoat was necessary, so when he responded, he did so with great care.

  “As you know, our agent Jiao is missing and presumed dead. So are his men. There has been no communication for days, so that is the safe assumption. Our sources tell us that the woman survived somehow, and that she has made it her mission to broadcast the information her cursed lover was able to amass. But let’s consider what the likely focus will continue to be: the Americans. The information that has been made public in the last day is devastating to their credibility, and there are already calls for regime change, as well as prosecution of past leaders for treason. I’d argue that given that damage, we have been fortunate.” Xiaoping paused.

  “Yes, we know all that. The question is what is being done so we aren’t victimized again?”

  “I would propose that our sensitive information be stored on a set of failsafe systems which can’t be connected to the outside world, even via protected networks, as ours was believed to be. The only way to ensure nobody is ever able to hack it is to ensure it is physically impossible to retrieve information from outside the vault where it is located.”

  The discussion of the pros and cons of Xiaoping’s solution were debated for thirty minutes before he was excused while the powerful continued to confer. He was under no illusions that his future was assured, but he was breathing more easily than he had been when he’d climbed the steps that led to the conference room. The penalty for failure was usually extreme, and even though the failure wasn’t his, he would share the blame.