by Brandt Legg
“Then why not work with Vonner?”
“Because they didn’t agree on the overall picture, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have common ideas on some issues. They both loathed Bastendorff and Coyne, neither believed the REMie system was sustainable, cracks in the empire—there are dozens of examples. You’re just another one.”
“Melissa thinks the REMies are too powerful, that there aren’t enough people left who aren’t under their influence,” Hudson said, returning to the original topic and sounding more tired with each word. He couldn’t seem to have a positive thought. He knew it, yet could not change his current tempo.
“She might be right, but with Dranick as DNI and the DIRT teams in the FBI, we should be able to find the ones that are trustworthy.”
“When?” Hudson asked.
“We’ve already got the preliminary lists. The deeper pass should be done in the next week.” Fitz looked at his glass, unprepared to find it empty. He grunted. “Then we have to figure out how to approach them.”
“By the way, too much sugar lowers brain function and ads belly fat,” the president said, in the same monotone he’d been using for hours. “Soda contains eleven teaspoons of sugar per can. Cherry Tree depends on getting as many bureaucrats on board as possible.”
“I know,” Fitz said, staring into the president’s eyes for an extra beat. “The deep state can swallow us. It’s one of the REMies biggest weapons. They’ve spent decades building that invisible army of bureaucrats.”
Hudson’s mind switched to the Wizard. So much depended on his abilities and the team he’d assembled. Will the Gypsy program be able to find the patterns and links to prove enough of the MADE events? Can the Wizard’s group track the transactions and provide ample evidence to allow DIRT to seize major REMie assets? MADE events were the REMies’ best tool used for control.
“Is Schueller going to use Vonner’s money in the fight?” Fitz asked, interrupting Hudson’s spiraling thoughts.
“He has some pet projects,” Hudson answered. “But he knows that ending world hunger, poverty, and cleaning up the environment will all be easier without the REMies, so he’s all in . . . ”
An aide entered the room. “Excuse me, Mr. President, but we need you in the Situation Room, immediately.”
Chapter Ten
Dranick, who was in mid-sentence when Hudson and Fitz entered the Situation Room, turned and addressed the president.
“The Fed gathering in Jackson Hole just got hit. The Fed Chairman and at least three governors are believed dead.”
“NorthBridge?” the president asked angrily.
“They’ve already taken credit on their website.”
“I thought they were going to cancel the event this year?” Fitz asked.
Dranick shook his head. “They didn’t.”
The treasury secretary spoke up. “They tripled security. It was an armed camp.”
The Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City’s annual ‘Economic Symposium,’ which attracted dozens of powerful financial players, was held at an exclusive mountain resort in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Since 1978, central bankers, finance ministers, policy makers, economists, and academics had gathered to discuss the world economy. In recent years, the officials often used the event to set monetary policy and signal the direction of rates. As a result, the conference drew all sorts of demonstrators, and had become a media circus.
The images filling the screens before them showed the main lodge building with all its windows shattered. Glass and splintered wood, debris, rubble, twisted steel—the luxurious resort resembled a burned-out village in front of the glorious backdrop of the Grand Tetons and reflected in Jackson Lake, creating an apocalyptic juxtaposition of paradise. The president shook his head. “NorthBridge is too powerful. All the bomb sniffing dogs, electromagnetic checkpoints, and armed personnel in the world are useless against them.”
“Yes, sir,” Dranick said. “Two incoming missiles, fired from a mobile weapon system vehicle. Here.” He pointed to a photo blown up on one of the monitors.
“We’ve just received word,” a general in the room interrupted. “That’s a Chinese-made Dragon-1518.”
“NorthBridge working with the Chinese?” another general asked.
The president swallowed hard. He didn’t need any more fuel on that smoldering fire. “If an ISIS fighter drives a Toyota truck, does that mean he’s working with the Japanese?”
“Obviously not,” the general responded. “However, the Dragon-1518 is not available on the open market. What’s more, it would have had to be smuggled into this country. With all due respect, you may consider China a friend, but I submit that they would always be happy to see instability within our borders.”
“General, do not use this terrorist attack as another excuse to reignite tensions between us and the Chinese. This detail does not leave this room,” the president said firmly. “Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the general said, barely hiding his bitterness.
“Mr. President,” Dranick said, “we’ve just received confirmation. The Fed Chairman and four Fed governors were, in fact, in that building, and are dead.”
Smoke and flames still poured from a portion of Jackson Lake Lodge as everyone in the Situation Room watched first responders bring out bodies. Hudson worried that in spite of his warnings, the media would get the story that the missiles and the vehicle were military-grade Chinese weapons. The only thing he could count on keeping secret in his administration was the source of the leaks. The fragile peace he’d negotiated with China could be fractured by even a small matter such as finding lead in Chinese-made toys again, but if the public learned that the Chinese could be linked to this fresh and brutal attack against Federal Reserve officials on American soil . . .
“Who signed the NorthBridge claim on their website?” the president asked.
“AKA Hancock,” Dranick, with a quick glance at Fitz, replied. The president, chief of staff, and DNI Dranick were the only three in attendance who knew the true identity of AKA Hancock. All three were now silently questioning the decision to let the three NorthBridge leaders go.
The president read the statement attributed to AKA Hancock, whom he knew as Thorne:
It’s impossible to control the world without the central banks. Everyone who seeks to dominate the masses knows there is only one way to do this: you must have control of the monetary system. We have struck against the Federal Reserve once again in an attempt to cripple and bring light on this dark force. These are not ordinary criminals, they are the slick public face of the greedy elites who steal our wealth, productivity, and freedom; who pretend to be honest and legitimate. They are neither. In the face of their paralyzing control over our government, we are left with no choice but to remove them by force. They can be sure, we will not stop.
Chapter Eleven
Immediately upon leaving the Situation Room, the president went to his private study off the Oval Office and made a secure call to Fonda Raton.
“You just murdered the Chairman of the Federal Reserve and four Fed governors!” Hudson blasted as soon as she answered.
“I did nothing of the kind. I’ve just baked a blackberry pie.”
“Do you think you’re amusing? What about the seventeen injured, three of whom were hotel workers who had nothing to do with the Federal Reserve?”
“I don’t think I have enough pie for all of them.”
“You do know these people have families? I knew the Fed Chairman, and his wife. I’ve met their daughter. You’ve destroyed these people. Their blood is on your hands!”
“Mr. President,” Fonda said in her most charming voice, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This isn’t the way to do what you’re trying to do,” Hudson said, ignoring her denials. “Are you going to just kill everybody you don’t agree with?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. President, but are you accusing me of something?” Fonda asked, still using her sweet voice. “Or
, are you charging me with something? Should I expect a FaST squad to show up? Should I hire a LAW-yer? Is the NSA listening?”
“If I knew where to find you, there would already be a FaST squad at your door. Rest assured that they’re looking for you.” But part of him admired her and NorthBridge for doing what he could not.
Wouldn’t I kill Bastendorff if I had the chance? Is there really a way to do this peacefully?
He wrestled with the moral and ethical questions, his past as a soldier, the nine minutes . . . the inner conflicts made it so that occasionally he didn’t recognize his own thoughts. He wanted the REMies empire crushed as badly as Fonda, but, regardless, he wasn’t ready to go public with their names.
“Tell Booker and Thorne that lawyers won’t be able to help any of you. And as far as the NSA, this is a secure line.”
“Ha! There’s no such thing as a secure line. You ought to know that by now.”
Hudson momentarily felt a wave of panic, not sure if the Wizard’s SonicBlock Drive really was more effective than whatever current gadgets Booker had been selling to the NSA. But then it didn’t really matter; he had no choice. If they were listening, they were listening.
It’s not like the REMies think I’m their friend.
“You’re going to get caught.”
“No, we won’t,” Fonda countered. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“None of what you’re doing is helping defeat the REMies.”
“I can’t say I’m upset that we’ve lost some Fed officials who’ve been stealing from the American people, turning them into nothing more than indentured servants for the sickeningly extravagant lifestyle of the elites,” Fonda said. “But I can’t say I had anything to do with it.”
“Perhaps you aren’t aware that Thorne has already claimed responsibility for you.”
“You’re mistaken. I read the statement, it was signed by AKA Hancock.”
“Dearest Fonda, Thorne is AKA Hancock.”
“Amusing thought. Regardless, I am pleased that we have one fewer, or in this case, five fewer criminals in the world. You know as well as I do that the Federal Reserve and all the central banks are the biggest weapon the REMies use against us. It’s good to see them suffering for a change.”
He knew Fonda couldn’t admit that Thorne was Hancock, but at least now she knew he knew. “I’m just going to appoint a new Chairman,” Hudson said angrily.
“Go ahead. The replacement will likely suffer the same fate, and then you’ll send in another one, and another, until there’s no one left willing to take the job.”
“We’ll protect them.”
“Like you can.” Fonda laughed. “Anyway, Mr. President, I guess you don’t know yet, but here’s how it works with the Fed. The Federal Reserve Board decides on their own people, including who will be the Chairman. Then, they tell the president whoever it is. The president just repeats what he’s told.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said defiantly, but knew she was right. The REMies had decided he was to be president. They would make sure the Fed was run by someone they wanted and trusted. “What’s next, the IRS? Because they’re a big REMie tool as well.”
“Don’t worry Mr. President,” Fonda said as if soothing a disgruntled customer. “I’m sure that NorthBridge will eventually get to the IRS. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“Dammit, Fonda, if I have to fight the REMies, the Washington political establishment, NorthBridge, and you, so help me, I’ll do it!”
“Don’t become the distraction, Mr. President,” Fonda said. “That will ruin everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hudson, think for a minute . . . you’re still here.”
Fitz walked into the room. The line went dead at the same time.
The timing unnerved Hudson. Did she know Fitz was here?
“Mr. President, there’s a report on one of the news sites claiming that the Chinese government was involved in the Jackson Hole Fed attack. They’re reporting that China’s intelligence service, the MSS, has been backing NorthBridge. Another site has picked up the story and gone so far as to suggest that NorthBridge isn’t an American domestic terror organization at all, that it’s actually part of the MSS."
“Damn leaks!” the president said. “Get Dranick out there to make the denials. Kill this story now.”
“We’ll try,” Fitz said, and left.
Hudson leaned back and put his feet up on the desk, thinking about the lives lost, and wondered what those people were seeing. Was it like his nine minutes? He knew from Paul Grayson that everyone had a slightly different experience, and in this case, he wondered what the encompassing truth in all of them was.
Even though he knew the attack had come from NorthBridge and was not a MADE event, the REMies were still spinning it. It reminded him of something Rahm Emanuel, President Obama’s chief of staff, once said: “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste.” The REMies were using MADE and SAD to rekindle the fires for war. He scribbled words on a classified report about the Saudi Royal Family. Manipulate-And-Distract-Everyone – Scare Anger Divide.
The REMies are winning. If they kill me, the only thing that has a chance to stop them is NorthBridge . . . That must change.
Chapter Twelve
Even before Vonner’s attorney, Kensington “Kensi” Blanchard, made the introductions, Hudson could tell he liked the top operative of Vonner Security, Tarka Seabantz. As their eyes met, he immediately had the sense they would trust each other. He also detected anguish, a fierce determination, and one more thing. Hudson couldn’t explain it, maybe it was because he knew she had saved his life so many times, but he believed she would always be loyal. Loyalty was perhaps the rarest of all commodities he had discovered since becoming president.
Hudson and Schueller stood near a cliff overlooking the Potomac River on Vonner’s estate with Kensi and Tarka. The late billionaire had changed all of their lives, and in one way or another, had been responsible for their fates intertwining at this moment. Although he did not plan the meeting, he made it happen.
“Thank you,” were Hudson’s first words to Tarka.
“For what?” she asked.
“For everything,” Hudson said, smiling, “but I guess especially for Inauguration Day.” He paused and looked at her carefully. “And for Rochelle.”
“There’s still a lot to do,” she said, swallowing the pain of who she lost that day, how much Bastendorff had taken. “We’re still going to do it, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” he said. “We damn sure are. And I’m counting on you to help us.”
A servant came out with a tray of mugs and hot tea. Hudson thanked him and waved him off, saying he would take care of it. Hudson poured tea for everyone.
“If you’re going after Bastendorff, count me in.” Tarka turned from Hudson to Schueller. “And you’re the new boss?”
“Well, Dad’s really the boss,” Schueller said, taking his first sip from a steaming mug.
“But he pays the bills,” Hudson said, smiling.
“As my father said, Bastendorff is on the top of our list, but it’s a long list, so make sure you tell us anything you need.”
“I’ve got a list, too,” she said with no hint at humor. “And the first thing on it is my old boss.” She had declined the tea while remarking on Vonner’s taste in scenery.
Hudson looked surprised. “Vonner?”
“Vonner may have provided the funds for operations, but my old boss was a man named Rex Lestat.”
Hudson looked at Kensi.
“Delicious tea,” she said, smiling, and added, “Rex was Vonner’s right-hand man, and a bit more than that, I’d say.”
“He’s a ‘fixer,’” Tarka said. “The best you’ve ever seen.”
“We’ve got lots of problems,” Schueller said. “We could sure use a fixer.”
“Where is he? What happened to him?” Hudson asked.
“Mr. Vonner left Rex ve
ry well taken care of,” Kensi said. “I can tell you where he is, but I’m not sure he’d be interested.”
“Rex will be very interested,” Tarka said emphatically.
“What makes you so sure?” Hudson asked.
“Because Rex ordered me to kill David Covington.”
Hudson looked quickly from Tarka, to Kensi, to Schueller, wondering if even having this conversation put him in the same category with NorthBridge. The woman had just confessed to assassinating the former Director of National Intelligence to the president of the United States.
“But Vonner denied that,” Hudson said slowly, his mouth dry, as he worried about a hundred implications of what he’d just heard. He walked over to the railing, leaned on it, and sighed heavily. “The river never stops,” he whispered quietly while grasping for a reality to cling to in that moment.
“Vonner knew nothing about it,” Tarka said. “In fact, he didn’t think it was a good idea to even fire Covington, let alone kill him.”
“So this Rex Lestat guy was operating autonomously?” Schueller asked.
“Rex has a brilliant mind,” Tarka began.
“Off the charts brilliant,” Kensi added.
“That’s why we must have him on our team. He knows more about Bastendorff and the world elites than anyone, and he navigates the DarkNet like a rat in the sewers.”
“Interesting analogy,” Schueller said.
“I’m not good at stuff like that, but what I’m saying is that without Rex, I don’t think beating the REMies will be possible.”
Hudson turned to Kensi again, who motioned to him for a refill. Schueller stepped in and poured for her.
“Thank you, Schueller,” Kensi said. “Yes, Mr. Vonner found Rex absolutely indispensable.”
“Do you know about the DarkNet?” Tarka asked Hudson.
Hudson thought of the Wizard, Crane, and Zackers, about how much of the battle had already been fought over the DarkNet. The Wizard had told him that the only way to bring down the REMies empire was to get at their system through the DarkNet. It was there that access to the secrets, hidden money, and links to the MADE events could be found. The modern CapWars, which had become so incredibly massive, began and ended on the DarkNet.
