by Brandt Legg
Hudson nodded. “Yes.”
“Then you should know that if the DarkNet is nighttime, then Rex is a vampire king. He owns it.” Tarka’s eyes flashed as she said those words.
“Then we’ll need to get me in touch with him immediately,” the president said to Kensi.
“Let’s look at this list of yours,” Schueller said to Tarka. She handed a sheet of paper to Schueller, he showed it to his father, and they both looked back at her. Neither one recognized much of what she’d requested, but Hudson suspected it was weapons and technology.
“This kind of advanced equipment . . . ” Hudson began. “How much of it is supplied by Booker Lipton companies? I understand he helped you out with Rochelle.”
Tarka nodded. “Booker may have been one of Vonner’s chief rivals, he even called him his enemy, but Booker Lipton is no enemy of mine.”
Chapter Thirteen
Schueller’s $52 billion inheritance had caused a media frenzy as the president’s son was declared the world’s most eligible bachelor. “I’ve had to hire two fulltime employees just to handle all the mail,” he told Melissa during one of the rare times they could simply chat quietly one on one. They were on the upper White House veranda of the Truman Balcony, a place Melissa liked to escape to often, no matter the weather. They looked over the rush hour traffic of Constitution Avenue at the Washington Monument, a magnificent sight. Beyond that was the Jefferson Memorial, Melissa’s favorite place in all of DC. She never tired of looking at it. She didn’t know the reason why it drew her, but it always calmed her somehow.
“Business proposals?” she asked.
“Yeah, and people needing operations, others wanting me to save their home from foreclosure, and marriage proposals. Hundreds, every day.”
“I bet,” Melissa said, laughing. “Women from all over the world would love to marry you.”
“And men, too,” he said. “I bet at least ten percent are from men. The other day I got a letter from an eighty-nine-year-old woman from Sarasota, Florida, asking me to marry her. Too bad for all of them I already have a girlfriend.”
Schueller had put Vonner’s money to work on many fronts. Perhaps his most ambitious projects centered around food, energy, and healthcare. All three areas fit into his liberal ideology, however, he was also influenced by his father, the president, and his stepmother, the first lady. His spending was also a three-pronged approach to preparing for the collapse of the REMie empire. Their corrupt system, although oppressive, was still a system, the idea being that if the overthrow of the REMies didn’t go precisely as planned, disorder, on a massive scale, would ensue.
“If the economy collapses,” Schueller said to his father during an early meeting regarding what to do with the inherited fortune, “and even if it doesn’t, it’ll certainly be a mess for an undetermined period of time. At very minimum, weeks, probably more like months, maybe even years. Just feeding the billions of people who live in a non-agrarian society will be almost impossible.”
It was one of Hudson’s biggest concerns, and a primary reason why he opposed NorthBridge. “We’ve got to hold the empire-system together long enough until we can replace it with a new basic and fair one,” the president had said on many occasions. “No food means riots, roving gangs, absolute bedlam.”
“Anarchy,” Schueller added. And thus was born his plan to get people to grow their own food. Billions were funneled into his new foundation, its mission to “put a garden in every yard.” Modeled after the Depression era Civilian Conservation Corps, the Free Food Foundation quickly hired and trained more than a hundred thousand workers, with plans and a budget to add at least another two hundred thousand. The small ‘armies’ went from town-to-town, helping people set up successful gardens in their yards and in under-utilized public spaces. Elderly people unable to do the physical work in their yards were partnered with youth who had no yards. Schools were brought on board, as well as church and community groups. FFF provided free seeds, garden tools, and supplies, in addition to continual training and support. The Foundation’s goals were lofty—one hundred million gardens planted in three years.
Melissa became the public face and driving force behind Schueller’s garden in every yard initiative, although FFF had its own director. Schueller and his stepmother worked closely on the massive project. The popularity of the program and its economic impact helped increase the first lady’s appeal and added to the many reasons why her approval ratings were typically twice as high as her husband’s.
Increasingly, the 3D surveillance system had been the subject of protests from college students and fringe groups, yet the mainstream media gave almost no coverage to the demonstrations. The 3D cameras were everywhere.
At the same time the “digital-eyes” became increasingly intrusive, they became less visible. Through technological advances and miniaturization, the units were almost impossible to detect. Unbeknownst to the public, many of the cameras were also equipped with telescopic lenses and telesonic microphones.
“They can hear as well as see,” the Wizard, alarmed, had told the president.
“I know,” Hudson replied. He’d learned the fact only a few weeks earlier during a President’s Daily Briefing. Hudson had asked why it was necessary and where all the data went. All he got was intel-double-talk and unsatisfactory answers. He wanted to cut that part and curtail the program in general. However, it would require an act of Congress to make it happen.
A breakthrough came when the Wizard discovered a way to hack into at least part of the system. The Wizard and the Vonner Security teams began using 3D to track REMies, corrupt politicians, and trace media contamination by the elites. Meanwhile, Dranick, in his role as Director of National Intelligence, was using the 3D system to zero in on NorthBridge.
“If we can’t make it go away,” Hudson had said, “at least we can use it for a good cause.”
“Who decides what’s good?” the Wizard asked. “And where does it end?”
Schueller had purchased an old mansion on Hunter Mill Road in Oakton, Virginia, about a thirty-five-minute drive to DC, depending on traffic. The Wizard moved in and immediately transformed the place into a technology center from which to monitor everything the REMies did. Vonner Security had already turned the new Hunter Mill tech center into a fortress, but even so, when the president arrived via Marine One for a secret meeting, all agents were on high alert.
Hudson had invited Granger Watson, a man many considered one of the smartest people on earth. The Wizard suggested Granger because in assembling a team of hackers and coders to run their hidden tech-center, every time they encountered a challenge none of the brainiacs could figure out, Granger’s name always seemed to come up.
“He’s about a billion times smarter than me,” the Wizard told Hudson. “If anyone can figure out a way to prevent Armageddon once we knock out the REMies ‘central-bank-debt-tax’ empire-system, it would be him.”
“Okay, but hasn’t he worked with half the REMies? How can we trust him?”
“The question is, ‘how can we not?’ Granger is a technology fanatic. He sees it as a way to liberate the world from work. He’s called the financial system, ‘the slave trade.’ Believe me,” the Wizard said. “He’s one of us.”
Chapter Fourteen
Granger Watson arrived precisely three minutes early, which was his habit. A chauffeur opened the door of the latest Tesla model, and out stepped the awkward looking “life engineer,” as he called himself.
Granger tried to dress as if he were an ultra-cool Hollywood star—ten-thousand-dollar-suits, four-hundred-dollar-T-shirts, the most expensive tennis shoes, etc.—but none of that could hide the fact that he looked like a scarecrow. His tall, lanky frame and thinning hair screamed geek, and he actually was a super-geek, he just never wanted to look like one. A long source of personal frustration came from his inability to grow a beard. Granger had such long fingers he’d often said if he’d had a hundred dollars for every time someone told him he shou
ld be a concert pianist, he would’ve been a wealthy man. In fact, he was wealthy. Not REMie-wealthy, but estimates of his worth ranged between fifty and a hundred million dollars. Yet, he could have been far richer if he’d wanted.
He’d never pursued a fortune. Instead, Granger sought to expand his, and, therefore human, knowledge in a vast range of topics. A known expert on everything from block chain and crypto-currencies, computer algorithms, intrinsic patterns in nature such as bird migration, whale and dolphin languages, the honeybee colony collapse disorder, to robotics, artificial intelligence, quantum computing, space exploration and colonization, and other far-flung esoteric fields.
The eccentric Granger refused to ever reveal his exact age, saying, “The calendar has nothing to do with how old one is or isn’t.” However, his Wikipedia profile listed his age at fifty-five. In that time, he’d authored more than two hundred research papers, seventeen New York Times bestsellers on topics ranging from dyslexia occurring in ants, to hydroponic gardening in the lava tubes on Mars, to life in the unexplored ocean depths. He also held more than nineteen hundred patents in a diverse range of industries such as solar energy, nanotechnology, the hyperloop, space elevator, and many in computer-related areas. Granger had even composed several symphonies after he developed a program which could take all the works of Mozart, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Bach, Wagner, Grieg, and several other composers, then extrapolate the patterns, techniques, frequencies, and “intent” of the greats and merge them together. He then used the tool to create compositions that were essentially a “collaboration” of the musical geniuses of the ages. The works had been so well received that most major symphonies had performed and/or recorded them, netting Granger millions in royalties.
The president had left the White House just before sunrise. Since it was a late summer Sunday, and Congress was in recess, it would be a good day for his absence to attract less notice. After brief introductions and small talk, the president, the Wizard, and Granger sat on a large sundeck surrounded by woods, discussing the reason they’d invited him there. Agents were stationed everywhere, and in the fortress-like atmosphere, eavesdropping-deterrents were as important as security, with sound deflectors and spatial-borders ensuring they could not be overheard.
“Before I get into things, I want to thank you again for coming, and for agreeing to my request for absolute confidentiality,” the president said.
“When your president asks . . . ” Granger said.
“We need your help,” the president began, “with solving a massive corruption issue.”
“More than an ‘issue,’ actually,” the Wizard said. “There are a group of global elites—”
“You’re, of course, referring to the REMies,” Granger said, standing up and beginning to pace. He could rarely sit still for more than a couple of minutes.
Hudson was not surprised someone of his intellect knew of their existence, but wondered how familiar he was with the REMies’ deep control over society. “Yes.”
“What can I do?” he asked, watching a blue jay and a cardinal land on a nearby dogwood tree.
“We need systems to be designed which can be used to go after them,” the Wizard said.
“And go after their assets as well?” Granger asked, still with his back to them.
“Are you aware of their role in world events?” the president asked, getting up and joining Granger at the railing.
“Quite aware,” Granger said. “I’ve done work for several of them.”
“Really?” the president asked, looking at the Wizard with raised eyebrows.
“Of course. Everyone has done work for them, but not many of us have done it knowingly,” Granger said, pacing to the other end of the deck, spotting some of the various Vonner Security and Secret Service agents around the property. At the same time, he worked out camera angles of the surveillance system. “Seems there’s a gap in your grid, just there,” Granger said, pointing. “Someone could come in undetected from the woods in that section.”
Hudson and the Wizard followed his hand and looked at the trees, then back at the cameras, but they couldn’t see the weakness. “I’ll report it,” the Wizard said.
Granger nodded. “How far are you going to go to find and stop the corruption?”
“All the way,” the president said.
Granger faced the president. “Do you know— Forgive me, but can I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
“You’re crazy,” Granger said. “Haven’t you been shot enough? How many times do you think you can escape death?”
“It must be done,” the president said.
“It cannot be done without collapsing the world economy, and I mean crumbled into dust, nothing left except the zombie apocalypse.”
“That’s why we need you, to help make sure that doesn’t happen,” the Wizard said.
Granger wandered to the other end of the large deck, gazed out across the expansive lawn, then suddenly jogged down the steps and kneeled in the grass.
“Is he praying?” the president mumbled.
“Nah,” the Wizard replied. “He’s an atheist.”
Hudson walked down to join the genius. The Wizard followed.
“Ants,” Granger said, not looking up.
Hudson rolled his eyes. “What did you do for the REMies? And which ones?”
“It will almost certainly need to collapse,” Granger said, his face inches from the ground. “I must insist that it not be propped up by artificial means. The risks—well they’re astronomical, but if we replace one faux system with another, there cannot be freedom.”
“Then you believe it is possible?” the Wizard asked.
“I agree this will be painful and possibly catastrophic,” Granger said, turning his attention away from the ants and back to the president. “You must get the Chinese on board,” he added in an inviolate tone, looking into Hudson’s eyes with great intensity.
“I think that’s possible,” the president replied.
“Hmm, you’re more confident in the communists than I am.”
“Wait,” the Wizard said. “You’re agreeing to help us, and you do think it’s possible to take on the REMies?”
“Yes, yes,” Granger said. “But I have no idea if it’s possible to actually do this. Certainly, they cannot be surgically removed. That is to say, the patient must die—the economy, the structure, everything. A year ago, this would not have been survivable, but now, with AI, the block chain, satellite internet, mobile devices increasing in capabilities and decreasing in cost, digiGOLD . . . yes, there is a confluence of technology and events . . . exciting, most exciting!”
The Wizard smiled. The president maintained a serious expression. “Who, and what did you do for the REMies?” Hudson repeated.
Granger gave him a crooked smile. “We’re still speaking candidly, so I might ask you the same question. Arlin Vonner, a top REMie, put you in the White House, left his fortune to your son. If I were a gambling man, which I am, as a matter of fact, I’d wager that those men over there are Vonner Security, and possibly his “REMie” money paid for this old mansion. However, I’m willing to overlook your deep REMie ties.”
The Wizard laughed. “Dude’s got you, Dawg.”
“I still need to know,” Hudson said.
“I’ll get you a list,” Granger said, “but answer me this. What is a day of human life worth?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” the Wizard asked.
Granger’s eyes locked onto Hudson’s. “He knows,” Granger said.
Hudson nodded.
“Titus Coyne: I did a currency exchange/volatility marginal shifts system for him that I believe ultimately wound up as the master system used in currency fluctuations, manipulations by the International Monetary Fund and the Central Banks,” Granger said, pacing the deck again. “Booker Lipton: I developed many aspects of the Three-D surveillance system. Karl Bastendorff: I created a program that can convert almost any object, person, or
building, into scale plans and detailed instructions for LEGO bricks.”
The Wizard burst out laughing. “Bastendorff is a real piece of work!”
“Piece of something,” Granger said. “I’ve also done minor work for Gates, the Koch brothers, the Newhouse brothers, Soros, DuPonts, Kinder, and Euller. It’ll be on the list.”
“Okay,” the president said. “Then you can help us with the Federal Reserve and Three-D?”
“Mr. President, I can help you with everything. I know how the whole thing is wired.”
“What thing?”
“The REMie system. It runs the empire,” he said, smiling. “Assuming you don’t mind the risk, I have an idea on how we can bring it all crashing down.”
At that moment, both the cardinal and the blue jay landed on the railing and pecked at something in Granger’s hand.
After Granger Watson left, the president and the Wizard reviewed their encounter with the man some had called a tech-mercenary.
“Do you really think we can trust him?” the president asked.
“I ran everything we could find on him through Gypsy,” the Wizard replied. “It said he leans anti-REMie.”
“Leans?” the president echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Is that enough?”
“We have to gamble. He’s the only one who might be able to design the new system. Otherwise, even if we manage to beat the REMies, when their empire collapses, the mess will be too big to fix.”
Chapter Fifteen
The president blocked off an hour at seven each morning for a week to meet with Fitz, Melissa, and Vice President Brown in the Oval Office with the goal of reshaping the government. “If we can destroy the REMies empire-system, we must be ready to show what will replace it,” Hudson had told them.
