by Brandt Legg
General Imperia purposely stopped at a point which provided a clear view of the Pentagon, a building the career military man, who’d been an orphan, considered his only home. “Colonel Dranick,” he began, “we need to count on you with this. I’m sure you’ll agree that things can’t be allowed to continue as they are.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised,” Dranick replied. “You must be aware that the president and I served together. We’re old friends.”
“Of course we know that. It is for those very reasons we’ve approached you.” Imperia eyed him carefully. “You may be a friend of the president, but you’re also a soldier, a Green Beret, a patriot. You know what’s at stake here. Hudson Pound is not up to the task of running this country at this, or, for that matter, any other, time.”
“I doubt if anyone would be able to handle the job with the elites trampling all over each other to see who can take the most chips off the table, grab the most power—”
“That’s not the current discussion,” Imperia interrupted impatiently. “We’re going to remove Hudson Pound from office. You’re his friend. That’s why you will help us do this.” Imperia’s left hand started to shake, he held it firmly to his side until it stopped.
“I seem to be missing the logic,” Dranick said.
“Look, this isn’t some banana republic. We’re not going to murder Hudson and drag him through the street. We’re looking for an orderly transition of power.”
“To the vice president?” Dranick asked. “Or to you?”
“Colonel, I’ll remind you that you’re addressing a superior officer.”
“President Pound is the commander in chief. He’s my superior officer, and your superior. Orderly transition of power, like our Constitution prescribes? I don’t recall the Founding Fathers making provisions for a coup,” Dranick said in a heated whisper.
“Easy, soldier.”
“General, you’re suggesting a military coup that would, for the first time, subvert the constitution, fracture our democracy, and remove the president of United States—a man duly elected by the people—”
Imperia looked at him incredulously. “Save me the civics lesson, son. You and I both know Pound was not duly elected by anyone. He was appointed and anointed by Arlin Vonner, and now we’ve got a problem because Vonner isn’t here anymore, so there’s no control.” The general paused as a jogger trotted passed. “Pound is waffling and making an unholy mess of things. The Chinese own us, NorthBridge is taking over. He’s not even willing to authorize drone strikes on ISIS, al-Qaeda, or other international extremists. Look around—the country is in shambles. We’re rudderless. This downward spiral must stop, and we are going to stop it.”
“Still . . . ”
Imperia let out an exasperated gasp. “Try to understand we’re not talking about subverting the Constitution or overthrowing the government. This is one thing, and one thing only—preserving the Union.”
“I understand,” Dranick said quietly. The situation had left him fearing for the future of the country, and those feelings had only increased since he took over Covington’s job as Director of National Intelligence. He’d been trying to root out corruption ever since he came to Washington, but it was everywhere, so deep that the rarest things in the Capital had turned out to be truth and fairness.
Dranick began walking again. Imperia hesitated a moment, looked back at his security detail, and then followed Dranick. After several steps, he caught up with the colonel.
“You know this is the right course,” Imperia said.
“Forgive me, general, but I haven’t had weeks—or has it been months?—to adjust to this idea. Hudson Pound saved my life. I’m not happy with the prospect of betraying him.”
“This is not a betrayal, this is your chance to return the favor. If we don’t remove Hudson Pound from office, he will surely be assassinated. It’ll be ordered by one of the elites you referred to earlier, or NorthBridge will finally get him, and . . . there are others.” The general looked over toward the Washington skyline. “We’re offering you a chance to save your friend, a chance to save the country.”
“When we first met,” Dranick began, “you referred to a committee. Who exactly is authorizing this?”
“I assure you, Colonel, that the highest-ranking officer within each branch of the military has decided with unanimous consent that this is the best and only course of action to defend our nation from enemies both domestic and abroad.”
“I want to meet them,” Dranick said. “At the Pentagon.”
“Impossible,” Imperia snapped.
“Why? If what you say is true, and that you have unanimous consent from all the branches of the military, it shouldn’t be too much to ask for me to hear from them. You’re proposing an illegal act to remove our president by force, and asking me to cooperate and assist in that action, based only on your word?” The path before them was littered with cherry blossoms, crushed beneath the hundreds of feet walking the well-known park.
“My word, Colonel Dranick, is worth all the stars on my shoulder.” Imperia waved at his upper arm as if he were in uniform. “My word is representative of my lifelong career serving this country.”
“I respect that, general, I really do. But I cannot, in good conscience, go forward with your plan without looking into the eyes of the other leaders who have decided this course of action is the best course of action.”
Imperia looked gruffly into the colonel’s face for a long time, as if his stern military glare would make Dranick change his mind. Yet, after half a minute of an unblinking returned stare, the general acquiesced. “Very well then. I’ll arrange it.”
The following day, Dranick found himself in the lowest level of the Pentagon, in a room he never knew existed. The simple marking, “B4”, on the oak door did not prepare him for the gathered tradition, power, and resolve that awaited him. General Imperia and the other three men explained to him that he was the first nonmember of the B4 committee ever to attend a meeting of their group, a committee which had been charged as the corps of last resort to protect the nation.
Dranick sat silent for more than thirty minutes as the B4 men, whose storied careers matched the high points of the last half-century of American foreign policy, made their case. The military leaders presented all the arguments and evidence they themselves had used to reach their decision.
At the conclusion, they asked him if he had any questions. The presentation had been so persuasive that Dranick only had one.
“What will become of us if we fail?”
Chapter Eighteen
The leaks had plagued the Pound administration from day one, but had become increasingly more problematic with each passing week. Recently, the Wizard used the Gypsy program to search out patterns in an effort to isolate the sources of the disclosures. Not surprisingly, Gypsy immediately assessed that the leaks were a pro-REMie platform. However, its list of potential suspects proved unhelpful, as it included the president himself, most of his closest aides, and even family members. They had tried on two earlier occasions to set traps for the leakers with false information, but were frustrated when those stories never made it out.
“This all means the leaker is definitely you,” the Wizard had said once to Hudson.
Hudson was not amused, but promised not to tell himself anything too sensitive in the future. The humor belied the seriousness of the issue as the REMie controlled media continued to attack him relentlessly. Even a former member of the Trump administration said President Pound suffered a far more hostile relationship with big media than Trump had.
Hudson called a summit of this top advisors at the Florida beach house. Before the others arrived, he and Melissa walked alone, barefoot, in the soft surf in luxurious, bathwater-like temperatures thanks to the Gulf Stream.
“We have everything in place,” the president said. “The Wizard and Granger are making incredible progress toward the electronic digital ends of the plans for Cherry Tree’s release.” Hudson
thought about his plan, conceived through inspiration from the first president.
George Washington had given the power to the people. That’s what I’m going to do, Hudson thought. Cherry Tree will show the world the truth about the REMies, and the illusion of freedom they’ve created with their greed.
“That’s the most important,” Melissa agreed, “but it’s also the riskiest. They have to get it right. What about using Vonner’s media assets to broadcast across the internet, radio, and television as soon as Cherry Tree launches?”
“Great idea,” Hudson said. “I’ll get the Wizard on that. He and Schueller are already preparing for a massive blitz on social media—ads and ‘organic’ posts.” Hudson picked up a sand dollar and handed it to her.
She smiled. “If we screw up Cherry Tree, or the economy collapses, this may be what we use as money in the future.”
“Don’t joke,” Hudson said. “I already have enough trouble sleeping.”
“I’m well aware of your sleeping patterns, or the lack thereof.”
Hudson nodded with an apologetic expression and checked the time. “The others will be here soon. I want to make sure you’re up to speed. Dranick is working with the FBI director utilizing DIRT—you know, the highly classified equivalent of special ops inside the FBI that only the Director and I know about.”
She nodded.
“He’s also pulling in significant resources and personnel from the intelligence community. DIRT is vetting each person from the other agencies to be sure they can be relied on.”
“We still have a problem,” Melissa said.
“A million of them.”
“Don’t be so cynical.” Melissa pushed him into a lapping wave so that his shorts got splashed.
He laughed, picked her up, and pretended he was going to toss her into the ocean. But he had to put her down quickly as his injuries from the assassination attempts reminded him he wasn’t twenty anymore. She kissed him, took his hand, and they resumed walking up the beach.
“It’s crucial we identify the rest of NorthBridge leadership before we announce Cherry Tree,” she continued. “We have to know who’s coming after us in the REMie platform so we can neutralize them in some way. No luck locating Booker, Fonda, or Thorne?”
“Not so far,” the president said, still catching his breath. “It’s incredible she’s still posting her stories online. Thorne is still broadcasting his daily show and Booker is still running his infinite empire, too.”
“That just shows the power of the REMies if Booker can protect them and elude detection. Imagine going after dozens of REMies. It’s so risky, Hudson.”
“I know, I wrestle with it constantly. Am I going to be responsible for sending the world into absolute anarchy and destruction, or am I going to be the one to give it back to the people?” Hudson walked over to dry sand and sat down.
“Do the people really want it back?” Melissa asked, joining him. “Will they even know what to do with it? What if the empire-system that the REMies have created over the past hundred years has worked because it’s the best way?”
Hudson shook his head and lay back in the sand, propped up on his elbows.
“What if you do all this and the REMies come back stronger than ever, or somebody just like them fills the void, someone worse?”
“Now who’s being cynical?”
“It’s a dangerous time,” she said, looking desperately out to the ocean, as if she might see an answer there.
“I have to try.”
“The REMies thrive on crisis,” Melissa added, still caught up in the drama. “What if they just turn the chaos in the aftermath of Cherry Tree into another MADE event? You heard what the Wizard said at the last meeting, ‘Bringing down the REMies empire might not just destroy the economy, it might destroy everything.’ You’ve got to decide if it’s worth the risk, and you have to decide soon.”
He pulled her down into his arms and held her in a long embrace, ending in a gentle, enduring kiss. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’re going to show the world who the REMies are, and what they’ve done.”
Melissa kissed him back while reminding herself not to say one more word.
Chapter Nineteen
Titus Coyne sat in a room with the new Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board and three Fed governors. “I don’t give a damn how risky it is, we’ve got to push interest rates higher.”
One of the governors held up a thick stack of papers. “The current economic climate cannot—”
“Screw the data,” Coyne interrupted. “Higher.”
Another governor pointed to her laptop. “We’ve taken them as high—”
“Higher,” Coyne demanded. They’d been raising rates for a year, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. He’d been pushing them to do more for months, but the bombing slowed his efforts. Now, several within the Fed were getting scared.
The Chairman stood. “Titus, this is dangerous. The mess could be impossible to clean up.”
“We have got to torture this economy,” Coyne said slowly, as if talking to a five-year-old. “President Pound needs to be tested and pushed further, and the population needs to be more distracted and strapped.”
“We may wreck it,” the Chairman said, referring to the economy. “The entire thing.”
“Better us than Pound,” Coyne said. “He wants it to come down, then by God we’ll bring it down!”
While on the beach waiting for the others, the president and first lady continued their discussion. They moved to a circle of beach chairs that had been set up so all could at least have a sense of basking in the sun, enjoying the view and salty breeze while their minds searched for answers. Someone brought out platters of fruit and placed them on a table which already contained glasses, pitchers of iced tea, and water.
“Rex and Tarka are rapidly increasing the size of Vonner Security,” Hudson said. “Booker has built a formidable private army called the BLAXers. Vonner tried for years to keep up with Booker’s growth, almost like a corporate arms race.”
“What is Booker planning on doing with his army?” Melissa asked, sipping tea.
“Fitz suggested one of the reasons Vonner was so against Booker was that he didn’t trust why anyone would have such a large ‘private security force.’ That is absolutely the question. ‘What is he going to do with that army?’”
“What are we going to do with it?” Melissa asked quietly.
“Do you mean Booker’s army, or Vonner Security?”
“Both.”
“It’ll be difficult to avoid using them for a war with Booker and the other REMies.”
Melissa looked at him skeptically, concerned.
“We have no choice. It’s no longer a world where it’s country against country. Now it’s company against company, and unfortunately the REMies control all the largest corporations and have a loose alliance that’s only going to strengthen once we really start going after them.”
“But how do you reconcile this with what you experienced in those nine minutes?”
“I don’t.” Hudson kneeled down, scooped up a handful of sand, and let it slip through his fingers. “There’s no way I can make sense out of any of this. I don’t know how to be president at this time knowing what I know about the REMies’ control over the world, while understanding what I know to be true about life and death. I’m just doing the best I can.” Hudson looked distressed.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, looking as if he were enduring great pain.
“Talk to me.”
He shook his head again. “Somewhere in the conflicts and the contradictions . . . it’s there . . . tearing me apart.”
She took his hand.
“I know the truth, and what I must do,” he said. “And that’s the reason I’m president now . . . to do this. I must stop the REMies.”
Melissa hugged him.
“Their empire is totally unsustainable,” Hudson continued. “If we don’t stop them, th
e rich will keep getting richer, and everybody else will keep getting poorer. The world will be more depleted of its resources, the environment further damaged . . . It’s riskier to allow the REMies to continue than it is to risk destroying everything in the process of trying to stop them.”
Chapter Twenty
Fitz, the Wizard, Schueller, and other close advisors joined the president and first lady. Most of them wore shorts and sunglasses on the warm October day. The vice president attended via a secure digital hook-up, since she and the president were never in the same place at the same time. Fitz smiled when an aide showed up with a small cooler full of Cokes.
The Wizard gave them a brief update on Gouge, their childhood friend who had been horribly injured in the same fire that burned his father alive.
“Gouge is suffering bad,” Hudson said after listening to the description. “He’s still never been able to speak.”
“He never will,” the Wizard said sadly. “Gouge isn’t in that tortured body anymore. It’s total agonizing pain. He needs to fly into the stars.”
“Why didn’t you move into Vonner’s big Potomac estate instead of that old mansion out in Oakton?” Melissa asked the Wizard after a mournful silence.
“I couldn’t live in a house where a REMie used to live,” the Wizard said, stroking his goatee and re-tying his ponytail. “The energy would be all wrong. Where I am now, a documentary filmmaker once lived with his wife, five kids, and a bunch of dogs. That’s the kind of flow I want around me. You know, the atoms, on a quantum level, are always present, that’s why you sometimes feel weird in a hotel room. Maybe something bad happened there, or someone mean recently stayed there. I can’t imagine the vibe at the White House. Wow, talk about some cosmic energy and karma—”
