by Brandt Legg
“In English, please,” the president had said.
“Someone might have made it look like Bastendorff was trying to make it look like a NorthBridge attack.”
“Who would do that?”
“Only another REMie,” the Wizard had said. “I can’t prove any of this yet, and may never. The DarkNet is deep with secrets and mystery, but the truth is swirling in there somewhere, buried by bits and bits under infinite encryption. The military might have even been involved. That was high-end hardware.”
“Granger said it definitely wasn’t NorthBridge, but are we sure?” Hudson had asked, suddenly concerned.
“Ahh, you’re thinking it could be a triple frame.”
“I’m so paranoid.”
“For good reason . . . nothing is ever sure during the CapWars.”
Colonel Enapay Dranick, as Director of National Intelligence, also briefed the president every day on the latest threats and intelligence gathering efforts. With the NorthBridge threat, the growing number of other “counter-groups” emboldened by NorthBridge’s “success,” and increased REMie activity, in addition to all the normal crazies, it was always a substantive and very often disturbing meeting.
“Mr. President,” Dranick began. Although addressing his old friend by his formal title, the DNI spoke in a relaxed manner. “Yesterday Three-D picked up this man,” he said, showing a photo. “Turns out he’s an employee of Titus Coyne.”
Hudson knew 3D captured virtually every American every single day, so waited for the reason why this was news. The 3D system had become incredibly invasive, penetrating some of the most private spaces and intimate moments.
“And we also got film of this woman who works for Karl Bastendorff.”
Hudson realized where this was going even before Dranick told him the rest. “They were meeting?”
“More than meeting,” Dranick said, showing him more footage of the two subjects entering an expensive hotel together.
“Very interesting,” Hudson said. “And I assume Three-D picked them up in the lobby again?”
“Yes,” Dranick said. “And in the hall on the fourteenth floor. Then we switched to cell phone captures.” He pointed to dual image streams presented on a split screen. “We got both of their phones linked. The pictures aren’t great because of the angle of the phones most of the time. However, fear not, we do have audio. “
“I don’t have to watch them have sex, do I?” the president asked.
“No, and you don’t have to listen either. Although it was quite a performance,” Dranick said, winking. “Let me fast-forward through this part . . . here we go.”
“Bastendorff is going after the president,” the woman could be heard saying. “All the trouble on US bases around the world, the exploding domestic urban crime . . . he’s making it happen.”
“Titus is playing the same game—raising interest rates, and all those corporate layoffs. He’s also manipulating stocks,” the man replied.
“Pound’s already overwhelmed by NorthBridge,” she said. “Soon he may wish he hadn’t come back after his nine-minute exit.”
“If things get much worse in this country, someone will find a way to send him back again . . . this time for a lot longer than nine minutes.”
“Interesting timing,” the president said. “You saw the data on Bastendorff and my Marine One mishap.”
“Yeah,” Dranick said. “He doesn’t like you too much.”
“Obviously that REMie must think I’m a threat. We must be doing something right.” He pointed back to the screen. “That was a good grab. It’ll be interesting to see where this leads. We needed a break like this.”
Although Hudson appreciated the intel, he was still uncomfortable by how it was gathered. One of the first things he’d learned as president was that the public had absolutely no privacy anymore. Post-9/11 legislative changes, such as the Patriot Act, allowed the government to intrude on every aspect of the lives of its citizens. What little privacy remained had been fully eroded by 3D. People had grown accustomed to cameras in Walmart parking lots, at intersections, ATMs, convenience stores, and slowly accepted them into more and more of their lives.
Hudson’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, when faced with the reach of the REMies empire. Even after Edward Snowden told the world that the NSA could listen and watch us through our phones, computers, and televisions, the people hardly seemed to notice, he thought. And now the government and their contractors can see every aspect of our lives—they know who we’re talking to, who we’re seeing, where we’re going, the keystrokes on our computers, how much is in our banks, what we spent it on and where, whether we’ve been naughty or nice.
“We’re going to track them,” Dranick said. “Coyne and Bastendorff hate each other. They obviously have no idea that two of their top people are messing around.”
“Unless it’s a set-up.”
Dranick nodded. He’d already thought of that possibility and ruled it out due to the nature and circumstances of the encounter. “Eventually we’ll have a talk with them.”
The president gave his old friend a hard look. “Enapay, we’re running out of time.”
“We sure are.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The president stood overlooking the Potomac River at Vonner’s picturesque estate, as he had many times with the late billionaire. However, now the estate belonged to Schueller, and this time he was there with Kensi, Vonner’s former attorney, Senator Sheri Bennett of Hawaii, and a congressman from Vermont. As he turned, he caught the glint of binoculars from across the river and assumed it belonged to his security detail, since they routinely worked both sides of the Potomac when he visited.
Kensi had brought the three of them together because Vonner had put each of them in office. The senator and congressman had been hand-selected and financially backed by the late REMie. Like Hudson, they were also independent of the empire, which made them the rarest of politicians on Capitol Hill. They also shared a common goal to end the REMies empire-system.
They waited as Hudson stared out at the great river, churning muddy rapids. His mind continually reevaluating everything he had ever thought about Vonner, the man who had put him in position to bring down the empire.
And yet, what would have become of Vonner if he’d still been alive when I succeed?
Finally, Hudson spoke. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just tell me. Vonner knew I didn’t trust him, how come he couldn’t convince me?”
“As you know, Arlin Vonner was a complicated man,” Kensi replied, standing in front of the three political leaders. “It’s a hard thing to wrap your head around . . . that a tiny group of incredibly wealthy people had built an invisible empire that not only completely controls the world economy, but also initiates or manipulates virtually every major event, including wars, scandals, and the rise and fall of our politicians.” She swept her arm at the three of them. “Then you discover that the person who helped you gain your own power was one of the ‘emperors.’ It’s understandable that it would be hard to trust a man like that, under the circumstances, when he was both your most important ally and one of the most powerful among your enemy. But I’d bet that he tried to tell you the truth—that he wanted to end the empire. I know Arlin Vonner had a plan for each one of you.”
Hudson nodded, recalling election night, when Vonner had assured him that he wanted to bring down the REMie empire, that he’d chosen Hudson and put him in the White House to do just that.
How sure and arrogant I’d been, thinking that I knew a better way to go about getting the REMies than Vonner did, a man more familiar with the REMies’ empire than anyone, a man who had accumulated astronomical wealth within that system.
Hudson shook his head, disappointed in himself, wondering how much he could’ve learned from Vonner, how much further along they’d be if he’d just followed the old man’s timeline . . . and trusted.
But that was over now. The meeting today was to see how muc
h help the senator and congressman could offer in getting through some of the anti-REMie legislation he needed as part of his radical reforms.
“Right now, your programs are all dead on arrival,” Senator Bennett said. “As you know, most of those in the Congress are controlled by various REMies.”
“Of course,” Hudson said, then he paused. Vonner had also chosen them. Kensi had said they were trustworthy. He needed every friend he could find. Hudson took a deep breath, and then for the next half an hour, outlined the Cherry Tree plan. He held nothing back.
“Bold,” the senator said when the president finished.
“It’s risky,” the congressman said. “But if Cherry Tree works, and the REMies’ lies are made public, the voters may well demand action.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Hudson had chosen not to tell them about the Kennedy papers, which he was counting on to add some emotional spark to the release.
“I know a number of senators who would love to see the REMies empire crumble,” the senator said. “Even though they benefit from the corruption, they see the damage.”
“Likewise, I could name dozens in the House who might not have full knowledge of the REMies web, but would be willing to vote for real reform.”
“There are many politicians who lean away from the elites. We can target them, have a mass campaign ready to flood them with voters from their home states as soon as Cherry Tree goes.”
“We’ve got a list, already building, of politicians to include in the first wave,” the president said. “In addition, there’s a plan where the most corrupt senators and members of Congress would be charged and prosecuted by the FBI on day one.”
“The FBI has been fully infiltrated by REMies,” the senator said.
“We know,” the president replied, knowing the squeaky-clean DIRT teams were already accumulating evidence. “That part will be handled.”
“Going after the FBI, too?” the congressman asked. “Brave.”
“Cherry Tree is a huge operation,” Kensi said, having been fully briefed. “Gather public support, get the friendly politicians on board, kick out the corrupt ones, and scare all those in the middle into doing the right thing. Arresting REMies, seizing assets, and at the same time introducing the most radical financial, political, and governmental reforms in American history . . . ”
“And it might work,” the president said.
“Depending on how far NorthBridge goes,” the congressman added. “If the country is in the middle of a revolution and all order breaks down, the people won’t give two hoots about the crimes of the elites. They’ll be too busy trying to find food and medicine.”
“That’s why we’re moving soon.”
“When?”
“Soon,” the president repeated. “I’m sure you understand, even if I knew exactly when, I couldn’t say. But you’ll get at least thirty minutes notice.”
“By God, I think you might pull this off,” the congressman said, looking admiringly at Hudson.
“If you live long enough,” the senator added.
Suddenly Schueller came running across the lawn. “Dad! Dad!” His face didn’t look happy.
Chapter Forty-Four
The president, suddenly surrounded by aides, began moving toward Marine One even before Schueller could finish his account of the coverage he’d seen online. A suspected NorthBridge attack on Minton Micro, a California-based computer chip maker, had instantly captured the world’s attention, as the initial explosion and resulting carnage had all been broadcast live on the internet. Hundreds of millions of smartphones showed the horror and graphic details.
“They’ve gone too far,” the president said, slapping a file folder down on the Resolute Desk as he entered the Oval Office immediately upon his return to the White House. “I suppose this is in response to my stepping up the pressure against NorthBridge. I swear it, we’re going to release the names this time.”
Schueller, who’d flown back to Washington with him, quickly scanned the room to see who else had heard his father’s statement. “Is that wise?” he asked quietly.
“Mr. President,” an aide began before Hudson could respond to Schueller, “Minton Micro has Defense Department contracts.”
Hudson wasn’t surprised. “NorthBridge always has a reason. The terror group’s ruthless campaign against the REMie empire knows no innocents.”
“Mr. President!” Schueller said sternly, while leaning close and motioning toward the cabinet members and other non-inner-circle aides in attendance behind him.
Hudson, caught by his son’s use of his formal title, quickly reined in his emotions and nodded at Schueller. At the same moment, Hudson’s private phone rang. He couldn’t believe Fonda Raton had the nerve to call right then. “I need the room cleared,” he said to Fitz. “Now.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we need to move this to the Situation Room,” Fitz began. “The president will join us there . . . ” He turned back to Hudson, who held up his hand, indicating five minutes. “In a few minutes.”
Absently, he automatically returned Schueller’s wave as his son followed the others out of the Oval Office. Hudson hit a command icon on his phone which would put the call on extended ring and stole a quick glance at a screen, displaying the latest information on the Minton Micro attack, before accepting Fonda’s call.
The brutal attack on the chip maker had left six hundred and twelve employees killed and more than nine hundred injured. NorthBridge, which had usually been so careful to avoid unnecessary casualties, had seemingly changed the rules. Their website initially claimed responsibility in a post signed by AKA Franklin, but the page had since been taken down. NorthBridge had issued several denials on their website and through media channels. Hudson suspected the group’s leaders had not anticipated the amount of bloodshed and public outcry, and were now attempting to distance themselves from the bad PR. The mainstream media hadn’t bought into their reversal, and still blamed the terror organization, noting that NorthBridge backpedaled only after public opinion turned on them. InstaPolling had already shown that NorthBridge’s support among the public was collapsing.
The president quickly stepped behind a panel in the Oval Office wall and hastily descended into the secret tunnels to take the call.
“It’s a set-up, Hudson,” Fonda said as the president opened the line. “This catastrophe is a false flag. Someone inside the deep state has done this with REMie backing to discredit NorthBridge.”
“I don’t think NorthBridge needs any help being discredited,” the president said while wandering the tunnels beneath the White House. He had taken to this habit as soon as he discovered the passageway from the residence. Another narrow staircase which led to the subterranean labyrinth from the Oval Office had become one of his favorite retreats. He was perfectly safe, and nobody knew he was there other than two of his most trusted VS agents who followed him into the “underground.”
“Ask yourself,” Fonda said, sounding more angry than desperate. “Why would NorthBridge attack a computer chip maker?”
“You tell me,” the president said, thinking of the DoD connection.
“Minton Micro is owned by the Chinese,” Fonda said.
Hudson hadn’t previously known that, but wasn’t sure it should change his mind. He walked slowly along one of the main corridors as his security detail kept their distance. All known entrances to the secret tunnels were also guarded by his elite team, consisting of VS and approved Secret Service agents.
“The Chinese,” she repeated. “Who wants bad relations between the US and China more than the REMies? More than the deep state? They haven’t given up on the idea of war. They look at your victory in Beijing as just a delay, not something that will stop the war.”
“Come on, Fonda, that’s a stretch. How is some terrorist organization blowing up a Chinese-owned computer factory going to start a war?”
“That factory doesn’t just make chips for video games, children’s toys, and cheap pho
nes,” she said. “Minton Micro manufactures communications and military grade hardware and equipment—the brains and workings.”
“Well then they’re one of Booker’s competitors,” the president said. “Now it all makes sense.”
“Be serious! Booker doesn’t blow up his competitors. He knows how to beat them the old-fashioned way.” Fonda fell silent for a moment. Hudson started to say something else when she continued. “REMies get a three-for,” Fonda said.
“A what?”
“One: they knock out a risk posed by certain things that firm was manufacturing. Two: at the same time they cause tension between the US and China. Three: the big score—they get to discredit their great enemy, NorthBridge. Three-for-one quick bombing.”
“The problem is,” the president began in a somber tone, “you cannot be trusted, Fonda. Even if what you’re saying is true, I simply can’t believe you anymore.”
“Then check it out. Launch an investigation.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. There’ll be lots of investigations,” the president said. “But you and I both know that’ll take a long time before we learn the truth.”
“Or what they’re calling ‘the truth’ these days,” Fonda said in a flat tone.
“Here’s some advice for you; if you don’t want to get blamed for blowing things up that you say you didn’t blow up, then just stop blowing things up.”
“We. Did. Not. Do. This.”
“It’s not too hard to think NorthBridge is responsible, since every few weeks you do something just like this.”
“No,” Fonda said. “Review everything that NorthBridge has ever done. Put it into your computer program that finds patterns. Your friend, the Wizard, ought to be able to help you with that.”
Hudson wasn’t surprised she knew about the Wizard and the Gypsy program. Still, he felt exposed. Fonda always knew too much. He silently wondered who AKA Adams was, and why AKA Franklin kept the lowest profile, then shivered in the dimly lit section of the tunnels.
