No one had ever heard shrieks like those that came from Billy’s Taj Mahal at about 7 p.m. that Sunday. They sounded like they came from an animal, not a human being. LuAnn had gone for a walk. Billy said he was tired and wanted to rest. LuAnn was only gone an hour when she returned to find his blood-soaked body on the floor. Overcome, she collapsed, and when she came to about twenty minutes later, she still hadn’t grasped what had happened. “Billy,” she called, “get up. Get up. Get up.” And then came the shrieks and the uncontrollable sobbing. “Oh, my God,” she screamed as she ran out for help.
From everywhere people came to find out what was wrong. Before long, the Taj was surrounded by an agitated mob. Who could have done this? Why would anyone do it—to Billy, of all people? Within a few minutes, several members from Internal Security arrived. Immediately, someone went for Mr. B and Wilson Brackett. Several women tried to console LuAnn but she was in a state of shock. They wrapped her in a blanket and held her in their arms as she rocked back and forth, trying to speak but unable to.
People had died in Cooperville, but no one had ever been murdered. So, even when Mr. B and Wilson Brackett arrived, they didn’t know what to do. One woman screamed, “We need justice. We need to know who did this.” But the two men simply shrugged their shoulders. At another time in another place, someone would already have called the police. But this was corporate New York City in the Corporate States of America. The city’s force had been outsourced to a private company, and its only responsibility was protecting corporate assets and executives. If New Yorkers ever wanted justice, it would have to start with their private security detail. Mr. B and Brackett asked the obvious question: “Did anybody see or hear anything out of the ordinary?” But nobody had—or was willing to say they had.
Mr. B couldn’t get anyone to donate any land for a pauper’s cemetery. They couldn’t bury anyone in the park, of course. So, he had arranged for bodies to be sold to New York State Medical School. LuAnn would get half the proceeds. The Cooperville treasury would get the rest. He had just gotten off the phone starting the process, when a TV reporter and her crew stopped him. “What’s going on here?” she asked. “Murder,” he answered. “The nicest guy you’d ever want to meet—stabbed to death like an animal. I don’t know what his poor wife is going to do. He was all she had. I don’t know what anyone is going to do. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
Countess Isabella had just gotten into bed to watch the late night news. “This is NewsWatch 11, and I’m Sandra Phillips,” the reporter began. “Was it a random act of murder? Or is there a killer loose in Cooperville? And was it someone from outside the park or one of their own? Those are the questions everyone’s asking tonight. No one’s getting any sleep. Here’s my interview with the murdered man’s wife, LuAnn Buford.
“LuAnn, tell me in your own words what happened tonight.”
“Well, Sandra, I don’t know where to begin, but I came back from a walk and saw Billy lyin’ on the floor. I musta blacked out, ’cause when I came to I was lyin’ next to him and he was dead. Blood everywhere.”
“Come quick, Henry!” the countess calls to her husband who is in the bathroom.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ah grew up with this woman, LuAnn, in Mississippi.”
“You sure?”
“Ah wouldn’t forget someone like her. We were friends, real friends! Listen! Her husband has just been murdered.”
“LuAnn, how long have you been living in Cooperville? And how did you wind up there?” Phillips asks.
“We never thought we’d come to this, Sandra, so down on our luck, ya know. We wuz hard workers, Billy and me. He was a mechanic, makin’ okay money, sometimes even good money when he took on extra jobs. But I never wanted him to work too extra hard. We always got by, did better than most. We had each other, which is all that counts. I did domestic work and took in sewin’ and ironin’. In Mississippi. Did I say we wuz in Mississippi? Well, one day the flood come, like nothin’ nobody’s ever seen. Wiped uz out. Wiped all of uz out. Imagine, everythin’ gone—just like that! We’d lived in our trailer almost free and clear. Paid everythin’ on time. Never missed a month. But we couldn’t afford no insurance.
“So, when the rains come and then the flood, we wuz wiped out. The whole area wuz practically, what you call, a war zone. Businesses destroyed. Houses washed away. Nothin’ left. Then, one day, a big New York developer comes in and takes over the whole place—acres and acres and acres. Almost no one could afford insurance. And the few who did didn’t have enough. He says people don’t own their land ’cause they ain’t got proper deeds. So, he buys it up for next to nothin’—all of it. No one protected us. The developer paid off everybody. With no place to go, we just started headin’ north, thinkin’ we’d find work and a place to live somewhere. But times are tough. That’s how we wound up in Cooperville.”
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” the count says as he shuts off the TV. “Why are you watching those deadbeats?”
“Ah told you. Ah know her, Ah knew her,” Isabella answers, shocked at his reaction. She tries to turn the TV on again but he won’t let her. “Can’t we do anything to help her? We’ve got to do something. Her husband’s just been killed. She’s got nothing.”
“Listen, you piece of white trash,” he answers, gripping Isabella’s left wrist until she winces. “You’re not in Mississippi anymore, and don’t you forget it. I’ve spent a fortune getting the backwoods outta you. So, you just forget ’em.”
“Stop, you’re hurting me, Henry,” she cries, as he twists his fist, burning her skin. He’s mad, now, his eyes burning.
“I heard those hard luck stories when I started buying up their land and I don’t give a shit. Who do you think she’s talking about? Who do you think bought up all those acres and did all those things she said were so terrible? Me, that’s who! That’s my development, damnit. It’s a fuckin’ city. It’s my fuckin’ city. I’ve made a fuckin’ city. And it’s just about finished. And I’m about to make more money than I’ve ever made. Nobody, not them, or you, or anyone else is gonna stand in my way. Not now, when I’m about to cash in.”
“We’ve gotta help her. Ah’ve gotta help her…”
“Listen you whore, don’t you ever tell me what I’ve gotta do. Don’t go near her or any of them, you hear—or else. I found you waiting tables and you’ll be lucky to get a job waiting tables if I get sick of you. Just remember who made you a fuckin’ countess—and who can unmake you a fuckin’ countess.”
Sobbing, the countess runs into the bathroom and locks the door. The count goes to the window and looks out on the park. “Cooperville, my ass,” he says out loud, laughing to himself but also knitting his brow. “Fuck ’em all. John Galt lives—with a vengeance!”
Mr. B, Wilson Brackett, and Alma Parks meet at 11 p.m. in Mr. B’s tent. “We need to come up with a strategy and get the word out,” Mr. B says. “Things are never going to be the same for a long time or until someone’s caught. Even then, no one is ever going to feel safe again. We’ve got to assume we’ve got a murderer loose—and it could be anyone, even one of our own.”
THREE
Infiltrate, Intimidate, Extricate
MONDAY, JUNE 6: 10 A.M., NEW ATLANTIS. Baron Rooky, Manfreed’s forever genial alter ego, greets everyone at the front door of Hollyfield-Smyth House. The Tudor mansion is the first one that Dagny Taggart bought to expand New Atlantis. Its fifteen bedrooms housed the earliest residents. Administrative offices are still located on the first floor. It wasn’t the oldest or the biggest of the properties she eventually acquired. But to her, it was the grandest. The circular driveway in front, the massive blue spruce on either side of it, and the broad, flat expanses of golf-tee quality lawn in every direction gave the mansion the same take-charge look she admired in people, mostly men—in particular, its former owner, the late media magnate G. Hollyfield-Smyth, who successfully led the fight against federal laws prohibiting communications m
onopolies, then cornered the market in no fewer than sixteen metropolitan areas and became the country’s chief political kingmaker.
In addition to the yearly celebration of the Galtian Restoration for the masses, like the one held two days ago, The Circle of Atlas holds it annual meeting in June in the great hall of the mansion. Dagny conceived of the society as the steward of John Galt’s legacy and, next to her investment in the Venture Fund, her most important contribution. She wrote its charter herself, limiting The Circle to fifty members including a five-member executive committee, which she chaired right up to the time she died. Members are limited to two terms of five years, except for her. “We must always have new blood,” she said. “Otherwise we’ll stagnate.” At least five members must be graduates of New Atlantis resident programs. Hoping to spark and maintain the revolution worldwide, she stipulated that there be no less than six members from foreign countries, no more than two from any one. Dagny dictated that members of The Circle are to carry on John Galt’s fight against “looters,” to manage The Taggart Venture Fund, and to invest in projects of promising entrepreneurs that can provide a revenue stream for New Atlantis.
Perhaps because of the 67th Anniversary, this year forty-six members have made the trip, the largest number in five years. Among the most prominent are the Kork brothers, Daniel and Ridge, from Dallas. They inherited billions from “Big Daddy” Kork, as they called him. But they would be the first to insist that they are self-made, that they always put in an honest day’s work—as long as committing securities fraud counts as work and honesty is defined as having friendly judges quash their ongoing indictments. When anyone asks them how much money they have, they always answer that they have no idea, but they just want more of it.Circle member Alfredo Vicenza came from Chicago.Formerly a labor organizer, he became a patron saint of Free-for-All economics when he destroyed the Amalgamated Workers of America, the union he helped found, after he was forced to resign because of alleged improprieties. Sitting next to him in the great hall is Professor Mortimer Lacey, longtime member of the New Atlantis faculty. With a grant from the Kork brothers’ foundation, he produced the research that claimed definitively to prove global warming was a myth—findings that coincidentally protected the Korks’ oil and gas investment—and that led to the dismantling of the federal Environmental Protection Agency.
When Manfreed walks in, Philip Schwartz, the media mogul, is standing and pointing his right finger accusingly at Walter Baffler, the Internet genius. “They’re getting away with murder and you’re letting them,” he says, while Baffler first shakes his head yes (to indicate he agreed “they” were) then quickly to no (refusing take responsibility). But as soon as Manfreed reaches the podium, everyone takes a seat.
“I’d like to welcome all of you to the annual meeting of the Circle of Atlas and especially those of you who have come from around the world. We all extend an extra special welcome to Señor Mauricio Valdez from Peru, who is with us for the first time and who has taken the lead in privatizing all of the mineral resources of his country.” The Kork brothers clap enthusiastically, having invested $2 billion in the takeover, according to The Journal of International Commerce.
“With government regulation out of the way, profits are skyrocketing and production costs have been cut in half. The military has moved swiftly to put down labor unrest. Señor Valdez, you and your country can become a model not only for South America, but for the world.
“And now,” Manfreed says solemnly, “let us bow our heads and recite ‘The Hoarder’s Prayer’: ‘Our father, who spits on Lenin, trademarked be our name. Our billions come, our bills be paid—in cash, by check, or on credit. Give us this day our daily pay and pile on our profits as we corner markets before markets corner us. And lead us not into insolvency, but deliver us from competition. For ours are the franchise, the profit, and the riches for ever and ever. Amen.’
“I’m sorry to have to report the passing, earlier this year, of Dr. Melany Goodette. For the past fifteen years, she tirelessly led the fight for the complete deregulation of the pharmaceutical industry against the FDA—an entrenched bureaucracy if ever there was one. Dr. Goodette died just three months before her goals were achieved. The FDA is dead. And Dr. Goodette killed it, with the help of New Atlantis and people like you, of course.” The group applauds wildly. “As you will soon hear, Dr. Goddette’s effort has been a key factor in the spectacular success of Atlas Energy Drink and Atlas Fitness Centers, as well as the millions of dollars we are making as a result.”
“Hilton, sorry to interrupt, but we are going to address Saturday’s debacle, aren’t we?” shouts Philip Schwartz. “The whole world is saying that John Galt is dead. It’s embarrassing. My phone has been ringing off the hook. It’s on the front page of every newspaper, all over TV, and it’s the only thing people are talking about on the Internet. I should have said disaster, not debacle. We need a strategy. Do you have a strategy?”
“Debacle? Disaster? Who’s side are you on Phil?” Manfreed asks. “Are you going to let some amateurish prank throw you? I can’t believe my ears. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: Saturday was not a debacle—for us. But it’s going to be for the two-bit nobodies who don’t know who they’re up against. You have no reason to be embarrassed, Phil. Just look around you. Have you taken the power in this room for granted? Does it look like John Galt is dead? We’re stronger than ever— and we’re going to get stronger, especially when we crush the enemy.”
He grits his teeth, clenches his fist, and pounds on the podium. “We own this country now—and we will forever! We have created a permanent majority who share our beliefs and know how to put them into action.” He pounds the podium again. Looking around the room so as to make eye contact with everyone, he adds, “We’re never going to let a worthless bunch of looters take it from us. Never! This afternoon, I’ll be on a conference call with the White House to discuss a nationwide strategy to crush the opposition. In a few minutes, I’ll tell you what I’m planning to tell the president and the cabinet. Then, you can tell me your ideas. By the time we’re through, those half-ass punks will be sorry they ever started up with us. Debacle? Disaster?—for them!
“Now, let’s move on to something more pleasant: making barrels of money. The newest members of The Circle are here to update us on the Atlas Fitness Centers phenomenon, for that’s what it is, you know—an absolute, one-of-a-kind, super-colossal phenomenon. They are stars of the first order. Talk about making headlines! John Galt dead, my ass! Soon enough, these ‘John Galts’ are going to make headlines worldwide. They have revolutionized health and fitness, mind and body harmony. And they are making money for us—and themselves—hand over fist. In less than one year, they have become the major source of funds for all of New Atlantis. Dagny would be so proud! I can see the broad grin on her face, as though she were alive and in front of me. In the best sense of the word, they are drugging the country—soon, the world—as a result of Free-for-All economics. Enrique, I believe you’re going to begin.”
“Thank you, Hilton. For those of you who weren’t here on Saturday, I am Enrique Reyes, and I’m thrilled to be a member of The Circle. With me are Zora Tremmon and Albert Swift. With a grant from the Taggart Venture Fund—which I’m happy to say we’ve already repaid—we created Atlas Fitness Centers, the most comprehensive health and wellness network anywhere in the world. I developed the secret formula for the most powerful high-energy drink ever produced. Zora, Albert, please pass out samples and our brochure to everyone. Albert created the patented Titan WholeBody Harmony Machine. As you can see from the photograph, the machine is deceptively simple—an inverted cross. Aside from the fact that it’s made of Rearden Metal, so it’s indestructible, it is based upon laws of physics that Albert knows but that I’ll never understand. And the physical and mental benefits it produces are revolutionary. Zora is our marketing genius. Without her, we’d be nothing.
“Atlas Fitness Centers are more than just places people go to exercise
. Oh, people may come to us to get in shape, but they get more than they ever imagined they could find anywhere. Our real goal is— and now I’m speaking confidentially among friends—to advance the mission of New Atlantis. We are strengthening people’s bodies and minds to accept the principles of Free-for-All economics. The stronger they get, the more they understand that they are natural leaders who have the right and the ability to seize control of the economies of the world. We train them to become clones of the confident, drugged Atlas in the lobby of d’Anconia Pavilion. Each drop of Atlas Energy Drink they swallow—we call it our ‘miracle drug’—makes them more and more potent powerhouses for free markets. They’re sold on everything New Atlantis stands for.
“Yes?” Enrique says to Count Henry de Horsch, who’s chomping at the bit to say something.
“I’m a charter member of the Midtown Manhattan Atlas Center Headquarters,” says the count, “and I have to say the service and effectiveness of the program are unmatched anywhere.”
“Thank you, Count Henry. We’re especially pleased to get your endorsement. And I’m pleased to say we get 100 percent stupendous feedback, as you can see from the testimonials in our brochure. Our economic model is based upon recruiting apprentice trainers. We provide them, free of charge, with unlimited amounts of Atlas Energy drink, use of equipment, plus room and board within centers. They provide services to paying customers and collect a percentage of fees for any premium services they provide. Some recent trainees are now successful franchise owners. They’re hooked on it. It’s a perfect free-market model. And the proof is, in the nine months since we opened our doors, we now have one hundred centers spread out in all fifty states and are adding locations at the rate of five a week.
“Atlas Energy is catching on like wild fire. We’ve entered into distribution agreements, so it’s being sold in supermarkets, 7–11’s, health-food stores, everywhere soft drink and health products are marketed. It’s the fastest growing product in all of the Corporate States, and we have plans to launch internationally early next year. We are making seventy percent profit on the Fitness Centers. And our success would never have been possible without New Atlantis and all of the positive effects of the Galtian Restoration. In our unregulated marketplace, the sky’s been our limit. The FDA would have made us jump through hoops to prove our claims. And we’d still be waiting for the go-ahead to launch the product. We wouldn’t have made a dime yet. But we found nutritionists to back up our claims, and their studies have been a major factor in our success. So, nothing can stop us.”
Atlas Drugged Page 5
