2047: Hell In A Handbasket

by D. Frank Green

  "OK, we have a bunch of politicians." George pointed to one square. "They spend their time fundraising all morning." Another square highlighted. "Then they go to a meeting in the afternoon." The third square expanded. "Then they eat dinner and do more fundraising or go to a cocktail party where donors are rewarded. In short, they don't do a damn thing but raise money so they can get reelected."

  George stood and silently stalked around the room. Charlotte watched him but didn't break the silence.

  "All my life I've led friends, troops and the company because I was clear about my goals. They all followed me because somehow I knew - don't ask me how, but I did - the best parties, the way to keep my troops as safe as they could be and the best business tactics. But now, I can't see a way through this crap hole of a mess that's Washington." He stopped talking and walking and looked at Charlotte. Shrugged his shoulders. "None of this will go away, it's a never-ending tsunami of bad news."

  "Baby, you're frustrated and angry. I see that. But what would you do if you didn't have to play by their rules? Let me put it this way Mr. Coffee-lover. What if you stopped drinking their bitter brew and brewed your own? What would that taste like?"

  "Fuck 'em." He surprised both of them by saying it out loud. And then stood straighter. "Fuck 'em indeed."

  George stood, paced around the room, weaving his way among the couches and chairs in an unconscious figure-eight pattern as he reviewed his diary drawings page by page since he arrived in Washington. He found reviewing his notes relaxing and a great way to quickly understand and summarize his thoughts. His best ideas often came when he stalked around his office and this latest was a good one but would never work he decided. Or would it?

  Charlotte watched him. She'd seen this before.

  George stopped pacing, a smile on his face, "I want to call Sarah and then we have to chat."

  She nodded, hooked a footstool with her toe and pulled it closer. She settled in for a long conversation.

  "Call Sarah. Private. Secure." His call went right through to message, "Sarah, I see those mobile permits got approved so we can move all the troops north. How's the rest of the planning coming along? I've just seen new data up here and our timeline is shorter than I thought. Better goose the guys and get 'em moving faster. I don't want anything to get in the way of this new plan of mine."

  As usual, he was understating his intent.

  Charlotte watched him, a soft smile on her face.

  He turned to her for her advice on this next adventure.

  12/06/2047 09:00

  The five men finished the ritual greetings in Gwinnett's Vice-Presidential offices, settled with drinks on the big couches facing each other, and thought they were prepared for whatever was about to happen. Gwinnett had asked each of these security-company owners to the meeting, but they had no idea what he would propose.

  The small talk, golf and kids, faded away as Gwinnett looked ready to speak. "Thanks for coming today Gentlemen, they don't allow me out of the office easily anymore." He paused as the men nodded and chuckled on cue. "Let me be honest, I know that's rare for a politician," - again to understanding snorts - "but I have some data and ideas you'll want to consider. First, I believe y'all know Sarah, she's representing the company this morning. I'm here as co-ordinator and responsible for moving this conversation forward."

  One of the men interrupted. "Mr. Vice-President, are we on or off the record here?" The man telegraphed his glance over to the unobtrusive camera high in the corner. The others waited to hear the answer; all were experienced interrogators with many years of armed forces and private security experience. They made a living sorting fact from fiction, and Gwinnett's reply would determine their behavior.

  Gwinnett smiled at the question. He'd expected it, and would have been disappointed had it not come. He appreciated the straightforward way it was asked. It was high contrast to his political existence with lies jammed up against lies so tight none could breathe. Gwinnett relaxed. Smiled. He understood these men and indeed was one of them.

  "The cameras are on. They are impossible to turn off. In case one of you shoots me, we'll know who to hang." The men smiled and nodded. He continued, "But for Security reasons, I've ordered the sound off. There is a recording being made, the law says no conversation can go unrecorded in executive offices, but it's in my desk and I control it." His voice tightened. "As you'll understand, I'm not at all interested in having this conversation go public and would take it as a matter of national security if it did."

  He hesitated a second before he spoke again. "Worse, I will be seriously pissed off if one of you lets anything about today slip out." The men understood that message, indeed threat, and they all met his eye as he looked at each to emphasize his intent. He paused for a few seconds. "If any of you are uncomfortable with this, now is the time to leave."

  None moved.

  He smiled, leaned forward and paused, as if in thought, for a second to run his finger around the rim of the glass on the coffee table in front of him. He then outlined why they'd been invited. "Gentlemen, the U.S. government is in serious financial trouble. Our grain reserves are non-existent because of the droughts, our dollar reserves are tapped out and our two largest costs are still social services and the military. Even chopped back as they both are, the military is larger and more expensive than any other ten countries in the world added together. None of this is news to you. What is news however is the President is considering privatizing both social security and the army. By outsourcing both, as we did with the reversal of that screwed up National Health Care system crap, we'll save enough money to put this country back together again," said Gwinnett

  "But there's a slight problem with privatizing the armed forces. The first is it has to be structured to obey national interests and the second is it has to be less expensive to run than the traditional forces. Now, we're sure the second can be done. Private industry can provide this service much more efficiently and effectively than the government. But there are cabinet members who aren't convinced. Can a private force be directed by the government and not serve the company's needs first?"

  He leaned back and smiled. None of the men spoke.

  "Oh yes, there's a third issue. Does the government contract with multiple private companies to do this? One for the navy, one for the air force, one for ... well, you get the picture. Or is there one overall corporation to control all facets with divisions responding to specific needs? Rather than keep you in suspense, let me tell you the answer direct from the President. There will be one company. We'll structure the finances so divisions appear to be independent but the overall command and control will come from one office."

  He stood, walked to the closest window allowing the men the space to consider what he'd just revealed. He knew he had their full attention and smiled with the pleasure of political power. Knowing a secret and being able to share that secret was intoxicating. And he enjoyed the flush of excitement when he felt even more important just for knowing something others didn't. The way they now looked at him, the realization they acknowledged him as bigger or more important than they were, the status they accepted, sent a rush of pleasure through him.

  He leaned against the window sill, facing them, and watched as each ran his own scenario, as each tried to calculate a way forward to the top of this new business chain. One by one their eyes shifted over to his as they understood the cards being dealt. And this made him feel even better. He knew he'd won when the last of them leaned back and met his eyes.

  "Let me summarize. I own the biggest company and I own it outright. QuellCorp is twice as large as any of yours. I control the political process for this. I'm sure you've all figured this out. Sarah will approach each of you with an offer and will negotiate for QuellCorp. The lawyers can deal with the details. QuellCorp will buy a controlling share of each of your companies by a combination of cash and shares, to be determined by negotiation. You will retain minority ownership and will assume a place on the new Board of Dire
ctors and operate, day-to-day, as Vice-Presidents in charge of running a division. We will then mutually control the corporation to protect the United States of America.

  Y'all know I could do this without your help, allow QuellCorp to be the sole company - but it makes sense to incorporate all our skills into one unit. You do, naturally, get to decide if you want to sell, but, and let me be honest, if you don't join me, you'll be frozen out of contracts. I hope you'll join me instead." He gave them one of his biggest, most sincere smiles.

  He was surprised with the sense of relief he felt now he'd shared this secret for the real future of the armed forces. The cabinet knew about the project and so did Sarah but it had not leaked. That wouldn't last long, a reporter would have the story quickly enough. He smiled again because there was yet another secret. He was about to leak the entire story himself to set the reporter hounds chasing.

  I want those press hounds chasing this story just not in the direction I'm taking he thought.

  16/06/2047 12:00

  "There's a confirmed story today the Armed Forces will be privatized by President Barrett. Sources say the cabinet voted unanimously to set up an agency that would be more efficient than the current services. The cost overruns for the latest carrier project were one deciding factor as was the negative fallout of the government's handling of the New York City gang conflict when over 300 innocent civilians in nearby buildings were killed. The Cabinet decided the government can no longer afford the level of waste in the military although the President said all active duty forces and support staff would be given first pick of all jobs in the new company.

  His statement today pointed out the spending problems and how they far exceeded those of China, our nearest threat. He said if a communist government could run that efficiently and we couldn't, it was time to privatize, get the money under control, and increase our ability to defend America from all threats. This is Ed Gordon from ZeeVid News."

  Ed took a few minutes to review his scripts for the next segment and catch his breath. The last had been a long piece - running almost a minute - and he needed to get his stories shorter for this fast-paced audience. With all the traveling, late nights, lack of sleep and rich food, he was physically finished. The high, the exhilaration from cracking a story or asking the right question, kept him going.

  But this morning, Penny pointed out his makeup didn't coverup the bags under his eyes. She asked him if he was happy here in the North working his butt off. She was not. He said he thought so, but later on the way to this story, admitted to himself he wasn't always sure.

  His producer flagged him with a fifteen-second warning and he turned to the camera for a headshot.

  "Sources today claim that QuellCorp, owned by Vice-President George Gwinnett, will be the lead agency in the Armed Forces privatization. Gwinnett has recused himself from any voting on the issue to avoid any conflict of interest and he says no longer runs or is aware of day-to-day issues with QuellCorp. Current company President Sarah Gwinnett is said to be working on the details to continue the great tradition of the U.S. military and keep our country safe and out of harm's way or at least that's what the P.R. agencies will want us to believe. This is Ed Gordon for ZeeVid News."

  His producer responded immediately, "Good stories Ed - those are exclusive breaks and the big guy said he's channeled a bonus into your account."

  Ed smiled knowing the money would be significant and hoped Penny might see the logic of taking a few more years on this job so they could more easily establish themselves out of that damnable heat and political disaster they call the South. "Ok, stand by for number three and get ready to take calls on this one. Tell the boss I want whatever he gave me doubled for this," Ed finished to a laugh from the producer.

  "I have learned today that Danielle Smithers, a member of Anonymous investigating the link between Vice-President Gwinnett and the slaughter of gang members in Savannah, Georgia was the victim of a targeted assassination. Her death was designed to appear as a highway accident but independent forensic tests on the Smither's car software showed evidence of software hacking that was not reported during the original investigation by the Savannah Police Department. The car that killed Danielle Smithers was electronically disabled and out of her control. More information on this story as it develops. This is Ed Gordon for ZeeVid News."

  Before he caught his breath, his producer was on him, "Fuck Ed, you're on fire today. Where'd you get that piece? You are going to piss off the serious boys with this shit. And oh yeah, other the other hand you should see the happy dance in the big guy's office right now. I'm sure your account will look pretty good by the time you get home tonight."

  "Thanks Terry, not going to wait for tonight. Three and done. I'm taking the rest of the day to work at home and maybe pick up more background and details. I'll check in first thing in the morning. You know how to reach me in an emergency."

  Drained, tired, sad but not knowing why, Ed walked to his car. He had such high expectations when he moved up here. He expected the stories to be politically motivated but not about corruption involving people he should have been admiring. Perhaps Penny was right.

  22/06/2047 12:00

  : "Gotta make this quick and dirty. Watch yourself. This has just come online and active. Homeland has tasked several satellites and has brought all levels of phone, voice tech and all camera feeds into one analysis for the city. Every bit of communication, everything, is being run through their near-singularity machines. They're data-farming like mad and using a huge number of keywords to pull up any level of resistance. Go deep. If you have implants, wipe them and do the same with phones."

  There was one response, and that was from someone he had never heard before.

  Shit. Nobody's online to spread the warning and the bastards have me.

  Two keystrokes later a kill-program wiped every drive and bit of data from his entire system beyond even the ability of the NSA to recover.

  He didn't pack. On the way down the stairs, he took his phone out of his pocket, ran the custom kill-software he'd installed, and removed the battery. He dropped the phone into the nearest sewer grate, crossed the street, walked a block, and slipped the battery down a second. Stingray stations that could find it, battery or no battery, would lose it in the water flow.

  Homeland Security arrived ten minutes later, but he was long gone.

  He was slipping into yet another false identity.

  23/06/2047 11:20

  The Oval Office had seen its share of frustrated Presidents over the years and today was no different. Called to an impromptu meeting, Gwinnett kicked off his shoes, leaned back in the big couch, put his feet on the coffee table and watched as the President threw his jacket on his big padded desk chair, loosened his tie so it hung askew and flopping as he paced. He listened to the frustrated monologue and saw his friend become angrier and angrier.

  "You know I never intended to wind up this way. I believed I could do something. But who the hell can stop climate change, who can bring the rain back? And if you think we can, let me suggest you aren't paying attention to reality.

  We have to wait somewhere around a hundred thousand years to clean up the groundwater from all the fracking, and even then there's no guarantee. But before we can reverse the trend, we have to stop fracking. Stop fracking, we piss of the oil people. If we do that, we dry up our campaign money and we don't get elected. If we don't get elected, the Dems get in and they get the money. But they won't stop the fracking either because they want to stay in power worse than we do. If that's possible," said Barrett.

  Barrett paused, looked at the floor, shook his head two or three times and looked at Gwinnett to make sure he was listening. He took a deep breath and launched again.

  "And to make matters interesting, the public doesn't want us to stop fracking - well other than those who live right next to the damnable well heads - because the price of fuel, food and clothing will skyrocket without the oil. So stop it and the money and the votes
dry up. Continue and the environment continues to go to hell and we shit in our own backyard."

  As his friend ranted, Gwinnett became calmer and more analytical. As his understanding of the enormity of the problems and the specifics of financial forces arrayed against real progress were laid out for him player by player and action by action by the ranting President, he slumped down into the soft couch to consider the issue and solutions in new ways.

  "I took the money, too, so I could get elected. Took it right from the beginning. And here I sit, on top of the god-damned pile and can't do anything about it. Can't turn the country, can't abandon the money, can't figure a way around it all. I'm no bloody better than those I campaigned against as being corrupt and worthless. And the worst part is that it's only one small thing. There are a hundred other examples exactly like that."

  Gwinnett watched Barrett's face go progressively more intense and deeper shades of red as he listed his failures to get the broken country working again. He added each objective and resistance to the growing list in his head.

  Gwinnett smiled to himself because he wasn't constrained with trying to get reelected. He was Vice-President as a stopgap, a temporary measure to keep all opposing factions at bay until his best friend's term was finished. He smiled at the image of himself as the temporary cork in this insanely-shaking bottle of fizzy water and lost his concentration on Barrett's rant. Silence brought him back to the moment.

  Barrett had stopped talking but kept pacing, his face mirroring his internal, ongoing dialogue. Gwinnett knew his friend was wrestling his demons back into their bottle.

  Gwinnett saw the final grimace and knew the emotional wind squall had swept the decks. He wasn't sure Barrett was ready to act on his analysis but sooner or later, they'd have to get to the basics of what worked and didn't work in the country. And more importantly whether a political solution was even possible. A solution was possible, that much he had already calculated, but he wasn't sure if Barrett would pay the price.