[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation

by Steve P Vincent

  Chen nodded. He understood the pervasiveness of a personal crusade as well as any man. “Fine. My wife was murdered and she has my children. We want the same thing—to expose Dominique and to cripple her organization. But I don’t need you for that.”

  “You do, actually. It has taken a lot for me to swallow my distaste for you, but now we’re linked whether you like it or not. I need you to finish painting the picture, you need me because I have the networks and profile to expose her using the information.”

  Chen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. The next move was his. The Foundation could—and had—hurt him, and still had his children. He wanted the same thing as Emery. While Emery had some information, Chen had it all and more—movements, transactions, records of contact, plus his confessions. Enough to destroy Dominique. If Chen was the ammunition, the man sitting in front of him was the gun that could fire it. Chen stared at Emery and nodded slowly.

  “Okay.” Emery leaned forward on his elbows. “I want information. All of it. Every scrap of paper, every single name, date, time, equipment manifest, motive.”

  “Go and get your notepad and tape recorder. Let’s get to work.”

  27

  “America wakes this morning to the first midterm elections held during a significant war in over forty years. Despite an apparent shift in the strategic balance of the war in recent days toward the United States, most analysts and polls are predicting the Republican Party will sweep the field in a show of deep dissatisfaction at the Kurzon Administration’s handling of the war. An interesting kink in the elections is the emerging scandal, which first appeared yesterday in an online blog post by Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist Jack Emery, implicating a number of hardline Republican candidates in corrupt and treasonous behavior.”

  Charlie Rattan, MSNBC News Hour, November 1

  As he sat on the set of a CNN studio in Los Angeles waiting for his slot, Jack was frustrated by the constant attention of the makeup and hair stylists. He was trying to think, but the primping and preening of the two women made it difficult. He didn’t believe it mattered what he looked like, and if he was writing this for the Standard, it definitely wouldn’t. But he’d lost that avenue, so had to cooperate with the norms of television.

  He’d spent a few days picking Chen’s brain, along with getting access to the entire treasure trove of information on Chen’s USB. Though Hickens had salvaged some information, Chen still had an original copy and everything on it. On the flight from Taiwan to Los Angeles, Jack had compiled everything into a workable story: the Foundation’s role in the Shanghai attacks and the war, the control of EMCorp, the shooting of Ernest McDowell, their continued subversion of large parts of US society, and a huge effort to control a large slice of US Congress.

  He’d traveled with one eye open, half expecting Dominique’s goons to ambush him at the airport, on the plane or once he’d landed. But nobody had challenged him and Celeste had met him at the airport in Los Angeles, having flown in from Hawaii. From their hotel room they’d crafted the stories, listing no names and making no claims that couldn’t be proven with certainty in court. He’d left himself plenty of room to maneuver. He’d put the lot into a blog post, and beamed it out through his Twitter feed, timed to ensure it hit the daily news cycle. It had been a bombshell.

  In the hours that followed, what had begun as a trickle of calls, texts and emails became a torrent, then a tsunami. Half of them were concerned friends, Peter and Josefa included, while the rest were offers for interviews or publication. He’d smiled at the response to his blog post. It was nice to know he still had the touch. It had actually been Celeste who had organized the spot on CNN’s Insight program.

  “Thanks. Mr Emery.” The makeup girl stepped back with a pearly white smile and finally left Jack to his own devices. “Andrea will be with you shortly.”

  Jack nodded. “Thanks.”

  He turned his head and looked straight at Celeste, who was standing just behind the cameras. She smiled and gave him the thumbs up. They’d rehearsed the interview for most of the morning, but Jack had no doubt that Andrea Serrenko would be a far tougher gig. She had an impressive reputation, but if there was one way to get his message against Dominique and the Foundation white hot, nailing this interview was it.

  He was about to say something to Celeste when Serrenko appeared and approached the set. She was an impressive woman, over six feet tall and higher still in heels, with fiery red hair and a personality to match. She sat in the seat opposite him, placed her notes on the counter and made sure her water glass was full.

  Only then did she look up at Jack. “Good evening, Mr Emery, thanks for coming in. How’re things today?”

  “Jack, please.” He held out his hand. “Could be worse, I could be in the crosshairs of more than one very dangerous organization.”

  Serrenko laughed and shook his hand. “Well, Jack, for the sake of my audience, I’m glad you’re in the sights of at least one of them. It’s a hell of a story.”

  Jack smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  As they exchanged further small talk, an assistant approached and fitted a lapel mike to each of them. Jack was a veteran of the process, having done a few interviews over the years. While each network and studio had its quirks, for the most part it was the same. Finally, a producer spoke from behind the safety of the camera and told them there was one minute until the show.

  Jack watched one of the many monitors around the studio as the program’s splash graphic played. When it was finished, the shot panned around the studio before landing squarely on Serrenko and himself, seated on either side of the desk. Serrenko smiled straight down the camera as the intro music faded. Jack stayed still as she read her opening.

  “Good evening. Welcome to Insight, I’m Andrea Serrenko.” She turned to look into another camera as the shot shifted. “Tonight we have Jack Emery, former political editor for the New York Standard and Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist, in the studio. On the same day as the midterm elections, his blog post this morning about the corruption in and subversion of American politics threatens to rock the system to its core. Thank you for joining me, Mr Emery.”

  Jack took a deep breath, leaned forward and smiled. “Please, call me Jack. Great to be with you.”

  Serrenko gave a well-rehearsed smile. “Okay, Jack. The first thing I wanted to cover is why a journalist of your caliber is out of work at the moment. This all feels a bit too convenient.”

  Jack swallowed. He hadn’t expected this to be easy. He still hadn’t reached the bottom of his firing, but from a conversation with Peter, it was pretty clearly linked to Michelle Dominique’s board push. He smiled. “Well, I’m open to offers, if you’re hiring.”

  His attempt at humor fell on deaf ears, as Serrenko raised an eyebrow.

  “Look, it’s a tough industry, now more than ever. My views didn’t match the direction of the paper, so they fired me. But this story is authentic, I’ve done the hard work. It stacks up.”

  That was something Jack was sure about. Between the contents of the USB and the information he’d gained from Chen, he had a slam-dunk story against Dominique and the Foundation. He was certain it was enough to bring her down. And once she was eliminated, he hoped her whole rancid organization would decay and collapse.

  Serrenko nodded. “Okay then, can you summarize for our viewers what your contention is? Particularly for those who haven’t yet read your blog.”

  Jack bit his lip. This was it. “Okay. In short, there’s a politically cancerous think tank operating in Washington to undermine American democracy.”

  Serrenko laughed in a way that felt dismissive. “Aren’t all think tanks doing that though, Jack? You’re going to need more than that.”

  “Oh, of course, Andrea. But I’ve got clear evidence linking this group to the attacks in Shanghai, China—”

  Serrenko interrupted. “You’re saying an American organization attacked China?”

  Jack nod
ded. “Not directly, but without them there would have been no attacks. They provided the funds and helped the mastermind—Chen Shubian—with the logistics.”

  “You have proof? Even more than what was on your blog today?” For the first time, Jack thought he might have her interested.

  “Sure do—an interview with Chen Shubian. Along with documents and records that support his allegations.”

  “Wait a minute.” Serrenko was incredulous. “You’ve met the main bomber? Wasn’t your wife killed in Shanghai?”

  “Yes, I have, and yes, she was. I had to put aside my personal grievances for the good of the story. So this organization has a highly complex cell structure that takes its orders from Washington. If one cell is compromised, it looks like a small group of nut jobs, but I’ve been able to blow the lid off the whole organization.

  “Just recently, they’ve had involvement in Shanghai, the war, the shooting of Ernest McDowell and the subversion of his company. And this is the tip of the iceberg. They’re now trying to get their members into Congress. If I had the resources, I’d have found more. I trust the FBI will have an easy time of it. I’d be more than happy to help.”

  Serrenko clearly knew a bombshell when she heard one, and when something was being held back. Her eyes narrowed. “Give me the name of the organization, Jack.”

  Jack stared straight down the camera. He had prepared most for this next part. He could have easily have dropped the Foundation for a New America and Michelle Dominique in the deep end by naming them on his blog, but he’d needed the protection of being a national celebrity with a story that people wanted to hear.

  “Michelle Dominique and the Foundation for a New America.” Jack looked down at his cell phone. “And, according to the newsfeed, your next member of Congress.”

  Michelle squinted but kept a smile on her face as the camera flashes rolled like a wave across her vision. She smiled again, then walked to the lectern. Her mind wasn’t in the whole victory event, really, but she had to go through the motions. Jack Emery’s blog post and subsequent interview on Insight had changed the focus of the day—from triumph at being elected to damage control. She had to do this then get to work.

  She rushed through her speech, batting off the same lines that had been home runs with the voters and seen her elected with a massive margin. She paused for applause at the right times, smiled for the cameras and the crowd at the right times, and gave the speech only enough mental energy required to avoid blunders. She thanked her supporters, and congratulated the other Foundation-aligned candidates who’d won.

  Most importantly, she denied the allegations Jack Emery had made and explained he was a bitter ex-employee with a drinking problem. The crowd had cheered her and booed him, but she knew that the room was full of her supporters. She’d have a much tougher time with the general public. Not to mention the FBI. She waved and walked backstage.

  Waiting for her in the green room were Erik and Andrei Shadd. They stood impassively off to the side, in the exact same spots from which they’d delivered the news about Emery’s interview, just before she took the stage for her speech. She walked over to the side table and poured herself a drink, then threw the pitcher across the room. It exploded in a spray of glass and painted the white wall with grapefruit juice. She didn’t care. She was tempted to set the whole building on fire. She’d never felt anger like this.

  “All this information!” She picked up her iPad and threw it across the room.

  “All this power!” She moved to the window and ripped the curtains down.

  “For what!” She kicked over a vase, which smashed with a satisfying spray of glass.

  Andrei moved closer. “It’s not that bad. You have a number of options.”

  She stared at him, tempted to punch his lights out, but after a few moments she exhaled deeply and sat on the arm of the sofa. “We need to turn this around or the FBI is going to come knocking. If that happens, it’s only a matter of time before you’re both being gang-banged at Rikers, and I’m giving some lady a little something to stay alive.”

  Andrei shrugged. “There were always bound to be setbacks. It’s not possible to run an organization as ambitious and as large as ours without the odd problem. Look at all the messes Anton cleaned up over the years.”

  “This is more dangerous than anything he ever dealt with. We’re named, gentlemen. That changes everything. In addition to the Feds, the other cells will be gunning for me too.”

  She thought for a moment. She was a student of politics, but equally adept at history. When things got desperate, it was the individual or the country that could be the most ruthless that generally won the day. An idea popped into her head. She mulled it over, then decided. It was her only option.

  “We’re going to take a leaf out of Stalin’s book.” She raised her head to look at the brothers, who winced at the reference to Uncle Joe. “Scorched earth.”

  Andrei frowned in thought, then smiled. “Let them have most of it, but protect the core.”

  Michelle smiled. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Precisely.”

  The Foundation had a huge amount of influence in all sorts of areas. While it would hurt to give up some of her power and her people, by doing so she might have a fighting chance to stay alive and keep the core of the organization—and its influence—intact. The rest was expendable. It was the only way to survive. To recover. To succeed.

  Michelle stood. “We need to inoculate our core. We need to totally cut off our central organs from the rest of the body. That’s your job. Expose them, kill them. Whatever.”

  “Easier said than done, Michelle.” Erik shook his head. “I doubt large parts of the organization will take kindly to being hung out to dry.”

  “I don’t care. Do it. Today. I’ll take care of protecting the important stuff.”

  Andrei’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

  Michelle smiled. “I’ve had something up our sleeve in case we needed it.”

  She picked up the phone and dialed her assistant. “Mallory, I’ll need the Heisman file ready when I get back to the office. It’s urgent, okay?”

  She hung up without waiting for a response. Both of the brothers had confused looks on their faces, but it was Andrei who spoke first. “The Heisman file?”

  Michelle smiled. “A dirt file on the President so large it will bring him down.”

  “Isn’t using something like that a bit…final?”

  “Yeah, it’s like dropping the bomb on Hiroshima, but we don’t have a choice. I’ll meet with him and keep the government and the Bureau off our case. If we can use our leverage over Kurzon to keep the FBI off our backs long enough, we can feed most of the organization to the wolves, but protect the most important parts. We can recover.”

  The brothers nodded.

  “Andrei, you take care of Emery. Erik, you handle the Foundation liquidation. When I drop this file on Kurzon’s desk, he’ll be eating out of our hands like a lamb and we’ll be able to protect ourselves. And if he doesn’t cooperate, we’ll make it public and be yesterday’s news.”

  28

  The results are in and Congress looks to be taking a decidedly hawkish tone, after an electoral bloodbath left Democratic hopes shattered. While Republicans carried the day in general, perhaps the most surprising development was the election of so many extreme right-wing candidates to Congress. Though nominally linked to the GOP, there is huge concern within Republican ranks about the new arrivals, and talks already of a potential schism between moderates and the new extreme arm of the party. At any rate, the new-look Congress promises to bring a new vigor to the war against China, with analysts predicting an even stronger push to end the conflict decisively. It may be a moot point, however, given American gains in recent days and the apparent slackening of Chinese assaults on Taiwan. Whether because of tactics, exhaustion, attrition or troubles at home, sources tell the New York Standard that the sum total of attacks has fallen by thirty percent in recent days.


  Phil Eaton, New York Standard, November 2

  Jack smiled wearily at the flight attendant as he walked past her. “Thanks.”

  “Our pleasure, sir.” The woman was far too perky for someone who flew for a living. “Thanks for flying with United.”

  Jack nodded then turned to Celeste. “Let’s go.”

  She nodded. “Man, I can't wait for a shower and sleep.”

  He laughed but said nothing. He hefted his backpack over his shoulder and walked through the door of the aircraft and onto the sky bridge. It had been over two days since he’d slept properly, jetting from Taiwan, to Hawaii, to LA, to Washington. The entire time, he’d been getting word out about his story, which had gone all the more nuclear since his interview with Serrenko and Dominique’s election win.

  He wrapped an arm around Celeste as they walked. “I really appreciate your support through all this.”

  She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “My pleasure. But I don’t think it’s going to get any easier any time soon.”

  “I know.” Once he stepped out of the artificial environment of the airport, things were going to get crazy.

  He exhaled deeply and stepped into the terminal. As he looked around, he felt Celeste grab his arm and squeeze tight. He looked at her and her eyes were wide, locked on a group of men standing on the other side of the terminal. He looked at them and recognized only one of the four but still felt a spike of fear. Recognizing one was enough. It was the same man who’d bailed him and Celeste up at Chen’s house in Wisconsin.

  This wasn’t good. He’d thought that in the wake of his release of the information, his public profile would be enough to prevent Dominique from moving against him. He’d been wrong.

  Celeste seemed on the verge of complete panic. “Holy fuck, Jack. They’re here. He’s here.”