The Insiders

by Craig Hickman

  When Emily joined him on deck, her eyes looked weary. He felt guilty for not spending more time attending to her recovery. She’d been through hell for a week, but that didn’t seem to stop her from worrying more about him than herself. She was indeed a remarkable woman. “You look troubled. What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Whether these lobstermen will be better off because of what my father did.”

  “What about us?” she said. “Will we be better off?”

  “I hope so,” Wilson said, losing himself in her large brown eyes.

  “How long are we planning to stay here?” she asked.

  “Until it’s safe.”

  She gazed out at the bay, following the lobster boats on their way out to sea. “Will it ever be safe for us?”

  Wilson matched her gaze, putting his arm around her. “I don’t know, Em,” he finally answered.

  “It’s never going to end, is it?”

  “Depends on what happens to my father’s partners,” Wilson said, feeling victimized by every one of them. “But don’t worry, we have enough money to protect ourselves, assuming the government doesn’t confiscate it.”

  “That’s not very encouraging,” she said softly.

  “I know. Sorry,” Wilson said quietly. “We’ll be okay, Em. We’ve got each other. It’s the one precious reality I’ve held on to through all of this. You are the most important thing in my life.”

  She hugged and kissed him on the neck and cheek. Then a twinkle flashed across her eye as she kissed him on the lips. “I will always love you, Wilson, no matter how difficult or miserable our lives become.”

  Wilson’s smile broadened. He was grateful to see her playfulness back. “And, I will always love you, Em, no matter how resentful or mean-spirited you become.”

  She dug her fingers into his sides until he grabbed her hands and pulled them around him. They embraced and kissed again.

  “What are you going to do when we go back?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wilson said, staring at the open ocean beyond the cove. “Fielder & Company may not have many clients after today.”

  Emily was quiet. When she spoke again, her tone was sarcastic. “We could always manage one of my parent’s B&B’s on the Vineyard. You would be a big tourist draw.”

  “Now look who’s encouraging,” Wilson said before kissing her. “What about you? When are you going back to work?”

  “Not for a few months. It’s no longer the most important thing in my life,” she said, looking away.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “About everything your father gave up to change the world.”

  “Yeah,” Wilson said quietly. “I think about that a lot.”

  “If he had it to do over again, do you think he would?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what he cared about,” Wilson said.

  “Does it make you sad?” Emily said, her eyes probing his.

  “Not really. I think I understand him better than I ever have,” Wilson said, shifting his gaze from Emily to the other side of the cove. “He got his wish. He changed the world.”

  There was prolonged silence before Emily asked, “What’s your wish, Wilson?”

  Wilson smiled, “You mean after the one about living with you forever?”

  “That sounds wonderful. But yes, after that, what’s your wish?”

  “I don’t have any others at the moment,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes and they kissed again, slowly and gently.

  After lingering on the deck a little longer, they decided to take advantage of the beautiful day. They tracked down Paddie, who was more than anxious to rent his boat to them for a second day. He set them up with all the gear and by eight-thirty they were leaving Mackerel Cove for a spot Paddie recommended a few miles south of the cove near Cliff Island. Emily took the helm while Wilson prepared the lobster pots. As they approached the west side of Cliff Island the water was unusually calm, so Emily cut the engine and helped Wilson drop their first pot. Wilson checked the second pot to make sure everything was ready. But before Emily returned to the helm to start the engine, he asked, “So, what did you think about Gibson’s comment about Jefferson and capitalism being distributed to the end of every row?”

  “I think Jefferson was right,” Emily said.

  “You think the wealthy will ever allow grass roots capitalism?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still holding out for socialism?” Emily said teasingly.

  “Why does everyone assume that the only way to fix capitalism is to adopt socialism or some other form of utopian equalism?” Wilson said, leaning back to capture the sun’s rays against his face. Before Emily could respond, he added, “Assuming Jefferson and Madison and Franklin have been watching as their American experiment has unfolded over the past couple of centuries, I think they’d tell us there is no flaw in capitalism—just a flaw in our competitive natures. We require too many losers. Making capitalism workable and robust for everyone, without resorting to socialistic devices—that’s our challenge.”

  With a mischievous look on her face, Emily reached down scooping up handful of bait. “If the rich and powerful can’t find a way to push capitalism to the end of every row, then we’ll just have to give them some new incentives,” she said, throwing the fish pieces out across the water.

  They burst into laughter. It felt good. After that their conversation grew lighter. They dropped the rest of the lobster pots over a two-mile stretch off Cliff Island and then retraced their path to pick up the day’s catch. Ten lobsters. A quick run by lobsterman standards, but it had provided much-needed therapy for their stressed souls. When they arrived back in Mackerel Cove a little before three, Wilson placed a collect call to Kohl.

  “I thought you’d never call,” Kohl said. “Have you seen the news lately?”

  “No.”

  “Swatling and Tate were trapped by an explosion inside a Venetian opera house.”

  “La Fenice?” Wilson asked.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “Fielder & Company owns the apartment building next door. It’s where Emily was kidnapped. It was one of my father’s favorite places, and evidently the birthplace of the secret partnership.”

  Kohl didn’t respond, so Wilson continued. “Are they dead?” he asked.

  “Swatling is dead. Tate’s in critical condition and under heavy guard at a Venice hospital. The CIA agent is in custody.”

  “Any sign of Carter?”

  “Not yet. They’re still going through the debris at La Fenice.”

  “But he was there, right?” Wilson asked.

  “Yes. We think he was the one who caused the explosion.”

  “You have to find him,” Wilson said urgently.

  “Why? Is he dangerous?”

  “Only to himself.”

  “You’re not making sense, Wilson,” Kohl said.

  “Rising from the ashes. La Fenice means the phoenix. The secret partnership created by my father and Carter is dead, and their disclosure is already accomplishing what they intended for this country. The real solution will rise from the ashes of destruction. Carter’s going after them,” Wilson said.

  “Who?”

  “The Overseers, the Council, the Governors, or whatever you want to call them. Conspiracy theorists refer to them as the New World Order, the Council on Foreign Relations, the Illuminati, Shadow Government, the Rothschild Dynasty, Freemasons, or the Bilderbergers, but the conspiracy hype only facilitates their concealment. They’re a secretly chosen governing council. A half dozen or so people who represent the world’s most wealthy families and control much of the world’s wealth creation, monetary supply, financial credit, and central banks like the Federal Reserve. They also practice an exclusive trading game that makes my father’s insiders club pale in comparison.”

  “You don’t really believe that?” Kohl said in disbelief.


  “Ask the CIA. They know about it. I’ve been denying it for too long. They are the same elite who had my great-grandfather murdered because he was going to publish memoirs that would have exposed them. They assassinated Congressman Louis T. McFadden, William Tate Boyles, Wayland Tate’s grandfather, and possibly four American presidents. I’m afraid my family has been obsessed with exposing them for a long time. Trust me. You need to find Carter before he gets himself killed.”

  67

  Carter – Lake Geneva, Switzerland

  The helicopter landed on the lawn outside a large French Renaissance chateau on Lake Geneva, Switzerland. Carter was quickly escorted from the helicopter by two Slavic-looking bodyguards, across the expansive lawn into to the chateau, past a row of twenty-foot high tapestries in the entrance hall, through a glass-roofed winter garden filled with exotic plants, and into one of the most beautiful libraries he had ever seen. Carter breathed deeply as he gazed around the cavernous fifteenth-century Italian interior. Frescoes by Diziani adorned the ceiling above a dozen Murano chandeliers, two-story arched windows overlooked Lake Geneva, and exquisite French and Italian antique furniture graced the full length of the literary chamber. The library’s two-tiered, walnut-paneled shelves had to hold more than 30,000 volumes, many of them works of history, Carter thought as he walked by the ornately carved black marble walk-in fireplace.

  At the far end of the library, behind an extraordinary Louis XV Ormolu-Mounted writing table, sat Werner Lentz, Executive Secretary to the infamous Board of Governors. It was the most powerful governing body on the face of the earth, but few people knew about it, other than the conspiracy nuts prone to zealous dramatics. Carter had first met Werner Lentz years earlier, while writing an article for The Journal of American History about the influence of the Goldsmith and Rothschild families on American banking and finance.

  When Carter reached the extravagant writing table, his two bodyguards left him alone as Werner stood to greet him. “How are you doing old friend?” Lentz asked in a slight German accent as he rounded the writing table. They shook hands while Werner affectionately patted Carter on the shoulder. Lentz was about Carter’s age. Trim, gray hair, wireless glasses, and dressed like royalty’s banker. “Please sit down,” Lentz said.

  “How am I doing, Werner?” Carter said as he sat down in one of the two carved walnut armchairs in front of the desk.

  “The board is quite impressed with how you and Charles managed to bring the American economy to its knees,” Lentz said.

  “Is that why you brought me and my family here? To help you reform Europe and the rest of the world?” Carter asked mockingly.

  Werner Lentz laughed loudly. “I always love your American sarcasm. I think it’s what makes you so dangerous,” Lentz said before sitting back in his chair and rocking slightly. “The board wants to make sure you’re not like Charles, with ambitions beyond the United States.”

  Carter said nothing as he studied Lentz.

  “All we want is for you and your family to live here in Geneva for a few years in very comfortable surroundings,” Lentz said, lifting his arms and looking around the library. “This historic De Vita Chateau is yours for as long as you like.”

  “And if I choose not to accept your generous offer?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option, my friend. Five years of exemplary behavior and maybe the board will reconsider.”

  “What are my restrictions?”

  “Think of them as incentives, Carter—for insuring a healthy posterity. If you agree to our terms, you will be pronounced dead tomorrow. Buried in the La Fenice explosion. All contacts with your former life will be severed, including your contact with Wilson Fielder and President Roberts. You will have to observe from afar what they do to bring about your anticipated reforms. Travel will be confined to the EU.”

  “Eventually, you will be exposed, Werner.”

  “Here’s the irony, Carter. Your disclosure will do far more than credit debacles, regional wars, or economic depressions to usher in the new world order we’ve always wanted,” Lentz said, leaning across the writing table with a roguish grin that obscured his beady eyes. “In fact, the board has already made plans to encourage your transformation of capitalism. They acknowledge that it’s time to bring the blessings of wealth to another tier of participants. You’ve misjudged them, Carter. They have always striven to be noble and generous.”

  “So long as they maintain control. Right?” Carter said in defiance.

  “Of course. You of all people should know how chaotic and precarious the world can become when no one is in charge. People are too easily distracted, too easily threatened, and too willing to turn on each other,” Lentz said dismissively. “Adam Smith’s invisible hand of self-interest isn’t enough to bring sufficient order to the world. It’s just who people are, they will never change. Big fish eat the little fish. So we need more little fish than big fish. Without that, life on this planet would end. It’s the natural order of things.”

  “That’s what separates you and me, Werner; you’re much too distrustful and heavy handed,” Carter said. Then he added, “Your faith in humankind stopped evolving a long time ago, Werner. People need leadership not control, and certainly not indentured servitude.”

  Lentz’s face morphed into stone. “In the end, no matter what sort of reforms your country decides to adopt, the board will adapt as it always does. Most of the governors believe your precious reforms will strengthen both our position and our concealment. As for you, Carter, everyone has a price. If you agree to our terms, you and your family will live long and wealthy lives. If you decide to die for your principles, we will accommodate you. Either way we win, because we are the biggest fish in the sea. The choice is yours.”

  “Where’s my family?” Carter demanded.

  “Your wife and daughters are here at the chateau. They’re already preparing to leave tomorrow for your funeral in Boston. Come on,” Lentz said, pushing himself away from the desk and standing up. “Let me take you to them.”

  As the two of them walked through the magnificent library and up the massive stone spiral staircase past more tapestries and classical art to the chateau’s master suite, Lentz turned to Carter. “You know, Carter. If you’d work with us, you might discover that our ultimate aims are not that divergent from yours.”

  “You mean as long as I accept the conditions of Satan’s rule in Hell?”

  Lentz laughed out loud again. “It’s going to be a pleasure having you here, Carter, if for nothing more than your humor.”

  “Tell the governors I’ll be happy to entertain them whenever they like.”

  Lentz laughed wildly, slapping Carter on the back.

  Carter smiled broadly. Manipulating Werner might prove easier than he’d thought. Maintaining contact with Wilson, on the other hand, would be more difficult than expected. But he’d already put a contingency plan in motion.

  When his wife Elizabeth and their two daughters Sarah and Amy saw Carter enter the room, they ran to him, throwing their arms around him. At least they were still alive, he said to himself. Now he just needed to keep them that way.

  68

  Wilson – Cambridge, MA

  When Wilson saw his mother, who had returned from the hospital to a fortified, yet blackened, Brattle House currently undergoing repairs and reconstruction, he felt an unexpected outpouring of sympathy and love. She was crying. They embraced. Between the sobs, she whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry, Wilson. I should have told you everything. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Of course, I can. I now understand why you didn’t,” Wilson said softly. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I love you, Mom. Don’t ever question that.”

  Wilson and his mother held each other in the foyer, while Emily embraced Rachel, Darrin, and little Mary. Everyone had returned from the hospital earlier that morning.

  Rachel came over to her mother and Wilson. Little Mary tried to wrap her arms around their legs. Wilson picked up
Mary and they pressed their faces together, the way they used to when Rachel and Wilson were children. For an instant, Wilson felt outside himself, viewing the gathering from a distance and wishing his father were present. He looked around, almost expecting to see his father’s face. But he wasn’t there. Still the feeling lingered, in a singular moment of family forgiveness and redemption.

  For his mother, Wilson imagined it must have been a sort of final cleansing. He could feel her body quivering in his arms. He gently tightened his embrace around her and Rachel. “It’s over. The long ordeal has finally ended,” he said, unsure why he lied to them, but he had, as if to shield them from what was sure to come. He no longer condemned his father and Carter for doing the same to him.

  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, they stayed together in the family room, which had been relatively untouched by the explosions and fire. They recounted their experiences of the past several days. Emily called her parents and sisters on Martha’s Vineyard, putting the call on speakerphone after a few minutes, giving everyone the opportunity to collectively express their feelings of relief and gratitude.

  Wilson’s feelings combined an odd mix of peaceful calm and nervous foreboding. He was greatly relieved that the imminent danger facing his family had passed, but deep down he feared what might come next. Where was Carter and what was he doing? Had the disclosure been nothing more than a first assault on their ultimate enemies?

  When Hap Greene arrived at eight o’clock and told them what else happened at Mackerel Cove the night before last, Emily and Wilson looked at each other in utter astonishment. They could only express their infinite gratitude, humbly acknowledging that none of them would be alive were it not for the vigilance of Hap Greene and his men. When Wilson told him that he and Emily had slept in a sailboat docked at the marina, Hap nodded with a smile.