by Brad Thor
As Ryan plugged the location into her GPS device, Harvath saw the Land Rover up ahead and just beyond that, the stoplight.
“Put your head against the headrest,” he told her.
Ryan did it and flashed him the thumbs-up.
Harvath calculated their speed. It wouldn’t take much to surprise the driver of the Celta, but he didn’t want to surprise him; he wanted to stun him if possible. He also wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going so fast that his air bags deployed.
As the Land Rover slowed down for the next light, the Celta slowed as well, but Harvath maintained his speed.
When he struck the tiny car, he sent it skidding sideways across the wet pavement into a lamppost. Before he could even release his seat belt and glance at Ryan to make sure she was okay, Ashby and Palmer were already out of the Land Rover with their weapons drawn.
They immediately closed the distance with the Celta, threw open the door, and pulled its bloodied driver into the street.
As Harvath jumped out of his 4x4, he recognized the man immediately. He didn’t know who he had been expecting, but William Jacobson, the Federal Reserve’s security chief, definitely wasn’t it.
CHAPTER 72
William Jacobson was a hard, stubborn son of a bitch. Trying to get information out of him had been like trying to get blood from a stone. The Old Man had pulled his jacket and there weren’t any significant pressure points they could find. He had no wife, no children, no family. He was incredibly loyal to his employer. No matter how badly Harvath threatened him, he wouldn’t part with even the smallest detail about what the Fed, and with it Monroe Lewis, had been up to.
If Harvath had to torture him, he would, but that was never the first card he played. He was starting to think, though, that it was quickly working its way up to the top of the deck.
Harvath had already played what he thought was one of his strongest cards. He had threatened to turn Jacobson over to the Argentines to face murder charges, and the man hadn’t even flinched. No matter what downside Harvath outlined for the man, Jacobson simply shrugged it off or fixed Harvath with a cold, vindictive stare.
It was as if the man believed there was no force that the Fed couldn’t overcome and rescue him from. This left Harvath with very few options.
“I have to tell you, Will,” he said, “things are about to get even worse for you. You either start cooperating, or you’ll only have yourself to blame for what happens. We’re a very long way from home and nobody is coming to save you.”
Jacobson laughed. “You have no idea what you’re tangled up in, do you?”
“I have a pretty good idea. One of Durkin’s guys, a man named Stark, had a lot to say before Sal Sabatini killed him.”
“Durkin’s guys are pros. They’d never talk.”
“Everyone talks, Will,” Harvath replied with a smile. “It’s just a matter of when. For Stark, it was when one of Durkin’s Swim Club psychos pulled up in front of his house and gave him a play-by-play over the phone of what his family was up to.”
The smile faded from Jacobson’s face.
Harvath pressed his advantage. “The killer is named Samuel. Ever heard of him?”
A barely perceptible tic registered on the security chief’s face. Most would have missed it. Harvath didn’t. “If you haven’t met Samuel, you should. I think he’d like you. Or maybe not. I suppose it all depends with an unstable personality like that. But, I assume you know that. Salvatore Sabatini is another wack job. You’d love him, too.”
“Sabatini is dead,” Jacobson said. “You shot him.”
“I shot him, but I didn’t kill him. I merely clipped his wings. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but that was so we could keep him safe. We have him in a very special cage in a very secret place.”
“Both of them are nuts.”
“I agree,” said Harvath. “Completely nuts. What’s amazing is that their stories are almost believable. You know who they sound a lot like?” he asked studying his face. “Besides Stark, of course.”
Right then, there was another micro-expression that flashed across Jacobson’s face. Harvath was definitely hitting close to home.
“The other person they sound like,” Harvath continued, “is Tara Fleming.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
The man had answered a little too quickly, a little too emphatically.
“Funny, because I have surveillance footage of you entering and leaving her apartment building two days ago. Didn’t find much, did you?”
The vindictive stare was back again.
“You can give me the tough-guy stare all day long,” said Harvath. “Or we can talk, man to man.”
Jacobson guffawed. “I told you, you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Why don’t you break it down for me?”
The security chief was dead silent.
Harvath smiled. “Will, trust me when I tell you we’re now quickly approaching my least favorite alternatives. Like I said, I don’t want to hurt you, but it is on my list. Sooner or later, everyone talks.”
The man chuckled again.
Harvath nodded to Palmer, who produced a pair of EMT shears and cut away Jacobson’s clothing. Ashby came in with a metal pail filled with water and a stack of towels.
“Are you going to waterboard me?”
Harvath tilted his head. “Anything’s possible. It all depends on you.”
Palmer tore off two strips of duct tape from a roll and pressed one down onto Jacobson’s gray chest hair and the other on his equally hairy left side beneath his armpit. He then grabbed a corner of each and ripped them off.
The security chief cried out as much in surprise as in pain. As Ashby placed adhesive pads on the now-hairless patch of skin, Harvath shared with him something he had learned from his file.
“You’ve been on both Crestor and Lipitor. Now you’re on something I can’t even pronounce. There are some other heart-related meds in your file, which tells me—”
“How the fuck did you get hold of my medical records?”
“It’s a brave new world, my friend. You think Durkin’s people are the only ones who can hack into electronic medical records?”
Jacobson glared at him.
“So,” Harvath continued, “based just on your meds, I’m guessing you either have a bad ticker or there’s a serious history of heart disease in your family. Either way, we’re going to do a little stress test together.”
No sooner had Harvath said the words than he noticed the tic race across the man’s face again.
Wires led from the adhesive pads to a small, black Storm case whose lid was up and facing Jacobson. He couldn’t see what was inside, but his instincts told him it was some sort of defibrillator on steroids meant to deliver increasingly unhealthy shocks to his heart. When the young female removed his shoes and socks and placed his feet into the pail of water, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his instincts were right on the money.
“This part can get really uncomfortable,” Harvath said. “You may find your mind going in a bunch of different directions, so let me help you out. Here’s what I know.
“I know that Phil Durkin ran a host of black-ops programs out of the Central Intelligence Agency. One of those programs was a political destabilization team. Yes or no?”
“Fuck you,” said Jacobson.
“Wrong answer,” Harvath replied as he nodded to Palmer.
Palmer made ready behind the open lid of the Storm case as if he were about to throw some sort of switch. But as he did, Jacobson broke. “Wait.”
“Yes or no?” Harvath commanded.
“Wait… I…”
Harvath looked at Palmer and said, “He’s stalling. Shock him. Hard.”
“Yes,” Jacobson said quickly. “Durkin handled the team and Tom Cushing ran it.”
Now they were getting somewhere. It was time to see if what Stark had told Bill Wise in Boston was true. “Was Cushing’s team involved with
the Arab Spring?”
The security chief nodded. “Cushing’s team was the Arab Spring. They organized all of it. Right down to that fruit vendor who kicked it all off in Tunisia.”
“How about Jordan?” Ryan interjected. “Is Jordan on the list?”
It was the first time she had spoken during the interrogation, and both Jacobson and Harvath looked at her.
“Tell me,” she ordered.
“I have no idea,” Jacobson replied. “All those countries are the same as far as I’m concerned. I couldn’t tell one from another on a map and I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Was the prior Federal Reserve chairman, Sawyer, funding Durkin’s black-ops programs before he died?” asked Harvath.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he needed that destabilization team.”
“Why?” Harvath repeated.
Jacobson fell silent once more.
Harvath looked at Palmer. “Turn it all the way up and juice him. I don’t care if his heart does explode. I’m tired of being jerked around.”
“No!” Jacobson shouted. “I’ll tell you.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“The Saudis.”
“What about them?” Harvath demanded.
“The Saudis were blackmailing Chairman Sawyer.”
“Blackmailing him how?”
“The dollar has become worthless. The Fed has created too many of them and the U.S. government has run up hundreds of trillions of dollars in debt.”
“Hold on,” Harvath admonished. “The U.S. debt is nowhere near that number.”
Jacobson shook his head and laughed. “You have no idea how bad things are. It’s a house of cards and it is all ready to come down. The Saudis figured it out. Without our protection, they’re going to be overrun. They wanted to create a buffer zone.”
“Why would Sawyer care about what Saudi Arabia wants?”
“Because the only thing preventing our house of cards from falling is the fact that oil is bought and sold in dollars, American dollars. Take that away and everything goes bye-bye. The dollar collapses, the economy collapses, and civilization follows.”
Harvath was stunned. “And that’s what the Saudis threatened to do? Collapse the dollar?”
Jacobson nodded. “Normally, their intelligence services can’t even rub two sticks together, but this time they came up with one hell of an idea. Think about it. When the United States collapses, Saudi Arabia is going to be at the mercy of its neighbors. Why not work to make sure all of your neighbors are sympathetic to your cause? Let me ask you, in all of the Arab Spring countries that have been overthrown so far, who has risen up to be the new government?”
“The Muslim Brotherhood,” said Harvath.
“Which is loyal to which kinds of Muslims? The Shia Iranians, or the Sunni Saudis?”
“The Sunni Saudis, of course. Iran is Saudi Arabia’s greatest enemy.”
“The Saudis aren’t stupid. In fact, they’re quite cunning. They didn’t bother taking their ultimatum to America’s politicians, who are subject to reelection and the whims of the masses. They went over their heads and straight to the ultimate defender of the dollar, the Federal Reserve.
“What people don’t grasp,” Jacobson continued, “is that empires collapse. Ours will, too, if we don’t do everything we can to keep it alive.”
“And whose idea was it to go after the Fed candidates?” Harvath asked.
“Durkin’s.”
“Why?”
“Chairman Sawyer wasn’t just funding Durkin’s team for the Arab Spring; he was funding a ton of other projects as well. It was a quid pro quo. Durkin made the Arab Spring happen, and in return Sawyer secretly opened the money spigot for him. There was just one problem. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with how Durkin was doing things.
“The chairman’s tenure was coming to an end, and he was the one who had pushed the Board of Governors and convinced them that the next chairperson should come from outside the Fed. The five candidates were all people he thought could successfully firewall the dollar off from any further Saudi threats and, just as important, would resist Durkin.”
“But Durkin found out about the candidates and had them killed,” said Harvath.
Jacobson nodded.
“And then what? He keeps killing candidates until he gets one he likes?”
“You’re not thinking like Durkin.”
“Elucidate me,” Harvath replied.
“He never set foot on the road to toppling any Muslim government without knowing exactly who he wanted to install at the top.”
“We didn’t get hired to prevent these murders, did we?” Harvath said.
“No. The Federal Reserve needed to be seen to be doing everything they could. Plus, we wanted to have an extra set of eyes and ears as close to the investigation as possible.”
“Who’s we? You and Monroe Lewis?”
There was a look on Jacobson’s face that sent all of the tumblers in Harvath’s mind locking into place. “That’s who Durkin wanted as the new chairman, isn’t it?”
Jacobson simply smiled.
“How were you going to do it?”
“The Federal Reserve has a lot of secrets. There’s one in particular that would be particularly damaging if it was brought to light.”
“You were going to blackmail the Board of Governors into recommending Lewis for the chairmanship?” Harvath asked.
“The governors are unaware of this particular skeleton in the Fed’s closet. Lewis was going to not only bring it to their attention, but offer a rather clever solution to the problem.”
“Which would result in his name being put forward for the chairmanship.”
Jacobson smiled again.
“And you came down here to kill Durkin to tie up loose ends.”
Jacobson’s smile continued.
Harvath studied the man’s face. “What’s in this for you?” he asked. “Why did you go along with it all?”
“The world economy is crumbling. Something very bad, very dark is on the horizon. The chaos and anarchy the United States will face is like nothing history has ever seen. It’s going to be beyond biblical,” he said, pausing for a moment before adding, “The storm’s coming and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. I just want a seat on the Ark.”
“And you didn’t care what you had to do to get it.”
Jacobson smiled once more and Harvath had heard enough. He had trekked far beyond his purview.
Stepping outside the safe house, he activated his satellite phone so that he and the Old Man could talk about it in private. This wasn’t something he could make the call on. The President himself would have to decide what to do next.
CHAPTER 73
WASHINGTON
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
“You can call it whatever you like, George” said the President to his Director of National Intelligence, “but I call it treason. We’re a nation of laws. That’s what makes us a republic. We need to start enforcing those laws and making examples of those who think they’re above them.”
“And the financial system?” the secretary of the Treasury asked.
“We need to allow it to fail. That damn Federal Reserve has done nothing but allow banks to take bigger and bigger risks, and whenever they get in over their heads, it’s the taxpayers and their hard-earned money that is used over and over again to bail them out. That needs to stop.”
“So we remove all restrictions from the financial industry?”
“Hell no,” the President said, rebuking him. “I want a top-to-bottom review in the next seventy-two hours. I want to streamline that entire industry. They’ll succeed or they’ll fail on their own, but they’ll know where the lines are drawn and that they’ll be enforced. No longer will we hold that any business is too big too fail, and I don’t want to hear that any person is too big to jail.
“It is going to be painful, I’ll give you that, but we n
eed to take our medicine now, right now. If we don’t, we’ll never pull out of the nosedive we’re in. Our creditors need to know that not only do we have our house in order, we are also going to begin paying off our debt. For every job that’s been shipped overseas, we’re going to see five more spring up here by this government creating the most pro-business climate in the history of the modern world.”
“And what about the Federal Reserve?” the secretary of the Treasury asked.
“We’re not renewing their charter.”
“We’re not?” the man replied, stunned.
“No. The power to print money was intended for the Congress, not to be outsourced to some banking monopoly masquerading as a government agency. You’ve got twenty-four hours to get back to me with a plan on how we disentangle ourselves from the Fed.”
“But, Mr. President—” the man began.
“No buts. We’ve shut down central banks before in this country. It’s past time we do it again.”
“The shock to the economy could—”
“Be just what this country needs,” replied the President.
They went over a couple of additional items before the President thanked the Treasury secretary for coming and excused him from the balance of the meeting.
Harvath, Ryan, Wise, McGee, and Reed Carlton were all then shown into the Oval Office. It was the first time any of them had met the President. He directed them to the couches in the center of the room and asked them to sit down.
“We saw the secretary of the Treasury on his way out,” said Carlton. “He didn’t look so well.”
“Good,” replied the President. “Have you seen the state of our economy? The man should go to bed every night worrying that tomorrow he’ll be swinging from a lamppost if things don’t get better. I know I do.”
This President had been elected largely based on his common sense and a no-BS approach to problems. He was very charismatic and, unlike many of the slippery politicians in Washington, seemed to not only genuinely care about the condition that the country was in, but also to be truly confident that things could be turned around and that collapse wasn’t inevitable.
