Killing the Giants

by Jeff Bennington

  “No, probably not. Do you think it was intentional?”

  “Hell yes, I do! I think the bastard filled up his tank, the spark needed for the pipe bomb!”

  “Maybe. But I need to know how that gas exploded. Because you know as well as I do that natural gas isn’t going to just explode in a self-contained system. It has pressure relief valves, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And wouldn’t the gas vent out of the open line after impact?”

  “That’s right.” Frank peered at Sarah curiously. “Come on, young lady, I want to show you something.” Frank led Sarah into his municipally funded Chevy Blazer. They drove toward the crash site and Frank started in.

  “First of all, Sarah, I want you to tell me what you think is missing from this scene as we approach the crash site.”

  The scene of the accident was easy to identify by the large blackened area that spanned from one side of the small highway to the other. Sarah squinted in search of her first and most obvious observation: skid marks.

  “My God! He must have driven full speed into that thing,” Sarah said as she observed the road ahead.

  “Good eye, Ms. Perkins. You passed the first test. Our local police tell me that he wasn’t driving fast at all. Based on the force of impact, they say he could not have been going over thirty miles per hour. So what does that tell you?”

  Sarah sighed and rubbed her eyes and forehead in frustration as she said in a sober voice, “That tells me that he was aiming for the metering station and intended on setting a car full of gas on those pipes.”

  “Unfortunately…I think you’re right. But there’s still one more piece of the puzzle. My problem with this whole scenario goes back to how the gas exploded inside the pipeline. Without oxygen in the lines, the gas would have just ignited and burned at the point of contact as it was released from the system.”

  “Right.” Sarah’s eyes connected with Frank’s. “Where’s the oxygen?”

  “Right there.” Frank turned and pointed into the woods. “It’s hard to see and I almost missed it. I almost missed it, Ms. Perkins, but we got something here. Look at the tree line up the hill there. Do you see anything out of place?”

  “No…not really.” Sarah looked up the hill.

  “Of course you don’t. No one did. The only reason I saw it was because I had to take a piss and walked up there to relieve myself. Come on. Let’s go up there if you don’t mind the terrain; it’s a little damp!” Frank chuckled to himself as they began walking.

  “Right here behind this pine tree…a 250-pound cylinder of pure oxygen! Now what the hell do you think this son of a bitch is doing up here? I mean, this is it, Ms. Perkins. When that gas mixed with the oxygen, it created a pipe bomb just waiting for a light…waiting for a spark…or a fully fueled automobile.

  “Just imagine, as the day came to a close and the temperature started to drop, our furnaces kicked on. Gas and oxygen entered each furnace when our homes called for heat. When the system had sucked in enough gas and oxygen, the car crashed into the metering station and…ka-boom!”

  “With that amount of oxygen, this guy was ready to blow this town to pieces. Any prints on the tank or car?”

  “No, not yet. We’ve got a John Doe on our hands. No name. No prints. Nothing. All we have is a witness who claims the man came from the east—probably to inject the oxygen into the system. The witness says he drove back west into town to get gas, and then headed back to the metering station.”

  “Who knows about the oxygen?”

  “Just me, you and my deputy assistant. I feel like I can’t release any more information until I actually have a name. If I have a suspect, that’s one thing. But until I have a name, John Doe is going to stay DUI, if you know what I mean.”

  “Okay. I see where you’re going with this. But why are you telling me? Why do you trust me?”

  Frank put his arm around Sarah and said, “I don’t know really. Maybe I trust you because you remind me of my daughter. Maybe it’s just the way you carry yourself. I don’t know. The question is, what can you do with this evidence? Can you help us?” Frank shook her shoulders as if she were an old friend.

  Slightly embarrassed and grinning, Sarah replied, “Well, I’ll do what I can. But I’ll tell you this much; between Chapleaux and Grande Isle, there’s definitely something going on that reeks of foul play. There’s something happening here that’s bigger than your small town and something bigger than oil. I don’t know if it’s terrorism, disgruntled scabs or something worse. What I do know is I’m running into the same situation in Grande Isle. We’re getting false television reports and potentially corrupt public officials as well. But, I think I know where to start looking for answers.”

  After Frank gave Sarah the complete tour of the damage, Sarah headed back south. However, she wasn’t going to Grande Isle.

  Chapter 12

  MIT

  Two days later: Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Sarah rushed into the Kline Auditorium and quietly closed the door behind her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, faculty, staff and students, I want to thank you for joining us here at the Twentieth Annual MIT Poly-Sci Student Initiative Conference,” said Carol Meager, a political-science adjunct faculty member. “I trust you have all had an educational and exciting weekend! Our next speaker is a man who needs no introduction. He’s a tenured professor here at MIT with twenty-four years’ experience on campus, and just as many years in the field. He has written numerous books on subjects such as global politics, economics, capitalism and socialism among others. He’s the president of the Society of Political Scientists, and currently resides on several corporate boards. So without further ado, I’m proud to present this year’s keynote speaker…Dr. David Liggin!”

  Dr. Liggin walked across the stage and the crowd stood to its feet, applauding and whistling. He wore dark brown pants, a tan sport coat, white shirt, bow tie and round-framed glasses. A favorite professor among generations of students, he had grown MIT Poly-Sci into one of the nation’s premier schools for political science and economics. Known for his skewed personifications and epitomes, Dr. Liggin had made a career out of bringing life to the study of the dreary world of political science.

  “Thank you, Carol. Thank you all. Thank you so much. Please sit down. Thank you for such a warm welcome. You have all been so gracious over the years. I truly am grateful to all of my colleagues and of course to the young sponges here, who even now, enter the sea of knowledge at their own risk.”

  The crowd chuckled. David waited for the rumble to die down.

  “As many of you can imagine, I would like to begin my talk today with a story. I want to tell you a story about a boy who came from a family with great wealth and power in a nation that was stricken with poverty and suffering. His parents were very loving and cared for the boy deeply. However, the youngster’s parents were also very fearful that the boy would somehow be harmed if he were introduced to the immense suffering that plagued their impoverished nation. And so, the boy was protected, shielded from the world around him. At all costs, his parents kept him inside the castle walls in order to ensure that he would not come in contact with the outside world. But as we all know, a boy’s imagination is hard to contain. Soon enough, the young, energetic lad became intent on exploring the world outside.

  “Like any boy, he often forgot to follow his parents’ instructions, and often veered too close to the castle gates. One day while he was playing, his ball flew over the castle wall. Quite naturally, the boy ran to the nearest gate to retrieve his ball. At that moment, the kingdom’s huntsmen were returning from a hunt. After the huntsmen passed, with the gates wide open, the squirrelly fellow slipped out of the protective gate and entered the world of his parents’ kingdom.

  “Knowing only a world of wealth and pampering, the young lad was astonished and overwhelmed by what he saw. The people lived in small huts, and on the streets, often carrying everything they owned on their backs. Many were
sick and suffering from disease or injuries from war. Their sores and scabs were infected and filled with pus. They were dirty, infectious, hopeless and infirm.

  “The children wore rags for their clothing, had no shoes and were desperately in need of hygienic care. They were hungry and malnourished, and yet they worked like adults to help provide for their families. Worst of all, the children in the streets had no toys.

  “Consequently, the suffering the young boy witnessed broke his heart. No matter how hard he tried, he could not erase the memory of the poor, hungry, suffering people in his parents’ kingdom from his mind. The boy began to resent his parents for withholding the truth of this world from him.

  “As a result of his broken heart and growing resentment, the boy planned to leave his parents’ care when the time was right. When he had grown to be a young man, he couldn’t take it anymore. He ran away, intent on discovering a way to rid the world of suffering, hunger and pain. The sight of misery made such a huge impression on the youngster that he dedicated the rest of his life to eradicating suffering and instituted a philosophy and religion that, although debatable, was capable of negating pain. In doing so, he spent six years of his life deprived of self-indulgence, food, drink and luxuries.

  “This young man lived around 500 BC. His name was Prince Siddhartha Gautama. You may know him as the Buddha—the author of Buddhism. Of course, most of us know him by the large figurines or statues of him sitting with his belly protruding.” Dr. Liggin paused as the crowd chuckled at his comment.

  “Seriously, I do not want you to mistake the purpose of my storytelling as a means of conversion. I’m not interested in communicating Buddha’s methods or philosophies. I wanted to tell this story because the story of the Buddha is about perspective. It’s about politics. It’s about economics and it’s about you! That’s right. The story of the Buddha is relevant to today’s study of political science. It’s relevant because the story of Prince Siddhartha Gautama demonstrates to us the power of perspective. This story demonstrates a natural understanding of God-given rights and liberty. This story demonstrates how our personal philosophies determine our politics and economics.

  “What I mean by this is politics and economics are individually and collectively determined by the perspective of each individual’s viewpoint and history. For the Buddha, his life of enclave luxury, and his ensuing awakening, made what was normal for many a personal quest of a redemptive reordering of things. Conversely, what his parents perceived as dangerous, the Buddha found appalling. He could not turn a blind eye because his youthful and unscathed spirit had not yet become calloused to the suffering that existed. In fact, he was obviously naïve. The suffering, however, was real. It was ugly. And as far as he was concerned, it was wrong.

  “Likewise, you will bring your perspective and history into the world of political science and economics. Think of this as a collective, perspective objective. Sounds cute, but it makes sense. Do not think that you must be a prince to impact your world for good or for malevolence. It’s obvious that Hitler, Stalin, Hamilton and Jefferson all made an impact on their politics and economics with humble and/or troubled personal experiences. And you are no different. Professor, bureaucrat or student, you are no different!

  “So, here we are. Even today, individual and group perspectives have brought us our current political and economic circumstance as determined by their collective perspective, whether it be moral or immoral. Yet as I look into the eyes of the coming economic storms, I fear that we’re suffering the consequences of those who think like the parents of Prince Siddhartha. The financial and economic leaders of our time seem to believe that it’s dangerous to look beyond the walls of their castles. They seem to believe that suffering is irrelevant, or that it does not exist outside of the small box in which they’ve kept their frame of mind. As I look at the exorbitant and irrational salaries of American business leaders, all I see is the blind, incongruous, illogical morality that drove a young boy on a quest to end all suffering. Our leaders find their needs quite compelling, yet somehow manage to overlook the needs of those just outside their gates. How convenient for them. How disastrous for those less fortunate, or for the masses.

  “You see, it’s this kind of perspective that guides and develops economic patterns and political structures. For example: Marxism leads to socialism, Stalinism leads to communism, capitalism leads to corruption and corruption leads to nihilism. The ultimate rebellion against greed and corruption is the historic uprising of the working class against an elitist society and a greedy, failing system.

  “Somehow leaders become blinded by their desires for personal indulgence, and neglect any personal responsibility that comes with their good fortune. However, the result is always the same: nihilism. The ultimate demise of elitism and its battle with the common man is always nihilism.

  “Truly, your perspective is both the means and the end of your quest. As future political scientists and economists, you will guide the world’s economies and politics. You will lead us down a road that can only be determined by your collective, perspective objective. Your combined perspectives will lead us into a free-market, capitalist, socialistic or nihilistic economy. One way or another, we will end up on a course that you will collectively determine. So as a mentor, friend and teacher, I beg you to consider the Buddha as you venture into the world of economics. Study leaders like him who made decisions that impacted the lives of millions of people solely by their perspective. As you enter the workforce, you will determine the financial and political course of your community, country and the world. Therefore, choose well, because if you do not consider what’s outside of your walls, you may wake up one day with a knife at your throat, blindsided by a nihilistic society that you created!”

  Dr. Liggin folded his notes.

  “Thank you so much for having me. I hope you have enjoyed the conference as much as I have. God bless you. We hope to see you next year. Peace.”

  The crowd roared with applause as it showed its appreciation and respect for its beloved professor. Quite naturally, he was swarmed with past and present students and faculty hoping to glean a small morsel of wisdom for their personal circumstance.

  As always, Dr. Liggin was available and willing to share. But among the crowd stood one who took precedence over the entire sea of faces. When their eyes met, they smiled, made their way through the crowd and embraced. Like a father with his beloved, long-lost daughter, Dr. Liggin and Sarah left the busy auditorium arm in arm.

  Sarah needed direction from her mentor. She needed a fresh perspective before she began banging down doors and chasing after terrorists. She needed to talk to the one person who could confirm her greatest fears.

  Chapter 13

  Little Girl

  Dr. Liggin asked, “How’ve you been? I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’m fine.” Sarah rested her head on Dr. Dave Liggin’s shoulder for a moment. “I missed you too! I guess I’ve just been working too hard.”

  “So what brings my favorite student back to MIT? It’s been so long, I thought you would never come back.”

  Sarah blushed and lifted her head. “It’s business, actually.”

  “Of course.” David laughed. “You’ve always been so straight to the point. So, is this about PPI and the bombings I keep reading about?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “I thought so. Come on. Let’s go to my office so we can talk in private.”

  As they walked, the two caught up on their personal lives, putting off the purpose of their meeting as long as they could.

  As they entered Dr. Liggin’s small office, Sarah immediately noticed that the room looked just as it did when she attended MIT. Every wall had a bookshelf filled with periodicals, journals and peer reviews. He collected all kinds of reading material from history books to copies of the earliest economic writings of Plato, Adam Smith, Machiavelli, Marx, Jefferson, and Hamilton. There was barely enough room on his desk to write.

 
Next to the cluttered workspace stood two worn leather chairs that were always cleared and inviting. The lighting was soothing, and invited reading and deep conversations. This wasn’t the first time the two intellectuals sat together in that old muddled office. Sarah felt at home.

  “So tell me, Sarah, what’s bothering you? You look deeply concerned,” said Dr. Liggin.

  “It’s not so much what’s troubling me. It’s just that I want to be sure I’m not jumping to conclusions. You know what I mean?” Sarah leaned forward in her chair. Her legs were crossed in a very ladylike fashion.

  “I understand.” Dr. Liggin nodded. “Are you wondering if the Giants are involved?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. It’s so hard to know what’s real and what’s just a conspiracy theory. I mean, I know you told us in school that the Giants exist. I know what I saw at GAP. But I’ve never had to go after them head-to-head. I’ve never been face-to-face with their power and corruption. And after studying under you, I’m a little scared that I’m paranoid. I don’t want to guess.”

  Sarah adjusted her position, her brown eyes twisting with discomfort.

  “What I’m saying is I don’t want to come out of this looking foolish. I don’t want to ruin my career by becoming the little girl who cried wolf. You know what I mean? So, tell me something that makes sense. Give me something that reaffirms what my gut is telling me. Because the rest of the world thinks this stuff is a bunch of crap. But I’m working on an investigation that doesn’t make sense unless what you say is true. So put your money where your mouth is, and give me something I can use…please.”

  Dr. Liggin pulled off his glasses and laid them on his desk to the left.

  “First of all, you don’t need to be afraid for your job, because if it’s the Giants at work here, you need to be afraid for your life. Unfortunately, I think you’re looking in the right direction. I can see that these circumstances are unusual and perhaps somewhat dubious. They have all the elements that reek of the Giants’ handiwork: scandal, class warfare and an unclear motive. Of course the most telling of these so-called footprints is the unclear motive.”