by HN Wake
“My guess is a few weeks. I’ve also told them to approach Clooney although…well… he’s a bit old for the role…”
Penny excused herself from the table and headed to the bathroom.
Inside the quiet room, she locked the door. She stared at her image in the mirror. She’d just had her hair done; it was relaxed, shiny and straight. She reached into her purse, pulled out a nice lipstick and brought it to her lip.
In that instant, Beyoncé - the Beyoncé from the “Survivor” video in camouflage with perfect hair and make up - was staring back at her in the Mexican restaurant mirror. Penny smiled at this new mirage. Beyoncé smiled back. Penny placed the waxy tip of the lipstick along the contour of her lip. In the mirror, Beyoncé placed her lipstick against her lips and timelessly stayed within the lines. Penny took out her powder compact, tapped the sponge, and patted her face. In the mirror, Beyoncé patted the powder sponge. Penny flipped her smooth hair off her shoulder and in the mirror, Beyoncé did the same flip. Penny winked. Beyoncé winked back.
Then Beyoncé was gone.
Penny stared back at her from the mirror.
She dipped her hand into her handbag, searching. Her fingers closed around the burner phone.
She typed a text. “Are you scared?”
While she waited for Mac’s reply, she winked again in the mirror. The bravado was gone. A scared Penny winked back.
The burner phone pinged. Mac had written, “Nah. Not yet.”
Penny looked into the mirror and whispered, “I am.” She typed, “Ok.”
Across town, Charlotte and Stacia made their way through a crowded bar. Up on stage a steam punk band belted loudly. Charlotte leaned over the bar and looked back questioningly.
Stacia said, “A Stella. Thanks.”
The bartender placed their drinks on the wide bar. Her beer glass had a round Stella logo.
Charlotte asked, “Dude, where you been all week?”
“My crazy lady-boss has me working on a series.”
“On what?”
“The SFG if you believe it.”
“Yuck. Really?”
“Yeah. There’s this legislation coming up that would ban assault weapons. We’re trying to do something in advance.”
“Like a series?”
Stacia nodded.
“So are you like the lead reporter on the series?”
“It’s looking that way.”
“Dude, that’s hot!” Charlotte leaned over to the bartender and ordered two shots of Jägermeister.
They held up their shots for a toast. Charlotte said, “Here’s to you getting byline my sistah!”
The liquid burned down Stacia’s throat.
Charlotte asked, “So how’s it going?”
“They’re super dodgy and shadowy and shit. Different legal entities, websites, money coming in and going out all under secret. It’s some weird shit.”
Charlotte was distracted by the lead singer leaning out from the stage, howling into the microphone. Stacia took a long swig from her glass of beer and set it on the bar. Her thumb absently rubbed the gold logo on the beer glass. Something niggled in her brain. She stared at the bassist’s fingers plucking strings, but the music sounded distant. She turned and stared at the logo on the beer glass.
She quickly tapped Charlotte’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, just gotta make a phone call.”
In the alcove outside the bar’s door, she fished in her bag for her cell phone and dialed a number. She held the phone tight against her ear to block out the rain.
Freda answered in a worn-out voice. “This better be good. It’s Friday night, my daughter is burning down the apartment, and I just can’t build it up for you right now.”
“It’s all about their brand.”
“What?”
Stacia raised her voice. “If you don’t have a brand, you don’t have shit. I’m sitting here drinking a beer - a Stella - and I’m thinking to myself, this beer tastes like every other beer. So how does it get the huge following it does? I mean, does it deserve its very own glass in a bar? With a logo?”
“Ok?”
“Stella’s built a reputable brand. People trust it. Whether it’s trustworthy or not, Stella has convinced their audience that they’re making a superior beer for discerning beer drinkers. People trust the branding.”
“Ok.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about Scimitar. Scimitar is their biggest corporate donor.”
“Ok.”
“We haven’t really chased the corporate angle.”
“Ok.”
“Well, the SFG’s brand is a grassroots membership image, ‘we support gun owners of America’ kind of thing.”
“Ok.”
“But what if that’s not the truth? What if they really, ultimately, support the gun industry? I mean, to the detriment of their members?”
Freda was silent for a few seconds. “Nice work, kid. Get me something tomorrow.”
The following morning, Freda looked up over her morning coffee as Stacia walked into her office. “What have you got for me?”
Stacia checked her notes, squinting in the sunlight. “Background on the gun market.”
“Talk to me.”
“The US gun and ammo manufacturing industry is a $15 Billion market.“
Freda whistled.
“The industry pumps out 6 million guns a year and employs 440,000 people. Civilians buy 60% of the guns. The military and law enforcement make up most of the rest.”
“Wait. Citizens buy more guns than the US military and law enforcement agencies combined?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Go on.”
“Manufacturers make a crap load on ammunition. You only buy a gun once. You buy tons of ammo over your lifetime.” She looked up. “September 11 and the President’s election made a lot of gun owners twitchy. The market has been growing the last five years. I quote, ‘His election was the best thing that ever happened to the firearm industry.’ Unquote.”
“Lovely.”
“Also, gun sales spike after mass shootings.”
“Double lovely on rocks with a twist.”
“Licensed dealerships are on the rise for the first time in 20 years. Get this, Walmart is the biggest seller of firearms and ammunition in the US.”
“Really? Christ. Ok, so what did you find? How connected is the gun industry to the SFG?”
“The SFG claim they are not affiliated with any firearm or ammunition manufacturers or with any businesses that deal in guns and ammunition.”
“And?”
“They’re liars.”
Freda sat back.
“First, they take in a ton of ‘traditional’ donations from gun manufacturers. Because the SFG is registered as a 501c4, we can’t be sure how much. Best estimates range between $30 million all the way up to $90 million.”
“In ‘traditional’ donations?”
“Yes.” Stacia read from her notes. “Corporate partners who gave $45,000 or more include over 15 firearm manufacturers.” She looked up. “I’m talking all the big names here.”
“Huh. Big names and big fat checks.”
“Yup.” Stacia nodded excitedly. “And interestingly, of those corporate donors, 10 manufacture assault weapons and lots of their corporate partners produce high capacity ammunition.”
“Huh.”
Stacia held up a photo of eleven white men around a campfire.
“What is that?” Freda asked.
“That is the Circle of Liberty. If you donate more than $1M you too can be in the inner circle.”
They both stared at the photo.
Freda lamented, “None of my charitable contributions gets me a campfire.” She looked back to Stacia. “So all these guys have donated $1M or more.”
Stacia nodded.
“So the SFG has a lot of corporate donors.”
“Exactly.”
“What else?”
“Second, aside from donations almost all the gun manufact
urers also ‘sponsor’ shit. From what’s publicly available it looks like corporate sponsorships for SFG events run to the tune of $60 million every year.” Stacia started to tick off on her fingers. “One sponsored a fundraising program. Another sponsored an SFG TV show. That ammo company I mentioned, sells ammunition and shooting accessories and are the official sponsor of the SFG Annual Meeting --”
“So they’ve got corporate donors and then sponsors.”
“Exactly.” Stacia held up a picture of Neil Koen accepting an outsized check for $5M from an older gentleman. “This is Koen and the ammo company founder.”
“Not affiliated to gun manufacturers, my ass. They’re getting heaps of cash from corporates.”
“Correct.”
“How about any manufacturers on their board?”
“Funny you should ask. The SFG won’t publish it’s Board of Directors.” She looked up and said, “Which is weird. But, I’ve uncovered that out of the 80 board members, fifteen are lobbyists who lobby on gun issues - ten of which have gun manufacturers specifically listed as clients - and five of the board members are CEOs of firearms or ammunition companies.”
“So the SFG claims to be this big grassroots membership organization but is clearly in bed with gun manufacturers.”
“Yes. And another interesting aside: the SFG won’t let its grassroots members - you know, the members it purports to represent - elect the Board of Directors. The Board’s election is totally rigged.”
Freda whistled again. She stood and walked to the window. “Ok, so clearly they’re not a membership organization.”
“Clearly.”
“Let me ask you this: why are gun manufacturers bending over backwards to give them money?”
“Because they lobby on their behalf.”
“Explain that.”
“There are so many examples. I’ll give you just three. 1. The SFG successfully lobbied to end the federal assault weapons ban. Rifle manufacturing went up 38%. 2. SFG’s worked to pass the Firearms Owners’ Protection Act of 1987 which allowed the biggest ammo producers to ship bullets directly to consumers, dramatically increasing profits. 3. And the SFG successfully lobbied a bill that shields gun makers from liability claims.” Stacia looked up. “You can’t sue gun makers for damages, say, for a city’s health care costs from gunshot wounds.”
Freda stood quietly by the window, listening.
“One CEO said that liability shield bill was the only reason the US has a firearms industry.”
Freda turned. “If that law had passed, we wouldn’t have a firearms industry in America?”
“Correct.”
“The gun lobbyists saved the firearms industry.”
“Correct.”
Freda looked back out the window. “In a nutshell: they’ve lied all along about not being affiliated to gun manufacturers.”
“Correct.”
“They’re a gun for hire in Washington.”
“Check.”
“Every year they’re taking in 100s of millions in membership fees. And as we’ve seen, they are then ignoring their grassroots members’ interests. They are simply lobbying on behalf of the gun industry and themselves.”
“Check.”
“It’s like me paying for OPEC’s lobbyist because I use their oil.”
“Check.”
“And SFG members are none the wiser.”
“Check mate.”
“No reputation - I don’t care if you’re the establishment, the entitled, the rich, or the popular - no reputation is so superior it’s above scrutiny. Not here in the US anyway.” Freda looked up. “That’s it. That’s the first article. Get drafting.”
32
Dupont Circle, DC
The morning’s New York News was up on Cal’s laptop screen on his desk in the apartment. He sipped his first coffee as he finished reading it.
As an ATF Agent he knew that once every three months the media put out a heated, but despairing, piece on the gun control debate. This article was striking in that it was the second in two days from the New York News.
It also had a surprisingly sarcastic tone.
The SFG: Simply A Gun for Hire
By STACIA DeVries
New York News
As the US Senate considers a new bill on assault weapons, one of the country’s fiercest and most powerful lobbies stands ready for a fight. The Society for Guns brands itself as a civil rights group representing millions of the 74 million Americans who own guns. Many are starting to question if this is the case.
The latest polls find a majority of SFG members are in favor of limited gun control. It appears a growing theme is that the SFG has lost sight of their members’ interests. Said one member, “Protecting my family isn’t just about owning a gun. It’s also about keeping the guns from bad guys. I think the SFG has lost sight of this, to my detriment.”
The SFG’s strategy to fight any infringement on the Second Amendment for the sake of citizens may be a sleight of hand to cover for a darker agenda. The SFG helps to maintain the very lucrative $15 Billion gun manufacturing industry despite the organization’s protestations that it is ‘not affiliated to gun companies.’
Estimates put gun industry charitable donations to the SFG anywhere up to $90 Million. But more importantly, gun manufacturers ’sponsor’ many of the SFG's events and programs. Watchdogs estimate corporate sponsorships to the SFG may be as much as $60 million a year, likely a serious under-estimation.
Corporate support frees up the millions the SFG receives in membership dues to pay for staff salaries, including the $1 million-a-year they pay their Executive Director.
The SFG may have chosen a strategy that will eventually fail. An insider at a gun control advocacy group notes,“The SFG has drawn an imaginary line in the sand. Their extremism in the face of logic and reason will eventually exhaust most of their members. Even President George W. Bush cancelled his membership…”
Cal stopped reading and opened a new site. He researched the journalist and realized she was the one that did the piece on the Scimitar raid. He also learned she was quite young and had only been at the paper a year. It was becoming more interesting that the New York News had chosen someone so young to lead on two, back-to-back SFG stories.
An email inbox pinged.
It was a fourth email from Maar.
SUBJECT: BLUE LANTERN: POST-SHIPMENT END-USE CHECK ON LICENSE 88088
Origin:Embassy KABUL/AMEMBASSY KABUL
Classification:TOP SECRET
To: SECSTATE WASHDC
Date: 25 July 2013
HIGH PRIORITY
REF: STATE 88088
1. Blue Lantern Coordinator Kabul reports the recovery of a U.S. licensed M4 rifle with E-trace confirmed serial number matching License 88088.
3. The rifle has been confirmed in relation to the September 7 death of Neha Malhotra, US Embassy, by small arms fire attack in Kandahar province.
- JACOBY
Cal whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
He stared down R Street letting the revelation sink in. “Jesus Christ.”
He quickly pulled up Ranty’s contacts and calls him.
“Ranty here.”
Cal was almost breathless. “Ranty, it’s Cal.”
“My friend! What —“
“Listen Ranty, can we meet? Like urgently?”
“Ok, ok, can you make it out to Langley?”
“I’ll be there in 30. In the main parking lot.”
“I’ll be there.”
Cal raced back to the bedroom, muttering. “Holy Mother.”
In the parking lot of the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Cal canted heavily against the hot hood of his Jeep then righted himself. “Are you kidding me? Not only did someone cover up the Blue Lantern investigation out of Pakistan, but they fucking covered up that one of Scimitar’s guns killed a US diplomat!”
Ranty stared down at the cable opened on Cal’s cell phone screen. He couldn’t hide the stunned look on his fac
e.
Cal pointed his finger at Ranty. “Just exactly like you predicted; this one is Top Secret. This one only went to the top floors of CIA and State. It only went to the Mandarins.”
Ranty whispered, “What are we going to do?”
“First, you’re going to stay out of this. You have a wife and kids and a job. I’m going to prove there was a cover up.”
“Cal, if there was a cover up, it’s all the way at the top. Not only in this Agency, but State, and quite possibly other institutions —“
“It doesn’t matter. Someone got killed! This Malhotra woman got shot by a fucking Scimitar M4. This has got to get righted.”
“Long established institutions in this town. Powerful institutions.”
Cal walked all the way around his car to calm himself. He stopped in front of Ranty. “Go back. Go back inside. I’m sorry I called you out here. This is too risky for you.”
Ranty paused then handed him back the cell phone and turned toward the lobby door without a word.
33
Courthouse, VA
At 8 a.m., Mac saw Amanda Hughes leave her apartment building. She was wearing a similar summer dress, slim and bright and was carrying her leather briefcase. On her feet were tidy sneakers over pale yellow running socks. Her hair was freshly blown out.
Her stride was even and long. Her chin was up.
This was a woman who was now angry.
Mac threw out a cup of lukewarm coffee and hailed a taxi.
Capitol Hill, DC
Four hours later, Mac watched Amanda exit the SFG Lobby building on her lunch break and started off after her. When they were well out of range of the SFG Lobby, Mac strode up next to her and spoke into her ear. “We need to talk.”
Amanda stumbled, glanced over, and recognized Dora. “Jesus.”
