by Brad Thor
“All overseen by a global governing body,” she said.
“For collective issues like human dignity and things that affect it? Of course. Individual rights have to take a backseat for the good of everyone’s collective rights.”
“Is there anything this global governing body wouldn’t have control over? It seems that almost anything could be placed beneath the umbrella of human dignity and collective rights.”
“I see what you’re doing,” replied Standing with a wry grin. “You’re trying to box me in.”
The journalist shook her head. “I just find it interesting that a billionaire, someone who has so benefited from capitalism, should be such an outspoken proponent of socialism.”
Standing bristled at the remark. “You’re an attractive woman, my dear, but you had better wise up. Big tits and a pretty smile are only going to get you so far.”
Julia was stunned by his vulgarity. “Excuse me?”
“You have no idea how offensive I find that remark. Do you have any clue, any clue at all how fatiguing it is to be committed to doing good, only to be hammered for it day in and day out by people like you?”
“People like me?”
“Yes, you free-market zombies. All you do is complain about government intervention. You lie to anyone who will read your columns, listen to your radio programs, or watch your TV shows. You tell them we need less government regulation. You tell people that capitalism works precisely because people pursue their own self-interest. You don’t want any checks on that self-interest at all. Every man and woman for him- or herself. No accountability.”
Leading financial figure or not, Julia had no intention of letting his remarks go unanswered. “Your tasteless comment about my breasts aside, Mr. Standing, I never said people in the free market should not be held accountable. I think they should. But the answer isn’t adding more rules, it’s to enforce the ones we already have. If our lazy, inept bureaucrats had been doing their jobs, Bernie Madoff would have been caught. What’s more, the thousands of Wall Street bankers who bundled lousy loans in collateralized debt obligations they knew would tank would also be locked up.
“And while we’re on housing, as far as your HOA analogy goes, I wouldn’t want the value of my home to drop for any reason. If it did drop, then I’d lose equity, but I should decide if I help neighbors in their time of need. The government shouldn’t make that decision for me. Sometimes, it’s not a handout that people need, it’s a kick in the rear.
“If a family has honestly fallen on hard times, then I believe good neighbors would pull together to help them. That’s what we do in this country and we do it because it’s right.
“You, though, don’t want to address how that family fell upon hard times. In your mind, they’re automatically victims. Their situation could never possibly be their fault. If they’re poor, or in financial straits, that’s because somebody else put them there. Somebody stole what was rightly theirs or prevented them from achieving. You’d never think to ask if maybe they purchased a home they couldn’t afford. Did they purchase expensive vacations and flat-screen TVs instead of laying away emergency funds for a rainy day?
“And while you see these people as victims, I and the other free-market zombies, as you put it, see these people as individuals. Individuals empowered to make their own decisions. Neither you, the government, nor anyone else has the right to be in the business of trying to regulate outcomes. You can call it social cohesion, income equality, or social justice. It doesn’t matter. Despite whether the term offends you or not, what you are advocating is pure socialism.”
Standing gripped his butter knife and tried to keep his temper in check. “If asking society to invest in its citizens in order to make life better for them is socialism, then I guess I’m guilty as charged.”
“But you’re not asking society to do these things. You’re trying to force it. You want to subvert the power of nations to decide their own destinies in order to impose a global system of laws overseen by a global system of governance. You’re not only a socialist, Mr. Standing, you’re a socialist who has not only benefited greatly from capitalism, but one who then wants to use those gains to utterly destroy capitalism and replace it with your vision of what will bring about some sort of perfect world where an omnipotent government provides everything people could ever want or need.”
“Socialism and communism are simply terms meant to demonize. I don’t even think you know the difference between them.”
Julia Winston nodded vehemently. “I most certainly do. They both seek public control of the production and distribution of wealth and while many believe they mean the same thing, they don’t. One is voluntary and the other is involuntary.”
Standing rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes. Evil communism forces everyone into what the state wants and socialism is elective.”
“Wrong,” she replied. “Communism is the end game of socialism. Communism is the theoretical, stateless utopia where mankind has been perfected to the point where government is no longer needed.
“A completely voluntary communist society stems from the Marxist theory of evolution. For the Marxists, the communist utopia is the apex of human development-a time at which man has genetically evolved out of his selfish ways and consistently acts toward the common good, completely of his own volition. To get from capitalism to the hypothetical utopia of pure communism, society must be subjected to the tyranny of socialism. That’s where people make their mistake in describing the two philosophies. They think socialism is voluntary and communism is involuntary when actually the reverse is true.
“So in the interim phase between selfish capitalism and selfless communism we have socialism. Under socialism, mankind, for its own supposed good, is subjected to the authority of dictatorship, an enlightened ruling class of elites who control the human environment in egalitarian terms in order that they may steer the proper genetic evolution of mankind.”
Standing looked at her. “You are such an attractive woman, I could almost believe anything you say. I think that’s why FOX News has been so successful.”
“You are changing the subject, Mr. Standing,” said Julia.
“I haven’t changed it, my dear. You have. Don’t you believe in justice? Don’t you believe in people not being allowed to game the system?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why are you so against making the world a better, more equitable place for all of us?” Standing asked. “You have given me the usual shallow, shopworn defense of capitalism, but you haven’t given me one concrete reason why my ideas are so unreasonable.”
“One concrete reason?” the reporter replied. “I can actually give you four. First, it is morally wrong to take anything that doesn’t belong to you and having the state do the taking doesn’t magically make it okay or right. Second, socialism has been tried repeatedly and has never worked, anywhere. Yet each new crop of elites think they can enact socialism and this time it will be different. They stick the socialist fork back in the electrical outlet expecting a totally different outcome, but it always ends up the same.
“Third, when people become reliant on the state, that reliance erodes their self-respect, their sense of self-worth, their work ethic, and their independence. Finally, socialism promotes class envy and class warfare. The makers resent the takers for draining their resources and the takers resent the makers because no matter how much the takers take, they always want more. They erroneously believe that the makers have an abundant supply from which they should be continuously compelled to give. But, as Maggie Thatcher so aptly put it, the problem with socialism is that eventually you run out of other people’s money.”
Standing shook his head. “I’m afraid you have misunderstood me, my dear.”
“You know what, Mr. Standing? At first calling me my dear was cute. You reminded me of my grandfather, but now I find it patronizing.”
The billionaire liked that he had gotten under her skin, but he didn’t like bei
ng compared to her grandfather.
“And as far as misunderstanding you,” she continued, “I haven’t. I understand you all too well. Listening to you speak, I keep remembering that old Chinese proverb. Give a person a fish, and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a person to fish, and he’ll eat for a lifetime. Your problem is that you want to give everyone fish. If you really cared about human dignity, you’d be giving everyone fishing lessons.”
Standing shook his head once more. Why was this so hard for these flatearth types to understand? “Despite everything we’ve talked about, despite the disproportionate number of haves versus have nots, the inequitable distribution of wealth, all of it, you’ve never had one doubt about capitalism? You can look me in the eye and tell me that somehow greed and self-interest are good things?”
“All I know, Mr. Standing, is that there is no perfect place where greed doesn’t exist. In fact, the greater the government control, the more greed there is. The people who are the worst off in our world don’t live under capitalism, they live in societies that have turned away from or are prevented from embracing capitalism and free trade. So you’ll pardon me for saying so, but what you’re proposing isn’t going to make the world a better place. If you were successful at doing what you say you’d like to do, it would make the world a much, much worse place, and I pray to God it never happens.”
“God,” said Standing with a derisive sniff. “You see the state our planet is in and you still believe in God. You really aren’t very bright, are you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“I’m bright enough to realize that now that you’ve made your money and are one of the wealthiest people in the world, you’ve abandoned the ideas that got you here and have replaced them with fantasies of a classless utopia,” said the reporter as she stood up.
The billionaire was taken by surprise. “What’s going on?”
“Thank you for the wine.”
Was she leaving? “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to my office to finish writing my article.”
“I asked you to dinner and expect you to stay for all of it,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he took hold of her arm. “Sit down.”
“You’ve got less than two seconds to take your hand off of me, Mr. Standing. I promise you that I’ll snap your wrist before your security team even knows what has happened. I can only imagine that bones break very easily in a man of your age and take very long to heal.”
How dare she? Standing was enraged, yet he forced a smile onto his face and removed his hand from her arm. People in the crowded restaurant were watching. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves. I’m sure we can find something else to talk about.”
Sliding out of her chair, Julia Winston forced her own smile. “Good night, Mr. Standing.”
As she walked away, Standing got in the last word, uttering it loud enough for her to hear. “Bitch.”
He snapped his fingers to get the attention of his security detail and indicated that he was ready to leave. He’d be damned if he would suffer the additional embarrassment of sitting at his table and dining by himself like some lonely old man.
His waiter rushed over. “Is everything all right, Mr. Standing?”
“Everything is fine, Jeffery,” he said, a less-than-convincing smile upon his lips. “Something has come up and we won’t be able to dine with you tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Looking at the three-thousand-dollar bottle of wine, he added, “What would you like to do with the Montrachet?”
Though he would only pour it down the drain once he got home, Standing certainly wasn’t going to gift such an expensive bottle of wine to a mere waiter. “Put a cork in it and give it to Max,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at the head of his security detail. He then stood up from the table and headed for the front of the restaurant. He had no idea that his evening was about to go from bad to worse.
As he climbed into his armored Denali, Standing’s encrypted cell phone rang.
CHAPTER 33
Standing told his driver and security team to stand on the sidewalk while he sat in the Denali and took the call. He didn’t want anyone to listen to him speaking to Robert Ashford.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” said the MI5 operative.
“You seem to be in the bad-news business a lot lately, Robert,” replied Standing. “It’s starting to become a habit I don’t care for.”
And Ashford didn’t care for the rebuke, but he held his tongue. Standing had too much incriminating leverage stacked against him. He decided to get right to the point. “I’ve received word that the rabbit hutch was compromised.”
Standing had expected the conversation to be about what had happened in L.A., not about Mustafa Karami and the terror cell in Sweden. Rabbit hutch was the code name it had been given. “How was it compromised?”
“Local authorities are being very tight-lipped. They suspect a foreign intelligence agency had targeted the cell.”
Standing’s blood pressure was starting to rise. “Which intelligence agency?”
“They believe it was the French.”
“The French? How the hell would they have been involved?”
“They have some sort of evidence pointing to the DGSE’s Action Division. They seem pretty convinced it was them. The French, of course, are denying it.”
“Of course they’re denying it,” snapped Standing. “There’s no way the French could have put any of this together.”
“Well, someone did.”
Ashford was right. “Tell me what happened.”
“The hutch operated two apartments, one across the street from the other. One was where operations were handled. The other was a completely sterile safe house. All computers, cell phones, and what-have-you were kept in the operations apartment.
“Somehow the location of the apartments was uncovered. An assault team outfitted to look like the Swedish Security Service attempted to take them down.”
“Attempted? Meaning they didn’t succeed?”
“The operations apartment was rigged to explode, and when the assault team hit, it did.”
“What about the safe house apartment?” asked Standing.
“Two of the faux Swedish Security operatives were seen going into that building as well. One man from the hutch was thrown from the window and killed. There was also gunfire. According to witnesses, when the phony Security Services men exited the building, they had another man with them. He was bleeding. They had a car parked outside. They laid him on the backseat and then the three of them drove away.”
Standing’s heart suddenly stopped beating. “Was it Westminster?”
All of the terrorist network’s commanders and lieutenants had been named after locations in the United Kingdom. The head of the network, Aaazim Aleem, was Oxford, Mustafa Karami, Westminster.
“No. He was much younger,” said Ashford.
“Was he from the hutch?”
“Some said he looked Arab, some said Italian, but I think we should assume he was one of ours.”
“Okay, but why only take him?” asked Standing. “What happened to the rest of them? Where’s Westminster?”
“Including the man who had been thrown out the window, they have found seven bodies at the safe house apartment. They were all younger men in their twenties and early thirties.”
“So no sign of Westminster. What about Cardiff?” he asked, referring to Sabah.
“Based on what I have been able to glean,” replied Ashford, “they are not among the dead at the safe house, which means-”
“Either they were in the operations apartment when it blew, or they managed to escape altogether.”
“Correct.”
Standing worked to keep his anger in check. First they had gotten to Aazim and now they had tracked down Karami. He needed to think. “Could the Americans be behind this?” he asked.
“Carlton and his group? I don’t know how they could have located the hutch
, but they were the ones who tracked down Oxford, so we should probably put them at the top of our list.”
“I don’t want to hear ‘probably.’ I want to hear ‘for certain.’ You have a relationship with them. Use it.”
Ashford was getting angry again. “And just what am I supposed to do? Ring them up and ask if they happened to have anything to do with hitting a terror cell in Sweden? We were lucky to have taken care of Oxford before they could turn him over. If I start asking questions about Sweden, they’re going to get suspicious.”
“Then you’d better see to it that they don’t. You’re the spook, you figure it out,” said Standing, adding, “If Westminster did manage to get away, how long until he makes contact?”
“It depends on how long it takes him to get to the alternate safe house. Once he’s in place, we’ll hear from him.”
“If you don’t hear from him in the next eight hours, cut him out of the loop and promote the next commander.”
“That would be Birmingham.”
“Fine,” replied Standing.
“And if Westminster does make contact, what do you want me to tell him?”
Standing thought about it for a moment. Whether it was the Americans or not, someone had managed to track down the Uppsala cell. Whom they had taken out of the safe house and driven away with was anyone’s guess. Someone was way too close. They needed to step up their plans. All of the attacks had been color-coded. “The silver- and goldsmiths have already received the newsletter, correct?”
“Yes,” said Ashford, using the code words for the next attacks. “Silver and gold are ready to go, but do you really want to jump that far ahead?”
“We don’t have much choice, do we? Somehow, trade secrets have been compromised. I want silver tomorrow and gold the day after.”
“I’ll handle it. Anything else?” asked Ashford.
“Have you cleaned up your mess in Los Angeles?”
“I’m still working on it.”
