The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)
Page 11
“Okay, here are the details.” She smiled demurely and leaned forward. “I framed an oil executive by using a large glass water bottle with his fingerprints on it, his business card with his prints, and timed it when he could have placed it on the boat. The bottle was used as the bomb casing and his card was in a waterproof plastic sleeve so it would survive the explosion and submersion. As I anticipated, the victim put the card in his pocket. I requested the Maldivian Environmental Head deliver the bottle on behalf of the executive.”
“You made sure the suspect had the opportunity, the motive, and the means.... Your Harvard law degree paid off.”
“And they found Hassan’s floating body with the card in his pocket. Interpol’s now focusing on the oil guy.”
Gabriel raised his wine glass in salute. “That’s my girl!” he exclaimed proudly. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”
She clicked glasses. Like a proud child, she smiled wider and fluttered her eyelashes. “I topped it by paying a drug dealer to spread a rumor in their capital city—before the boat debris was found—that an oil company official had bought explosives and was plotting the deed.”
“Oh I love it!” He beamed. “You would have done well working with me in dirty ops, back in the day.”
“Flattery gets you dessert!” She chuckled.
“So how’s your boss? I read that old codger’s trying to position his Snath Group consortium to be the lead benefactor of the UN’s environmental agenda. From my estimation, he could reap over a hundred billion euros just in the first year.”
“You’re pretty astute, Gadget.”
His eyes crinkled. “How come you never call me by my real name, Gabriel?”
“Because Gadget fits you better. I like it, and truly, it’s meant affectionately. You’re my go-to guy. I get all my best toys from you.”
He gave her a look of paternal pride. “I do what I can, Dear, and what I can’t do myself, I have some associates assist...for a commission, of course.”
“You’re too modest. You’ve always come through for me, whether it’s a custom-designed weapon, a new type of security sensor, fake IDs, a self-activated computer with near artificial intelligence, or outfitting a form fitting dress with deadly accoutrements that can stop a football lineman.”
“Now who’s flattering who? Which reminds me to show you a fashion present later.”
“I can’t wait! And besides, I’ve been using Gadget for nearly 10 years, so I’m too old to change.
“You? Old? Anna you’re still young and beautiful. Skinny runway models have nothing on you. You’ve got a much healthier appeal. You’re what, 130 pounds?”
“Near enough.”
“And you, Dear, have an athletic build – squared shoulders, long, and, I might say, very sexy legs, but your muscle definition is a little too defined for my tastes.”
Anna smiled at what she considered a compliment. “Result of a lot of exercise.”
“Of course, I prefer my softer wife.”
“Was she soft before five children?”
“Actually, yes. And she never exhibits the aloofness you do. She’s almost always happy.”
Anna tensed. “Well, I grew up differently...comes with the situation.”
“Did you ever think of going a different direction with your law degree?”
“I was halfway through when you recruited me for Swanson, so no, not really. I mean, he paid the rest of my tuition and expenses, so I didn’t have to...”
“Work as a high-priced escort?”
“Yes....” She became more somber. “You really do know too much about me, don’t you?”
“Anna, since we met, you’ve spoken to me probably more than anyone else.”
“True. You’ve given me good counsel. And Alexis has taken really good care of me. I make more than I would as an associate law-firm partner.” She grandly waved her hand at the villa’s façade. “I live in an twelve million euro villa—”
“Which he owns, you don’t.”
“But I don’t have to worry about it either. I’ve got the fashions, the jewelry, money, and the exciting lifestyle I’ve always wanted.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.”
She had a hurt expression. “What’s a lie? I’ve worked most of my life to be independent, free of encumbrances, and able to fend for myself—”
“Encumbrances?”
“Yeah. Religion, family, being an adjunct of someone else.”
“Let me rephrase my question.” Both his hands reached out and brushed the light scars on her wrists, then held her hands in comfort. “Before you were assaulted in Okinawa, you were different weren’t you?”
She looked down. “That was nearly 20 years ago—”
“You were a good Catholic girl...young and innocent, full of life, gregarious, and talented.”
“And two years later, I took charge. By 17, I wasn’t naïve, weak, or emotionally vulnerable.”
“What was it you wanted before you changed?”
“To be a flautist and a pianist.” Her smile was thin and tight.
“I bet you were good, too. You have intensity, and a phenomenal memory. Why don’t you still play?”
Her head shook. “Like religion, I found practicing to be a waste of time.”
Look, I’m not criticizing you. I’m just pointing out that you chose a tough path. You quit everything that was social – drama, music...your friends. Revenge may be sweet, but it can rot the soul.”
Her hands pulled away. “That Marine deserved it!” Her voice was full of anger.
“Yes he did. Castration, and broken ribs and arms, were a little harsh, but understandable. Had you had someone to support you, your life might not have changed as much. Why didn’t you ever tell your father about the attack, and the back alley abortion two months later?”
“Because he was a good and honorable man. Then after he died in a training accident when I was nineteen...it was too late.” Her voice was terse.
“That’s your excuse?”
“He would have killed the guy! When I took revenge I made sure my father was deployed and couldn’t be court-martialed and thrown in prison.... And I ensured I wouldn’t get caught.”
“You turned to ice because you wanted to protect your father?” He was incredulous.
Anna pursed her lips and nodded with satisfaction.
“Did you ever grieve him?”
Her head slowly shook. “I was too angry.”
“At him?”
“Him for dying...at myself for disconnecting from him.”
“Then it numbed you?”
She shrugged a shoulder.
“I really hope none of my kids do what you did...pretend parents don’t matter,” he scolded her. “I’m sure if your mother hadn’t died when you were seven, you would have turned out sweet and cheerful.”
“I am sweet,” she retorted.
“When it suits you. And cheerful? I’ve only seen you truly happy when you’re with your dogs. Happiness may be in there somewhere.” He touched her heart. “Don’t let it atrophy.”
“Look”—her voice was sharp—“I’m damaged goods. I know it. But I’m a survivor, and I think I’m doing pretty damn good, living a life many just dream about.”
He patted the air. “Relax, Anna. Sometimes, I just get concerned.... How’re your martial arts coming along? Need anything?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Well, the equipment’s holding up pretty well.” Her intensity dropped.
“Have you changed fighting styles beyond the karate style Naha-Te? I mean, you’ve been a second degree black belt since UCLA. I can set you up with some advanced instruction.”
“I change it up with kick boxing, and I add some moves from other styles, but no, I’m pretty comfortable with what I know. Besides, I spar at a local dojo or with some of the guards on the Spider.... No, it’s the advanced weaponry that most intrigues me.”
“Which brings me to tonight’s visit.” He re
ached for his bag.
Her eyes lit up.
“Here’s the one-ounce Krugerrand, modified to your specifications.” He pulled open his case and took out a gold coin.
She picked it up and inspected it carefully. “Got a glass?”
He handed her a magnifying lens.
“How about an unaltered original?”
Another coin appeared in his hand.
She rolled each coin in her hands, feeling their weigh. She tapped each with a spoon to hear the sound.
“The weights are exact.... And they’re balanced…See the switch?”
She eyed the design carefully. “Is it the mark above Paul Kruger’s head?”
“Very good,” he said approvingly. He pulled out a small tool. “Put the Krugerrand into this holder, align it like so, then press down and turn the key clockwise. Rotate the mark 180 degrees for the standard setting, which should keep the signal undetectable, except for the ping. The opposite direction will turn it off. It’s got the temperature settings you requested and a 3-D printed lithium ion battery that should last five years.”
“And the advanced setting?”
“Turn it one full circle and the ping rate increases to every minute regardless of temperature. With the stronger signal, the battery won’t last long...maybe five days. And—”
“It’ll be detectable if they scan it. Yes, I understand.” She cocked her head. “How secure is the knowledge of these?”
“Total. I’ve got access to an advanced 3-D printing shop for several of the components, and I did all the assembly myself.” He handed her a USB flash drive. “Here’s the tracking software.”
She plugged it into her laptop.
He instructed her in how to track the coins using satellite GPS. “You should be able to track most anyone with one of these in their possession, provided of course its signal is not too shielded.” He pulled a large box out of his case.
“Shielding’s why I wanted you to embed the telephone number and code along the edge,” she explained. “With the code, they’ll have a ‘get out of jail free’ wish that can extricate them from difficulties, and thus they’ll keep it nearby.”
“I was wondering.... Anna, you make me so proud – that’s absolute genius!”
He placed the box on the table. “Now here’s the balance of the coins for a total of 300, along with a titanium skinned carrying case with foam inserts that allows you to place the 300 coins into the false walls—”
“In case Customs opens it...got it!”
“It’s too much for carry-on, just check it,” he said.
“So what’s my fashion present?” Her eyes lit up.
“It’s a wide belt that fits your 24-inch waist.” He lifted a round metal hat box out of his larger bag. Inside the round edge was a wide belt, which he pulled out. As he did so it straightened into a stiff belt.
She held it in her hands. “It’s nice, and rather odd. Stiffer and heavier than I would expect. I have lots of belts. What’s its secret?”
“Put it on and I’ll show you.... It actually uses Velcro for part of the connection.”
She put on the belt and connected it in the center.
He touched the front. “Now with your thumb and forefinger pressed at these two points, carefully grab the long buckle, which serves as the hilt, and slowly pull it out to your right. Be very careful! I sharpened it for you, so it’s got a razor edge.”
Her smile increased as a 22-inch long carbon steel sword straightened as it was extracted.
“Spring steel?”
“Yes, three thin layers held together by grease. So it’ll rust if you don’t keep it oiled. Yours is a black epoxy-coated blade rather than being brightly polished. I thought you’d prefer stealth over shock value. It’s called a BeltSword – contained inside the belt, held inside by a series of high-carbon steel clips that let it slide out quickly. It comes with a variety of sleeves for the scabbard to match different outfits. The manufacturer says ‘the greatest weapon is the one you never see!’ I couldn’t agree more. Shall I demonstrate?”
“Yes, please!” she said excitedly.
He pulled a plastic water bottle out of his bag. “Thought I would bring a target with me.”
He stepped back, threw it four meters into air, then quickly whipped out his own BeltSword and in an upward motion sliced the bottle in half before it hit the ground.
“I didn’t even realize you were armed,” she said with awe.
A double pointed blade appeared in his open palm. “And I’ve gotten you a matching pre-curved 9-inch dagger to give you a double weapon system. It’s shaped to the natural curve of your body and fits behind the front of the belt. It’s held in place by your body alone.”
“Please show me the moves,” she said gleefully.
Gabriel demonstrated the sword with a series of maneuvers, then pulled the dagger out to show the two-bladed fighting stance.
“To get it through the airport just insert the sword into the hat box and the X-ray will see it as part of the support.”
He pulled some more items out. “Here are some accessories, including a practice sword that doesn’t have a razor edge to it.”
“Oh I love it, Gadget! I’ve got just the right outfits to go with it.”
Chapter 13
June 20, 1800 hours
Davos, Switzerland
“We’ve done well this week,” Swanson told his executive staff seated around his hotel suite’s conference table. “The initial CO2 reduction technology contracts we’ve signed the last two days come to $27 billion. I expect around $150 billion by year’s end, and twice that next year. The pace is accelerating, so I want the company prepared to increase production. We want to be in position to grab the lion’s share of the contracts.”
“Mr. Swanson, why did you pull the phytoplankton from our offering?” Ian asked.
“Because I’m uncomfortable with our containment controls.”
“But Dr. Johansson said that’s the carbon absorption product that would have the biggest impact on CO2 levels.”
Swanson glared. “How about because I said so!” He paused, and his voice softened. “Look...I want a thorough evaluation done first showing that it won’t go beyond a project site. If it gets loose, then we’re just giving it away for free. As my accountant, do you really think we want CO2 levels to drop without our controlling it? That would undermine everything we’ve put into motion.”
“Has Johansson been told?” another asked.
“No. I will do that myself. Not a word from any of you. Understand?!”
“Yes, Sir!” came the unanimous response.
Chapter 14
June 21, 1500 hours
White House, Washington D.C.
The secret service agent opened the door and stepped aside. Jack Dowell, the President’s chief-of-staff, stepped through with Swanson just behind. “He’s expecting us.”
“Alexis, it’s good to see you! How long has it been?” President Jose Fernandez strode to eagerly greet the iconic financier.
“Mr. President, the pleasure is all mine,” Swanson replied as they shook hands. He sat as the President was reaching his chair.
Dowell frowned and wondered whether Swanson merely failed to follow protocol or was establishing the pecking order.
Swanson continued, “I believe the last time was at your fundraiser in New York City.”
“Yes, that was a very good night!” President Fernandez said, while musing, And the most lucrative fundraiser I’ve ever had. $25 million! “I appreciate you hosting that for me. Your mansion is spectacular, I might add.”
“Perhaps we can do that again this year?” Swanson smiled, while he contemplated, With the $10 billion fee I negotiated, I can pay for yours and every other presidential election for the next 20 years.
“Shall we get down to business?” Dowell prompted. “We’ve done a preliminary analysis of the proposal. It’s intriguing to say the least. And while it makes great business sense, it
might be a political disaster.”
“I agree Alexis,” said the President. “Even though my party has a super majority in both the House and Senate, and I’ve added two more Progressives to the Supreme Court in the past year, I’m not sure we can push this through.”
Swanson smiled. “Mr. President...what is there to actually stop you? America bought Alaska as an investment, and you can sell off an investment. Your critics have argued you lacked business experience, have they not?”
“Yes, what of it?” he said defensively.
“Would this not be the biggest business deal of the century?” He smiled. “Would you not gain a return of 6,666 times the initial investment…after considering inflation and re-settlement costs? Can any of your detractors claim a better financial transaction?”
The President’s eyes lit up. “No, they couldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t Congressmen be able to feign credit as well during their re-election campaigns?”
“Yes, they would.”
“The Russians are offering to resettle any who want to move back to the lower 48, and they’ll pay handsomely as compensation.”
Dowell interjected. “It’s not those who willingly leave that worry me—”
“Yes, I know,” Swanson cut in. “The holdouts who neither want to live under Russian control, nor want to leave. Alaska’s a tough place to live if you’re hiding from authorities. Because of the 50-year autonomy, few will be too upset, particularly if they think there’s more economic activity that might happen under the Russians.”
“Why would there be more?” The President’s brow furrowed.
“Maybe a bad choice of words.... Perhaps I should have said there’s equal economic activity, after all there’s still fishing and timber and tourism,” Swanson said. Maybe he really doesn’t understand what would happen.
Dowell chimed in. “Mr. President, you have to consider how Americans in the lower 48 would respond. We could have riots across the country.”
“Conservatives protest...they don’t riot!” Hernandez exclaimed. “After a couple weeks it would die down. Before the deal becomes public, we could get the press to run stories on the economic problems of having Alaska, of the historic purchase of Alaska as an investment that was meant as temporary.”