In the question period, it was obvious the audience understood the implications. “What you’re doing in Silicon Valley is just amazing,” gushed one questioner, “but, I don’t understand. These young people…” She looked puzzled. “They’re just giving you incriminating photos, sharing their most intimate messages, providing you with all the information anyone would ever need to manipulate them, even blackmail them or control them later in life. I don’t get it. Why?”
The Omnibooks CEO looked at her. “I don’t know why,” he said with a smirk on his face. “They ‘trust me.’ Dumb fucks.”
The audience got a good laugh at the naïveté of the public. I managed a smile that masked my revulsion at the scheme.
As the uproar died down, I saw the next panelist had a grim expression on his face. “Silicon Valley is not monolithic,” he interrupted. “We’ve always had a very different view of privacy than some of our colleagues in the valley. Privacy means people know what they're signing up for, in plain English and repeatedly. I believe people are smart and some people want to share more data than other people do. Ask them. Ask them every time. Make them tell you to stop asking them if they get tired of your asking them. Let them know precisely what you're going to do with their data.”
Another panelist rolled his eyes. Mister… Doctor? Frederick stood up. “I see we’re running a bit long, and we certainly don’t want to stand between our audience and their lunch.” He turned to the speaker. “I’m sorry we have to cut you off, but I’m sure we’ll all be able to hear further from you some other time. Let’s all thank Mr. Steve Jobs and the rest of our panelists.”
From the angry looks the Apple CEO received, I was concerned for his life expectancy. I didn’t have time to worry about it just then, though. I made a beeline for Brother Francis’ cottage as the applause was dying down.
Caitlin let me in.
Rob was already there, going at it with Bulldog, “This is chicken shit, and you know it.”
Bulldog was apologetic, but adamant. “I don’t like it either, Gunny, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you. Brother Francis will be here in a moment. He wanted to explain the situation to you personally.”
“Nothing Francis has to say can change this chicken shit into chicken salad,” Rob insisted. “We gave you the plans and proposed a joint operation. We take the spearhead, and share and share-alike in the recovered data. Now you’re calling it off?!?”
The two glowered at each other: Rob demanding an explanation, and Bulldog holding his ground and insisting Brother Francis would explain everything. Fortunately Brother Francis arrived in time to avert their coming to blows.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Rob demanded angrily.
Brother Francis held up a hand. “We don’t have much time before you are missed, and I have much to tell you.” He turned to Caitlin. “We’re secure?”
Caitlin looked offended. “Of course. We have an epic lunch time story of yours playing for the benefit of the Civic Circle. You’re currently enlightening us all on how you played wingman for Prince Charles at a polo match, covering for him, so he could have a discreet liaison. We have,” she glanced at her watch, “42 minutes.”
“Ah, that one. Very well,” Brother Francis said. “I insisted that I be the one to speak with you, Gunny,” he assured Rob. “I conveyed your proposal to the head of my order last night. I recommended that he approve it. I became concerned that he did not endorse my recommendation immediately. This morning, I learned why.
“The Superior General believes that this opportunity is ‘too important to be left to an unknown band of American irregulars.’ Last night, he dispatched a platoon of ‘Fidei Defensor’ to lead the attack. They are arriving this afternoon, and will execute the attack this evening on your original timetable.”
Before Rob could explode at him, I asked, “These are what, Swiss Guards?”
“No ceremonial palace guards could hope to pull this off, particularly without having trained for the operation,” Rob pointed out.
“They’re an elite unit of the Pope’s own Swiss Guard,” Brother Francis explained. “They help defend the faithful in trouble spots around the world, and they have much experience in irregular warfare. Think of them as… ‘the Vatican’s ninjas.’”
“Vatican ninjas? What is this, some kind of Declan Finn Pius Thriller?” Dad had been a big fan and had all of Declan Finn’s books.
“I assure you, they’re entirely real,” Brother Francis insisted, “although I can also assure you they do not rappel down cathedrals, burst through stained glass windows, whip automatic weapons out from under their cassocks and mow down villains like in that ridiculous movie adaptation.”
“I don’t care how good they are,” Rob said flatly. “Tunnel clearance is a specialized operation, and if they haven’t trained for it, they’re squandering the opportunity and throwing their lives away. They can’t just waltz in there, shoot the place up, and hope to walk out again.”
“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Bulldog muttered.
“There is evil there that does not sleep.” Brother Francis nodded. “The Great Eye is ever watchful.”
I should have figured the Albertians for Lord of the Rings fans.
“We all know as much, Gunny,” Brother Francis assured Rob. “My companion… you call him Bulldog? He tells me you are the sort of man who knows what it means to have to take orders you do not like from leaders whose judgement you find… questionable. That is the position we find ourselves in, and we control the access needed to make the plan work.”
Rob glowered impassively at Brother Francis.
“Isn’t it better that someone take this opportunity to strike a blow at the Civic Circle even if it’s not you and your group?” Caitlin offered.
“I could ask the same of you, you know,” Rob offered. “One anonymous call alerting the Civic Circle and the game would be up. I can veto your attack plan as easily as you’ve vetoed mine.”
“We have done wrong by you, I know,” Brother Francis acknowledged. “I will do all in my power to make it up to you. That is because I believe you are an honorable man: a man who will not betray a friend over a slight, or lose a war to spite even a feckless ally. I think you are a man with whom we can do business, Mister Robert Burdell.”
He knew who we were. Of course – they certainly knew who I was, and fingering Rob from a list of my known associates would be trivial. There was a threat underneath Brother Francis’ honeyed words. If we crossed the Albertians, they could surely do the same to us. There was also an olive branch as well – a promise to work together.
“Very well,” Rob acquiesced to the inevitable. “Are we to sit this one out? Or do you have a suggestion for me to consider how we might assist you?”
Bulldog stepped forward. “The earlier refuge. The one on the north end of Jekyll Island, under the Horton House. While the main raid is underway here, we can penetrate the facility there. Perhaps there is more of value there? A backup of the primary facility here under the Historic District?”
“I rather doubt it,” I offered. “Our information is that the facility had a fission reactor that suffered some kind of catastrophic failure about a hundred years ago.”
“Someday,” Brother Francis stared intently at me, “you are going to have to explain your sources of information.”
“Someday, perhaps,” I acknowledged, “it won’t be today, though. I doubt there’s much but ruins there. I would be curious to see it. The safest time to go spelunking would be when the primary target here is already under attack. Don’t we have a dosimeter?”
Rob nodded slowly. We outlined a plan. We’d go to the north end of the island. Brother Francis had arranged a party at a condo complex there as an alibi. We’d make an appearance, sneak out, and return when we were done. Jekyll Island was less than a mile wide at that point. We’d cross on foot along a trail and meet up with Rob and his team at the Horton House to kick off the operation. They’d arrive
through the marsh by boat bringing all the gear and taking away any loot we might find.
We worked out the details.
“I need to be getting back,” Rob looked at his watch. “A gesture of trust – one you have not earned, but nevertheless, I offer. You should know that the Civic Circle attempted to assassinate a journalist last night – Andrew Breitbart. The attempt failed, and nothing has been seen of the assassins since.” He paused. “They will not be seen again. The Circle’s security may be on alert.”
Brother Francis nodded. “That is good to know, but how can you be sure the Circle’s killers will not be found?”
“The Civic Circle has means to dispose of unwanted bodies,” Rob explained. “We used them.” The drums of acid in the warehouse attached to the Berkshire Inn? I thought that through. If the bodies were found, the prime suspect would be whoever within the Civic Circle had access to the warehouse and knew of the drums. I approved.
“Thanks for sharing that with us, Gunny. Sorry the guys upstairs are being such dicks,” Bulldog apologized. “We’ll try to make it up to you.” He held out a hand.
Rob took Bulldog’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “See you at the Horton House, tonight.”
Caitlin closed the door behind him. “Lunch?”
We dug into the tray of sandwiches Rob had left for us. Caitlin handed me one, and I noticed a diamond ring on her hand. “You weren’t wearing that last night. Who’s the lucky…”
The expression on Bulldog’s face gave him away.
“That’s because I got it last night,” she smiled in sheer delight. “‘Bulldog’ finally proposed, and I accepted.”
The happy couple looked at each other as I congratulated them, Caitlyn with her arms around Bulldog, holding him close. “With all the hatred in the world,” I told them, “I’m glad to see there can be love as well.”
“Hatred, I can deal with,” Bulldog explained. “I like hatred… if it’s from the right people and for the right reasons. Your goal in life shouldn’t be for no one to hate you. Way I see it, your goal should be to make every sordid degenerate monster out there foam at the mouth at the mention of your name. I know that may not be very Christian of me.”
“‘All men will hate you because of me,’” Brother Francis quoted scripture, “‘but he who stands firm to the end will be saved.’ I think our Father in heaven will see fit to forgive you.”
“I still have trouble believing the world stands so close to the brink,” I made a confession of my own. “I never thought there could be such evil or that it could work so openly.”
“They believe themselves beyond good and evil,” Brother Francis explained. “For them, there is only power. No beauty, no virtue, and truth is any narrative that supports the power structure and furthers their control.
“Do you know the Story of the Tower of Babel?” he asked.
“Men tried to build a tower to Heaven,” I answered. “God objected and foiled the scheme by making everyone speak different languages.”
“The Story of Babel is the story of utopianism,” Brother Francis explained “Men sought to build so high as to reach heaven, to ascend above the heights of the clouds, above the very stars of God. It is the same unbounded pride that led to the totalitarian disasters of the 20th century. The same limitless arrogance that threatens to overwhelm us today. What Friedrich Hayek called the ‘Pretense of Knowledge’ – the notion that anyone could arrogate to themselves the omniscience of the divine and know enough to successfully engineer and control society.
“Even our enemies understand the symbolism. A few years ago they built a parliament building for the European Union explicitly modelled after the Tower of Babel. They openly defy God. They talk of building systems and institutions ‘too big to fail,’ never realizing in truth they are so big they have to fail.”
“I’m not sure waiting for that failure is a viable option, Brother Francis,” I noted. “The Civic Circle is creating a huge web of surveillance and control over society. What they have created will not be easy to overcome.”
“No, Peter,” Brother Francis shook his head sadly at my ignorance. “Satan cannot create. He can only unmake the Creator’s creation. He whispered in Eve’s ear, enticing her to eat of the fruit of knowledge and become like God. She and Adam did, committing the original sin – the attempt to defy the limitations of their own human nature and become as God.
“Similarly, human ingenuity and creation is a reflection of that divine spark, and Satan’s minions cannot create, either, only take or destroy. They are fundamentally parasites, living off the good works of human creators, and at their sufferance. Although Ayn Rand grasped that truth in Atlas Shrugged, she failed to comprehend the theological roots of the conflict she so dramatically presented.”
We were running out of time for lunch, and there was something I needed to let them know. “My boss, Mr. Humphreys, he figured out how I crashed your Internet connection. He… he thinks I did it so I could have… some time alone with Caitlin.”
“Does he, now?” Bulldog was not amused. “And what exactly does he think happened between you two?”
I gulped, but I had to tell them so they wouldn’t be blindsided if the story got back to them. “I had to explain what I was doing here with Caitlin all the while. The bottle of champagne. I made up a story of a… a romantic encounter.”
“You told him you slept with me?” Caitlin was pissed.
I gave her the details of my imagined encounter. Bulldog kept looking between Caitlin and Brother Francis as if hoping for permission to smack me.
“Oh my,” said Brother Francis with a wry smile. “That will cross their signals. You do realize what it means for a man of my station to summon a handsome young lad for a private lunch?”
No, I didn’t.
He explained it.
“The Civic Circle likes pedophiles in positions of power because they can be so easily controlled,” Brother Francis explained. “Tempt them with access to young flesh, not just young adults like yourself, but even younger children. Then, they threaten their tools with ruin and exposure. Carrot and stick. It is an ancient formula that has worked well for them.”
Caitlin giggled at the expression on my face. “I think we’re even now.”
Brother Francis smiled. “Invite your Mr. Humphreys to tonight’s party. We’ll make him feel welcomed.” He looked at his watch. “We need to be getting back to the afternoon sessions.”
* * *
A throng of protestors surrounded the Jekyll Island Club Hotel. As I approached I heard singing. Yankee Doodle? That was the tune, but the words were different:
Civic Circle pederasts
Went down to Jekyll Island
Used up all the local boys
Then bought some more from Thailand!
Civic Circle parties hard
Civic Circle dandies
Look out for their unmarked vans and
Never eat their candies!
Over and over the protestors sang to the frustration of the media trying to cover the prestigious gathering of the world’s elite. I could tell their bawdy tune got under the skin of the CNN announcer complaining about “hate speech” when he was reduced to sputtering almost incoherently that the alleged human trafficking victims were actually from China, not Thailand. “Fact check – failed,” he said smugly.
I didn’t get the rest of the story until I passed through security and found Amit inside. “They tied Gomulka and the Civic Circle to the human trafficking,” Amit said with a deadpan expression on his face. “Drudge broke the story this morning.” I wondered if that might be the fruits of Rob’s rescue of Breitbart. What information had he passed on to the journalist? The Civic Circle and their media minions were clearly playing catch up. The hotel was too crowded for a private discussion.
I had just enough time to run down to the Network Operations Center in the basement and invite Mr. Humphreys to the party before heading on to the Pulitzer Room for the afternoon’s
Civic Youth program.
The topic was something called “Crisis Acting: How to Shape the Narrative by Quick Reaction to Current Events.” The session was all about how to capitalize on current events, using them as a springboard to push the progressive agenda. After a shooting? We need gun control. After a human trafficking incident makes the news? We need immigration reform. Extreme weather event? We need more emissions regulations to prevent “climate change.”
“Civic Youth may find themselves in the middle of the news at any time,” the workshop instructor explained. “You all have to be ready to exploit what opportunities come your way and advance the appropriate narrative.” After a break, the workshop continued with the instructor making us all roleplay what we would say to the media in the wake of a mass shooting on campus. He coached us on delivering effective soundbites that would play well in the media. Then, we had a simulated media event, complete with reporters and TV news cameras pretending to interview us. After another break, the instructor and the reporters critiqued individual performances and provided tips for improving our effectiveness. Madison and Amit did an outstanding job, particularly Madison, who was hysterical “The guns! The guns! They’re killing people!” She exclaimed to high praise.
Security had pushed the protestors back from the hotel by the time Amit and I emerged and made our way back to the Holy See Bank cottage.
A limo was waiting.
Amit and I got in back.
“It’s safe to talk,” Brother Francis assured us as the limo turned and headed north on Riverview Drive. “You got the radio?”
“Yes, sir,” Bulldog acknowledged. “Operation Gomorrah kicks off at 8:15 pm with sniper fire on the Jekyll Island Club Hotel and Sans Souci building. At 8:20 pm, sooner if there’s any activity in the tunnel, Falcon will begin clearing the tunnel and heading for the Inner Sanctum.”
The Brave and the Bold Page 29
