The only appreciation I was getting was an appreciation for exactly how and why Johnny had gotten on the nerves of the SJWs. It was going to be a very long drive from Jekyll Island back to Huntsville.
“I don't want to understand your positions, Johnny.” I had to shut him up, so I could brood in peace. “Your views have been repudiated by the vast majority of enlightened thinkers.”
“Ah,” he smiled, his blatant enthusiasm and joy starting to get on my nerves, “that's a combination of the Tu Quoque and Bandwagon fallacies. Tu Quoque is the fallacy that if everyone else is doing it, that makes it right, and of course the Bandwagon fallacy is the false notion that the majority is always right.” He continued to explain why in annoyingly cheerful detail complete with helpful examples, so even a mind-numbed proglodyte like me could understand.
“There you go again,” I replied, “attempting to use logic and reason as tools of reactionary oppression.”
Johnny systematically demolished my “argument” by observing that in the very act of argument, I was conceding the point that there was a truth accessible to us both. By participation in the exchange, he claimed, I was tacitly acknowledging the validity of logic and reason to resolve disagreement.
“I'm not a willing participant in this argument, Johnny. You started it, and I’m merely defending myself. Argument is a tool of coercion by which the prevailing power structures seek to beat down any objections and silence their opposition. That's exactly what you're doing to me now.”
It was obvious why Johnny had earned a reputation for mowing down the Civic Circle’s NPCs. He was like a giant cuddly teddy bear, arms outstretched for a hug. With his relentless congeniality, he made you want to agree with him, want to like him, want to bask in the warm light of his comradery. If he was a teddy bear, though, he was a teddy bear with vicious fangs and razor-sharp claws who systematically shredded any bogus justifications or fallacious support for the progressive agenda. His smug superiority sugar-coated with amiability really annoyed me – all the more because I knew he was right.
You know how two bucks can fight for dominance, neither willing to back down, and they end up with their antlers locked, and they both die?
This conversation was feeling like that.
I almost wanted to let him know I was on his side. It would be easy to be friends with Johnny. My long-term program, though, required that I maintain my front as a Social Justice Warrior, and I had other things to worry about than being Johnny’s rhetorical punching bag.
I threw in the towel. “Johnny, I've had enough of this conversation. I'm tired, and I'm going to take a nap now.”
“Well, OK, if that's how you feel,” he replied, accepting his victory over the forces of social justice with obvious satisfaction. “Always happy to expand my horizons and learn more about other people's perspectives!”
I closed my eyes, but I did not sleep. I'd escaped the wreckage of my plans, at least for now. Amit was still tangled up in the Civic Circle's web. He must have flown on the private jet to Pleasure Island this morning. He’d be there by now. I wondered if he was enjoying the Civic Circle's attempts to corrupt him. Would they be interrogating him, too? He'd probably be fine, and I'd see him at the G-8 Summit. The Albertians' failed raid on the Civic Circle? I wondered how many of the hooded figures I'd met were among the rich and prominent killed in the raid. I'd paid back a bit of the debt they owed me for my parents and the others they'd killed, but the price was more blood – Bulldog and the Fidei Defensor strike team. Would the Reactance have done any better? Or would we all have been wiped out by that remorseless thing? I'd done my best. I had blood on my hands. Could I have chosen better? Time to stop brooding, stop looking back. I had to look forward.
* * *
It was nearly midnight by the time we got back to Huntsville – and that was only with the advantage of the time zone change giving us an extra hour. Johnny dropped me off at my apartment. I set an alarm and crashed. I was up at six and began packing. By eight, I had most everything ready to go. I needed another box or two for my food – surprising just how much I’d accumulated. It made no sense to leave it sitting in my truck bed in the hot sun all day. I got the rest of my stuff loaded in the truck, and I went in to work.
TAGS was in chaos. With everything happening on Jekyll Island, I’d completely forgotten about what I’d set in motion. I got the story from Julie at the reception desk.
U.S. Robotics was not amused to discover that Glyer had helped himself to their robot designs. While I was busy on Jekyll Island, they’d filed an injunction against TAGS and Glyer personally. Then came lawsuits for theft of trade secrets, appropriation of intellectual property, patent infringement, breach of contract, violation of fair trade practices, tortious interference, the works. They had Glyer cold, including discovering he’d sent confidential software and firmware files to himself using his still-active U.S. Robotics email account the day after he’d officially resigned.
The day the lawsuits were filed, private investigators hired by U.S. Robotics photographed Glyer carrying several boxes of materials from the TAGS facility to his car. They followed him to a dumpster behind a strip mall near the Cummings Research Park, and photographed him disposing of the boxes. After he left, they examined the boxes. They were full of U.S. Robotics technical manuals, schematics, and mechanical drawings. He’d even stolen some sample components.
On the strength of that evidence, they’d secured a warrant, and the next morning U.S. Marshals had seized paper shredders and laptops from Glyer’s apartment. The laptop was still running a disk wipe program when they found it. The Marshals’ next stop was TAGS, where they’d seized all the company’s servers.
It was a god-awful mess.
The corporate email was down and there was no telling how long it would take before service was restored – if ever. I stayed long enough to clean out my desk, handwrite my letter of resignation, and deliver it to Rachel in HR.
A quick stop back at my apartment to load up my cooler and hand in my keys, and I was on the road home to Tennessee by lunchtime. I pulled up into Robber Dell, my Uncle Rob’s place, by six. A number of unfamiliar cars were parked by Rob’s barn.
“Peter! My young friend! How are you?”
“Herr Doctor Krueger,” I shook his extended hand, “what brings you here?”
“Hello, son.”
“Mr. Burke. Sheriff Gunn. Mr. Patel.” We shook hands. “What’s up?”
Rob’s barn looked like a computer lab. He’d set up a half dozen folding tables. Brandy looked weary.
“Barista-ing not agreeing with you?”
“No,” she offered a weak smile, “well, yes. Spending all day making coffee and chatting with customers – it’s hard work, but boring as hell. Living in a rented room in town with no electronics, so I’m not tempted to go online and leave a trail? Only Tigger for company? That’s not what has me down, though.” She didn’t seem able to add more.
“I got in last night,” Rob explained. “That network tap. Apparently when the Fidei Defensor compromised the Civic Circle’s Inner Sanctum, it triggered some kind of fail safe. They tried to dump their files over the network. We got everything.”
“Wasn’t it encrypted?”
“The dummkopfs used ‘encrypted’ zip files,” Krueger made air finger quotes around “encrypted.”
“I cracked it in a couple of hours,” Rob had a predatory look on his face. “Everything in their blackmail files, all neatly organized. We’ve been going through it all day.”
“The things they done did in the dark,” Sheriff Gunn shook his head ruefully, “never thinkin’ someday they’d be brought to light.”
“What things?” Now they had my curiosity piqued.
“All of J. Edgar Hoover’s secret files for starters,” Burke began.
“Ol’ J. Edgar had a file on most everyone who mattered back when,” Sheriff Gunn explained. “Everyone thought his files had been destroyed when he died, but the Civic Circle, th
ey held on to them. Everything from the Lindbergh kidnapping, to FDR’s suppression of internal critics, to the JFK assassination, to the real story behind Watergate.”
“It doesn’t stop there,” Rob continued. “Remember Vince Foster, the Clinton associate and White House Lawyer? They said he killed himself with a gun shot in the mouth? Turns out he was murdered because they were afraid he’d tell what he knew. There was a second gunshot wound in the neck that was covered up, and it looks like our ‘friend’ Special Agent Wilson was one of the trigger men.”
“Mein Gott!” Krueger exclaimed. “You must read the 9/11 files. They knew. They planned it. Only it was supposed to take out the World Trade Center towers, too. They had them pre-wired for demolition.”
I was reeling from the disclosures, but that was just the beginning.
“You told us last year how they compromised the new Chief Justice on the Supreme Court,” Burke explained. “Now we know why. The Chief Justice appoints the FISA judges – Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. They pressured him to select compromised FISA judges to approve warrants for domestic targets under weak and contrived justifications. It’s usually that they have some nebulous connections to foreign espionage. They’re sucking up everything from key political, business, and media figures.”
Rob nodded. “Ingenious how they go about it. They pick third-tier contacts of the person they’re really after, get warrants, and pick up the communications of their contacts who are in touch with the real target. It’s a bait and switch.”
“The worst part is all the blackmail files,” Brandy was clearly disturbed. “They have videos of awful… unspeakable things.”
“They’re everywhere,” Rob explained. “That setup at the Berkshire Inn on Jekyll Island? It’s duplicated all over the place, but on an even larger scale. Hotels in Los Angeles, Chicago, New Orleans, New York, Washington. Luxury suites for the rich and powerful to go indulge themselves, complete with provisions to dispose of the evidence – and the bodies – when things go too far.”
“We also have their bank records.” Now Burke was the one with the predatory grin. “All the numbered accounts where the Civic Circle hides their loot.”
“Ist incredible,” Kreuger was shaking his head in disbelief. “Hundreds of billions of dollars in cash and investment accounts. More in less liquid assets like real estate and shares in private corporations and partnerships.”
“I sent Rick and a team back to the Horton House last night,” Rob had a somber look on his face, “to see what we could find out about Bulldog’s fight with that… thing.”
“Did you find…” I began, but Rob anticipated my question.
“No sign of Bulldog’s body, or the thing that attacked us. Hell of a mess down there, but someone had already been in to clean it up. The Albertian operative at the campsite maybe? They were gone, too, along with the stash of weapons you left across the road from the Beijing Bistro. We’ve had no contact with the Albertians. They missed our rendezvous and just vanished, and they haven’t replied to my message. We did identify that tank with fins you found, though.” Rob handed me a printout with a photo.
My jaw dropped.
“Yup,” he confirmed. “Missing nearly fifty years. Appears to have been thoroughly scavenged though. None of the interesting parts were still there. I figure we can pretty thoroughly disrupt the G-8 Summit whenever we want by letting the Georgia State Troopers know that baby is there.”
“Oh!” Burke exclaimed. “You need to see what Mr. Patel got last night.”
To: Xueshu Quan
From: Special Agent Wilson
Subject: Gomulka Investigation; Suspect Peter Burdell
Completed interrogation of Peter Burdell. No indication suspect was aware of Gomulka’s activities or betrayed the Circle.
Note that Burdell was a third-tier participant in 2004 Tolliver Library incident. No indication second-tier connections, suspect’s parents, were involved except by social connection to prime target, James Burleson. Suspect’s parents terminated in containment operation as a precautionary matter. Both contemporaneous and subsequent investigation shows no sign subject has pursued restricted or proscribed knowledge.
Suspect Burdell seduced or allowed himself to be seduced by key contacts in the Holy See Bank Corporation (HSBC). Ties to the Ordo Alberti are suspected, but have not been confirmed. One HSBC delegation member remains unaccounted for. HSBC representatives approached Burdell soliciting information on TARP. No evidence Burdell disclosed confidential information to HSBC representatives. Appears to have been typical phishing effort for confidential financial data and political intelligence on behalf of HSBC.
Suspect Burdell further had lunch with a representative of the Asia Commercial Bank of Hong Kong.
Suspect Burdell is thoroughly compromised and compliant. Cleared for further access.
Wilson
Amit’s father took back the intercept. Agent Wilson was the very first Civic Circle contact Amit and I had compromised, while he and his partner were staying in the hotel Amit’s folks own. We’d been following all his correspondence ever since. Every once in a while we’d get an important nugget of information. Like right now.
“Thoroughly compromised? What exactly happened on Jekyll Island?” Brandy was looking at me with a suspicious look on her face.
“It’s a long story,” I put her off.
Everyone kept looking at me, though.
The pressure of the silence was too much.
“I had to explain why I was spending time with the Albertians. I made up a story that I’d seduced one of them.”
“He managed to convince the Circle he was so corrupt, they didn’t need to corrupt him further.” Rob smirked. He was having way too much fun at my expense.
I changed the subject. “Interesting. Wilson’s corresponding directly with Xueshu Quan. I was hoping your snipers had killed it.”
“That thing that attacked us?” Rob was incredulous. “That’s Xueshu Quan? That’s the… the thing behind the Civic Circle?”
“The Worshipful Master of the Civic Circle, Chairman of the Thirteen, Scourge of the Ming,” I confirmed. “I thought the snipers got him… it? at the Horton House.”
Rob looked grim. “After Bulldog lured it down into the refuge, we took off. It popped back up a minute or two later and leapt to the dock.
We opened fire on it, but small arms fire doesn’t seem to slow it down. Plus, it keeps moving – hard target to hit. It launched a few of those blue fireballs at us but we were a good distance away, and it wasn’t effective. Then the damn thing took after us over open water.”
“It walks on water?” Now I was incredulous.
“It was like it was hovering,” Rob confirmed. “Nice straight constant velocity right towards us. Sheriff Gunn and the snipers opened up with the 50 cals.”
“I heard. The Raufoss rounds.”
“Yup,” the sheriff grinned. “We got a piece of him. Started jinkin’ around like crazy, dodging and weaving back to Jekyll Island. Last we saw of the bastard.”
I explained my hypothesis that Xueshu Quan was connected to the stories from the Tolliver Library of Spring-Heeled Jack.
“Great,” Rob said shaking his head. “We can add that to the list of all the other hypotheses: demon, god, alien… All we know is the damn thing has been around for centuries pulling strings behind the scenes.”
“You need to see this one, too.” Mr. Patel handed me another intercept.
To: Special Agent Wilson
From: Xueshu Quan
Subject: Gomulka Investigation; Jekyll Island Attack
I have reviewed the evidence and I disagree with your conclusions. The Amit Patel interrogation uncovered no sign Patel had any knowledge of an attempt to compromise Gomulka in particular or the Civic Circle in general. Patel is thoroughly under our influence, compliant, and eager to do our bidding to ensure continued access to the rewards of our patronage.
I will not have you questioning my de
cision to eliminate Gomulka. I will order the elimination of any initiate to the Circle who so dramatically fails in the performance of their duties. In the final analysis, it is irrelevant whether Gomulka was an active participant in the plot or was framed by others. He failed in his duties and lost my confidence. See that you avoid the same fate.
Ordo Alberti operatives were clearly involved. Among the dead we identified several former Swiss Guard suspected to be Fidei Defensor. The Holy See Bank Corporation delegation were all thoroughly vetted and have no known ties to Ordo Alberti, but it is possible some lower level members of their delegation were aligned with or influenced by the Albertians. In particular, one HSBC delegate remains missing. Our investigation continues.
It remains far more likely that Gomulka – either working alone or with more senior members of his faction within the Council of 33 – arranged the human-trafficking incident as a diversion in collusion with the Ordo Alberti in an attempt to implicate the Red Flower Tong and draw attention away from themselves.
Make no mistake, the Jekyll Island attack was a brutal attempt by Gomulka’s faction within the Council of 33, colluding with the Ordo Alberti, to decapitate the Thirteen and replace the leadership with candidates of their own choosing.
Focus your investigations along more productive lines.
Quan
“There’s a schism brewing,” I thought out loud, “but Wilson is convinced Amit is involved.
“Amit appears to have passed this interrogation down on this Pleasure Island.” The concern on Mr. Patel’s face contradicted his reassuring words.
“Wilson is dangerous,” I acknowledged Mr. Patel’s concerns, “and he was responsible for my parents’ deaths.”
“If we kill him now,” Rob pointed out, “it will only help validate Wilson’s hypothesis to Xueshu Quan and the rest of the Civic Circle. Amit will be in more danger, not less.”
The Brave and the Bold Page 34
