by Bill Brewer
The disabled phone chirped back to life, displaying his next assignment, a hit on Mohammed Farooq Arindi, a financier of pirates in Mogadishu. The job was worth another fifty thousand.
Diegert replied beginning his message with: Why was my phone disabled? I could have destroyed the weapon on the roof so no one else got hurt.
Darkmass: Your phone is obviously back to being operational, your concerns are tactical, not strategic.
Next Chance: What if I don’t want to do this next job?
Darkmass: We’ll turn you over to law enforcement.
Pausing to consider the negative consequences of that, Diegert replied: Where do I report for transport?
The reply sent him to the commercial freight side of Athens International Airport, where he found the plane with the tail number NB7845. It was a large transport plane designed for freight—not people. His phone vibrated, and on the screen was the face of a man he had noticed when he’d first arrived. The instructions indicated he was to show the man the document now on the phone’s screen.
The big, gray-bearded man said not a word to Diegert after inspecting the document. He walked him out to the plane, climbed up the back cargo ramp, and folded down a hard plastic seat from the wall.
“You’ll sit here. Your parachute is right there.”
The man slapped his hand on a large dull-green backpack that was affixed to the wall of the fuselage by some straps.
Adjacent to the seat was a door. “Pull the door latch. You’ll have thirty seconds to jump before the door closes.”
Diegert put on his best no problem face, but the bearded man’s expression was doubtful.
“There’s some printed instructions for the parachute in the outside pocket of the pack, and I’m sure you’ll be instructed through your phone for everything else. Good luck to you.” The man offered his hand. As Diegert shook it, he was informed, “This craft is airborne in twenty minutes.”
His phone screen instructed him to lift the thin padding on the fold-down seat. There he found a large envelope with documents for his cover as a foreign aid relief worker. He was also instructed to inspect the contents of a duffel bag he found to the left of his seat. Inside he found a kit that included weapons, climbing gear, and tactical clothing. On the outside of the bag, three words were printed in black letters: “Duty, Honor, Mission.”
In flight, he was instructed that on the ground he was to meet a man who would inform him of the target’s vulnerability. When the job was done, this same man would drive him two hours away to a small airstrip, and he would be flown to Cairo. Arindi was the financier for the pirates of Mogadishu. He controlled the money by leading the negotiations for the ransoms, and Diegert’s employer wanted him dead.
During the flight, Diegert familiarized himself with the parachute, since he had never used one before. His time in the Army included no airborne training. This being his first jump, he needed to learn what to do before leaving the plane. He remembered what his wrestling coach, Mr. Oliver, would say: “Learn by doing.”
Two hours into the flight, Diegert found himself staring at the three words printed on the tactical bag: “Duty, Honor, Mission” Honor stuck in his mind, and he thought about his time in Afghanistan. On a night raid, his unit had invaded a family compound. Rousing everyone from bed, they’d gathered them outside in the courtyard. The tall, heavily bearded man of the house kept telling the interpreter that this was not being handled with honor. Lieutenant Prescott ordered that the house be torn apart to look for “evidence.” Guns and money were found, but it wasn’t what the lieutenant wanted. When he confronted the family man, the interpreter said the man was angry about what a dishonorable thing we were doing. Prescott hit the man across the face, knocking him down and shouting at him on the ground. The man went totally silent and argued no more. It was too dishonorable to argue and lose face in front of his family, so the guy shut down like an honorable man. The lieutenant ordered us to ransack the entire home. High moral standards of behavior, are you fucking kidding? This was war. You get honor for going to war and coming back, especially if it’s in a coffin. But while you’re there, while you’re fighting, there was no honor in any of it. Honor was for the parades, balls, and barbeques back home, not the battlefield. Diegert had to ask himself, was there honor in what he was doing now? There sure weren’t going to be any parades or barbeques. The thoughts annoyed him, and he turned the bag, so the words were no longer visible.
13
Crepusculous was the power behind the curtain, but the name on the front of the corporate curtain was Omnisphere, the world’s largest private equity firm. The corporation was so massive that many of its holdings were publicly traded companies with their own stock market icons and board of directors. Brand names and companies that people use and interact with everyday fell under the broad umbrella of Omnisphere. Through its holdings, Omnisphere profited from energy, communications, agriculture, retail, insurance, financial services, entertainment, and health care. Through clandestine means, the huge firm also benefited from drug trafficking, arms sales, gambling, and money laundering. If there was a profit to be made, Omnisphere would develop a subsidiary to penetrate the market and gain advantage.
The face of Omnisphere was its CEO, Abaya Patel, an Indian-born, Harvard-educated businesswoman whom Klaus Panzer had personally picked to run the megacorporation for Crepusculous.
The board of Omnisphere was comprised of retired CEOs of the many companies that existed within the firm. It was an insular society that kept the business of Omnisphere powerful and private. Crepusculous, however, held the true power. Klaus Panzer and his three associates secretly and insidiously maintained control of all that Patel and the Board of Omnipshere were allowed to do. Panzer was a devout practitioner of the adage, “That which is unseen is the most powerful.”
Abaya Patel received the meeting invitation from Klaus Panzer: Thursday 2 p.m. Innsbruck, as the summons that it was. In spite of her perch atop the world’s largest corporate conglomerate, she felt like a naughty child remanded to the principal’s office.
On Thursday at two p.m. Panzer anticipated her arrival at his home in Innsbruck, Austria. The mansion has thirty-five rooms on the shore of a private lake surrounded by a meadow at the base of a mountain. The building was divided into the residence and the business area. Panzer would receive Patel in his office, where he sat in the comfort of a leather chair at a massive oak desk. The wood-paneled walls featured the taxidermy conquests of his Alaskan hunting trips and African safaris. Through eyes of glass, the silent beasts peered with menace at the room’s inhabitants. The fully manned African lion leaping from the wall above and behind the desk intimidated all but the strongest of hearts that sat across from Klaus Panzer.
Patel brought her admin assistant, her chief of counsel, and her COO with her. They waited patiently in the ornate foyer, which was furnished with a rich leather couch and a marble-top table with a massive bouquet of fresh flowers, and upon the walls hung the works of the German painters Hermann Anschütz-Kaempfe and Johann Jakob Dorner the Elder.
Seated on the edge of the couch, Patel recalled Panzer’s manipulation of the Telexicon retirement fund problem four years ago. Telexicon was a holding of Omnisphere. Throughout the 2000s and up until 2012, the company was a major manufacturer of cell phones, the flip phone variety, with dedicated keypads and small screens. The phones seem quaint when compared to today’s more versatile and powerful smartphones, but in their day, they were revolutionary and profitable.
As technology and the market changed, Telexicon was unable to respond, and the business languished. While losses mounted, Omnisphere stepped in to close the business. A review of the books revealed a tremendous debt obligation to retired workers of both Telexicon and its parent company, United Telephone. The retirees were entitled to payments and health care coverage equaling ten billion dollars per year. The fund had barely eight million dollars in assets. Corporate finance had been borrowing from the retirement fund to
float the company against the losses. Omnisphere was going to feel this pain.
It was against this backdrop that Patel had first been summoned to the Panzer mansion. Abaya recalled how Panzer had greeted her with warmth and hospitality. His charming grace was disarming, and his confidence emanated more powerfully than his Clive Christian 1872 cologne. After making her comfortable, he asked her opinion of the Telexicon problem. He listened carefully as she described a plan to spread the pain across the broad business entities of the Omnisphere global portfolio, allowing the company to service the Telexicon debts.
Panzer, with his chiseled face, full sweep of gray hair, and penetrating ice-blue eyes, listened carefully and nodded agreeably throughout her monologue. She finished and waited for Panzer’s response. The man cleared his throat, placed his elbows on the desktop, steepled his hands, then interlocked his fingers before thumping the leather desk blotter with his unifist. He informed Patel that he had a different perspective, which did not involve bailing out Telexicon. He instructed her to invoke the cellular financial model that Omnisphere had outlined in all corporate contracts. This clause allowed Omnisphere to sever any aspect of the conglomerate that was deemed to be no longer financially viable. Like a tree shedding deformed leaves or the human body sloughing off dead skin cells, Panzer was in favor of excreting the people of Telexicon and divorcing their debts from Omnisphere.
Patel protested, claiming they had a corporate responsibility to all the people whose lives were dependent on their retirement incomes. Panzer glanced away as he waved off the annoying gnat of a concern she had just expressed. He countered with a requirement that she was to fulfill his request, shed Telexicon, and report back to him in one week. His closing statement to her now reverberated in her mind. “I can see this is going to be difficult for you but let me assure you the rewards will surpass the inconvenience.”
The dumping of Telexicon was a shit storm right from the start, and Patel was the face the media was given to hate. Panzer was right; the capability to leave the losses behind was built into the corporate agreements. It was legal, even though it impoverished thousands of retirees. Patel suffered the public’s ire, the social media assault was brutal, and she was saddened by all the hurtful headlines to which her children were exposed.
The employees, retirees, and their families turned to her for help, and when she offered none, they turned on her like injured animals. These people had no chance to restart their careers and no safety net to keep them from drowning in debt. They had no lifeline, and their former employer didn’t care. Following the “shed,” Omnisphere posted one of their best financial years ever.
After facing the wrath of the public and the failed lawsuits brought on by opportunistic lawyers, Patel received a video from Klaus Panzer. The images displayed the most beautiful property in Europe, a villa on Lake Lucerne in Switzerland. The house was magnificent, the grounds immaculate, and the view spectacular. She sat transfixed by the serenity of the lake nestled within the surrounding Alps. She thought it was almost thoughtful of Panzer to send her this mini mind vacation after the hell she’d gone through for him. When the video ended, a deliveryman knocked on her office door and entered with a small tray in his hand. He stepped up to her and bowed, placing the tray within reach. On the tray was a small box upon which her name was embossed. She picked up the box, opened the hinged lid, and there lay a golden key. A card with the address of the lake house sat on a tiny velvet cushion. On the reverse side of the card, in scripted handwriting, it said, Thank you and enjoy. K. Panzer.
The house was hers. Had the rewards surpassed the troubles? Wasn’t that why they paid the executives the big bucks, because they have to make the tough decisions? Business was business, and the objectivity of money didn’t allow for the vagaries of the human condition. Those people would find a way, they always did, and the government bailouts would support them.
This rationalization played in Patel’s head as she lifted the key from the cushion and hit replay on the video. Watching it a second time, she felt a surge of excitement to think this magnificent residence was now hers. Screw the guilt, savor the rewards. Patel booked the corporate jet to Switzerland for the next day. Panzer’s seduction had corrupted her morals in a most delightful way. Patel relocated to Lake Lucerne and ran the business from the villa for the next six months, which was plenty of time for the Telexicon story to fade from the media’s memory. Soon she was once again heralded as the world’s most powerful executive, leading Omnisphere, the world’s wealthiest company. She was the visible, public entity of corporate stewardship, assuring shareholders of profitability. Oh, how sweet was the success of corporate power.
Her palms were sweating as she wondered what Klaus Panzer would request of her this time.
After announcing her through the intercom, Panzer’s administrative assistant, Marta, escorted Patel and her entourage into Panzer’s office. She and her group stood quietly for a moment taking in all the animals. Panzer had grown accustomed to the pause his collection created in newcomers and sat quietly enjoying the head-swiveling effect of his trophies. After a moment, he rose from his seat. “Abaya, I’m so glad you were able to make it.”
Panzer crossed in front of his desk to warmly shake her hand.
“Thank you, Klaus. Allow me to make introductions,” Patel said as she turned to her people.
“Oh no, no, no, we don’t have time for that. Marta, could you see to it that these fine folks are served refreshments and made comfortable in the foyer?” directed Panzer as he graciously extended his arm toward the door.
The three people, who considered Abaya Patel to be one of the most powerful people in the world, just had their perceptions adjusted by the person who was, in fact, the most powerful.
Patel’s look of consternation was ignored by Panzer as he gestured for her to sit in a leather cushioned wooden chair under the head of a wildebeest. Craning her neck to inspect the ugly gray antelope, she took her place with some reluctance.
With feet on the floor and hips leaning on the front of his desk, Panzer began questioning her.
“Abaya, are you happy in your position?”
Offended by this direct and unexpected question, Patel answered quizzically, “Why, yes, I am.”
“Good,” said Panzer, “because we are about to embark on something truly remarkable.”
Partel’s confusion was now set in the wrinkle of her brow.
Panzer continued, “The financial sector of Omnisphere, at my direction, has developed a digital currency known as Digival.”
“Yes, I am aware of it.”
“Good. I want Digival to be in place and functioning even if, at first, it only has a very small penetration. I want it all set up so, when the economy is right and the dollar collapses, Digival will be the go-to currency for people concerned about the evaporation of their wealth.”
“You’re planning to profit from the financial ruin of the economy?” Patel said with a chuckle.
“Don’t worry, you will too. With the system already in place and the public aware, a digital currency backed by the world’s wealthiest corporation will be better than a government that is insolvent.”
Realizing there was no jest in Panzer’s proclamation, Patel said, “You really think you can change the world’s monetary system?”
“I absolutely do, and you will help me. With banking, payroll, and payment systems already set up, we will make the transition during the time of crisis and recovery less disruptive.”
“What crisis, and did you say payroll?”
“Yes, Omnisphere employees who choose to be paid in Digival will receive an automatic ten percent raise.”
Patel looked at Panzer with a dropped jaw, which she quickly closed into a frown.
Panzer continued, “It will be a voluntary program, but with over five hundred thousand employees, I’m sure many will switch, and their success will bolster others. Digival will be seen as a haven for wealth, and people will be eager to transfer
their finances rather than lose it all to a devalued dollar.”
Patel now found herself snickering. “You really are going to pull this off.”
“The world changes every day; we are just going to change the way money works for people. We launch Digival now, saturate the Web with information about how it’s accepted at all the places people shop, and make transferring to Digival easy and worthwhile. We can offer a ten percent increase in the value of money transferred from dollars to Digival.”
“You’re making money out of thin air.”
“We don’t even have to print a thing, but you know as well as I that our vast holdings are more than enough to support this venture. Make no mistake about it; we will destroy the value of the dollar and replace it and all world currency with Digival.”
“This is unprecedented.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not meant as a compliment; I’m concerned about all the fiduciary responsibilities we are taking on by trying to be the world’s only currency.”
“Abayya, I expect you will soon realize that the benefits of controlling the entirety of the world’s money far outweigh the risks and responsibilities. We must think big. Consider all the inequities in the markets due to fluctuating currencies. How many times have we seen whole countries starving and struggling to survive because their money has inflated to worthlessness?”
“The US economy is the strongest in the world; you’re not taking out some tin-pan despot!”
“Why must we bow to the United States, a country that is basically bankrupt and unable to pay its debts? It has no intention of paying what it owes. It arrogantly continues to borrow while dominating the planet with its mortgaged military.”
“We draw a great deal of profit from the United States and have significant holding throughout the US,” Patel said as she removed her glasses and, with a small cloth, polished the lenses.