by Brandt Legg
Hudson had not seen Fonda Raton since the election. His top aides, and “anyone else with a brain,” as the White House press spokesman had said on numerous occasions, regarded the internet journalist as the enemy. Her many negative pieces during the campaign made it clear she would rather have seen Newsman Dan elected, but Hudson saw something else in the rebellious reporter; a link to the truth. She knew about the REMies, and had a way of getting at the facts that few in the media seemed to bother with anymore.
Neither Vonner nor Fitz knew in advance that he’d agreed to meet her. They never would’ve allowed it. Still, he had no doubt that “his handlers” would find out within minutes of her arrival at the secluded Key Largo oceanfront compound. So far, they’d been able to keep the location of the “Key,” as they called it, secret. In years past, excluding the media from the president’s itinerary would have been unthinkable. However, in the days of NorthBridge, many things had changed. Security took precedence over access.
“Mr. President!” Fonda said, as if the words were a celebration. Before he could stop her, she hugged him. “Nice place you got here.”
“Good to see you again, Fonda,” Hudson said while nodding to a Secret Service agent. He noticed she still smelled of lavender, and favored silk blouses. He motioned Fonda to follow him and escorted her through a sunroom, out into a garden, then onto a palm tree bordered trail between the manicured lawn and the sandy beach beyond. Hudson had requested that the two Secret Service agents keep a wider distance than usual. The setting was so isolated, and the security so tight, the agents had acquiesced.
“You look good, Hudson, particularly for a man who’s cheated death so many times,” Fonda said as she glanced over her shoulder. “Do you really think they can’t hear us?”
“Depends on how loud you speak.”
“I’m not talking about the agents, I’m talking about Vonner.”
“I’ve taken special precautions.”
“Such as?”
Hudson patted the SonicBlock device the Wizard had made concealed inside his pocket and prayed it worked. “I really can’t say. But speak freely, or what’s the point?”
She stood back and regarded him. “Yes,” she said, as if speaking about a race horse. “You might make it.” She smiled. “I can see the office has already changed you.”
“True. I’m not sure I even know myself anymore.”
“Good or bad? I have to ask because, like you, I study history, and if one researches, it’s remarkable to see the drastic transformation of every modern American president. You can check the years of their lives leading up to Inauguration Day, and then see their actions after they take the oath. The difference is startling. Have you read David Garrow’s Rising Star about Obama? It’s a good illustration of my point.”
“I don’t want to discuss the conduct of my predecessors,” Hudson said. “You called this meeting, and I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make it happen. In fact, there are those on my staff who would think me foolish to be standing here talking to you.”
“Then why did you agree to see me?”
“Because we just might be able to help each other.”
“Assuming we’re honest.”
He stopped and shot her a don’t insult me look. “Do you notice that I’m limping? Do you know that I have constant pain in my arm? Would it surprise you to learn that sometimes nightmares wake me in the middle of the night, scenes worse than anything I had during my time in Iraq? There are assassins out there right now, planning, plotting on how they’ll kill me. Within my own government, there are factions that want to see me fail, some that even want to see me dead. I lead a government controlled by global elites who have no alliance to anything other than themselves, money, and the pursuit of even more power, and you come here and talk to me about honesty? Lady, I don’t have time for anything but honesty.”
“My, my,” Fonda said, smiling. “The pressure is intense, isn’t it, Mr. President? All that, plus China, the economy, the CIA, leaks, the media, liberals, conservatives, and me . . . Are you going to make it?”
He glared at her.
“I think you will, so long as you remember that this is a game to them, and it’s all about distractions.”
“You should know, you’re part of their distraction.”
“Of course I am, because the distractions work, they’re all anyone’s talking about. The media decides the topic of conversation for the whole world every single day, and I have to report on that because it’s what’s happening. But who controls the media? Who makes those decisions?”
“We both know it’s the REMies.”
“Damn right it is!” she said a bit too loud, but, speaking more softly, she continued, “I’ve been on the REMies story for more than twelve years. Long before you came along.”
“Twelve years and you haven’t exposed them?”
“You know it’s not that simple. At least, I hope you know.” She faced him, squinting her eyes. “You had better know!”
“I do,” he said thoughtfully. They’d wandered into a small grove on the property of several dozen citrus trees. Hudson pulled an orange off a tree and offered it to her.
“Love one, thanks. I need the antioxidants,” she said, smiling. “You know, as soon as I met you, I knew it was all about to end.”
“What?”
“That we were at the final CapWar,” she said, peeling the orange.
“Who’s going to win?” he asked, chuckling as if enjoying the conversation, an act he hoped would convince the trailing agents.
“It doesn’t matter. Both sides are evil. The thing is, though, this is our chance . . . you are our chance. If we don’t stop them now, we’ll lose it all—control of our lives, our freedom, everything. This is a delicious orange!”
“How did you know?”
“Because I could tell that you’re real.”
He stared at Fonda, wanting to believe her. “What if it’s already too late?”
“Don’t say that.” She stopped and touched his arm. “You’re our last hope. If you believe it’s too late . . . ”
“Isn’t that what’s driving NorthBridge? They think the elites have taken it too far, that they can now be stopped only by revolution.”
She shook her head. “I can’t speak for NorthBridge, but I do think if you fail, then we’re heading for a revolution that’s going to be more like World War Three than 1776.”
“If I fail? Aren’t you being presumptuous? How do you know I’m even going to try to stop them? Vonner is a REMie, and as you’re so fond of pointing out, he put me here. I guess you think he made the wrong choice. Could he have been so dumb as to choose a puppet who would try to cut the strings? Do you really believe such a rich and powerful man could make such a huge mistake?”
“Of course I do . . .” She stopped, and they stared out to the ocean over a low roll of sea oat covered dunes. “Call it divine intervention if you want, but I believe right is on our side. After more than a hundred years of deception and corruption, the REMies are fat and greedy, and they’re no longer content to rob just the masses. Now they’re eyeing the treasure of their fellow thieves. But there are cracks in the system. They’ve built their empire of empires on so many lies and distortions that even they are having a difficult time controlling it. Don’t you feel how out-of-control the world is?”
“Even if we somehow manage to stop them, can we keep the house of cards from imploding and crushing us all?”
Fonda broke into a big smile. “See? I knew you were on our side.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “You want honesty? Here it is. I’m trusting you.”
“With what?”
“More than you can believe.”
Chapter Sixteen
On the flight back to Washington, Hudson did a quick SonicBlock-video connection with the Wizard.
“Good timing,” the Wizard said, looking as if he were sitting in a futuristic spaceship. His dark storage shed was crammed w
ith glowing monitors, blinking LED lights, and other odd equipment. “Listen to this. Life is like a mathematical equation, and if you don’t take in the disconnected frantic message fragments, it becomes clear.”
“What does?” Hudson asked, almost sorry he called.
“I’ve been thinking. What if the reason no one can find NorthBridge is because they don’t exist?”
“What are you talking about?” Hudson blurted. “They blow up something every week, of course they exist!”
“It looks that way, but what if it’s not them? I mean, it’s not out of the question that NorthBridge could just be another REMie invention. They are the masters of manipulation.”
“Are you suggesting that the REMies have hired a bunch of vigilantes to go around attacking things? Haven’t you noticed that NorthBridge is mainly going after REMie targets? The Federal Reserve, the Goldman building, the NSA, me—”
“You?”
“In their eyes, I belong to Vonner, and he’s a REMie.”
“It’s beyond the micro and the macro,” the Wizard said. “But you have to ask what is the source of reality.” He was silent for a minute, his face a blue glow as he looked off into another monitor. “It’s just a theory. NorthBridge is so good at covering their moves, hiding, funding, tracking, and monitoring . . . The only other organization that’s even close to that good is the REMies.”
“It’s still classified,” Hudson said, looking through the monitor closely at his old friend. “But the FBI is going to make NorthBridge arrests tomorrow.”
“Really?” The Wizard seemed genuinely surprised. “That’s great, but it doesn’t disprove anything. Even if the FBI Director isn’t working for the REMies—which we still don’t know for sure—the REMies can always find a patsy.”
“It’s going to be a pretty big crackdown across several states.”
“Did you ever notice that before NorthBridge came along, whenever there was a terror strike, we’d know who did it, or at least have a list of prime suspects, within hours? Sometimes even minutes?”
“I guess so.”
“That’s because the REMies always knew who it was, because they are ultimately behind it all. They want us to have a boogeyman.”
“Then why is it different with NorthBridge?”
“Either I’m wrong, and the REMies really don’t know who NorthBridge is, which would mean NorthBridge is for real . . . ”
“Or?” Hudson asked, wondering which was more terrifying, NorthBridge as an invisible-group able to pick and choose targets at will, or NorthBridge as a lethal arm of the REMies.
“If it’s neither of those scenarios, then we must face the frightening possibility that, for some reason, the REMies want us totally scared this time because this really is the final CapWar, and we’re all going to end up dead or truly enslaved to the elites.”
“Let’s hope for a third possibility.”
“Which would be what?”
“I don’t know,” Hudson said, looking out the window down at the east coast of the United States, the Atlantic seeming unusually calm for the beginning of hurricane season. He paused for a moment. His thoughts stilled.
“You okay?” the Wizard asked.
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “But we may get some answers tomorrow, and I want to send you something else.” He met the Wizard’s eyes through the digital veil, and it felt suddenly like looking back through the decades. “If I transmit this to you now, SonicBlock will protect the data, right? There’s no possibility of it being intercepted?”
“It’s safe. It works by utilizing the same premise as life. Everything is fluctuating with intense energy, the dynamic energy of the universe . . . ”
Hudson pushed the drive in and followed the Wizard’s instructions. A few minutes later, the Wizard was looking at the material Fonda had given Hudson.
“Where did you get this?” the Wizard asked.
“I’d rather not say right now, but it sure does seem to corroborate Crane’s work.”
Zackers’ former partner had been working on a program dubbed “Gypsy,” which utilized bots crawling across the web, including the DarkNet, searching out trends that could prove and track REMie manipulation. The drive which Fonda had given him was a summary of her twelve-year investigation into the REMies, particularly their media influence, and what the elites themselves called “MADE events,” the apropos acronym standing for Manipulate And Distract Everyone. She had REMies links to specific media stories, trails across the web, and an incredibly intricate flowchart of which companies owned which companies, and where that ownership trail ended. Most of her sources, including hundreds within media companies, had been deleted, but Hudson had no doubt in the validity of her story.
“Is someone going to post this?” the Wizard asked after a brief review. “Because if they do, they’re going to die.”
“I don’t think it will be posted anytime soon, but it will help us.”
“Damn right it will help us! I can’t believe all of this!” he said, scanning the data. “We’re going to get them, Dawg. We’re going to bring down the REMies.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but obviously that’s where we must wind up.” Hudson checked his watch. They would be landing soon. He had to go. “In the meantime, get it to Crane.”
“Hell yes. He’ll fold this all into Gypsy, and then we’re going to have a very clear picture of how the REMies play—one we might be able to actually prove.”
Back in the Oval Office, the president had a surprise visitor. David Covington was quietly ushered in, yet somehow, he still made his entrance appear as if he were storming through the door. Hudson could almost see the chip on Covington’s shoulder as the Director of National Intelligence immediately began to pace in front of the president’s Resolute Desk.
“Your pal Dranick is interfering with national security,” Covington said, chewing on a clove-flavored Necco wafer.
“Colonel Dranick is director of the Brickman Effort, and as such, has wide latitude to investigate. You know this, and I expect full cooperation from all federal agencies, including the sixteen intelligence agencies that you oversee.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, in addition to NorthBridge, we’ve got Islamic terrorists increasing their brazen attacks around the globe, Russia acting up, Iran, North Korea, and, of course, China. And with your limited experience, you may not realize this, but each one affects the others. ISIS has been emboldened by NorthBridge, as have the Chinese. There’s been an 1,800% increase in cyber-attacks since you took office. There’s so much chatter about an ISIS attack on the homeland that I fear we’ll soon have NorthBridge competing for space in the headlines with radical Islamic terror groups on a regular basis.”
Hudson was irritated in so many ways, he didn’t really know where to begin, but he stood and hammered the DNI. “Last time I checked, it’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Let me know if you can’t handle the responsibility. Never doubt that I am fully aware of the threats facing our nation.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Covington said, softening his stance slightly. “Because I expect you’re going to be leading us into what may become the largest war in our history, on a scale we’ve not seen in three quarters of a century.”
“Rest assured, I am prepared to do whatever is necessary against China, NorthBridge, ISIS, or any other adversary that mistakenly challenges us.”
“It’ll be China.” Covington paced across the carpeted presidential seal. “And it’s time.” He pulled a map up on his tablet computer. “Look at this.” It showed the state of freedom worldwide, with free nations expressed in green, partially free in yellow, and not free showed in red. “Look at this blight. Russia and China—half the damn world is red. And while I wouldn’t advocate going to war to bring democracy to those regions, if communist China’s government is knocking on our door and asking for it, then it should be viewed as a grand opportunity.”
Hudson studied the map. A
huge swath of red covered the majority of Africa, Saudi Arabia, Iran, and most of the rest of the Middle East. “We may not see eye to eye on a lot of things, David, but I agree the world would be a much better place, and considerably safer, if we can flip that red to green.” The president tapped China on the map and purposely traced the largest red section—Russia.
Covington smiled. “Nice to see we have some common goals. If you have no problem with it, I’d like to meet with Colonel Dranick. He and I may be able to collaborate. I believe I could save him a lot of time.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” the president said, knowing it wasn’t at all what he wanted. He needed Dranick operating completely independently. It was the only hope to get past the REMies in the deep state and find the truth. He had no doubt, though, that Dranick could navigate a meeting with the DNI. However, he had learned that the deep state, consisting of REMie-connected entrenched upper-level bureaucrats, had, for decades, wielded more power than the president. Finding and stopping them could be his greatest challenge.
As the president indicated their time together had ended, Covington thanked him and walked to the door, where he stopped. “Oh, one last question, Mr. President. Any luck finding Rochelle Rogers?”
Hudson sucked in a breath as if he’d been gut punched, but did his best to appear unfazed. “What do you know about it?”
“Mr. President, please forgive me, I keep forgetting you’re new to all this.” Covington waved his arms around, indicating the Oval Office, the White House, the government in general. “I’m the Director of National Intelligence, there really isn’t much I don’t know.”
Hudson ignored Covington’s smug smile. “Then perhaps you can tell me what happened to her. Do you know where she is?”
“Not yet, but you can bet I’ll let you know as soon as she’s located,” Covington said as he turned to leave. “Good day, Mr. President.”
As soon as the door shut, the president flipped him off vehemently, smiled, then looked down at the seal. Shaking his head, Hudson’s thoughts flew in all directions at once, and he whispered to himself, “What the hell am I doing?”