Experience

by Brandt Legg

  “Most likely Vonner.”

  “What are you talking about? Why would Vonner have Covington killed?”

  “I'm not sure, but his top assassin was at the Swiss Embassy party.”

  “He has assassins, as in more than one?”

  “Vonner Security? All those VS agents running around protecting you?” Fonda said. “A great many of them are assassins, mercenaries, or terrorists.”

  “Terrorists?”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “I'll tell you what’s ironic,” the president said. “Covington was right about you and Thorne. The FaST squads should have arrested you.”

  “Are you going to send them for us?” Fonda asked, as if challenging him.

  “Are you going to end NorthBridge’s violence?” He stared at her pleadingly. “If NorthBridge stops, I’ll forget what I know about you, Booker, and Thorne. I’d rather put the REMies in jail than you.” He softened his tone. “We want the same thing—the REMie system ended—and it can happen. We can make more progress working together . . . peacefully.”

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” Fonda asked. “Because I wish you were right, but the REMies have an iron grip. The only way is to go after their power. They will not give up their control, their money . . . it must be taken from them by force!”

  “What if it comes down to having to kill them all?”

  Fonda nodded slowly. “What if it comes to that?”

  “I see,” the president said. “I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.”

  “Careful, Hudson, remember what you just said. ‘We want the same thing.’”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Yes, we do.” Fonda reached for his hand, but Hudson remained stoic. “Sometime, you’re going to need our help, either to finish off the REMies, or to save you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You still have no idea of the power you’re up against,” Fonda said. “Don’t you get it? It’s such a long shot that we’ll even succeed.”

  “Terror is the wrong road, Fonda. I can see someone like Thorne thinking armed rebellion was the only way, or Booker with his hundred-billion-dollar warped view of the world, but you? You’re better than this. You know that truth can be told, that words have more power than bullets.”

  “I’m sorry, Hudson, I really am, but it can’t be done in your fairytale, non-violence world. They are too strong, these modern-day emperors, lords, and we, the peasants, the indentured servants!” she said through gritted teeth. “The REMies have created this system where we spend our lives serving them. The greedy bastards harvest our output by disguised taxes and debt. You’ve seen it, you know! Their scams, phony monetary policy, fake news, manufactured economic booms and busts, lies for wars—they scare, agitate, divide us into blindness as we unwittingly remain slaves . . . they’ve stolen everything. REMies are evil!”

  “I’m not denying that.”

  “But you think you can fight that kind of power using the very system they set up? They control it all. Everything has been infiltrated. You’re smarter than that. Damn Covington for killing you that day,” she said, her voice rising with emotion. “If you hadn’t seen whatever the hell it was you saw during those nine minutes, you’d see that NorthBridge is the only hope. For God’s sake, you were a soldier! We are at war!”

  Hudson stepped close to Fonda, until their faces were only a few inches apart. “I’m offering you clemency, but the offer is only good for the next sixty seconds. If you refuse, you’ll leave me no choice, and from now on, I won’t just be going after the REMies. I’ll be coming for you, too.”

  Fonda narrowed her eyes, slowly reached up and touched the president’s lips with one finger. “Thank you anyway . . . shhh.” She stepped away and began walking toward the exit. Then she stopped, turned, and flashed a Fonda smile, but it remained for only an instant before her expression turned deadly serious. “Mr. President, fasten your seatbelt and get ready for a bumpy ride, because you’re about to find out that NorthBridge has a lot more friends than you do.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “Did you have David Covington killed?” Hudson asked as he stood next to Vonner, overlooking the Potomac River at his estate just outside Washington, DC. Secret Service agents were stationed far enough away that they couldn't hear, unless one of them started yelling.

  “Certainly not,” Vonner replied.

  “But he was working for you,” Hudson said, still amazed at how easily Vonner could lie.

  “Wait? Was he working for me, or did I have him killed?” Vonner asked with a comically confused expression. “Which is it? It can’t be both.”

  “Yes, it can,” Hudson said. “I believe he was working for you, and that’s why you wouldn’t let me fire him. Then you realized I was right. Covington had gotten out of control, so you had him killed.”

  “No.”

  “Well, there’s an awful lot of people dying lately.”

  “Welcome to the CapWars.”

  “Do you realize I can have you arrested?”

  Vonner looked at the president as if he’d said something funny, but the billionaire knew there was no humor in his statement. “Oh, Hudson, in some ways you’ve come so far, and yet you’re still a child . . . ”

  “Do you know how many people have died because of me?”

  Vonner didn’t respond.

  “Thirty-four!” Hudson’s voice cracked. “Do you know how hard that is to endure?”

  “Sorry to say, my boy, that I do.” Vonner smiled like a grandfather. “And I don’t mean to make you feel worse, but your estimate is considerably low. Many, many more people are dead because of you.”

  The Wizard retrieved the final Crane files on the REMies. There was still NorthBridge data out there, and he’d get it eventually. However, the REMie revelations were astonishing. As he sat there, staring at the material that got both Zackers and Crane killed, he couldn’t help but think of the words he had once read on a poster about H.L. Mencken:

  “The most dangerous man to any government is the man who is able to think things out for himself, without regard to the prevailing superstitions and taboos. Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion that the government he lives under is dishonest, insane and intolerable, and so, if he is romantic, he tries to change it. And if he is not romantic personally, he is apt to spread discontent among those who are.”

  The Wizard made multiple copies of the newest information, then sent them to key people, including Schueller, Dranick, and the president. He had the proof that the REMies had looted the treasuries of the United States, and many other countries. They were operating a massive criminal enterprise disguised as the world economy. Through a nearly infinite series of manipulations, the rigged system was growing more unsustainable by the day. No one was safe. It could all come crashing down at any moment, and NorthBridge could make matters worse.

  The Wizard had told Hudson repeatedly that they needed someone smarter than both of them to design a new structure that was actually fair, and that could be built out of the ashes of the REMies’ empire. The most brilliant man the Wizard could think of was Granger Watson, a rogue futurist and technologist who might be able to figure out a way, but Watson might already be working for the REMies. So far, they’d had no luck in setting up a meeting.

  “They aren’t just using digiGOLD to fund their operations. They have something far bigger in mind,” the Wizard noted on the file before he sent it. “NorthBridge appears to be planning to use the cryptocurrency to bring down the entire world’s economic system.”

  Hudson held an emergency meeting in the Situation Room with Dranick, Melissa, Vice President Brown, Schueller, and several other trusted aides to develop a plan for dealing with the looming crisis. They decided the time had come to enlist the help of other nations, starting with the top economic powers. The Gypsy program had shown that the leaders of Germany, the United Kingdom, France, Italy, and Brazil were under REMie control, so
they would have to be excluded. However, the president would personally contact the leaders of China, Japan, India, and Canada, and inform them of the threats from both the REMies and NorthBridge.

  It was a risky strategy, but coming off his major victory in stopping the war with China, and unmasking NorthBridge leadership, Hudson believed momentum was on his side. He would start with Canada. The prime minister was already scheduled for a state visit, and Hudson had developed a close relationship with his Canadian counterpart during their mutual time in office.

  Dranick would send FaST squads to raid Booker Lipton’s headquarters, Fonda Raton’s offices, and Thorne’s residence. The missions were to be done in absolute secrecy, as the president still did not want to publicly release the identities of the three top NorthBridge officials. The strategy was problematic, but as they lacked enough evidence to prosecute, there was little choice. The hope was that the raids would yield verification of their involvement, as well as additional data, and what Dranick called “the big prize,” the names of the other AKAs—especially Adams and Franklin. However, raiding Booker’s headquarters would prove no easy task, and Raton’s offices and Thorne’s residence were sterile. It was as if the AKAs only existed in the cyber realm, but the Wizard was having just as tough a time tracking them on the DarkNet.

  Quickly, it all became part of what the Wizard termed “turbulent obscuring perplexities.” Their best plans and efforts were thwarted by unanticipated difficulties, failures, and new information which buried what had seemed earlier to be a clear path in an avalanche of REMie schemes and obstructions. Even before they could contact the world leaders, their plan began to fall apart when the Wizard called with the news that Japan and Canada’s governments were also compromised by the REMies.

  “It’s likely that India’s leadership has also been corrupted,” the Wizard said.

  “Is there anyone?” the President asked, holding the phone, but staring at Melissa. She could tell by his face it was bad news.

  “Maybe Iran, Jordan, Venezuela . . . ”

  “Anyone we can trust? Anyone with any power?”

  “It doesn’t appear so, at least not any governments.”

  “But the people,” Hudson said, catching Schueller’s glance. “If we get Cherry Tree right, then it’s seven billion people against a few hundred . . . who do you think is going to win?”

  “It’ll be close,” the Wizard said. “It’s not just about people. They’ve got all the money. Imagine seven trillion dollars against a few hundred . . . ”

  “Then we’ll just have to make the money worthless.”

  Without knocking, Fitz walked unexpectedly into the Oval Office, interrupting the meeting with the Canadian Prime Minister. The chief of staff looked pale, his expression reminding Hudson of how he looked at the height of the Colorado NorthBridge attack during the campaign when they all thought they might die.

  “Fitz,” Hudson said, raising his eyebrows and motioning to the Canadian Prime Minister and the others in the meeting, as if to ask did you forget? “What’s wrong?”

  Fitz seemed unable to speak at first, and then he suddenly blurted, “Arlin Vonner is dead.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Several days after learning the news of Vonner’s sudden death, Hudson still digesting the shock and its many ramifications, was readying for a busier day than usual. But it was still early, and he’d agreed to a quick meeting with a member of the household staff as a favor to the head usher. An African American man, who worked in the White House kitchen, had requested an audience with the president. Hudson, distracted and stressed, greeted the man in the Oval Office.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. President,” the man said.

  “Of course, of course, Elwood,” the president said, looking down at his notes and seeing the name Elwood Allen, “but you know I only have a few minutes before my secretary comes in and starts telling me I’m running late.” The president hoped he didn’t sound too abrupt. “What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, sir, I’m going to do something for you.”

  Hudson looked up and cocked his head. “Well, I can sure use all the help I can get these days.”

  The man nodded and smiled nervously. “See, Mr. President, my grandfather worked in the White House, too. He was here more than thirty years, and a ways back, after I got my position, he asked me to pass along a message to the president. But not just any POTUS. He said if I ever see a man inaugurated who seems really different, I should give him the message.”

  “Fascinating. And I’m different?”

  “Yes, sir,” Elwood said with a lingering gaze. “I believe you are.”

  “I appreciate that, Elwood, I really do. So, what’s the message from your grandfather?”

  “Actually, sir, it’s from Jimmy Carter.”

  Hudson stood up and walked around his desk to stand face-to-face with Elwood. “You have my attention.”

  “President Carter was the first president since President Kennedy to use that,” Elwood said, pointing to the Resolute Desk. “He found something hidden in there.”

  Hudson turned to the desk. “Really?”

  “Yes, sir, something hidden by President Kennedy.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” Elwood admitted. “My grandfather passed in 2010, but he’d told me the story about the day they found it. President Carter was a bit of a carpenter, and when they brought the desk into the Oval Office, he and my grandfather spent a good bit of time inspecting it. That’s when they discovered the hidden compartment.”

  “In the Resolute Desk?” Hudson asked, looking back at his desk suspiciously.

  “Yes, sir,” Elwood said. “May I?”

  Hudson motioned him to go ahead.

  Elwood walked around the desk, knelt down, and reached under near the floor. After a few seconds, a tiny, narrow slot suddenly opened. “There it is,” Elwood said reverently. “Just like Grandpa said it was.”

  Hudson walked around and stood astonished as Elwood got to his feet.

  “Mr. President, I believe your message is still in there.”

  Hudson knelt down and slid his finger into the small slot, retrieving a thick manila envelope, the kind sealed with strings. He quickly opened it and withdrew approximately twenty sheets of standard-size office paper folded in half. Momentarily forgetting Elwood was still there, he scanned the first few typewritten sheets and realized what they were.

  Elwood cleared his throat.

  The president, still kneeling, stood up. “Elwood, why didn’t President Carter do anything about these?” He waved the papers.

  “Sir, I don’t know what those papers are, and I don’t think my grandfather did either, but he did tell me that President Carter had been agitated when he read them, and said, ‘Nothing good can come of this now.’ He asked my grandfather to never speak of the discovery, and that was it until the day before President Carter left office. He called for my grandfather to come see him. By then they had a strong relationship. The President told him he had prayed on it, and had decided to leave those papers in the desk, that it was in God’s hands.”

  “So why did your grandfather ask you to pass it on?”

  “I don’t know, but my grandfather was an honorable man, and he knew the importance of history. I’m guessing he just thought it was the right thing to do.”

  “Thank you, Elwood, it was. You and your grandfather did the right thing, a very important thing.”

  That afternoon, the president and Schueller, on their way to a cryptic meeting, talked quietly alone in the back of The Beast. Hudson explained the stunning find, and then showed him.

  “These papers belonged to Kennedy?” Schueller asked.

  “Yes. He must have hidden them maybe only weeks before his assassination.”

  Schueller’s expression turned angry. “JFK was trying to bust the REMies, just like we are, and they killed him for it . . . and this proves it.”

  “I know,” Hudson said. Th
e papers detailed the REMies’ corruption, and specifically their MADE events during the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, including the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, and even seeds of what would become the Vietnam War. There were other notes about the gold standard, and many more minor issues, but the proof was there—the REMies were creating trouble to enrich themselves, and Kennedy knew it.

  “Why didn’t Carter do anything with this?” Schueller asked.

  “It was a different time. The country had just been torn apart by Vietnam and Watergate. He might not have thought it would have changed anything.”

  “He might have thought it would get him killed, too,” Schueller said. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m going to let President Kennedy speak from the grave, and we’re going to use this to help bring down the entire REMie empire.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Hudson was unsure why the woman had insisted on meeting outside the White House. It seemed an odd request, which had been more like a demand, but given that she was Vonner’s attorney, he figured it was one last favor for the man who’d made him president.

  Then I’m done with the devil, he’d thought.

  She’d seemed pleased when Hudson suggested they meet at the recording studio. He assumed the attorney was worried about their discussion being eavesdropped on. Of course, she didn’t know about the Wizard’s SonicBlock, which had proven itself reliable.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. President, Schueller,” Kensington Blanchard said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. As you know, I was Arlin Vonner's attorney. My firm, Blanchard and Weiss, has worked almost exclusively for Mr. Vonner for the last thirty-one years.”

  Hudson looked at the woman, wondering what she knew about his and Vonner’s relationship. Based on her biography, she was in her mid-sixties, but she could have passed for a young fifty. Her blonde hair had only a hint of barely noticeable gray. Hudson thought she was pretty, in a street-smart kind of way. She’s tough, he thought, and yet the strong laugh lines around her hazel-gold eyes complicated that assessment. He could imagine her as a young attorney, decades ago, sparring with Vonner and his enemies. There was little doubt she could have handled them all, even then.