The Complicity Doctrine

by Matthew Frick

  “And in that commentary you said a girl was killed because she knew something she wasn’t supposed to?” Dr. Brackmann asked.

  Casey wasn’t sure where this inquiry was headed, and the story of Arturo Fuentes echoed in his thoughts. “Yes, sir,” he said hesitantly, quickly looking at the silent Dr. Raad, who had not taken his eyes off Casey since the questioning began.

  “How many people have seen this post?”

  “Not many, as far as I know,” Casey said. “I only have a few dozen followers. Why?”

  “Do you know of a group called The Council?” Dr. Raad asked.

  “No,” Casey said. “Should I?”

  “They would prefer that you didn’t,” Dr. Brackmann said.

  “I know who they are,” George said. The others looked at him. “They control the world’s economy,” he said. “Like deciding which businesses will be allowed to trade with different countries, or how much oil each country can drill per day to regulate the price of gas—stuff like that.”

  “That’s what most people who have heard of The Council think,” Dr. Brackmann said. “They view The Council as the Bilderberg Group.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Casey said.

  Dr. Brackmann looked back at Casey and said sternly, “The Council is not the Bilderberg Group.”

  “What you said about controlling the world economy is only partially correct, young man,” Dr. Raad said to George. “The Council’s reach is well-beyond dictating the price of oil.”

  “And The Council doesn’t operate in as simplistic or authoritarian ways as you suggest,” Dr. Brackmann added. “It’s much more complex than that.”

  “How so?” Oscar asked, entranced by the discussion.

  “Political manipulation,” Dr. Raad said.

  Casey remembered the same term used by Paul Giordano at the memorial on Tuesday.

  “Unlike the Bilderberg Group, The Council’s membership is strictly American. It is made up of both current and former elected and appointed officials, military and industrial leaders, scientists and academics,” Dr. Brackmann explained. “Following the Allied victory in World War II, this group came together to map out a plan that would ensure American hegemony throughout the globe. They envisioned a world that was not ruled by the United States, but guided by it.”

  “The past two decades, however, have seen a shift in the vision that drives The Council’s actions,” Dr. Raad said.

  “How do you know about this group, if they’re American-only and supposedly so secretive?” Oscar asked Dr. Raad. “I can see how Dr. Brackmann might know, but you’re Iranian.”

  “Davood brought the existence of The Council to my attention in 1990 at a conference in Vienna,” Dr. Brackmann said. “Since then, I have learned everything I could about them, but he has more empirical knowledge that goes beyond just urban legend.”

  “Thank you, Eitan,” Dr. Raad said with a nod to his friend. “Your question is understandable,” he told Oscar. “I first learned of The Council in 1986 when I was an advisor to Prime Minister Mousavi for a brief time. During the Imposed War with Iraq, the Americans aided both sides. Officially, they provided weapons and training to Saddam Hussein’s forces, while unofficially, under The Council’s direction, they provided arms and military spare parts to Iran.”

  “The Iran-Contra Affair,” Casey said.

  “The beginning of The Council’s deviation,” Dr. Raad acknowledged.

  “After it became evident that the Iran-Iraq war was not going to end the way they planned, The Council began heavily scrutinizing its membership, particularly in light of the intensified congressional investigation of their failed project,” Dr. Brackmann said. “I have never been able to discern a specific number for the size of the group, but I know it is considerably smaller now than it was in the 1980s.”

  “Which is why The Council is more dangerous than ever,” Dr. Raad said.

  Casey stood up and walked behind his chair. The move both halted the two-pronged alternative history lesson and gave Casey time to gather his thoughts. He gripped the back of the chair and said, “So after Iran-Contra, The Council downsizes. Now they only have a small number of folks to make decisions, which lessens the chance of a dissenting vote. But without the numbers to get things done, they have to convince people to do their work for them—the ‘political manipulation’ you mentioned.” He looked around the room, and when no one countered his assertions, he continued. “And you’re giving us this lecture because y’all think The Council was behind the bombings.”

  “As part of a larger, clandestine war against the Islamic Republic of Iran,” Dr. Raad confirmed. “You said you wanted my opinion of whether or not Iran was similarly engaging in this type of activity. I would have to answer yes, if you are referring to the activities of The Council, but I am hesitant to say that your own government is willfully involved.”

  “Because they’re being manipulated,” Casey said.

  “To an extent,” Dr. Brackmann added. “Remember, many of the members of The Council are current government officials, but in the interest of secrecy, probably through careful compartmentalization, the manipulation is more of an inside job, if you will. We saw this manifested in the run-up to the invasion of Iraq in 2003.”

  “You see, gentlemen, where before, The Council was bounded by the commitment to uphold American supremacy within the confines of American values,” Dr. Raad said, “things changed when over three thousand civilians were killed on September 11, 2001. The idea of the United States being a guide to achieving world stability gave way to a more aggressive strategy of forced compliance—internally and externally.”

  “We’re telling you all of this because, yes, we believe you are right in your assessment of what is going on,” Dr. Brackmann told Casey. “And because you have broadcast your beliefs, your life may be in danger...as was that woman’s. But now you know what you are up against.”

  “The Council is very real and should not be taken lightly,” Dr. Raad said. “Because of your actions, you are also in a position to expose them.”

  “You want Casey to dig up dirt on these guys for you?” George asked. “Even though you just said he might get killed for what he already knows?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking him to do,” Dr. Raad answered, looking directly at Casey.

  Casey didn’t hear George’s protest. He watched the blood drain from his knuckles as he squeezed the back of the chair harder. It had been almost a week since a bomb tore a massive hole in the deli storefront, leaving even bigger holes in the hearts of those who lost loved ones that morning. Casey had pushed back the personal, emotional effects the bombing had on him since that day, and he spent his time trying to understand why it happened in the first place. When he conjured up the existence of the Complicity Doctrine, even as it included ordering the deaths of innocent civilians, Casey always held on to the idea that it was war. And after 9/11, he told himself, the rules of war had changed.

  But he was wrong. The rules hadn’t changed. And this wasn’t war. Those people who died at Soren’s, St. Patrick’s, and Central Synagogue weren’t collateral damage in a professional military campaign, they were slaughtered by people with their own private agenda. The deaths of hundreds or even thousands meant nothing to them. Neither did the votes of millions of others who elected their government to protect them and carry out their will. The people Doctors Brackmann and Raad were talking about were traitors.

  Casey relaxed his grip and looked the Iranian professor in the eye. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 28

  Andie Jackson hung up the phone and tore the piece of paper from the notepad. She left her cubicle and headed to find Casey, but was disappointed to find no one there when she got to his desk. She wasn’t sure if he was still out at lunch, or if he just didn’t come in to work. His computer was off, but the light above his desk was on—maybe he never turned it off when he left for the day. She needed to tell somebody. She was reliev
ed to find Susan hard at work. “Knock, knock,” she said as she entered the cubicle.

  Susan turned around in her chair. “Hi, Andie,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Andie handed the paper to Susan. “I found out who requested the CRS report on al Houthi,” she said.

  Susan glanced at the note, impressed with how neat Andie’s scribble was. Then, she actually read it. A sense of foreboding raised goose bumps on her arms, and Susan began to feel sick. “Joel Simpson,” she said quietly.

  “Cogburn’s advisor,” Andie said, nodding. She noted the lack of color in Susan’s face and asked, “Are you all right?”

  Fully buying into Casey’s hypothesis that Senator Cogburn had something to do with Mari’s report, Susan thought it was an odd coincidence that she would run into one of his aides outside Crowder’s Cantina Monday night. But she never imagined after she met him, that Joel Simpson actually had a hand in it as well. Susan wondered if that meeting was more than just a chance encounter, and it frightened her.

  “So Cogburn’s behind it after all,” Susan said.

  “I don’t think so,” Andie said. “The request was made for Senator Chris Baxter of Virginia.”

  Susan looked up from the paper. “But your note says Joel Simpson,” she said. “He works for Senator Cogburn, right?”

  “Yes, but that’s not who the report was requested for,” Andie said. She sat down in an empty chair and explained how she had found out the day before that Senator Baxter’s office received the report, but when Andie pushed to know who had actually requested the document, the man who answered the phone at the Congressional Research Service offices in the Library of Congress took her information and said he would have to get back to her. After accessing the information from an archived database, the man called her back. “Joel Simpson has a valid access number to the CRS system, so his request was legitimate. The computer doesn’t care who actually signs his paycheck.” Andie had wanted to talk to Casey before she saw Susan, but circumstances didn’t allow that. “There’s something else I found out,” she said, deciding to take her chances.

  “What?” Susan asked as she handed the paper back to Andie.

  Andie wasn’t sure how Susan would react, so she just repeated what the CRS caller told her. “After Mari started working on the Houthi report, she and Joel Simpson began dating.” Susan didn’t respond, so Andie continued. “Their meeting wasn’t unusual. According to the guy who called me, researchers at CRS routinely call the requester to make sure they understand exactly what the congressman or senator is looking for before they get too far into their work.”

  “But how did you find out they were dating?” Susan asked. “I mean, why did that even come up?”

  “The man who called me back...Aaron...was pretty choked up when he was talking,” Andie said. “Apparently Mari was well-liked by everyone there. Aaron said Mari was like a younger sister to him, and he was devastated when he heard about her death.” Andie reached into her pocket and pulled out a napkin she had taken from the break room and handed it to Susan.

  Susan dabbed the tears that were pooling in her eyes from listening to Andie talk about her friend. “Thanks.”

  “If it means anything, Aaron said Mari always lit up the room with her positive attitude and kind disposition,” Andie said.

  “What about when she and Joel were going out? Did Aaron say anything else about that?” Susan asked.

  “No,” Andie said. “He just mentioned that they were dating for a while, but that’s it. In fact, he sounded a little jealous when he brought it up.”

  “Really?” Susan smiled and wiped her nose. She was glad to hear that Mari was happy. Maybe Casey was right, she thought. Maybe I didn’t ruin Mari’s life. “Did you tell Casey this?” she asked.

  “I went to his desk right after I got the call, but he wasn’t there,” Andie said. “Do you know where he is?”

  Susan shook her head. “I haven’t seen him all day.” She looked at the clock on her desk and said, “If he’s out, I doubt he’ll be back. If Casey has to be out of the office after two o’clock, he usually just goes home.”

  “Slacker,” Andie said.

  “Tell me about it,” Susan said, and both women laughed. Susan was glad Andie was trying to lighten the mood, whether that was her intention or not. “You can tell him tomorrow. I don’t think there’s anything we can do with the information until then, anyway.”

  “You’re probably right,” Andie said as she stood up. “Oh, speaking of tomorrow...you wanna go with me to a fundraiser tomorrow night?”

  Susan was surprised. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” Andie said. “My old boss at the Washington Times got me tickets. Well, he got tickets, but he can’t use them, and since I’m already in New York....He was always kinda sweet on me.” She smiled, knowing the invitation was a little awkward given the conversation they just had. But being new in town, Andie didn’t really have any local friends, and she didn’t want to go alone. And while she sensed that Susan had reservations about her when they first met, their interactions began to warm after Andie proved to be an asset in trying to find out why Susan’s friend was killed. She also thought a night out with a free fancy dinner would give the two women a chance to know each other better. “So what do you say? You wanna come?”

  “Sure,” Susan answered. “What is it? I mean, who’s the fundraiser for?”

  “Bill Cogburn,” Andie said. She also thought they could get some work done while they were there.

  Chapter 29

  When he returned to the Javits Building, Paul Giordano began looking for a number to go with the name he got at the morgue. A simple search of the FBI’s extensive communications database should have produced what he was looking for in a matter of seconds, but like everything else surrounding the life and death of Jared Prince, nothing was that easy. Even by expanding the targeted search area beyond Maryland, where the man who signed for Prince’s release claimed to be from, Giordano couldn’t find a listing for anything, or anyone, named Penrose-Klein.

  Because he was doing his own inquiry despite being told to drop it, Giordano couldn’t go to anyone with a badge for help. But he was also new at JTTF, and he hoped the natural tendency of most professionals to help out the new guy might pay off for him. He remembered meeting a young kid, just out of college, by the vending machines two days before. The guy said he had been working in the information technology division almost a year, and Giordano hoped the short conversation they had was enough to establish cordial face-recognition.

  As it turned out, the kid in the IT division did remember Giordano, and when the detective came bearing a gift of M&Ms, which the techie had purchased during their chance meeting on Tuesday, Giordano had a new ally. In less than an hour, the young man called Giordano with a phone number.

  “Thanks, Stu,” Giordano said. “How did you find this?”

  “If I told you that, you wouldn’t need my help anymore, would you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Giordano said. “Did you find anything out about the company when you were looking?”

  “Nothing,” Stu said. “I was lucky just finding the name referenced anywhere. Finding a number to attach to it was a mistake.”

  “What do you mean a mistake?” Giordano asked.

  “I think the record I came across was supposed to have been wiped,” Stu said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it was a ghost,” Stu said.

  “A ghost,” Giordano repeated.

  “An image from a computer’s hard drive that is taken, kind of like a picture, and then stored on a server or CD—usually as backup in case the computer needs to be brought back from the dead,” Stu explained.

  “What was the record? The ghost with the phone number on it?” Giordano asked.

  “It was a voucher of some sort, but it was vague, so I couldn’t even tell what it was a voucher for,” Stu said. “It was also only a partial ghosting. Usually an entire hard
drive is imaged, including all of the applications and settings, but this was only a few documents. That’s why I think it was a mistake that the document was even still on the server. Whoever dumped the ghost accidentally left some of it behind,” Stu said.

  Giordano was glad he found Stu. There was no way in hell he would have been able to find out what Stu just described to him. “Whose server had the image on it?” he asked.

  “Ours,” Stu said.

  “Ours?” Giordano asked. “You mean it was on JTTF’s server?”

  “Exactly,” Stu said.

  Giordano tried to figure out what that meant, but it only made his head spin. “Okay. Thanks, Stu,” he said and hung up. Somehow the Joint Terrorism Task Force was connected to Penrose-Klein, who was connected to Jared Prince, who was connected to the New York bombings. Without knowing what those connections were, however, Paul Giordano didn’t have shit. Who the hell is Penrose-Klein? he thought. He looked at the number he wrote down on his desk blotter and picked up the phone again. You won’t get any answers unless you ask the questions, he told himself. He dialed the number and counted three rings.

  “Penrose-Klein,” a woman’s voice answered.

  Giordano wasn’t sure what he expected when he made the call, but being greeted by a receptionist made sense if Penrose-Klein was what he thought it was. “Yes, hello. My name is Detective Paul Giordano of the New York Police Department. I’m calling about a man named Jared Prince who was just cremated yesterday here in New York City.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Giordano said. “See, the reason I’m calling is because whoever authorized Mr. Prince’s cremation gave your company’s name as his place of employment, and I’m trying to find out who that person was.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no one here named Prince.”

  “I didn’t think there was, but if Mr. Prince’s attorney, or the family lawyer, were given permission, he could have legally authorized the body’s disposition,” Giordano said. “So if you could find out if any one there represented Jared Prince or his family, maybe I could ask them a few questions that might help close out his file.”