After viewing the video several times, Derek paused the video on April, alive and beautiful. He stared into her expressionless face. What was she thinkin’? It was just another job. She had no idea that she wouldn’t leave that hotel alive. He shut his laptop, hung his head, and sobbed at the kitchen table.
Eventually, he went to the bathroom and washed his face. He lay on his bed, ruminating and plotting and grinding his teeth until his jaw was sore. He went back to his laptop and looked up Zhang Jun, burning the CEO’s face into his memory.
Derek left his apartment and knocked on the apartment next to his own. After incessant knocking, a dark-skinned woman answered the door. She was compact and athletically built but feminine. Even without makeup, Destiny was stunning.
“You know I’m tryin’ to sleep,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I wanna hire you,” Derek said.
Destiny cocked her head. “I don’t think you can afford me.”
“Not for that.” Derek hesitated. “Can we talk?”
She sighed. “I’m up now.”
They sat on her fluffy white couch.
“I need you to help me get to a guy who did somethin’.”
She shook her head with a chuckle. “That all you got? Some guy who did somethin’? You’re gonna have to gimme more than that.”
“He killed my girlfriend.”
Destiny put her hand over her chest. “I’m so sorry, Derek. I didn’t know.”
“It happened at The Regal Hotel in Georgetown. The guy has security. I just need you to get me up there, so I can confront this piece of shit.”
“The Regal Hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“Zhang Jun.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“You know who he is?”
46
Jacob and Hedging Bets
Jacob and his family had been in Switzerland for over a week. He’d had enough of the Roth family reunion. He was ready to go home. Thankfully, their flight was scheduled for tomorrow. It wasn’t all bad. Stocks had crashed around the world, but Jacob had been able to position himself accordingly with put options to protect his personal portfolio and to turn a profit, while the rest of the investing world took it on the chin.
Despite this fortuitous turn of events, Jacob had been annoyed that Eric’s admission that they were removing liquidity from the market had come six days before the event—and in a drunken stupor no less. They had to have known about this for months. But Jacob had been an afterthought, not privy to the inner sanctum of the Roth financial dynasty. Maybe that was changing. He’d been summoned to his father’s home office.
Jacob knocked on his father’s door.
“Come in,” Nathan said.
Jacob stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The office was dark wood and plush leather. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf spanned one wall, filled with first editions and rare hardbacks. Nathan wore a dark suit, making Jacob feel underdressed in his khakis and polo shirt. Jacob approached his father.
The old man looked away from his computer screen and said, “Have a seat.”
Jacob sat in a leather chair across the desk from Nathan.
“Corrinne Powers has agreed to make you treasury secretary when she wins the presidency,” Nathan said.
“Should I meet with her?”
“No, it’s better that you don’t. Eric’s in contact with her.”
Jacob nodded. “What about Naomi Sutton?”
“You spoke with her. She made her intentions known, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did.”
“She won’t win without our support.”
47
Summer and the Day Everything Changed
Summer and Connor sat on the couch, watching their OLED television. A banging came from their front door. Summer startled in her seat and looked toward the door.
Connor stood from the couch. “It’s probably Mark again.” He checked the peephole and said, “Who are you?”
“I gotta letter for Connor Pierce,” a man replied through the door. “Mark sent me.”
Connor opened the door. A dark-skinned man wearing shorts and a tank-top handed a sealed envelope to Connor. “Mark told me to give this to you.”
Connor took the letter from the man. “Is Mark okay?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t even know him. He gave me fifty Fed Coins to deliver this letter. I’m gonna bounce. My AutoLyft’s waitin’.” The man turned on his sneakers and walked away.
Connor shut the door and returned to the couch, opening the letter in the process.
“What does it say?” Summer asked, her hands resting on her big belly.
Connor opened the trifolded letter and read it aloud. “I hope this letter gets to you and Summer in time. Zoe was arrested. I wasn’t home, but my mother told me that the police have an arrest warrant for me too. I’m sure they have arrest warrants for you two also. I’m on the run, trying to get out of the country. I’m trying to get to Panama. There’s an agorist community in the Darién jungle that takes antigovernment refugees. It’s called Silver City. If I were you, I’d leave the country too. If they catch us, they’ll send us to Psycho Island. If I make it to Panama, I’ll stay in the DoubleTree Hotel in Panama City for three days. Meet me there and we can go to Silver City together. Get out now. Make sure you destroy this letter.” Connor looked up from the letter, his face white as a ghost. “What are we supposed to do?”
Summer sat up straighter, her heart pounding. “We can’t just leave. I’m due any day. I’m not supposed to get on an airplane.”
“What about a boat?”
“I’m not supposed to travel at all.”
Connor ran his hand over his face in frustration. “What if they’re coming for us?”
“What if they’re not?”
“Then we can come back.”
Summer narrowed her eyes at Connor. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“They arrested Javier, Zoe, and they have an arrest warrant for Mark. We could be next.”
“It’s not safe for me to travel.”
“What if we hid at my parent’s house for a few days? I have a few nanocams from work. I could install one in the peephole here. Then we’ll know if the police come looking for us. If they do, we’re gone. If not, we just come back home in a few days.”
Summer nodded along with the plan. “That makes some sense.”
“I’ll call my parents.”
“Now?”
“For all we know, the police could be on their way over.” Connor picked up his cell phone from the coffee table, then put it back down again. “What if they’re monitoring our phones? We should leave our phones here. We’ll have to show up to my parents unannounced. Shit, we can’t take our car. And we can’t take an AutoLyft. It would be tracked with our chips.”
“Mr. Diaz from downstairs would probably let us use his car.”
“What about my chip?” He massaged the skin at the fulcrum of his right thumb and index finger. Embedded under the skin was a microchip with all his important documents and information. Summer had the chip card, her father refusing the implant when she was a child.
“You said you don’t have tracking.”
“I don’t, but I bet they can still track me.” Connor took a deep breath. “Can you take it out?”
Summer arched her eyebrows, her eyes wide open. “You want me to perform a minor surgery in our apartment?”
“What other choice do we have?”
“Let me see your hand.”
Connor held out his right hand.
She needled the area with her fingers.
“Feel it?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s small. Not very deep either,” Summer said.
“You have some medical stuff here, right?”
“My med kit’s under the bathroom sink. Grab it and bring it to the kitchen.” Summer struggled to her feet and waddled to the kitchen table, while Connor
retrieved her medical kit.
Connor set the plastic box on the kitchen table in front of Summer. While sitting at the table, she opened the box and removed what she needed: Betadine, Steri-Strips, a scalpel, forceps, a bandage, medical tape, and numbing cream.
“Can you do it?” Connor asked.
“It might hurt a little.”
Connor nodded and sat next to her at the table.
“Put your hand on the table.” Summer examined his hand again. “Are you sure about this?”
“No sense in leaving if I have this thing in me.”
“Okay.” Summer stood and cleaned the tabletop. She cleaned the forceps and the scalpel with Betadine. She washed his hand and washed her hands. Summer sat next to Connor. She rubbed the numbing cream on and around the operation area.
A few minutes later she touched and prodded the skin, asking if Connor felt anything. He didn’t. She picked up the scalpel, and Connor looked away. She held her hand steady and made a small incision. Connor grunted in response, still looking away. She grabbed the forceps and removed the tiny bloody microchip. She cleaned the wound and closed it with Steri-Strips, then covered everything with a bandage.
“That’s it,” Summer said, smiling.
Connor turned to Summer. “That didn’t hurt too bad. You should’ve been a surgeon.”
“I don’t know about that.” Summer picked up the microchip with her fingertips, showing Connor. She dropped it in his open palm. “I guess we should leave it here.”
Connor examined the microchip, set it back on the table, and stood. “We should get going. Pack light. Only necessities.”
“We’re really doing this?”
“You didn’t cut me open for nothing.”
Summer called Mr. Diaz to ask about borrowing his car. He agreed. Connor shredded Mark’s letter and installed a nanocam in the peephole. Summer and Connor packed two small suitcases and left their apartment, taking the elevator to the second floor. They retrieved the key fob for Mr. Diaz’s autonomous Nissan. He said that his car was parked in front. They took the elevator to the lobby.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. They exited the elevator and turned the corner, headed for the front entrance, the well-worn carpet leading the way. A robotic receptionist stood at the front desk.
As they passed, the robot said, “Have a nice evening.”
It was nearly 8:00 p.m., but it was still light outside. The front entrance was a bank of four glass doors. They were roughly forty-feet away when Summer stopped in her tracks and placed her hand across Connor’s chest, stopping him cold. From her vantage point, she saw the tip of a boot just outside.
“You see that?” Summer pointed to the tip of the shiny black boot.
Connor craned his neck and said, “Shit.”
The next thing they saw were their rifles, followed by their helmets and body armor, with FBI emblazoned on the front.
Summer turned to Connor and said, “Run.”
Connor let go of his suitcase and ran for the rear exit. Summer didn’t even try. She could barely waddle to the bathroom. She simply put up her hands, the suitcases at her feet evidence of her guilt. Some of the men faced her, gun barrels pointed at her chest, shouting, “On your knees. On your fucking knees.” Others hurried past, presumably looking for Connor.
But her legs were unsteady, her body unwieldly. She simply shook, tears streaming down her face.
“Get on the fucking ground!” another man said.
One of the men slammed her to the carpet, her shoulder and side taking the brunt of the impact. The man wrenched her hands behind her back and affixed tight handcuffs.
All the while, Summer said, “Stop. My baby. You’re hurting my baby. You’re hurting my baby.”
48
Naomi and Counterterrorism
“Never let a good crisis go to waste,” Vernon said.
“What did you have in mind?” Naomi asked.
Vernon, Naomi, and Katherine sat in the sitting area of Naomi’s congressional office, strategizing about yesterday’s stock market crash.
“You need to be the one pointing out the evils of capitalism and the one pointing to the stock market crash as the result,” Vernon said. “You’re the only socialist presidential candidate. Technically, you’re the only one with clean hands.”
“What about a protest and a march to the steps of the New York Stock Exchange?” Katherine asked. “At the end of the march, Naomi could make a speech opposing capitalism.”
Vernon nodded to Katherine. “I like that.”
“So do I,” Naomi said.
“This needs to happen quickly though,” Vernon said. “The Fed could pump up the markets at any time.”
“I think we could organize something for this Friday,” Katherine said. “Maybe we could have Naomi’s speech culminate at the closing bell. We have our New York base who would show up, and we can hire protestors for forty Fed Coins a head.”
“I like that too. What’s the weather forecast for Friday?”
Katherine tapped on her phone. “Sunny and clear but very hot. Mid-nineties.”
“We’ll have to make it a short march.”
A knock came at the office door. Vernon went to the door and opened it. Nina, Naomi’s tiny receptionist, valiantly stood in front of a tall fit man, with graying hair at his temples.
“He’s demanding to speak with Naomi,” Nina said, her hands on her hips. “He’s from the FBI.”
“What’s this about?” Vernon said, looking over Nina’s head at the FBI man.
He removed his wallet from the inside pocket of his dark jacket and showed his badge and ID. “I’m Assistant Director Vandenberg from the Counterterrorism Division. I’d like to talk to Naomi Sutton for a few minutes. This is a courtesy call.”
“It’s okay, Nina,” Vernon said, giving her a nod of approval. “Come in, Director.”
Nina went back to her desk, and Vernon shut the door behind the FBI director.
Katherine stood from the couch. “I’ll start the arrangements for Friday.”
“Thank you, Katherine,” Naomi said, also standing.
Katherine left the office.
Naomi joined Vernon and the FBI man, standing in the middle of her Oriental rug. She shook hands with Vandenberg. “What can I do for the FBI?”
Vandenberg glanced at Vernon and said, “I’d like to talk to Mrs. Sutton alone.”
“It’s either me or her lawyer,” Vernon said.
“It’s fine,” Naomi said. “If I need a lawyer, I’ll invoke.”
Vernon nodded to Naomi and left her office.
Naomi led Vandenberg to her cherry wood desk, offering him a seat across from her. They sat, Naomi’s desk in between them, downtown DC over her shoulder.
Vandenberg didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Do you know a man named Mark Benson?”
“No,” Naomi replied.
“A woman named Zoe Benson?”
“No.”
“How about Javier Munoz or Connor Pierce?”
Naomi thought for a moment. “No.”
“Summer Fitzgerald?”
“No. Who are these people?”
“We think they’re members of an antigovernment terrorist cell called The Resistance.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“During surveillance, Mark Benson and Zoe Benson discussed video they obtained with a nanocamera and a mike which Ms. Benson installed in the office of Jacob Roth. During subsequent questioning, Ms. Benson stated that the video included footage of you being offered campaign support by Jacob Roth in exchange for continued support of the Federal Reserve. Ms. Benson also stated that you declined the offer. Can you confirm or deny the veracity of Ms. Benson’s statements?”
“If you have the video, you don’t need my confirmation.”
Vandenberg didn’t respond.
They don’t have the video. “Mr. Roth simply wanted to find out if my platform supported his interests. Our inter
ests didn’t align.”
Vandenberg clenched his jaw for a split second. “Let me be blunt. Did Mr. Roth offer you campaign funds in exchange for continued support for the Federal Reserve?”
“It depends on how you interpret what Mr. Roth said.”
“How did you interpret it?”
“The central bankers of the world have an agenda like most groups. They donate to candidates who already support their agenda.”
Vandenberg nodded and stood. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Sutton.”
49
Derek Does Recon
The AutoLyft dropped Derek in Georgetown. From his internet research, he knew The Regal Hotel had a security gate, so he’d have to enter another way. Derek stood on a brick sidewalk a few blocks from The Regal Hotel. Under the glow of the streetlights, he walked past restaurants and bars and shops. The foot traffic was light on a Tuesday night. The Regal Hotel was two blocks from the strip and protected by a canal, the Potomac River, and a chain-link fence. The only access was over the bridge and through the security gate.
Derek lifted the bandanna around his neck to cover his face as a precaution for the facial recognition cameras. Then he slipped behind another hotel, this one without a security gate and also the nearest neighbor to The Regal. A chain-link fence separated the two properties. Derek looked around, then scaled the fence. He approached the edge of the canal, overlooking the dark water below. The canal was about forty-feet across and constructed with stone retaining walls. He could jump in the water and swim across, but the Potomac was disgusting, and the stone wall was steep and smooth, without handholds, making it nearly impossible to scale. Not to mention, he was wearing nice slacks and a button-down shirt. He’d hoped to blend in with the clientele, which was unlikely if he was dripping wet.
He walked along the canal to the rear of the hotel, hoping to find a way over, but found more of the same. He crept to the front, shielded by the night and the trees overhead. A robot security guard manned the front gate and the bridge over the canal. The guard shed was situated beyond the canal, a metal arm blocking the road. Technically, Derek was already behind the shed. He could simply walk over the bridge, but, with the lights and cameras on the bridge, he’d likely be seen.
2050: Psycho Island Page 18