Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  Reed had to admit, the old gent had drawn him in; his lawyer’s thirst for intrigue was awake and hungry. “Please, sir, continue.”

  Mr. Agile nodded, and for a second, Reed thought he saw an expression of Gottcha cross the man’s face. “The Fed has more security and intelligence-gathering capability than the CIA and FBI combined. Nothing happens in this world without money, and the Fed has access to every financial transaction. You can’t buy a cup of coffee without the Fed knowing about it in one form or another. Even the activity at pay toilets can be monitored - if necessary. Where do you think the NSA got all of the funding and brainpower to create its supercomputer search engines? The Fed funded it and made sure the technology was shared with them after installation.”

  Reed’s guest paused for a moment, anticipating another coughing spasm. After a few troubled breaths, he continued. “Your father specialized in an area called ‘expansion reserves.’ I won’t bore you with details on monetary policy or the way the system works, but as the nation’s gross domestic product grows, more money is needed. Money is subject to supply and demand. The more our economy expands, the greater the need to expand the amount of money in circulation to support it. If we had the same amount of currency in the system today as a hundred years ago, greenbacks would be in very short supply. Loans would be impossible. Our population has doubled in the last century. The nation produces far greater amounts of goods and services. Your dad’s department managed this important aspect of the banking system – keeping up with this growth. Most folks simply refer to this as the ‘money supply.’”

  Reed had indeed heard the term tossed about on various news programs. The phrase was self-explanatory, or at least that’s what he had always thought. “So the money supply is based on the growth of the economy. If I hear the nation’s gross domestic product grew by 3%, then the Fed makes sure there is 3% more money in the system – right?”

  Mr. Agile’s expression changed, this time looking more like a college professor having patience with a slow student. “That’s what the average citizen believes, yes. In reality, it’s not that simple or straightforward. International trade, government debt, and even the time of year all have an impact on the calculation. More hard currency is needed around Christmas than any other season. It’s also important to know that we are not just talking about physical money. In the US economy, physical bills and coin make up a very small percentage of the actual money supply.”

  Reed nodded his understanding, but didn’t want or need a lesson on finance and banking today. He decided to move the conversation along. “This is all fascinating Mr. Agile, and while I appreciate you taking the time to explain it to me, I’m wondering what this has to do with your claim that my father wasn’t a robbery victim.”

  For a moment, Reed thought he had angered the older man. Mr. Agile’s eyes flashed bright for just a moment, and he withdrew his hand from the tabletop to his lap – normally a defensive posture. Whatever the man was feeling, it seemed to pass quickly, and his tone remained even.

  “Most Americans don’t understand the system and don’t take the time to learn. If they did, I’m sure a lot of questions would be asked. Your father was learning, and he asked questions. That’s why I believe he was killed. My evidence is what you legal people would call circumstantial, but I anticipate you’ll find it compelling. What you choose to do with my disclosure is up to you. My only goal is to relieve myself of this burden that has been a weight on my shoulders for over 20 years. I never came forward because I was frightened. Now, the fear of carrying this to my grave outweighs that prior concern.”

  Finally, Reed thought, finally, we are getting somewhere. Mr. Agile took a drink of water and cleared his throat. He paused for only a moment and then began what Reed thought sounded like a practiced confession, repeatedly rehearsed many times through the years.

  “Your father’s time of death was determined to have been on March 8th, between 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. – is that correct, son?”

  Reed had studied the police reports a thousand times. He knew the exact details like the lyrics to a favorite song. He nodded, “Yes, sir. That is correct.”

  “

  I was in charge of the Audit and Security Division at the Dallas office. Even in those days, the Fed had state of the art security systems.”

  Mr. Agile reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of faded, yellowish paper. He carefully smoothed the edges on the table’s surface and then slid the old document to Reed. It appeared to be a computer-generated printout using a dot-matrix type of technology. It was basically a confirmation to remove one Mr. Laurence Wallace from the personnel system at the Dallas Federal Reserve regional building and lock down his office and contents. The document further stated that the whereabouts of Mr. Wallace’s credentials were unknown, as he had been the victim of a violent crime.

  At first, Reed didn’t get it. It would make sense for his dad’s access to sensitive information to be removed after his demise. Reed looked up at his guest with a questioning expression. Mr. Agile, always seemingly one step ahead, mouthed four words. “Look at the date.”

  Reed’s vision blurred after checking at the top of the form. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, eventually focusing back on the print. The date on the parchment read March 7, the day before his father was killed. The time was 4:50 p.m. Reed heard ringing in his ears and felt a wave of nausea coming on. He replaced the paper on the table and peered into the blank stare of the old man across from him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Agile. Could you excuse me for one moment?”

  “Of course.”

  Reed left the conference room with more haste than he intended. As a matter of fact, he rushed out needing different air. He hurried down the short hallway to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. He braced himself against the granite sink with both arms locked at the elbows as if to steady his weight. Regaining his composure, he hurried to his office, fingering his keys in his front pants pocket. Once inside his personal workspace, he unlocked a seldom used, private file cabinet and retrieved a folder full of his own dusty, yellow papers.

  It took him a few moments to locate the police report. He could almost recall the document and its contents by memory, but after Mr. Agile’s assertion, he felt compelled to verify the dates and times once again. There it was, recorded in several places, March 8. The newspaper clippings all said the same thing – March 8.

  Reed returned the folder to its correct place and locked the cabinet. He gathered his wits again and headed to the conference room. Mr. Agile and the old paper were exactly where Reed had left them. He took his seat, one word repeating in his head, “Mistake.”

  “Mr. Agile, pardon my skepticism, but couldn’t this paper simply be a mistake? A computer error?”

  The older man displayed no overt reaction to the statement. He continued, “I considered that, but any of the Fed’s coveted computers having an incorrect date would have resulted in millions of financial transactions being in error. Every check cleared through the system would have been wrong. That would have made headlines all across the world. No, young man, there was no computer glitch.”

  After a drink of water, he persisted, “Now I understand that until 45 minutes ago, you had no idea that I even existed, much less that I would deliver such disconcerting allegations today. No doubt I have challenged a belief you have held for many years, and I’m certain you must wonder if this information is credible.” The older man paused and leaned forward toward Reed, his leathery hand resting on the lawyer’s jacket sleeve just below the elbow. “There are other inconsistencies,” he continued. “Do you know how much gasoline your father’s car had in it when the police discovered his body?”

  “No, I always assumed he had stopped at the station to fill up or use the restroom. After the car was returned to my family, my mother repaired the broken window and sold it at auction. I never wanted to see it.”

  Mr. Agile clasped his hands together on the conference tab
le, apparently considering his next statement carefully. “I removed your father’s security clearance on the 7th. It was the last thing I did before clocking out. Your dad was a really likeable guy, and his death – especially the circumstances surrounding it - troubled me. I was off work the following day, but received a phone call early that morning. Someone had tried to enter the building using your father’s magnetic badge, and the guard caught his image on the camera. The man was confused because the intruder looked like your dad. The sentry was following procedure and had noted that I personally removed your father from the system. At the time, I still hadn’t put two and two together. I told the guard Mr. Wallace was dead and to call the police. I believed it was your father’s murderer trying to use his badge.”

  The man across from Reed leaned forward and pointed his finger at the paper. “I’m convinced your dad knew something was wrong. I think that’s why he called you in Austin that morning. The car’s gas tank was full, topped off at a station ten miles north of the one where he was found. I saw the credit card transaction myself. Why would your father have stopped and filled up, and then stopped again ten minutes later? I also know your father used the restroom and purchased a cup of coffee when he stopped the first time. I interviewed the clerk who remembered him a few days later. Your dad was executed, Reed, of that I’m sure. I can’t tell you who or why, but this was no robbery.”

  Reed’s head was spinning, and that was a condition he wasn’t accustomed to. This seemingly harmless, old man had sent his mind into analysis paralysis, and the attorney wasn’t comfortable with it. He managed to calm himself and started to push away from the table, but Mr. Agile wasn’t done yet.

  “Before I go, we should work on my last will and testament.”

  Reed absentmindedly responded, “I’m not the firm’s expert on wills, Mr. Agile. I’m afraid I wouldn’t do a good job for you.”

  The old man smiled, “It’s not for me, Reed. It’s for you. While I doubt anyone is paying attention to my activities anymore, there’s still that chance. You may need to explain why I was here, and I don’t think telling the truth would be wise.”

  As Reed ambled along the Washington side streets, he didn’t pay much attention to his immediate surroundings. Normally, when traveling through a new place, he would be looking at nearby sidewalk cafes, secondhand shops, or perhaps even people watching. Today, he was simply celebrating his arrival here.

  “Here” wasn’t a location on a map. It had nothing do with the status of having been elected to a national office. By Reed’s way of thinking, here was a place that provided the best odds of uncovering the facts surrounding his father’s murder.

  Reed paused, checking the street signs to verify he was turning toward the temporary offices. He waited for the walk signal to change before crossing the wide avenue, his mind drifting back to Dallas and how that one old man had changed everything.

  After his visit with Mr. Agile, Reed initially ignored the man’s claim. Combined, Reed’s job and family required every spare minute of every waking hour. He simply couldn’t justify repurposing time from the obligations of the here and now to dwell on vague allegations about past events. Deep down inside, he wondered if he were deluding himself about the reality of the allegations, or simply procrastinating from exploring them further. Some small voice kept telling him Mr. Agile’s visit was a life-altering event. In so many ways, Reed didn’t want his life to change. But Mr. Agile’s voice kept haunting him, the man’s words popping into his consciousness at the oddest times. Reed finally decided there was no choice but to spend time either debunking the old man’s story or discovering what really happened.

  Two years and two private detectives later, Reed was convinced Mr. Agile had told him the truth. The paid investigators brought him very little fresh information. A little excursion to Miami did bear fruit, however. The Austin police lieutenant who investigated the case was still sound of mind and subsiding on his pension in southern Florida.

  When Reed phoned the retired cop, the fellow instantly remembered the case. “That whole set of circumstances was weird…just plain weird. For one thing, we never interviewed any real witnesses. No one heard or saw anything, yet the black Volvo sedan was parked no more than 50 feet from a very busy island of gas pumps – in broad daylight. The victim was found facing straight ahead. Most people would have made eye contact with an attacker in that situation. Think about it; if you were parked at a gas station, wouldn’t you look up if you suddenly noticed someone beside your car? No sir, there were a million things wrong with that case, and I still find myself replaying the events, trying to make sense of it all. Come on down if you want; I can talk and fish at the same time. I’ll be happy to tell you everything I can remember.”

  It seemed everyone was helpful with the exception of his father’s employer. Several times, Reed attempted to speak with a representative at the Dallas regional headquarters who might provide even basic information. Who were his father’s colleagues at the office? What was he working on? To whom did he report? All of these were legitimate questions. When he couldn’t get any response the nice way, he got mean. He filed a motion in federal court for discovery. A federal judge, after consultation with the Attorney General’s litigator, denied the motion. Next was the Freedom of Information Act. For months, Reed plowed through a mountain of forms and regulations, only to have his request denied in less than an hour after its submission. He had begun work on a civil lawsuit when his partners at the firm called him in.

  “Reed,” the senior partner announced, “you have to stop this. We just received notice from the Texas Bar Association that our firm in under investigation. My wife’s brother works there. He whispered to me that someone here in our firm has angered the feds. He said he’s never seen anything like it, and they want to decorate their pikes with our heads. You have to stop, man – you can’t fight city hall on this.”

  Reed resigned from the firm that afternoon and initiated his campaign for Congress the next day.

  Chapter 2

  Beijing, China

  January 13, 2017

  Minister Hong arrived exactly three minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin. The Zhongnanhai complex in central Beijing was synonymous with the Chinese communist government in the same way Moscow’s Red Square represented authority to the Soviet people, or the White House was an icon for the president of the United States. Once a resort destination for ancient emperors, the park-like setting was hundreds of years older than any of its current occupants. Bordering on the famous Forbidden City, the walled compound was noted for its system of lakes, which had been adorned with names such as the Southern Sea or the Central Sea. In reality, the lakes had been constructed as defensive moats to protect ancient royalty, their beauty an unintended benefit.

  Today’s meeting wasn’t on any public schedule or noted in any press release. The State Committee officially met once every six months to formally conduct the business of China. Those widely publicized events were actually carefully planned theatrics, designed to reassure the Chinese people that their leaders were working hard to move the country forward.

  The day-to-day business of China was most often conducted via email and closed circuit television, as required. Only the most important issues warranted a face-to-face meeting, and even then, the entire State Committee was never invited. Ministries that wielded little power, such as environmental and natural resources and interior were often excluded.

  The presentations housed in Minister Hong’s briefcase documented a bold plan that could result in a change to the world’s balance of power. Such an ambitious undertaking warranted the ministers’ meeting in person. The State Committee had been briefed on the operation years ago. Authority had been granted to proceed with the initial phases of the operation – within certain guidelines.

  Today’s summit was organized to rehash the downside or unintended consequences, should the operation go awry. Hong was more annoyed than nervous. The outcome of today’s
conference was predetermined, Hong having already received the blessing of those who controlled his country’s destiny. Still, others who might be affected needed to know what was coming and have a chance to voice their objections. In the unlikely event things did go badly, Hong might need their support.

  Five of the six invitees stood behind high-backed executive chairs surrounding a wide conference table inlaid with teak and mahogany. The interwoven red and gold textile covering each chair was of the finest quality and could last for hundreds of years. Quality silk is the chosen fabric of status for the elite Chinese, who would sneer at mass-produced Western leather upholstery, believing it lacks artistic value and craftsmanship.

  A respectful hush fell over the assemblage as the president entered the room and commanded his place at the head of the table. After the most powerful men in China had taken their seats, pleasantries were exchanged. They were all refined dignitaries who considered diving immediately into business boorish and rude. Ten minutes into the conference, the president nodded at Hong, signaling permission to proceed. In turn, the head of MOSS motioned to his assistant, who delivered each attendee one of the carefully prepared presentations.

  Each minister studied the eight-page handout as if he had never seen the information before. In fact, a secure courier delivered the exact same documents less than 24 hours ago, to allow review prior to this forum. Information of such a sensitive nature certainly could not be distributed via email or fax.

  Hong maintained a stoic demeanor while the committee completed the review of the documents. MOSS’ top man was not at all surprised that the Minister of Finance took the most time to analyze the brief. The only one of the group who wasn’t a hardliner, Hong trusted the politics of China’s head banker the least. The room remained silent for some time, as the Red Nation’s powerbrokers digested the gravity of the mission. “I apologize to my esteemed colleagues for the quality of my project update and proposal,” he began, knowing full well each page represented perfection to the smallest detail. “My team is ahead of schedule, so there wasn’t time to craft a presentation worthy of this council.” Several heads nodded, accepting the unnecessary apology and acknowledging Minister Hong’s humility. The head of MOSS continued, “My comrades, we have before us the single greatest opportunity for the Chinese people in recent history – perhaps of all time.”