The Return of Elliott Eastman

by Ryan, Ignatius

  President White took a moment to comment. “Initially I must confess I like it, but as you know I’m going to have to run it by my re-election team. I can see one possible pitfall. The corporations that trade most of the stock and hedge funds and their lobbyists will fund any candidate who opposes it. The results could be disastrous for my campaign, but I’ll let you know what my team recommends.”

  “Paul, we’ve known each other for a long time and I know your aim to get re-elected is paramount to you, but I must ask you something. It was the question I found myself asking quite often in my last years in office. What about the American people? What happens to their interests when we leaders of the nation must bow to the wishes of Big Money? I kept coming to the conclusion that they deserved better. At some point we politicians need to do what’s right by the American people.”

  “I understand the sentiment Elliott, but I can’t let those types of thoughts get in the way of my re-election.”

  “Paul,” Elliott said softly, a measure of sadness evident in his voice. “These problems are real. A trillion dollar a year deficit is unsustainable. At some point we will bankrupt the nation, if we haven’t done so already. We’ll go to the media with the names of the corporations that oppose this bill. Any corporation that doesn’t support the new ‘War on the Deficit’ will be blacklisted and their products avoided. We can win this battle. Does your team have any proposals on the table to deal with it?”

  “Nothing concrete yet, but it is something we’re keeping an eye on,” the President replied while glancing at his watch. “I’ve got another meeting to go to in about ten minutes regarding the Israelis, and I need to be briefed on the latest events.”

  “In complete honesty, allow me to digress for a moment. I would also like to see a Value Added Tax. We’re the only advanced democratic nation in the world that doesn’t have one. And perhaps a National Sales Tax enacted for two or three years to further destroy our common enemy, the deficit, but that is for another day and time. I didn’t want to reach too far and those two proposals affect the average American worker, so I much prefer this approach. So I’ll close by making this promise to you, Mr. President.”

  The President noted Elliott’s change in tone and looked over at the former congressman, but at that moment Elliott chose to gaze at the table in front of him collecting his thoughts. He was losing the President. The leader of the free world wasn’t listening.

  The President looked away again until Elliott spoke more forcefully.

  “Listen to me Paul. The time is now. If we can get this into bill form and on the floor of Congress, I will personally write a ten million dollar check to your re-election campaign.”

  The President was in the process of glancing down at his watch for a second time when his head shot back up. He stared intently into Elliott’s face for a moment to be sure the former senator was not joking.

  “I’ll even have my team of lawyers help with drawing up the bill, but we need your backing,” Elliott added.

  “That is very generous, Elliott. Are you sure about that?”

  “I’ll put it in writing if you wish.”

  “That’s not necessary. Your word is good enough for me.”

  Elliott stood and said in a very direct and formal manner, “Thank you for taking the time to chat with me Mr. President. I’ll await word on your decision.”

  Chapter Nine

  Eddie Kelley climbed from the shower, quickly dried off, and studied his sturdy figure in the mirror. The angry pink scars from the hail of shrapnel he’d endured dotted his physique. For a moment he thought back to his years chasing the Taliban around Afghanistan.

  “For what?” he asked for probably the hundredth time.

  James Lally called from the living room of their rented suite at the Comfort Inn in New Braunfels, Texas, “Dude, you gotta get out here and see this. It’s all over the evening news. Maria Baritromo just said upwards of ten thousand prisoners have escaped.”

  Eddie strolled from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, grabbed a beer from the fridge and stood in front of the television.

  “Is it just me or is Maria Baritromo hot as hell?” Eddie asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Look at that hole in the prison wall in Phoenix! Did those guys use a Patriot missile or something?”

  “Sub-standard construction,” Eddie replied. “They saved a few pennies on concrete by not filling the voids in the center of each cinder block.”

  “Let’s see what they’ve got on another channel.”

  “No, not my Maria.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Damn, good-bye Maria.”

  The CNN news anchor was stating in shrill tones, “Local police forces are overwhelmed. Governments are calling in the National Guard. There are rumors the feds may send in the army. There are upwards of twenty thousand criminals released on the streets of our cities.”

  “Wow, the number of escapees just doubled,” Eddie said.

  James switched the channel again. Bill Maher was laughing with the other members of his guest panel.

  “I don’t see the big issue. Calling in the National Guard? Nonsense. Let me ask you a question? If you were a prisoner who just got a get of jail free pass, what are you going to do? I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You’ll buy a six pack and find the nearest street walker. After that you go visit mom, and after that you get another six pack and find the nearest … ! Anyway you get the picture. I don’t think these guys are the threat they’re being made out to be.”

  The show goers burst into laughter.

  James laughed as well saying, “I love Bill Maher. He’s always so right on.”

  “He does have a unique view. I’m bushed. I’m going to hit the hay. If Elliott calls wake me.”

  “Sure thing. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter Ten

  Steve Crawford and Silas Woodford, two of Elliott’s long time warriors, waited patiently inside a forest green Ford Expedition watching for any movement outside an enormous walled and gated mansion that overlooked the Hudson River.

  “Place looks like a fortress,” Silas commented.

  “Did you expect something less? Don’t forget this guy is the CEO of Capital One.”

  “Yeah, yeah, big deal. I’m just saying it looks like more than a two-man job.”

  “Piece of cake,” Steve replied lowering the pair of field glasses from his eyes. “From what I’m able to see it looks like one guard with a dog is all that patrols the grounds, and the electronic surveillance system was disabled this morning by a fake UPS delivery man.”

  “We’re a quarter mile away and it’s starting to get dark. Are you sure that’s all we’re up against?” countered Silas.

  Steve gave him a withering look and said, “When I say I’m sure, I’m sure. Have you got the iPad 12?”

  Silas patted a back pack in front of him resting on the floor of the vehicle.

  “We’d better get moving,” Steve continued. “The intelligence we were given indicates George Hearthstone is a creature of habit. He always pours himself a double scotch at exactly 5:30 and sits out on the patio reading the Wall Street Journal.”

  Exiting the vehicle the two men set their watches. Steve shouldered a heavy rifle case while Silas checked the batteries on the iPad 12 for the third time in the last two hours.

  Fifteen minutes later they were kneeling in the shadows of a towering Black Oak against the ivy covered wall of the palatial mansion.

  “Okay,” Steve whispered handing Silas a rifle with silencer and scope. “You’ve got four darts. Take out the guard first and then the dog. This stuff isn’t lethal. It’s a combination tranquilizer and muscle relaxer. It will take them down instantly but leave them still able to see and hear. Don’t miss. Take your shot at exactly 5:36 and I’ll take care of the main target at the same time. Hop the wall and meet me at the rear porch. And take care not to damage the iPad 12.”

  “Roger that. No one else around?”
>
  “No, his wife is at a private jewelry auction in Manhattan and will stay at their townhouse in the city. Hearthstone’s lady friend doesn’t arrive here until 8:30. Let’s move.”

  A few minutes later Silas, peered over the wall to find the guard and dog a hundred yards away across a vast expanse of lawn, strolling leisurely along a garden path. He checked his watch and eighty eight seconds later, with a sound like a human exhaling, sent two darts at the targets. The guard fell heavily into a rose bush while the dog staggered a few paces and fell on the lawn. Instantly Silas was over the wall and moving like a shadow across the grass.

  Meanwhile, Steve sighted carefully and squeezed the trigger. The dart struck George Hearthstone in the center of his back. He spilled his drink and slumped heavily to one side of his chair. The two attackers met at the rear patio of the mansion and lowered Hearthstone from his chair until he was lying on his back looking up at them. What the CEO saw was two men gazing down at him dressed in army camouflage suits and black stocking cap hoods. The fear, evident in the CEO’s eyes, became even more palpable when he lost control of his bladder.

  “Pretty tough guy when he’s charging little old ladies 27% interest, but a little different when his world is violated,” Crawford whispered.

  “That’s a shame,” Silas chimed in. “You probably ruined your nice seersucker suit.”

  Silas pulled the iPad 12 from his knapsack and pressed the on button while Crawford continued speaking.

  “You’re George Hearthstone,” he said removing a photo from his pocket and comparing it with the face of the man lying on the patio.

  “Yep. Now we’re going to show you some photos on our neat little tablet computer here.”

  Silas leaned over and held the iPad 12 about a foot from the terrified face. As he pressed down on a button at the end of a cable that extended from the computer, a picture flashed on the screen.

  “This is you having dinner with a friend at the Saint Marks Hotel in San Francisco,” Silas commented. “You probably told your wife it was a business trip. Nice looking dish too, I might add.”

  George Hearthstone’s eyes widened.

  Silas pressed down on the clicker.

  “This is you and the dish heading upstairs to your room.”

  The clicker sounded again.

  “This is you and the dish tearing at each others’ clothes in the hotel room. Yes, it’s the wonder of modern technology. Slip a little eye ball camera under the door and you’ve instantly got an X-rated movie.”

  Silas hit the clicker again.

  “This is you having breakfast the next morning, and that’s me sitting at the table next to you.”

  Again the clicker sounded.

  “That’s you leaving your office, and that’s me cruising by you on the moped. I hate those damn things. Not a motorcycle or a bike, don’t you agree?”

  Silas fell silent for a moment while Crawford tucked the handheld back in his knapsack.

  “The point is Mr. Hearthstone,” Silas continued, “you’re going to give a speech to your board explaining how you’ve gotten wind of the fact that other credit card companies are going to reduce their rates to 7%. They’re going to steal millions and millions of customers away from you unless you act first. You will do this, correct?”

  Crawford reached down, grasped the CEO by his hair and nodded his head up and down for him.

  “Great, I thought you’d agree. You’re going to do right by the American people and stop charging them usurious rates. If you don’t, then these and many other photos are going to be sent anonymously to your wife. If that doesn’t work, you will see me again. It doesn’t matter where. Maybe on a moped in the street or in the lobby of an office building or maybe we’ll have breakfast together again. The point is I can get close to you. Then all it takes is a slight pin prick, something you’ll hardly even feel, and you’ll be dead in thirty seconds. Do you understand?”

  “Settle down tiger,” Crawford said. “Remember he can’t move.”

  Silas stood for a moment looking down at the CEO while Steve Crawford moved off across the lawn. “I’m tempted to give you a few broken ribs, but I won’t kick a man when he’s down. Remember, if you don’t do as you’ve been told you’re a dead man, and that’s a guarantee.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Elliott’s chauffer held the door for him as he climbed in.

  “Where to sir?” the immaculately attired chauffer asked.

  “Ninety nine eighty eight Fort Hunt Road, Alexandria, the home of General Bob Gates.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Elliott leaned back in his seat as the limousine eased away from the curb and thought about the meeting with the President. It had been thorough and clear cut. Elliott knew the President. He was a consummate politician and he wanted desperately to be re-elected. If he refused the proposal it would mean he was held under the sway of the banking industry to a greater degree than Elliott believed. On the other hand, if he agreed to the proposal it was tantamount to declaring war on the banking industry. Elliott sighed. He was glad he wasn’t the President. On the other hand, if Paul White chose the proper course, Elliott stood ready to throw his considerable weight behind him. Elliott felt he knew Paul well. They had come up through the congressional ranks together and had fought very similar battles on the way up. Paul was a good man whose conscience often weighed heavily in his decision making. Elliott hoped such was the case again.

  Suddenly a sharp stab of pain pierced the Master Sergeant’s lower right side. He winced and gasped in pain. The chauffer noted the contorted expression on the former senator’s face and asked, “Is everything okay sir?”

  “Yes,” Elliott replied weakly, “it’s just indigestion.”

  Twenty minutes later the limo pulled up in front of a large stately two story colonial home with a fine view of the Potomac. A widow’s walk ran across the length of the roof and a covered balcony stood over the front door. The home had been built during World War I to house Naval Commander Admiral Fightin’ Joe Johnson and his family. After Joe’s death his heirs neglected it, and the grand mansion had fallen into a state of disrepair. Then Robert Gates bought the property and began a project to lovingly restore the building to its former grandeur.

  The front door opened and General Robert Gates stepped out, briefcase in hand and a heavy coat over one arm. A stiff breeze blew in from the sea.

  Once seated inside the car the old friends shook hands, greeting each other warmly.

  “Good to see you again Bob,” Elliott said. “Ready to go to war again?”

  “Yes, from what you mentioned over the phone I must admit I’m quite intrigued.”

  The two men had often sided together, with Bob Gates as the Secretary of Defense and Elliott as a ranking member of the Senate, to fight military cost overruns and waste as well as attempting to eliminate costly and outdated military programs.

  “This time were going to go for the whole enchilada,” Elliott said. “Along with other efforts that have been initiated, we could have this country back on track in no time.”

  “Any read on how Secretary of Defense Holland might respond to what you’re going to propose?” Bob asked.

  “I’m not sure but I’m hoping a little pressure in the right places, especially from the most respected former Secretary of Defense in history like you and an old senate war horse like me, will make him listen.”

  “You’re too generous,” Robert Gates replied. “I merely did my job.”

  “And shook up the whole war department like no one has in the last fifty years.”

  “From what I know of Bruce Holland he seems to be a thoughtful, concerned and well meaning gentleman,” General Gates observed.

  “My thoughts exactly, which is why I think the time is right for us to approach him with these ideas. What have we got to lose? Think about it Bob. We’re just a couple of old men. How much time do you think we have left? Ten, maybe fifteen years before we’re just sitting in our rocking chairs at
the old folk’s home. We have a chance to change the course and fate of this country. I’ve had a team of nine of the best economists I could find put together a very detailed outline. I think with a little persuasion Bruce Holland will see the light.”

  The limo stopped at the guard entrance to the pentagon where a soldier inspected the ID’s and passes of the two men. A moment later, he saluted them briskly and they were allowed entry into the most secure military base in the world.

  A short while later they were seated at a table in the private office of the Secretary of Defense, Bruce Holland.

  “Good to see you Bruce,” Bob Gates said as they shook hands.

  “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Mr. Secretary,” Elliott said.

  “The pleasure is mine gentlemen,” Bruce responded. “Based on our initial conversation I’ve asked Dick Henghold to sit in. He is the acting director of the Office of Management and Budget.”

  The men shook hands.

  “Now, how can I help you?” Bruce asked.

  Elliot studied the man for a moment. He was young for the position, just in his mid-fifties, but a polished war veteran who understood the nature of command as well as the plight of the men on the ground. He had a reputation as a thoughtful decision maker. He wore his uniform well and was a credit to the armed services.

  “Would you be so kind as to brief the general?” Bob said nodding in Elliott’s direction.

  Elliott dove right in. “As you know General Holland, the economy is in shambles, unemployment is fifteen percent, foreclosures are at a record pace and personal bankruptcies are soaring. The average Joe is hurting and has been for some time. It’s time for those of us that have the vision and the power to bring about change. I want you to know that what we’re about to put forth to you is not a single proposal. This is a multi-pronged attack. It’s what I like to call the ‘War on the Deficit’. I have it from a very trusted source that all the major banks are going to lower the interest rates on their credit cards to 7% for the next three years, thus providing a source of badly needed stimulus to the economy.”