The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3)

by Frances Fletcher

  “I flew to New York as soon as the airports reopened.” Vando paused. “I was compelled to find the truth, for the sake of us all.”

  “But why the Council House?”

  “As the Council’s headquarters, the Council House was the most logical place to start my investigation. That is where Dewer implements his world agenda.”

  “Are you saying al Qaeda hijacked passenger planes on Dewer Rock’s orders?”

  “Dewer funds the Kyle Group, whose defense contractors in turn trained Saudi intelligence operatives to teach the hijackers in a CIA-run airport in the Nevada desert. Al Qaeda is just a scapegoat, Detective. The hijackers were Saudi nationalists, weren’t they? Saudi Intelligence and the CIA planted a false trail leading to Islamic terrorism. ”

  “Why would they do that?” Mel shrugged. “It makes no sense.”

  “But it does make sense, young lady.” Vando tapped his temple. “Once your viewpoint widens you’ll see. For instance, Islamic terrorism is just the latest creation to keep the world in a panic. First, Wall Street elites brought communism to Russia and then pitted the newly-created superpower against United States democracy. Then they manufactured the threat of global warming to keep everyone in line. Now, they are using Islamic terrorism to make us accept freedom stealing policies.”

  “Are you implying that al Qaeda isn’t a threat?” Mel asked.

  “Al Qaeda most certainly is dangerous, but not the way the CIA portrays it. Al Qaeda is trained and run by dark factions of the CIA.” Vando took a breath. “I’m sure my tips have pointed you in that direction by now.”

  Mel leaned forward. “The CIA is behind al Qaeda?”

  “Bin Laden is a CIA operative,” Vando answered without hesitation. “And the CIA was created by the Rock family, originally for corporate espionage.”

  Richie sat up straight, eyes bright. “The CIA admits training bin Laden to fight the Russians in the Afghan War.”

  “And the CIA maintains a database of all the Islamic recruits they train.” Vando nodded. “The CIA named al Qaeda after that database. In English, al Qaeda translates as ‘the base.’”

  “If the CIA named al Qaeda, did they also name al Fuqra?” Richie took a deep breath. “In English, al fuqra means ‘the impoverished.’”

  “With a minute inversion, Detective.” Vando held up a finger. “The names of the terrorist groups were thought up in English by the CIA, and then translated.”

  “That’s what you meant by a change of viewpoint.” Mel whistled. “Everything has a different meaning when you widen, narrow, or even reverse your lens. The picture becomes much clearer.”

  “I just learned about possible CIA involvement in a terrorist plot in New York City that’s half-a-decade old. Do you know anything about the CIA that can validate these claims?” Richie asked.

  “Detective, the CIA’s involvement goes back much further than the mid-1990s.”

  “But how could they have gotten away with crimes for so long?” Mel rolled her chair closer to Vando.

  “If their involvement becomes known, which hardly ever happens by the way, they blame it on blowback.” Vando shrugged. “Blowback is just a euphemism for denying responsibility for what they had planned all along.”

  “Hmm.” Richie rubbed his chin and then stood up slowly. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen them do the same thing in Cuba with Fidel Castro.”

  “The Cuban dictator?” Richie leaned against the edge of his desk and rested his hands on his knees. “What does Castro’s Cuba have to do with the CIA?”

  “Fidel Castro is a CIA operative, just like Osama bin Laden.” Vando cleared his throat. “I lived in a prosperous and peaceful Cuba until the CIA staged a coup and turned it into a cesspool.”

  Richie leaned forward. “You saw Cuba transformed into a dictatorship?”

  “Cuba was a testing ground, and it worked just as the transnationalists had planned. Now, they are implementing the same strategies here, in the United States.”

  “Whoa.” Mel held up her hands. “What are trans-na-tion-al-ists?”

  “Dewer Rock is a powerful internationalist with no national loyalty, a globalist elite.” Vando took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. “Dewer is among a small group of superelites that has gained control of national governments. This group’s agenda is superimposed over the whole world. Dewer’s American citizenship means nothing to him.”

  “Is he evil?” Had she really asked that out loud? Mel shivered, remembering the bubbling holy water on Dewer Rock’s skin. “What is his agenda?”

  “His ultimate goal is monopolization of world power.” Vando paused a moment. “Dewer is a sociopath. He has no regard at all for human life. No moral barriers stand in front of his objective.”

  Richie leaned forward again, his palms digging into his thighs. “Dewer Rock is monopolizing the whole world just like his family dominated industry.”

  “Correct, Detective.” Vando tapped Richie’s knee, clearly pleased that he had done his homework. “Be aware, though, there are people with even higher power. The man who originally gave his father industry in America is above him. And then someone is above that man. They hide in the shadows.”

  Richie slouched and rested loosely entwined fingers on his thighs, his thinking posture.

  Mel’s head was spinning too. How would they ever find out who was at the very top of the conspiracy? They needed a concrete trail to follow, not shadows. “Who is Dewer Rock working for?”

  “The Redshield Dynasty funded Dewer’s grandfather to begin with, as a foothold in America.” Vando tapped the edge of her desk. “The Redshields taught him that competition is a sin.”

  She rubbed her chin. “What does competition have to do with Dewer Rock’s agenda for America?”

  “Corporate fascism.” Vando waved his hand. “If the corporation controls the government, the corporation controls the nation’s industry and commerce. Competition is eliminated.”

  “That’s a bit extreme for corporate power, don’t you think?” Mel leaned back in her chair.

  “Adjust your viewpoint and you will see. Put your new lens to good use, young lady.”

  “I’m trying.” She shrugged. “But it all seems so shadowy.”

  “Yes, young lady. Now you are getting it!”

  “Getting what?” Mel shook her head and huffed.

  “Shadows, everything is run from the shadows—the Council House is the shadow of the White House. Dewer is the real power behind our country. The president and congress are just symbolic.” Vando sighed. “It has been like this since the assassination of JFK.”

  Mel looked at Richie and gulped.

  “Vando makes sense, Mel. No matter how far-fetched it sounds.”

  “It gets worse.” Vando cleared his throat and looked grim. “September 11 is the conspirators’ final push to secure control over the whole world.”

  Richie stared at Vando. “So one-world-government conspiracy theorists are correct, and not nutcases?”

  “Most definitely, Detective.” Vando’s eyes twinkled. “But I prefer the term conspiracy analysts.”

  Chapter 37

  Eva’s stomach rolled as soon as she walked through the wrought iron doors. Not long ago, the elegant hallway with a twelve-foot coffered ceiling appeared welcoming and charming. Now, the entranceway seemed aristocratic and eerie. She cringed at the prospect of spending another day in the Council House. As she walked deeper inside the main hall, she spotted Martin and exhaled. He was the only bright spot in this dreary building. Knowing Martin was here eased her nerves just enough to carry on with the work day.

  “Good morning, Martin.” She walked across the foyer. “How was your day off?”

  “We took the kids to the Bronx Zoo. Join us next time.”

  “That sounds nice. I haven’t visited the zoo yet.” She smirked and twirled her pointer finger in the air. “Unless you count this place.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be on outside security
if you need me.”

  She settled at her desk in the empty office. Stuart wouldn’t arrive until midmorning. She had two hours of alone time. Just her and the computer. The sooner she figured out the chairman’s password, the sooner she could quit this job and leave the Council House for good.

  She had tried two passwords every morning since she promised Richie she would search for more evidence against the chairman. She was afraid to try a third password after the first two failed. Better to be safe than raise a red flag. Every morning on the subway commute from Brooklyn, she made a game of thinking up possible passwords.

  This morning, she’d watched the motion of the train lull a high school student to sleep and thought of the chairman’s hometown. She held her breath and pecked the keyboard. S-L-E-E-P-Y-H-A-L-L-O-W.

  “Please enter password” flashed on her screen. Darn.

  One last chance for today. She chewed her lip and typed: H-E-A-D-L-E-S-S. Eva tapped the Enter button and watched the monitor. The screen flashed and the R-drive opened. She gasped. She had actually hacked the chairman’s private drive. She leaned back in her chair and looked around the room. Still alone. She took a calming breath so she could think straight and double-checked the screen. Mr. Rock’s private files were listed, all right. She almost kissed the screen. There were only forty files. She’d browse them in no time. She began to read the filenames.

  Eva clicked on the file titled Livermore. An invoice loaded onto the screen. Livermore Facility had provided the Council with one hundred ten-gallon pails of nano-thermate. A wave of dizziness overcame her and she clutched the sides of her desk to keep from falling. Her throat went dry and her pulse beat too fast. She shook her head and focused on the screen. She read the product description—Liquid thermite—and almost fell out of her chair again.

  After hitting the Print button, she quickly closed the file. Eva cupped her mouth with her hands and exhaled. She let her hands flop at the wrists and shook them out. Taking a deep breath, she returned her fingers to the keyboard. She had never been so anxious in her entire life.

  She sighed and opened the next file, entitled SEC, with trembling fingers. A Spade Elevator Company work order dated March 2001 filled the screen. A $15 million contract for painting the elevator shafts in Buildings 1, 2, and 7 of the World Trade Center. Five million dollars per building for paint!

  Tearing her gaze from the screen, Eva looked up. She was still alone and the lobby was empty. She hit the Print Screen button and looked back at the monitor. She read the work order again, looking for the other buildings in the complex. But only the elevator shafts of the buildings that had collapsed into their own footprints were listed on the work order. She searched the drive for another SEC file, but there was nothing. Goose bumps travelled along her spine. The work order proved the chairman had paid Spade Elevator to renovate elevator shafts in the World Trade Center six months before the attacks. And only in the three buildings that had collapsed.

  Her whole body began to shake. She thought about the study she had found last week, the one concluding that super-thermite, applied in a liquid state, was the most effective incendiary for high-rise demolition. Fifteen million dollars to paint elevator shafts was an outrageous price. But fifteen million dollars for super-thermite-spiked paint—that made sense! The invoice and work order proved the chairman ordered and paid for the spraying of thermite in the elevator shafts. She licked dry lips and blinked. Was this enough evidence? Could Richie and Mel now arrest Mr. Rock? Should she just take the papers from the printer, stuff them in her bag, and leave this building forever?

  The front door’s air-hinges swooshed and footsteps clicked on the lobby’s marble floor. Her heart rate rose, and she clicked out of the chairman’s R-drive. Stuart entered the room. She looked up and smiled. Stuart couldn’t hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, but he would spot the papers in the printer tray. He nodded a greeting, placed his briefcase on his chair, and walked out of the room. He headed down the main hall without even glancing at the printer as he walked past it.

  Eva closed her eyes and put her hand to her mouth. That was too close! She darted to the printer and snatched the work order and invoice. She ran back to her desk and tucked them under her desk blotter just as Stuart returned with coffee. Stuart would report her in a second. She could barely keep her hands from trembling as she shuffled through paperwork. She would never get through the day, even if she snuck the papers into her bag.

  Soon, the worry of getting caught grew unbearable. She shuddered wondering what the chairman might do if he caught her spying. He would certainly fire her, and then she would be deported. She would lose her chance of becoming an American citizen. But if she failed to expose the truth behind the attacks, no American would ever be safe. American citizenship would become an empty reward.

  Could she keep calm all day knowing the papers might be discovered? She had once waited until a wild boar charged close enough for her to make a clean kill shot. She’d made the shot, but the falling animal almost crushed her. She’d rolled away just in time and her family ate pork all winter. If she could do that, she could certainly sit in an office for a few hours.

  She would get back into the R-drive and search the rest of the files today. But she couldn’t think straight with the elevator work order and thermate invoice sitting under her desk blotter. Searching for a way to sneak the papers into her bag without Stuart noticing, she looked around the room and then out of the doorway. Spotting the mail chute in the lobby, she took a deep breath.

  That would work! After fishing a business envelope from her desk drawer she addressed it to Richie Carson. Glancing at Stuart, she sighed, he was engrossed in his computer screen. Please do not look up, Stuart. She lifted her desk blotter, folded the work order and invoice, and inserted them into the envelope. She slipped the envelope into a stack of outgoing mail.

  She bunched the envelopes into a neat pile, and stood. Act natural. She paused at Stuart’s desk and pointed at his outgoing mail. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He didn’t look up when she added his mail to her pile. She walked into the lobby and opened the mail chute cover.

  “Eva, wait!” Stuart ran toward her.

  Chapter 38

  Richie jogged back from the kitchen carrying three water bottles. “Did I miss anything?” His wide-eyed gaze darted between Mel and Vando. “Fill me in, please.”

  “I said we would wait for you, jeez,” Mel said, holding back a smile. Richie’s suspicion of Vando had disappeared, as she’d known it would. Now Richie didn’t want to miss a word. And why not—the guy was sincere, knowledgeable, and brilliant. She’d known it right away and now Richie knew it, too. Vando was helping them understand things they never could have grasped on their own, or that would have taken years to make sense of without his guidance. And she was quickly realizing that they didn’t have time for a learning curve.

  She took two bottles from Richie and handed one to Vando. “How does bringing down the towers give the transnationalists the world?”

  “They restrict our freedom in exchange for keeping us safe from terrorists. So they create a crisis and then run in with a drastic solution they could never implement during peace time.”

  “I don’t get why they need more power.” Mel cracked open her water bottle. “Don’t they have enough already?”

  Vando reached into his messenger bag and pulled out loose photocopies. “This is a summary of the Anti-Terrorism Act introduced to Congress last Wednesday.”

  Richie leaned over Mel’s shoulder as she flipped each page.

  “It authorizes intelligence agencies to spy on and detain anyone, including American citizens, without due process”—Richie gasped—“without due process, in order to combat terrorism.” He took a breath. “Intelligence agencies can disappear anyone at any time with no accountability.”

  Mel lowered the papers and looked at Vando. “This is the solution! The one the transnationalists could never ge
t away with if the attacks hadn’t happened.”

  “Yes.” Vando sighed. “Exactly so, young lady.”

  “American citizens can be treated just like terrorists.” Richie scratched his head. “This is outrageous. Americans are no longer free.”

  “Not just Americans, Detective.” Vando fished out more papers from his bag and passed them to Richie. “The UK and Canadian parliaments have introduced identical legislation.” He paused. “The solution the transnationalists have imposed on the formerly free world is global.”

  Suddenly, Mel couldn’t breathe. Her heart and mind were suffocating. How could this be? How could American senators and congressmen and the lawmakers of the UK and Canadian parliaments allow their citizens to give up their right to due process? Didn’t they know what it meant? She looked down and took some deep breaths.

  After a moment, she raised her head. Vando sat still watching Richie read the papers. He looked sad as Richie slumped into his chair. Richie’s mouth twitched, and it seemed he was struggling to remain composed.

  “Detectives”—Vando took a long sip of water and then cleared his throat—“that is why Dewer Rock and the superelites planned the September 11 attacks and blamed it on Islamic terrorists. It is their final push to end individual freedom and national sovereignty in one swoop.”

  “How did the senators prepare this in just a few days?” Richie rubbed his chin and his eyes grew wide. “The senators knew the attacks would happen!”

  “Not likely.” Vando tapped his forehead. “Adjust your point of view, Detective.”

  “Dewer Rock had the act ready before the attacks!”

  Mel gasped, remembering the study Eva had found calling for a new Pearl Harbor. The conspirators must have drawn up the Anti-Terrorism Act following the report’s recommendations, a year before the attacks. “I get that the elites are ruthless, but how did they persuade CIA or Mossad agents to put thermite in the towers.”

  “Both intelligence organizations were created and controlled by elite transnationalists through their national governments. Dewer Rock, for example, is an American citizen. Moen Pindar is an Israeli citizen. But both men answer to Lord Redshield.”