“So the transnationalists’ perspective is completely different from anything we can imagine. Their game is played on such a large scale we cannot see the whole board.”
“You are a quick study, Detective Carson.”
“Call me Richie.” He shrugged the compliment away. “I guess working deep undercover in the Impoverished broadened my perspective.”
“Can you break down the specifics for me, Vando?” Mel asked.
“The US official who ordered that the World Trade Center steel be shipped to Asian smelters is an American who also has Israeli citizenship. He is probably a high-level Mossad agent, but I haven’t validated it. Yet.” He tapped the desktop and frowned. “When I do, though, it won’t matter because the insiders and their flunkies are not held accountable for their unlawful actions. The laws are enforced only against common citizens, like us.”
“I watched an Asian ship loaded with girders from ground zero sail into the ocean in the middle of the night from a shipyard owned by a high-level Mossad agent,” Richie said. “This government official must have known that when he gave Moen Pindar the contract.” He patted Mel’s elbow and jutted his chin at Vando. “You were right to trust him. He knows his stuff.”
Vando grinned. “Your skepticism is what makes you a good investigator, Richie.”
“Seeing with my own eyes makes it impossible to deny.” Richie shrugged. “So why is that government official making sure the iron will never be examined?”
“He works for the conspirators who planned the attacks. His job is to destroy the evidence that proves the towers collapsed from controlled demolition.”
Mel shook her head. “I’ve worked with some CIA agents. They’re crazy patriots who would die for us. No way would any of them plant explosives in the twin towers.”
“Compartmentalization restricts knowledge about the operation.”
“So most CIA agents aren’t involved, right?”
“Correct, young lady. Or they don’t know that they are involved. CIA assets and operatives are manipulated to perform a specific task or operation in isolation from the grand plan.”
Mel thought of Rashid and exchanged a look with Richie. The CIA had used him as a patsy. He hadn’t even known the explosives were real. “So compartmentalization is how the attack is pulled off in secret.”
“Most of the independent contractors that applied the thermite thought it was just paint, unaware that is was liquid thermite. Only one or two knew the truth.”
“But the agents who installed the conventional charges had to recognize them,” said Richie.
“They were probably told that it was part of a drill. A test to see if the charges would be discovered.”
“But once the towers imploded, the agents would have known that they’d been part of the attack.” Mel crunched her water bottle. “Surely, they would speak up!”
“Not necessarily. The attacks were broken into parts, like a jigsaw puzzle. Each black ops cell or person had a different job. The agents who placed conventional charges in the elevator shafts did not know about the thermite application. The charges alone could not have caused the implosion.”
Mel opened her bottle and let the air reform the bottle’s shape. She looked at Vando and shrugged.
“Look at the shipping of the WTC steel to Asia, for example. The Mossad made sure the iron recycling company was improved to handle the steel in advance of the attacks. The US official who contracted the salvage company was appointed before the attacks just so he could give the right company the contract after the attacks.” Vando looked at her. “Okay, so far?”
“Yes.”
“So, the US official knows a piece, and Moen Pindar, the Mossad agent who set up the recycling company knows a bigger piece, but the workers cutting the steel and loading it onto barges work themselves ragged thinking they are cleaning up the site, never realizing they are destroying evidence that proves thermite combustion.”
“I have an idea to help us get this straight.” Richie tore a sheet from a legal pad and drew a circle with a black Sharpie. “This is Moving Systems,” he said, and wrote the business name inside the circle. He drew another circle next to it and labelled it Claremont Salvage. Then he drew a larger circle above the two circles, intersecting them both. “This is the Mossad.”
Vando watched Richie and grinned. “Go on, Detective.”
Richie drew a circle intersecting the Mossad circle and the Moving Systems circle and labelled it CIA. He hovered the Sharpie over the diagram and looked at Vando. “How can I show the Council’s control with a circle? I can’t intersect them all.”
Vando leaned over and examined the diagram. “I see the problem. Only part of each circle knew or did something while Dewer Rock, as the head of the Council, knows it all.”
Richie drew a large circle encompassing all the circles, and raised an eyebrow. “But most Council employees do not know anything. So this diagram isn’t accurate.”
Vando pointed at the chart. “May I?”
Richie passed him the chart and black Sharpie. Mel smiled at the eager way Richie looked at Vando.
“It’s a pyramid of control.” Vando scanned the desktops and his gaze settled on the supplies on Richie’s desk. Armed with a ruler and red marker, he began drawing. He made a triangle over the circles Richie had drawn. And added lines until the triangle was divided into levels, and then he divided the levels into cells. “Each cell is assigned a particular task. And only one or two people above its level knows another part of the plan,” he said, squeezing Dewer Rock’s name in the top point of the triangle. “The person in the tip of the pyramid knows the most.”
After filling in the rest of the cells with business and intelligence agency names, Vando capped the marker and turned the chart around so Richie and Mel could get a better view. “Not one person in each cell knows the whole plan, and most people in the cell do not know the true reason that he is carrying out an assigned task. That’s how the conspirators get away with false-flag attacks.”
“Like Justin Newman.” Richie pointed to the cell labeled Spade Elevator. “He had no idea his company became a cover for the CIA to paint super-thermite on support beams. When he became suspicious, someone from a higher level in the pyramid tossed him down the elevator shaft.”
“So people only know their own tasks.” Mel shook her head. “They may not know how they affected a big event until after it happens. And then they justify their actions by convincing themselves of ignorance.”
“And Rashid,” Richie said. “He didn’t know Gabriel was CIA and I was JTTF. And I always thought Gabriel was a true believer in the jihad.”
“Compartmentalization—the brain child of the CIA.” Vando swept his hand over the pyramid diagram. “And the CIA was created by the same people who formed the United Nations.”
Richie lowered his head. “Then world control is already in their grasp!”
“In essence, the United Nations is a one world government.” Mel sighed. “We’re doomed.”
“Have hope.” Vando pointed at the picture of the baby on Mel’s desk. “The next generation needs us to stand up and scream no. The elite will lose their power over us.”
Chapter 39
Eva’s hand froze. If she slid the envelope down the mail chute, Stuart could just retrieve it from the bin. But if she ran into the street right now she would get away with the envelope. Martin would keep Stuart away from her while she ran to the subway. But Stuart couldn’t know what was in the envelope. He hadn’t seen, had he? She swallowed, straightened her shoulders, and turned to face him.
“I forgot one.” Stuart reached over her shoulder, tossed an envelope down the chute, and held the mail flap open.
She cleared her throat and dropped the mail down the chute. Stuart closed the flap, and she forced a small smile before walking down the hall to the kitchen. She could barely breathe and needed a moment alone. After filling a tea kettle, she sat at the kitchen table and waited for her breath to com
e back. Looking down at her shaking hands, she realized she had reached her courage limit. She couldn’t come back to this building tomorrow or any other day. Her nerves would betray her. As soon as Stuart left for lunch, she’d go through the rest of the R-drive and be done with it.
Once her hands steadied, she fixed a cup of tea and returned to her desk. By the time she finished the tea, Stuart had powered down his computer and was packing his briefcase. “I’m off for a lunch meeting at the office building. It should go through the rest of the afternoon. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you tomorrow, Stuart.” Oh no, I won’t. She had the whole afternoon alone to browse the R-drive. After she finished searching Mr. Rock’s private files she’d never come back.
She listened for the front door to close and waited. No one else had come in. Just to be sure the entire floor was deserted, she walked from her doorway to the kitchen, in the rear of the building. While there, she brewed a fresh cup of tea to help calm her nerves. She lifted the cup but put it right back down. Too hot to hold. She wrapped napkins around it and carried it back to her desk.
She sat down and entered Mr. Rock’s password on the keyboard for the third time. She browsed the file names and none looked suspicious until she reached the very the last one. The filename, Simon, seemed too simple to be meaningless. She opened it. It’s was a payment to Simon Demolition for consultation services. A $40 million consultation! She pressed Print and reached the printer just as it spit out the last piece of the puzzle. She flew to her desk and grabbed her bag from the bottom drawer. Now she could leave here and never return.
Reaching inside her bag, Eva pulled out her cell. She couldn’t wait to tell Richie the news. He’d be as relieved as she was. He did such a lousy job hiding how much he worried about her. But what if someone came in while she was on the phone? At least wait until you’re a block from this horrible building. Shaking her head, she tossed the phone back into her open bag. What had she been thinking? She was just so excited to leave here forever. Even the prospect of going back to Russia didn’t seem all that bad anymore.
Immigration wouldn’t still deport her, though, would they? As soon as Richie arrested Mr. Rock the Council would be exposed. Surely, she would be justified for quitting such a corrupt organization. They’d give her time to get another job before sending her back.
The front door hissed open and her eyes darted to the screen. She quickly copied the file and pasted it into her private e-mail account, and then closed the R-drive.
Martin entered the room, looking flustered and holding a set of handcuffs. “Mr. Rock ordered me to detain you.” A frown tugged on his face and he whispered, “Bodyguards from his office building are on their way. Go home now, while you still can.”
Eva stood paralyzed for a moment.
Two men, a muscle-bound blond and a stocky brunette both dressed in dark gray suits stormed into the room. The blonde man pushed Martin aside and grabbed Eva’s elbow. He grabbed the payment printout from her hand and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
Eva tried to shrug off the bodyguard’s grip. She’d just play innocent. “You can’t take that printout. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Too late for that, honey,” he said with a smirk.
Huffing, she picked up her teacup. “I’m serious. Procedure calls for a log entry.” She tugged on his jacket. “Give it back.”
He pushed her away and she splashed tea in his face. She held back a grin. “Sorry,” she said.
With a howl, he grappled for the napkins as they fell. “You bitch!” he screamed and wiped his eyes.
Eva jabbed enter on her keyboard. She watched the green bar cross the screen and stifled a cheer when she read “E-mail sent.” She might not have the hard copy, but a copy of the payment lived in cyberspace.
“Hey, the lady said she was sorry,” Martin said, stepping forward. “Eva, go home. I’ll handle this.”
The stocky man stepped in front of Martin.
Eva bent to gather her things, but the blond bodyguard had recovered from the hot tea and pushed her against the desk. He twisted her arm behind her back. “Stay still, bitch, or I’ll break it.”
“Let her go!” Martin pushed the stocky bodyguard to the ground and stomped toward Eva.
The blonde man pointed a gun at Martin with his free hand.
“No!” Eva yelled and elbowed him, but it was too late. She heard a pow followed by a swishing noise. That wasn’t a gunshot. Thank God. But still, things had gotten serious so fast.
Two wires extended from the muzzle to Martin’s back. As the blonde bodyguard pulled the trigger, a crackling noise travelled along the wires, and Martin fell to the floor, his body twitching like a fish out of water.
“Leave him alone!” Eva shouted. “He’s just doing his job! Protecting the employees— protecting me!”
The bodyguard tossed the Taser gun onto the floor, and the short man Martin had tackled sprang up and retrieved Martin’s handcuffs. He pulled Martin’s arms together and clicked on the cuffs.
“Please, take the prongs out of his skin.” Eva felt her chin begin to tremble.
“Happy to oblige.” The bodyguard jerked the wires out of Martin’s back. Small red stains spread through his jacket. Eva didn’t take her eyes off his back until she saw his torso rise and fall. He was breathing!
The blonde bodyguard pulled her upright and barked at his companion. “Mr. Rock wants to interrogate her in the basement. Take him too.”
The basement! Eva felt dizzy. Oh my God! Why would Mr. Rock want to speak with her in the basement? As far as she knew, there were no offices down there, not even a security room. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Mr. Rock can speak to me right here.”
The blonde bodyguard chuckled and pushed her down the main hallway, through the kitchen, and into the service entrance alcove. Clamping his fingers around her arm and holding her against the wall, he jabbed the freight elevator’s call button.
Oh my, oh my, oh my! Things had spun so out of control. How much trouble was she in?
The elevator door clanked open and the man pulled her inside. The stocky man dragged Martin in by his underarms. Eva looked down at his dazed face and worried how much damage the Taser had done.
After descending one level, the elevator jerked to a stop. The door creaked open onto a dingy basement and Eva’s legs buckled. She felt as if she were being escorted into an execution chamber. She gulped and tried to shake off the fear. The man holding her arm yanked her up, and flung her into the dark basement.
As the brute nudged her down a cement corridor her fear began to turn into anger. Her upper arm was throbbing and she began to massage it. And then she realized that he had let go of her arm. She had a chance to run!
She looked for a way out but couldn’t see a door, loading dock, or even a grating. She passed half-casement windows, too small for her shoulders to squeeze through, but they filtered in some outside light. The blond bodyguard prodded her deeper into the basement and a foul odor assaulted her nostrils. She noticed garbage bins alongside the cement wall. An exit to the alley must he nearby! If I keep my head, I’ll find the way out.
The brute kept shoving her until she reached stacks of stored furniture. The man righted two chairs. Okay. One for her and one for Mr. Rock. She sighed, things were getting civilized again. But still, an exit interview in the basement? She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. If she could just stay calm, and wait for the right moment, she’d be okay.
The bodyguard grabbed her arm again, swung her around and pushed her into the wooden chair and it wobbled. The old conference room armchairs had been replaced because the frames were getting shaky. Ready to collapse.
She could see a little better from this angle. Outside light must be coming in from somewhere besides the small windows. A door must be down here somewhere. The other bodyguard was dragging a semi-conscious Martin down the corridor. Somehow, she’d get them both out of here.
The blonde bo
dyguard reached over her head and she grimaced when she saw a spool of rope in his hand. No one is tying me up. “This is getting ridiculous now,” she said and stood up. “I’ve cooperated because Mr. Rock is coming. But he would never allow his employees to be treated like this. Even one he was firing.” She looked around for something—anything at all—she could use as a weapon. There was nothing.
The bodyguard pushed her back onto her seat. “Whose orders do you think I’m following?”
She tensed her shoulders and spread her arms while he tied her to the armchair. Maybe she could wiggle until the chair broke and then crawl away. But the bodyguard wasn’t done tying her down yet. He wrapped rope around her ankles and fastened her thighs to the seat. Eva hoped he wouldn’t notice her tensing each part of her body as he tied them down. And he didn’t. Holding someone captive must be as new to him as being imprisoned was to her. He probably performed any task Mr. Rock paid him to do, no matter what it was. A cold-hearted, money-hungry thug.
He finally turned away to help the stocky man lift Martin onto the chair next to hers. So that chair wasn’t intended for Mr. Rock, after all. Maybe, he wasn’t coming.
The bodyguards tied Martin to the chair and took the elevator back upstairs. Eva almost cheered with delight. She couldn’t believe the men had left Martin and her alone. This was her chance!
She wiggled in her seat and the frame wobbled. She relaxed her shoulders, arms, and legs. The rope loosened enough for her to free her arms up to the elbows and she waved at a still groggy Martin. He shook his head and shrugged. He was regaining the use of his muscles. She heard handcuffs clank as he squirmed.
Handcuffs! All cuff keys were the same shape, she hoped. If she could reach Richie’s keys she was pretty sure she could unlock Martin’s cuffs. This morning, she’d slipped Richie’s key ring into her skirt pocket. It held her apartment key and a handcuff key. He had forgotten it on the nightstand, and she’d planned to tease him into searching her for it later, after their dinner date. Their date! Richie would be coming for her. She wondered what time it was. All she had to do was get out of the basement and Richie would do the rest.
The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3) Page 18