She stretched her almost-free hand toward the hip seam in her skirt and twisted her spine ninety degrees but could stretch no further. Please God, just another inch. As she took a deep breath, the rope restraining her elbow loosened a notch, and she reached the pocket and clutched the key ring.
Just then she heard a crack, and Martin stood up, the mahogany arm-rest hanging from his wrists. “Eva, I’m free!” He knelt and began untying her.
“Martin, give me your hands.” She used Richie’s key. It fit! She turned the key and one steel cuff sprung open. What was that humming?
Oh, no! The elevator was descending. She tried to insert the key into the other cuff hole, but her fingers were slippery with sweat.
“No time for that, now,” he said.
She shoved the key ring into his palm and he scooted back into his chair. He shoved the rope under the armrest and reinserted the armrest into the seat. It looked as if he were still tied to the chair. Eva tensed her muscles to take up the slack in her ropes and looked toward the elevator alcove.
Chapter 40
As Vando used the ruler to form more pyramids, Richie rolled his chair closer and watched over his shoulder. He followed the rapid pen strokes with his eyes while Vando drew pyramid after pyramid, slowing only to write names in the cells and label each pyramid. Mel gave up watching and sat back in her chair. Carson knew she just wasn’t a visual girl.
Richie pointed at a pyramid on the top of the page. “This pyramid connects Saudi Intelligence, MI6, the CIA, and the Mossad. They each represent different countries so why are they all in one pyramid?”
“Each intelligence agency is ultimately controlled by a small, but powerful transnational group—the Shadow Elite.” Vando pointed at the large pyramid that overlaid all the individual pyramids. “Each intelligence agency was created by this Shadow Elite and not by individual governments, as it is commonly believed. The Shadow Elite is the capstone of the very top pyramid that encompasses the tops of all the other pyramids. Only the capstone group knows the whole plan. That is the essence of compartmentalization.” He stopped and looked at Richie and then at Mel. “Okay so far?”
“Yes. Please continue,” said Richie. And Mel nodded.
“Understanding compartmentalization is key to understanding how the Shadow Elite conducts false-flag attacks against humanity. And they use the same structure to control everything from financial markets down to breakfast cereals.”
“So secretly-staged attacks could not work if all the intelligence agencies were aware of each other’s activities.” Richie squinted as he examined the diagram. “And only a small section, or compartment, of each agency is involved.”
“Correct, Richie.” Vando twisted the cap off his water bottle. “The Shadow Intelligence Network depends on compartmentalization to conduct black operations.”
“You’ve heard about the Shadow Intelligence Network!”
Mel gasped and straightened in her chair.
“Vando,” Carson said, exchanging a stunned look with Mel. “We just discovered the existence of this secret and ruthless intelligence network, and you casually mention as if it’s common knowledge.”
“I’ve been studying the Shadow Intelligence Network for over half a century. It’s responsible for executing false-flag attacks all over the world. The Shadow Intelligence Network is the capstone of all the other intelligence agencies.” Vando shrugged and continued in his matter-of-fact tone. “Separate sections of each intelligence agency or mercenary contractor or civilian contractor is tasked with a job that other parts of the same agency, other agencies or contractors don’t know about.”
“Compartmentalization,” Mel said, pinching her lips. “It’s evil genius.”
“Nothing genius about it, young lady—just plain evil. It’s really a simple concept. Need-to-know basis and all that secret-clearance stuff.”
Richie looked at Mel. “I’d like to show Vando our investigation chart, but only if you agree.”
“He knows most of what’s on it anyway.” She turned to Vando. “You understand this is confidential.”
“Of course.”
Richie smoothed the folder open on the desk. Vando examined the chart for a moment, uncapped a Sharpie, and held it over the diagram. “May I?”
Richie nodded, so did Mel, and they hovered over him.
Vando added a circle and labelled it Saudi Intelligence. Then he drew a line connecting it to the twin towers and another line connecting it to the CIA circle. “As I mentioned, Saudi Intel helped train the pilot hijackers at a CIA airport in the desert.”
Next, he drew a large rectangle at the top of the chart and labelled it Shadow Intelligence Network. He drew connecting lines from it to almost every circle and box on the chart. Then he drew a circle around the whole diagram. He capped the marker and pointed at the chart. “The Shadow Elite controls it all.”
They were all silent for a moment.
Vando glanced at his wrist-watch and stood. “I have to get to a conference.”
Richie jumped up. “I have more questions.”
“I can’t be late. I’m the keynote speaker.” Vando threw his messenger bag over his shoulder. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Richie,” he said, shaking Richie’s hand. He turned to Mel and smiled. “And it was nice to see you again.”
“When can we speak again?” Richie asked.
“Take your time absorbing everything we discussed today. It’s taken me many years to understand it myself.”
“I’ll take the elevator down with you.” Mel grabbed her bag from her desk. “Rich, you coming?”
“I’m taking Eva out for dinner in an hour. I’ll hang back here until it’s time to pick her up.” A smile spread across his face and he coughed to hide it.
“Have a nice time,” she said with a grin.
“Thanks for all your help, Vando,” Richie called as they walked down the aisle. “I’m looking forward to meeting again.”
Vando turned and waved. “We’ll talk more soon.”
Richie had an hour to kill before picking up Eva. Sitting at his desk, he took a long look at the pyramid diagram Vando had drawn and wondered how other industries and institutions fit in the shadow elite’s scheme—he shook his head—of freaking world domination. He’d thought world domination was the brainchild of movie makers, not real-life villains. How he wished this was all a movie plot. But it was real life and it was up to him and Mebl, and Eva, to stop the damn villains. How were they going to prove such an unbelievable abstraction like world domination? Was it even possible?
He rose, stepped to the window, and gazed southwest at the downtown skyline, at smoke rising from the World Trade Center site. Two weeks later and ground zero was still burning. He took a deep breath. The proof was right before him. He’d continue to tackle this investigation the only way he knew how. With perseverance.
Returning to his desk, he spun his Rolodex until he located an old friend from his toll-collector days. She was a big wig in the NYNJ Port of Authority now.
Dialing the number, he squinted at the index card to read her extension.
She picked up after one ring. “Port Authority Maritime Resources, Mrs. Haynes speaking.”
“Martha, how are you? It’s Richie Carson.”
“Richard, dear. I haven’t felt safe since you left us. And look what’s happened to our grand towers. They’re already holding meetings about rebuilding. Can you believe it?”
“Martha, that’s why I’m calling. I need your help with—”
“We haven’t even recovered our dead.”
“It’s horrible, I know. But, Martha, I need your help with the investigation.”
“Anything, dear. Just name it.”
“It’s about the Claremont Channel Dredging Project.”
“Oh, that was a huge endeavor.”
“Do you remember who funded it?”
“The Port Authority split the cost with Claremont Salvage.”
“How much green are we
talking here?”
“I have to pull the paper file for details. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”
“I’ll hold, Martha. It’s important.”
“It’ll take more than a few minutes. I can’t move like I used to, dear.”
“Take as long as you need. I’ll hold.”
While waiting, he grabbed a pen and began tracing over the diagram Vando had drawn. The top layers of Simon Demo’s, the CIA’s, the Mossad’s and Moen Pindar’s businesses pyramids all intersected with the bottom layers of the Council’s Pyramid. Dewer Rock’s name was inside the tip of the Council’s pyramid, which was the capstone of all the pyramids. The tops of the pyramids for every industry were inside the capstone. So, Dewer Rock controlled all industry! Vando had explained as much, but seeing the web of control laid out again was still shocking. Knowing that one man had so much power over humanity was overwhelming—frightening.
And his Eva worked for that man! When he picked her up from the Council House—he looked at his watch—in just a little while, he’d convince her to never go back.
The line clicked. “Richard, are you there, dear?”
“Did you find the file?”
“Yes dear, and it’s just like I said. We funded $20 million and Claremont Salvage invested $24 million.”
“Thanks so much Martha. It was nice . . .” He heard papers shuffling on the other end. “Martha?”
“Huh. That’s strange.” More shuffling. “Our funding was declined in January 1999 for lack of project profitability.”
“What does that mean?”
“The report says, ‘The dredging project is not worth the expense due to the scrap metal industry’s all-time low, and the five-year projection is dismal.’”
“But two miles of the channel was deepened anyway, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, it was. A ten-foot original depth was dredged to thirty-four feet to accommodate large oceangoing vessels.”
“Was the project later approved?” He heard a drawer open and a snap from Martha’s end.
“I need my glasses for the gosh-darn small print on these cancelled check photocopies.” A drawer opened and slammed closed. “Dear, dear, dear me. A magnifying glass for this darn fine print!”
He held back a chuckle.
“The Claremont Salvage check was deposited in April 2000, the payer was Moen Pindar, and our check was deposited in August 2000 by a third party. I can’t quite make out the payer. Let me double up my glasses with this silly magnifying glass.”
He was on the edge of his seat, tapping his pen on the desk. The last nail to be hammered into the coffin of Pindar’s guilt was in Martha’s hands. No grand jury could acquit him with this evidence.
“Oh, now, I can read the name. Oh, how could I forget him? He’s that rich philanthropist. He’s the one who put up the Port Authority’s share.”
“His name Martha. What is his name?”
“Dewer Rock,” she said.
Richie dropped the pen and closed his eyes. He had Dewer Rock dead to rights! He had them both!
“Richard, are you there, dear?”
“Can you make me copies, Martha?”
“What’s your fax number? I’ll just run it through the phone machine, dear?”
“I need copies sent to my home address. Are you ready to write it down?”
“No need. You’re on my Christmas card list. But I don’t think I’ll be sending cards this year. No. It doesn’t feel right, now, does—”
“Can you mail it right away?”
“I’ll have my assistant copy the file in the morning.”
“Martha, it has to be you, and you can’t tell anyone. And it has to be now. Please.”
“Well, if it’s that important. I’ll do it right away.”
“Thank you, Martha, thank you.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket and hustled to the elevator.
Now Eva could resign from the Council House.
Chapter 41
Eva trembled as the metallic whirring of the elevator grew louder. She mustn’t panic like a silly girl. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and imagined a calm and steady surf rolling onto Brighton Beach. She’d think rationally and find a way to escape.
She pushed her arm further inside the rope and squared her shoulders, pulling the rope taut around her arms. She had to make them think she was still tied up tight. The elevator clunked to a stop. She glanced at Martin. He was slumped in his chair, staring straight ahead.
The elevator door rattled open, and the blonde bodyguard held the elevator door open. Mr. Rock stepped into the hallway.
“He’s here,” Eva whispered to Martin.
Martin tilted his head slightly and winked. Her spirits lifted even as Mr. Rock slowly approached. Trying to clear her head, she imagined the surf again.
Mr. Rock pointed at the stack of chairs and leaned on his cane with both hands. The bodyguard pulled one down, dusted the seat cushion, and set it across from her. Mr. Rock eased slowly onto the chair, placed his palms on his knees, and glared at Eva. A tornado had formed in her stomach, but she refused to turn away from his bloodshot eyes. The staring contest went on forever.
“You hacked into my private drive.”
She could barely speak. “I just accessed Council records, Mr. Rock. I didn’t open personal files.”
“My drive is protected and restricted.” Air puffed from his nose and he looked up at the blond bodyguard. “Do you have any problems hitting a girl?”
Eva gasped.
The bodyguard looked at her and made a fist. “I follow your directives always, Mr. Rock.”
“Please, let me go,” she whispered. The trembling started all over again. She couldn’t stop it this time.
“Who do you work for?”
“I’m employed by you, of course.” She bit the inside of her lip to stop her voice from shaking.
He pinched his lips and pointed at the light bulb above his head. His bodyguard switched it on and the basement morphed into a cavern of grayish-green shadows.
“Am I not authorized, Mr. Rock? I’m a case manager, after all, not clerical staff.”
“Someone must have given you my password.” He folded his hands around the shaft of his cane.
I’m going to get out of this, after all.
“Who gave you my password, Miss Stotsky?”
“I guessed it, sir.” She swallowed. “I didn’t realize you would object. I’m sorry if I overstepped, Mr. Rock.”
“Why did you access my drive?”
She sighed; he believed her. “I needed data to complete a study you assigned.”
He snapped his fingers and held out his hand. The bodyguard handed him a folded piece of white paper. Mr. Rock flicked the printout open and dangled the Simon Demolition payment in front of her face.
She held her breath and gripped the armrest to keep from fainting. Her eyes stung from blinking away tears. If she cried, he’d know she was guilty.
Mr. Rock smacked the leg of her chair with his cane. “Who told you to look for this?”
I can talk myself out of this. I can.
“Miss Stotsky?”
“I needed the amounts to fill in the financial section of the study.”
Leaning forward on his cane, he rasped in her face, “Who sent you here to spy on me?”
“A spy? Me? No.” She shook her head and looked down. She wouldn’t let him see the fear in her eyes. “I’m just doing a thorough job, Mr. Rock, for you.”
He guffawed.
She began to shake.
He held the cane by the shaft, banged it on the floor, and pointed it at Martin and then at her.
She needed to stay calm. But that horrid cane handle was in her face. It was a combination of white and black wood in the shape of a sheep husk and a wolf. She felt woozy and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.
“Get a name from her,” Mr. Rock said and swept the cane handle under her throat. “Then get rid of them both.”
Ch
apter 42
Richie parked by the hydrant across from the Council House’s main entrance and switched the ignition to accessory. The radio tuner was set on 1010 Wins all the time now, just in case the local news station reported breaking news before his Nextel alert system.
Tilting the rearview mirror, he checked his teeth, picked his hair, and applied lip balm. He was finally taking Eva to a nice place, with tablecloths and candles. He’d reserved a table at the famous Spanish restaurant up the block from her apartment.
He wasn’t nervous about proposing tonight even though it was their first real date. It felt right. They had gone from zero to a hundred in no time, the Lamborghini of all relationships. He wished he’d had time to buy a ring, though. He knew nothing about jewelry, never mind diamonds. They’d pick out a ring together, if she said yes. Even if she said yes just to stay in the country, he didn’t care. He loved her that much. Her safety was more important than his pride. Nothing mattered more. If she agreed to be his wife, he’d do everything possible to make sure she wanted to stay married even after she became naturalized. But if citizenship was all she wanted from him, he’d be honored to give her that dream and let her move on. Deep down though, he felt her love. And his gut had never steered him wrong before.
Eva wouldn’t have to work at the Council House to remain in the country if they were married. Once he told her about the money her boss had laid out for the dredging project, she’d agree that it wasn’t worth the risk to work there anymore. He could tell that she was getting more and more nervous every day.
Tapping the steering wheel, he glanced at the front door. He couldn’t wait for Eva to walk out for the very last time. What was taking so long? The door hadn’t opened once. She must be the last employee left inside.
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