Empire

by Brandt Legg

  “I keep liking this Bastard-dorf less and less,” Hudson said. “Enough proof to arrest him?”

  “No.”

  “I thought not.”

  “Our other friend, Titus Coyne, is a bit more sophisticated,” the Wizard said, “and plays wild financial games. He’s like a mad scientist experimenting with the world economy, and he’s good at it.”

  “He’s tight with the Fed Chairman,” the president said.

  “Exactly,” the Wizard agreed. “And he orchestrated the largest theft in the history of the world. According to the data that Crane unearthed, nearly $20 trillion has been looted from the US treasury, and it flowed into the accounts and corporations controlled by four dozen REMies, and at least another ninety-eight wealthy elites.”

  “We don’t have $20 trillion in the treasury,” the president said.

  “Not anymore,” the Wizard replied with a wink.

  “No, there has never been that much,” Melissa said. “So how could the REMies take what wasn’t there?”

  “They printed money, lent it to the banks, pumped it into the economy—basically just created it from nothing—and now it has to be paid back. They’ve been doing it for years, not just during the last crisis, but it was usually just a hundred billion here, a hundred billion there. No one ever had the audacity or capacity to move trillions before Coyne.”

  “How does this go undetected?” the president asked rhetorically.

  “They control the politicians, the government, the media, all of it,” Schueller answered anyway. “Everything is rigged. They keep spoon-feeding us lies. Did you read Crane’s last report? It isn’t just Manipulate-And-Distract-Everyone. MADE events are only part of it. The REMies have another trick they use every day called SAD—Scare, Agitate, Divide—and the media fosters it, ‘us against them.’ Everything is a battle, every crisis is politicized. Once upon a time, we all got along.”

  “And Coyne may really be the worst of all. His ambitions know no limits. This guy has been after the CapStone for decades, and doesn’t care what he has to do to reach it,” the Wizard said. “Apparently, on Wall Street, they call him ‘the shark,’ or ‘killer.’”

  “It’s an unimaginable amount of money,” the president said, wondering how they could defeat an enemy with truly unlimited resources. He looked out to the rugged Maryland countryside and thought about President Eisenhower naming Camp David for his grandson, who went on to marry President Nixon’s daughter, Julie. Eisenhower, Ike, the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe during World War II, prior to becoming president, had warned of the military industrial complex during his farewell address. He knew what was coming. His successor, John Kennedy, had been the last one to try to rein in the corrupt elites attempting to completely control the world . . . the last one until now.

  “And it just didn’t start with the 2008 meltdown,” the Wizard said, bringing Hudson back. “It’s ongoing. That’s how they’ve reached the heights of this insane amount of money. And Coyne is doing it in dozens of countries. All the REMies are!”

  “But the initial bailout in 2008 was something like $700 billion,” Melissa said. “I still don’t understand how we got to trillions.”

  “Oh, it’s crazy,” the Wizard replied. “The REMies have more tricks than Houdini. Even back in 2011, an official report showed the government’s guarantees had increased to nearly $8 trillion. Then in 2015, the Special Inspector General’s summary of TARP, said the total commitment of government in the bailout was $16.8 trillion. They have so many ways. In 2016, the Pentagon admitted it couldn’t account for $6.8 trillion of taxpayer cash!”

  Melissa squinted her eyes at the Wizard. “You’re starting to sound like Thorne. Maybe NorthBridge stole it with their digiGOLD scheme!”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Hudson agreed. “Crane and Zackers both showed the terrorists had found a way to shave micro fractions off almost every financial transaction.”

  “Thorne gets a lot right, and twenty trillion is more than micro fractions,” the Wizard said. “Do you know that something like one hundred trillion cells make up your body? Each cell is made up of a hundred trillion atoms, inside them are protons, then quarks . . . it’s incredible, the Planck length we’re talking about, matter, the density of space, I mean can you—”

  “Wizard,” Hudson said, narrowing his eyes and briskly shaking his head. “We’re talking about the REMies . . . ”

  “It’s the REMies who stole it,” Schueller agreed. “That’s what they do. The eight richest men own as much wealth as the poorest half of the world’s population. How did that happen? It’s disgusting when over three billion people live on less than $2.50 a day. The REMies are out of control.”

  “I know,” Melissa said. “I just don’t want to see your father die for a cause that isn’t clear . . . we just need to be sure who we’re fighting.”

  “You’re all right,” the president said. “The way things work now is a mess. There’s too much wealth in the world to have billions in poverty, and billions more working their lives away. It must be changed. But the REMies have cloaked themselves in so much secrecy, so many layers of protections. They have a complex system that only they understand. It’s the strength of their empire—”

  “And I’m not sure even they understand it themselves anymore,” the Wizard interrupted. “In the past twenty years, as they’ve slugged it out for the CapStone, they’ve lost control of their own system. The emperors are at war with each other.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s up to us to bring it, and them, down. And don’t forget for a minute that NorthBridge is presumably trying to bring about violent change. We must follow the examples of Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mandela—if we shine light on their darkness, they’ll be exposed.”

  “Cherry Tree,” the Wizard said. It was their code name for the plan to illuminate all the REMie atrocities so the masses would see the truth and join the president in throwing out the elites and destroying their false system. “That’s how we bring down the empire.”

  “Right,” Hudson agreed. “Along with everything else we’ve put together, the Kennedy papers we found in the Resolute Desk are going to shock people. Once the people know, they’ll turn on the REMies and take back what is rightfully theirs.”

  “Risky,” Melissa said. “It sounds a little too much like the French Revolution when the peasants turned on the aristocrats and royals. Thousands were marched to the guillotine. What do you think the masses are going to do when they learn the truth?”

  “There’ll be trials . . . ” the president said. Although Hudson knew it would be virtually impossible to prosecute anyone over the Kennedy assassination, since the papers JFK had hidden shortly before being gunned down in Dallas were, at best, circumstantial. However, the typed contents with margin notes made in Kennedy’s own handwriting made it clear he had the goods on the REMies.

  “Forgive me,” Melissa said, “but I think that’s naïve. Don’t you recall what Thorne said during one of the debates? ‘Ramener la guillotine,’ bring back the guillotine. He has something like thirty million listeners who are already angry. Imagine when they discover that five or six hundred people have stolen most of the wealth in the world because of a system being controlled by fifty of them.”

  “They have a right to know they’ve been manipulated,” the Wizard said.

  “I’m not arguing that,” Melissa said. “I’m merely suggesting we take a prudent approach so the country, and the rest of the world, doesn’t wind up in anarchy.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bastendorff had just finished completing an elaborate scale replica of the White House built entirely of Legos when two aides entered the room and informed him that Titus Coyne had met with Federal Reserve officials in New York.

  “He’s going to get them to raise rates,” Bastendorff said. “Coyne wants them to constrict the money supply. I like it. It’s what I would do.” He adjusted his eyeglasses and dug his fat hands into a large bin of all white Lego p
ieces, massaging the mass of plastic bricks as if he were molding clay or counting money. “Let’s ride on Coyne’s battle plan and throw everything we’ve got at Pound. We’ll see if he can handle it.”

  “The president has handled everything so far,” one of the aides said.

  “Things are different now,” Bastendorff retorted. “Pound doesn’t have Vonner to protect him anymore.”

  “But he does have the new billionaire Schueller Pound and Vonner Security.”

  “Schueller Pound and VS, are you joking?” Bastendorff said, his puffy face rolling into a smug, yet annoyed smile. “A kid, and a bunch of rent-a-cops. Somehow I’m not very worried.”

  “VS did fine against the team we had protecting Rochelle Rogers,” the aide added.

  “Only because Booker Lipton sent his BLAXers to help,” Bastendorff said, his grin changing to a scowl.

  “I don’t know,” the aide began. “A deadhead with fifty-two billion dollars, that kind of crazy would worry me.”

  “I bet it would.” Bastendorff smirked. “I think I’ve got a lot more money, much more firepower, and definitely more experience than some college dropout and an ex-teacher slash ex-hardware store clerk.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” the aide said, wishing he’d never said a word.

  “So am I,” Bastendorff replied, pulling his hands from the Legos and heading toward the elevator. The aides followed. “I want to give this guy riots in the streets of every city in America, trade wars, mass power outages, drug runners on the borders, embassy bombings, anti-American demonstrations, political unrest, I might even throw in a natural disaster or two.”

  “Then we’re a ‘go’ on the NorthBridge plan?” another aide asked.

  Make it happen,” Bastendorff said.

  Dranick, who’d been mostly silent during the meeting at Laurel Lodge, walked along Camp David’s wooded path later that day with the Wizard and Schueller.

  “We may have to do some things that didn’t come up earlier,” Dranick said. “On the reservation where I was raised, sometimes the coyote tricks you, and sometimes he helps you, but either way, you are changed.”

  “What do you mean?” Schueller asked.

  “You’re Hudson’s son, Wizard is his oldest friend, and I consider him my brother,” Dranick began. “He’s counting on us to support him because bringing down the REMies is too big a task for any single person, even the president of the United States.” Dranick stopped and looked back along the path they had come, as if gauging the distance from any of the buildings. “That means we have to do what he can’t and protect him from the fallout.”

  “You mean illegal things?” Schueller asked.

  “I prefer the term ‘Shadow Ops,’” Dranick replied.

  “‘Illegal’ is a relative term,” the Wizard added. “The REMies system is the biggest crime ever. The elites are nothing more than racketeering mob bosses.”

  “Meaning two wrongs make a right?” Schueller asked.

  Dranick nodded affirmatively.

  “What do you have in mind?” Schueller asked.

  “As the Director of National Intelligence, I present a problem to the REMies,” Dranick said. “The DNI, along with the director of the NSA, the CIA director, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, and the handful of other REMie loyalists in key positions, formed a quasi-governmental committee, created policy, and actually ran the country.”

  “And, by default, the world,” the Wizard added, as he stopped to compare two leaves.

  “I’ve got access to all major intelligence, and command of the FaST Squads, and just because they’re called ‘Find and Stop Terrorists’ doesn’t mean we have to just use them against NorthBridge . . . ”

  “Are you suggesting arresting anyone knowingly working for REMies?” Schueller asked.

  “I am,” Dranick said. “And because most people who work for the REMies don’t do it knowingly, yet provide the infrastructure, if you will, to allow the REMies to control us, I’m also proposing we arrest them, too.”

  “That’s a lot of people,” the Wizard said.

  “Does it make us like Covington, or even the Nazi SS?” Schueller questioned. “I mean, if we go around picking up anyone who is seen as a threat to our agenda—”

  “If we don’t play rough, I don’t see how we can win,” Dranick said. “Even playing rough, really rough may not be enough.”

  The Wizard looked at Schueller. “It’s a slippery slope.”

  “But he’s right. The REMies have everything,” Schueller said. “We should be prepared to do whatever it takes to break their hold.”

  “Little Dawg,” the Wizard said to Schueller, “you talk about the REMies as if they’re aliens or something, but remember you’re one of them now. What are you gonna do with all Vonner’s blood money?”

  “I’m going to use every last dollar to bring down the tyrants.”

  “The three of us are in a unique position,” Dranick said. “With Schueller’s fortune, Wizard’s DarkNet skills, and my access as DNI, we can make the difference. We can actually make the difference and win. By hell . . . we’re a triumvirate! I didn’t realize it until now—a triumvirate for good!”

  “It’s true,” Schueller said. “He can send out FaST squads to arrest REMies and seize assets, you can use Gypsy to track and uncover their schemes, and with my bottomless supply of cash, I can attack the REMies where they’ve never been challenged before—the financial arena.”

  “Agreed?” Dranick asked. “We do what we have to do and keep the president insulated?”

  “You mean lie to Hudson?” the Wizard asked.

  “Protect him,” Dranick said emphatically, “while we make sure his goals are accomplished.”

  “Okay,” the Wizard said, “but we stay in touch—daily—and nothing too crazy.”

  “Famous last words,” Schueller said, wondering if G. Gordon Liddy had a similar conversation with John Mitchell, Jeb Magruder, and John Dean decades earlier, leading to the Watergate scandal and resulting in the resignation of President Nixon.

  Chapter Nine

  The president and Fitz sat alone in the Oval Office, wrestling with a strategy to prevent the REMies from destroying the administration. The most difficult decision, as in any major confrontation, was whom to trust. They’d debated for half an hour over who could be brought in, how to frame the battle plan so the enormously complex conspiracy could be put into a believable context.

  As the conversation hit another wall, Hudson veered slightly off topic to an issue that had plagued his thoughts and confused him since Vonner had first approached him to run.

  “So, Vonner wasn’t all bad,” the president said, looking at Fitz, who knew the late billionaire far better than he did.

  “I should say not. He left you a fortune.”

  “He left it to Schueller.”

  “A technicality,” Fitz corrected. “Regardless, the man believed you could change the world.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Look, Mr. President, you have a real chance to make history here,” Fitz said, pouring more Coke into his tall glass, already filled with cola-ice cubes.

  “You should try green tea instead.”

  “Vonner didn’t tell you things because he thought in all your innocence, you would run away and hide. You’d cry like a little boy,” he said, and then, looking up at Hudson with the eyes of a sniper, “I hate tea.”

  Hudson made an irritated face. “Vonner underestimated me.”

  “No, he didn’t. You’re still not sure. You think it’s like in the movies. The hero is honorable and righteous, never does anything wrong and in the end, good always prevails.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “After all that’s happened, haven’t you learned yet? It isn’t that simple. Vonner stole, broke the law, crossed a thousand lines, but he was getting it done. He introduced the world to you, he—”

  “It isn’t that hard to do the right thing, you’ve just
got to know what it is first.”

  “Exactly, but knowing is the hard part because of every complication. Sometimes we have to do things considered ‘wrong’ or ‘illegal’ because, in the end, it makes the right effect.”

  “Sounds like the ends justify the means.”

  “When you’re taking on REMies—the rulers of the world—and they have every advantage—”

  “So, anything goes as long as we’re fighting corruption?” Hudson asked, leaning against the Resolute Desk. “I suppose you think Booker is a good guy, too, in spite of leading NorthBridge on a killing spree.” The president had only recently told his chief of staff the identity of AKA Washington. Fitz had agreed that they didn’t have enough to arrest the African American billionaire, and that he was more valuable to their efforts while he remained free, at least for now.

  “Booker and Vonner were cut from the same cloth.”

  “Vonner hated Booker,” Hudson protested.

  “No, he didn’t hate him, just strongly disagreed with him. Thought his tactics and concepts were wrong. And, as far as I know, Vonner didn’t even know Booker was behind NorthBridge.”

  “Then you’re saying Booker’s trying to defeat the REMies, so he’s also on our side? How do we know it’s not another MADE event, a hundred of them?”

  “Booker believes that the world, and indeed humanity itself, is running out of time. He’s wrapped up in all his Universal-Quantum-Physics and the Inner Movement. UQP shapes his view of the world. He thinks he knows what’s coming in the future. Vonner told me about a meeting the two of them had several years back where they tried to enlist each other’s help, but they couldn’t get on the same page.”

  “Yet I still maintain Booker is a criminal,” the president said.

  “Like it or not, NorthBridge may be the key to getting what you want: finishing Vonner’s quest.”

  “You can’t have forgotten that NorthBridge tried to kill you,” he reminded Fitz.

  “Because they thought I was corrupt, or rather that I would corrupt you. It appears as if Booker wanted you in the White House all along.” Fitz took another swig of his soda.