Empire

by Brandt Legg

  Yet, in those moments of awareness, he understood that he was trying to push it away. It would take time and contemplation to discover how to blend the truths he had absorbed in death into what he was destined to accomplish in life.

  “Could you get a message to him?” Hudson asked. “Would you urge him to contact me?”

  Linh nodded. “And will you do something for me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “When you do all the possible things you’ll do as president, will you never stop dreaming of what is thought to be impossible?”

  With these words, she instantly appeared younger, incredibly beautiful, magnetic. His earlier impression seemed absurd now. Her simple request, the intonation of each syllable, as if presenting a beautiful flower, or whispering a sacred secret, took his breath away.

  He nodded, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t seem cheap in response.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later that day, Booker called the president’s private cellphone while he was changing in the residence.

  “How’s my timing?” the billionaire asked.

  The president thought of asking him if he knew he was in the residence. It could have been a coincidence that Booker had reached him in a rare moment when he was alone, but Hudson had an eerie feeling Booker knew his every move.

  “Perfect,” Hudson said, checking the SonicBlock. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m one of your biggest fans.”

  “Booker, you’re a charming man, that’s for sure, but you’re the most powerful force within the two groups I’m trying to destroy, so forgive me if I have trouble believing you.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. President. Then what can I do for you?”

  “Make my job easier. If you really want to help me, shut down NorthBridge and join my plan to end the REMie empire.”

  “The problem is you don’t understand my motives, you can’t see what I’m trying to do. Vonner poisoned you—”

  “I’ll tell you what I see,” the president interrupted. “You’re one of the wealthiest people in the world, a top REMie, the CapStone within your grasp. You’re the major manufacturer of specialized military weapons and surveillance equipment, and yet with all that power, you choose to start a revolution against your government. What don’t I understand?”

  “You’re only seeing things from Vonner’s perspective. Let me explain it from another angle, okay?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Vonner and I had different approaches. He was much more conciliatory than I am. I need the CapStone, but not for my own power—”

  “What else is the purpose of a CapStone if not to obtain power?” Hudson picked out a shirt, then put it back.

  “Of course, that’s what the CapStone is—ultimate absolute power. This may sound silly to you, but I need it to save the world.”

  “You know what they say about absolute power?” the president asked. “It corrupts absolutely.” He chose a blue shirt.

  “If Bastendorff, Coyne, Miner, or one of the others get the CapStone first, we’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.”

  “And that means you can do whatever you need to do to get it?”

  “The CapStone isn’t some relic, it’s control. In some ways, it can never be won,” Booker said. “But for a period, it can be held, and one of us will be in total control. That needs to be me.”

  “Because your cause is the noble one?”

  “Yes. REMies aren’t normal people. They’re the one percent of the one percent. No rules apply to them. They cannot be arrested. It’s difficult for the average person on the street to fathom a million dollars and what that can buy, but a billion? Impossible. Now make that hundreds of billions. With every billion added comes connections, power, and control. It multiplies exponentially. You might be beginning to see some of that with your son receiving Vonner’s money, but my point is that for all your good intentions, you won’t be able to stop the REMies through legislation, law enforcement, prosecution, or negotiations. There’s only one way to stop them, and that’s by force.”

  The president sat down on a stool in the large closet. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I am not wrong,” Booker said.

  “But you don’t know.”

  “I do know.”

  “How?”

  “Because I have near infinite wealth at my disposal. I wield more power than all the presidents, kings, and rulers in the history of the world combined. I’ve seen things you cannot begin to imagine. The world is at a precipice. Those with a limited view are missing the obvious. We have little time left before freedom becomes just a word with forgotten meaning.”

  The president considered for a moment that Booker was on the insane side of eccentric, but decided to give the man who had achieved so much the benefit of the doubt.

  This guy is a whole lot smarter than me.

  “Can you give me a little more to go on? Show me some facts.”

  “That would require our spending quite a bit of time together. Unfortunately, with you being president of the United States, and me being sought by the government of the United States, that is not possible. But ask yourself, Hudson, how come you cannot find me, or stop me, or any of the people I protect?” Booker paused.

  The president did not respond. Hudson stood and ran his hand over his suits, hanging in color order.

  “You know the world is a disaster, you’ve said it yourself. Everything is out-of-control. The human race has become just that, a race against each other; a race no one can ultimately win. We need each other.”

  “Then we should be the change we want to see,” Hudson said, paraphrasing Gandhi. “We should work together. This is the last time I’m going to make the offer.”

  “No,” Booker said. “There’s no time. The REMies must be stopped now, and you can’t do it with words alone.”

  The call ended a few minutes later, leaving the president more frustrated than ever. He knew in some respects that Booker was right, but he could not condone an illegal war, an armed rebellion.

  He decided to order the FBI to release the names. By this time tomorrow, the world will know Booker Lipton, Fonda Raton, and the shock jock Thorne, were all AKA terrorists.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bastendorff glared at his two assistants as they typed on keyboards, listening to his commands. “There’s not enough turmoil,” the overweight billionaire said while wiping duck fat from his fingers. Several plates of food littered his desk. “I want a wave of crime sprees in American cities, and not just ordinary crimes. How about gang wars and people tossing stuff off overpasses, lots of random killings in high-end shopping districts. Let’s have the people screaming for President Pound to do something.”

  One assistant was typing notes, the other was moving money into previously set-up (and often used) slush fund accounts in the United States.

  “Of course, Pound won’t be able to help much, because he’ll have his hands full with NorthBridge and the craziness going on with all their foreign bases,” Bastendorff said, scooping up an éclair.

  “Craziness?” an assistant asked.

  “Pound wants to shut down all the US military bases around the world,” the billionaire responded. “Can you imagine? Just think about all those Pentagon generals . . . oh, it’s too good. I couldn’t have planned this better. Booker Lipton has so much money to lose if they cut back on defense as much as Pound wants, and then there’s Titus Coyne. He wants the bases open because he has plans for those bases in the CapWars, thinks he can use them to help get the CapStone. See the loveliness here?”

  Neither assistant answered.

  “In this case, we’re happy to assist our friend, President Pound. See where I’m going?”

  “Craziness at the bases,” one of them replied.

  “Exactly,” Bastendorff said, smiling as if he’d just placed the last brick in a five-thousand-piece Lego set. “Let’s get some of those servicemen and women in trouble at US bases in Germany, Japan,
South Korea, Italy, Turkey, Bahrain, and hell, every base you can think of.”

  “Trouble?” one of his subordinates asked for clarification.

  “I mean get them accused of rape, peddling secrets, bar fights, I don’t care, just make trouble for the administration. I want all those countries giving Pound headaches.”

  Bastendorff had a large and capable network of operatives around the world in numbers comparable to Vonner Security and Booker Lipton’s BLAXers. However, he was more willing to use them in devious and ruthless ways. Bastendorff budgeted between one and two billion dollars a year for such operations. Other REMies thought him reckless, but had grown accustom to his twisting and outrageous acts, and regularly packaged Bastendorff’s follies as Manipulate-And-Distract-Everyone events. Many REMies had profited considerably by shadowing Bastendorff’s moves and using them to consolidate power and achieve their own goals. Several REMies also manipulated Bastendorff’s MADE events to enhance their own, more conservative, MADE events.

  Even though Vonner was dead, Bastendorff was still fighting a personal CapWar with him. Bastendorff lived in a perpetual state of infuriation that Vonner had put Hudson Pound in the presidency, then left the bulk of his fortune to Schueller Pound. His outrage that Hudson was still in power in Washington, without direct REMie control, drove the bloated billionaire to take greater risks at obtaining the CapStone. What power President Pound had was now unchecked. The most reckless REMie was willing to act in an extremely brazen manner, even by his standards, to strip the Pounds of everything. Those who had worked with Bastendorff the longest knew there was something different this time; not just a vendetta against Vonner, not just trying to teach the Pounds a lesson, not just trying to win another CapWar.

  Karl Bastendorff was scared.

  “I want to start seeing this stuff on the news tomorrow,” Bastendorff said to his assistants. “Will that be a problem?”

  “We should be able to make that happen.”

  He may have appeared to be a belligerent slob, grossly overweight, playing with children’s toys, seemingly spoiled and crass, but a man like Bastendorff, who other REMies called “the Grinch,” could not have risen to such a level, accumulated the enormous amounts of wealth, possessed incredible power, without being smarter than people thought—and he was much smarter. Bastendorff might actually have been one of the smartest REMies, and he knew they were all in danger. He had tried unsuccessfully to convince them of imminent catastrophe. He had implored them to join forces to have Hudson eliminated. All of his own efforts had so far failed, however, he still had ongoing operations underway toward that end. But Pound had also proved to be smarter than originally believed, and that fact raised Bastendorff’s blood pressure every time he thought of it.

  The president had protected himself well, cleaned out rogue Secret Service Agents, put his man in at DNI, and somehow managed to find the clean agents in the FBI. Vonner had also ensured that it would be difficult to remove Pound. He left many procedures in place and networks to protect the president even after his own death. This wasn’t just shutting down another problem, not just another obstacle in his path to the CapStone. Bastendorff knew he was also trying to save his own personal fortune, and keep the REMies in power.

  “Any luck getting Walton on board?” an assistant asked.

  “No. These idiots don’t get it, and, of course, they don’t like me. They know I’m close to the CapStone.”

  Unfortunately, Bastendorff was so disliked by most of his fellow REMies that although he had been working the phones for weeks, he’d been having difficulty getting anyone to see the urgency. Even those who did realize the threat Pound posed were unwilling to sign on to his radical plans. Instead, some launched their own initiatives in order to stop the president, while others didn’t believe Pound would get very far since no one else ever had.

  “Fool!” Bastendorff barked after another call with a noncooperating REMie. “That’s okay, this young president is soon going to have more to deal with than he can possibly imagine. Between NorthBridge, the Chinese knowing his weakness, our plans, and all the other REMies coming at him in various ways, this guy isn’t going to be facing a crisis a week, he’s going to be dealing with one every hour! The empire strikes back!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  During a video chat the president, the Wizard, and Granger, discussed a new threat.

  “Ever hear of Lester Devonshire?” the Wizard asked from the old mansion in Oakton, Virginia, where he and Granger had been working with little rest for days.

  “Yes,” the president answered from his private study next to the Oval Office. “Vonner’s attorney mentioned him. He inherited a billion dollars from Vonner.”

  “Right. He’s Vonner’s closest blood relative, and it seems he’s met with attorneys about challenging the will.”

  “Too late, it’s settled,” the president said.

  “I know, but he’s not a nice guy. The only reason I know about him is because Gypsy spat out an alert on his activity.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s vague so far, but the guy owns a beat-up casino, some Nevada brothels, and has a bunch of pawn shops, among other seedy ventures and shady activity. Also, he seems to be investing big into the legal marijuana industries in Californian and Oregon.”

  “So? Now he has a billion dollars to play with. Maybe he’ll upgrade into international trafficking or money laundering.”

  “Or really go legit and get into politics,” Granger joked.

  “This guy is no joke,” the Wizard said. “He’s had someone looking around the DarkNet. Based on the footprints, my guess is Lester is looking to smear your reputation—blackmailing and sordid accusations.”

  “Do I have a reputation to protect?” Hudson asked in mock surprise. “There certainly isn’t anything to blackmail me about.”

  “Dawg,” the Wizard said in a serious tone, “it’s a real threat.”

  “Okay, I don’t mean to make light of it, but Wizard, there are a lot of threats, aren’t there?”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “Thank you,” Hudson said. “Now, Granger, how are we looking on the new structure?”

  “The new financial system, based on the blockchain—”

  “Sorry, I’m still not a hundred percent clear on how the blockchain works . . . ” Hudson said.

  Granger smiled patiently. “Every transaction—a purchase, a funds transfer, real estate, whatever—is represented as an information block across the internet. It’s instantly scrutinized by every party on the network. Assuming it’s verified, it will be approved and added to the chain, which records a permanent record of all transaction. It all happens in seconds, and cannot be erased, altered, or hacked because of the transparency and redundancy.”

  “Amazing,” the president said. “What about the APT?”

  “The Automated Payment Transaction Tax is sliced off of every transaction, a tiny fraction, also part of the permanent record,” the Wizard answered. “We shrink the IRS down to a few thousand employees, same with Social Security, because it all becomes automated, efficient, and fair.”

  “But we have a way to go,” Granger said. “The REMies have such a tight grip on things right now. They’re using cameras from the Three-D system, which, as you know, are everywhere now. Back in 2018, the last time they did official estimates, the number was one hundred million surveillance cameras in the US. It’s at least six or seven times that now.”

  “Two cameras for every citizen,” the president said sadly.

  “But what the REMies do with all that data, compiled by the NSA and other secret agencies, is what’s really terrifying,” Granger continued as he leaned against one of the eight huge white Roman columns at the edges of the sweeping brick veranda. “The REMies are going way beyond MADE events. They actually distort reality.”

  The Wizard took over. “It’s insane, Dawg! Seriously, they’ve got artificial intelligence go
ing that you could have a conversation with and not know it isn’t human. It’s easy for them. They have tens of millions of fake profiles on social media, but you couldn’t tell if you looked at them if they were your Facebook friends, even if you messaged them. It’s suddenly like, ‘what is reality, man?’”

  Granger flashed the Wizard a quick, incredulous look and resumed his explanation. “They are into disinformation,” he said. “Not just individual REMies, but organized, state-sponsored campaigns as well. It’s extraordinary. We have competing networked propaganda moving the dial on what people feel strongly about, what they support, what they buy, who they like and dislike. What’s crazy is it’s impossible to tell it’s happening. The social media companies lost control of it a long time ago. All they care about is monetizing your life, which plays right into what the REMies and other bad actors are trying to do.”

  “The REMies are also using these systems to manipulate public opinion,” the Wizard added. “Not just for MADE events, but for every moment of our lives. Dawg, it’s been a long time since a democracy existed.”

  “You see, it’s not just fake news sites, but many other, much more subtle things,” Granger said.

  “Like mind control,” the Wizard said. “Imagine if you could use the same formula to turn the world, raise its consciousness, bring on the enlightenment!”

  “Every single day this stuff gets stronger—artificial intelligence, machine learning, bots, spiders, algorithms, trend targeting, mechanized false content.”