Election

by Brandt Legg

  “I have no doubt I can convince him to do the right thing, but if I fail, he is never to make it down to those cameras.”

  “Understood.”

  “And his proof?’

  “He has no proof. You know there’s no proof. He just wants to get my attention.”

  “He still doesn’t get it,” Rex said.

  “No,” Vonner said, pouring himself a drink. “But the stupid bastard sure thinks he does.”

  “So how the hell did we beat Neuman?” Hudson shouted as he charged into Vonner’s palatial suite. “Bastendorff must be going crazy.”

  Vonner was only slightly caught off-guard at hearing his rival’s name, but after a quick glance to Rex, who also seemed surprised, he recovered. “You should know by now that we can make polls say whatever we want.”

  “You can also apparently make the vote come out like you want.”

  “I always knew you were smart, Hudson. That’s why I chose you.”

  “Chose me for what? To be your puppet? Well, I’m not interested.”

  “Okay, so what are you going to do?” Vonner asked coolly.

  “I’m going to go downstairs and withdraw.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” Hudson wasn’t sure if he was bluffing, but could already feel things getting out of control.

  “Then what are you planning to do?”

  Hudson smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m not going to tell what I know. No one would believe it, and even if they did, I have a feeling I wouldn’t live very long. There’s probably one or two assassins down there waiting to take me out right now. Another moment in history, eh, Vonner?”

  Vonner’s face remained cheery, but otherwise revealed nothing. “Listen to me, Hudson. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make this possible.” He pointed to the television, rolling state-by-state numbers of Hudson’s electoral college victories. Scenes of the ballroom thirty-two stories below were filled with fanatical supporters waiting for the victory speech, waiting for the next President of the United States.

  “Well I’m sorry I wasted your time, but I’m not interested in living this lie; in being part of your CapWar!”

  Vonner raised an eyebrow at the way Hudson was throwing around dangerous words. They knew he had put a lot of it together, but Vonner considered Hudson challenging him to be quite bold. “My, you’ve been a busy boy, Hudson. But I have a hunch some of your facts got mixed up in the confusion of your run.”

  “I haven’t mixed anything up.”

  “Yes, you have,” Vonner said, standing up and walking toward Hudson. “And do you know how I’m so sure you have?” He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stopped only inches from Hudson and stared hard into his eyes. “Because it’s my business to mix things up and to make sure no one figures out what’s really going on in the world. And you may be smart, and clever, and all the rest of it, but it’s too big, and by that I mean unfathomable.” He turned and retrieved a drink, took a swig, and set it down hard on a nearby table. “You haven’t a clue as to the enormity . . . the CapWars have been going on for a hundred years before you were even born.”

  “Then educate me. I want the truth.”

  “You’re not ready for the truth. Not nearly.”

  “Really? When do you think I’ll be ready? I just got elected, or at least appointed, President of the United States. I think that qualifies me to be ready!”

  Vonner nodded rapidly, rubbing his chin. “Okay, history teacher, let me give you some history. Reagan didn’t find out the truth about how he got in the White House until six weeks after the election.”

  Hudson swallowed hard. It is true. The system is rigged. Hudson squinted at Vonner. The two locked in a visual game of chicken. How long have Vonner and his kind been manipulating things? Decades? A century? More?

  “What did he say?”

  “Who?” Vonner asked, breaking eye contact. “Oh, you mean Reagan? What do you think he said? He played the game, that’s what he did. Now, Bush Senior and ‘W,’ of course, both knew how things were well before they even ran.”

  “They’re REMies?” Hudson asked, his anger turning into a sick kind of regret.

  Vonner nodded, seemingly enjoying himself. “Bill Clinton, on the other hand, he didn’t learn the truth until several weeks after his inauguration. For a smart boy, he sure was confused. But ol’ slick Willie didn’t disappoint. He was a team player, that one.”

  “And Hillary?”

  “Oh, poor Hillary. They’d made the deal even before the end of Bill’s second term that she would eventually become the nation’s first woman president. She thought it would be in ’08, but—”

  “The voters wanted Obama,” Hudson finished.

  Vonner laughed. “See? Even with what you know, you still forget. You still think the voters have something to do with it. No, the ’08 Democratic primaries, like the 2000 general election, got caught up in the CapWars.”

  “Was Clinton yours or Bastendorff’s?”

  Vonner looked at Hudson carefully for a moment, as if deciding whether to answer; maybe wondering if the hardware store man would be brave enough or dumb enough to come in there wearing a wire. It didn’t matter; the FBI Director was owned by the REMies. Finally, he answered, “Neither. The Clintons are run by another group.”

  “Geeze, how many of you are there?”

  “Not that many.”

  Hudson stared at Vonner, his head swirling, but his resolve still strong. “So, Obama wasn’t . . . ?”

  “Obama was chosen like you were, except I understand they told him up front.”

  “He knew all along?” Hudson asked, startled. “Obama knew!?”

  “Of course,” Vonner said, as though it was a foolish question.

  “Then what happened to Hillary? How come she didn’t become the first woman president? How did Trump win?” he asked, thinking of what Fonda had told him.

  “Trump was a mistake.”

  “How?” He couldn’t imagine.

  “We occasionally screw up.”

  “Who? REMies?” Hudson asked. “Judging by the state of the world, I’d say you screw up quite often. It’s not just the presidency; it’s wars, it’s the economy, it’s everything!”

  “Yes.” Vonner nodded soberly. “But, Hudson, we can end this. We can give it back to the people.”

  “Are you serious?” Hudson couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Absolutely, but it must be done carefully.”

  “Wait, you’re claiming to be . . . to be good? On the right side of this?” Hudson laughed. “Oh, please go on.”

  “It’s true,” Vonner said. “I’m not the enemy. I’m trying to stop all this, and I chose you to help me.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I’m not trying to beat Bastendorff because this is a game; because I want to rule the world like that lunatic.”

  “Then why?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Vonner said, “but first you need to see something. Rex, could you please get me a zoomer?”

  Rex, whom Hudson hadn’t even noticed sitting back in a dark corner behind several computer screens, stood and walked to a nearby table stacked with gear. He grabbed a black aluminum briefcase and pulled out what looked to be a twenty-inch laptop, handing it to his boss. Vonner set it on a shelf between two of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights. Once he opened it, Hudson could see this was no ordinary laptop. The keyboard looked more like the controls one would see inside the control room of a TV station. Vonner quickly began manipulating the buttons, and soon images started flashing across the screen. Hudson couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Hudson gazed into the monitor, trying to digest all the data. “That’s my family tree?”

  “Yes,” Vonner said. “And see way up here? That’s your three-times great grandfather, John Collins, a close acquaintance of both J.P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller, helped orchestrate a victory in an ea
rly CapWar. Of course, they weren’t called CapWars back then, but John Collins won it nonetheless. And make no mistake, the Panics of 1893-1896 were CapWars.”

  “I’ve never heard of John Collins.”

  “He was a very secretive man.”

  “No, I mean, even in my family, I’ve never heard anyone mention him as a relative.”

  “But he was. You can see the connection here,” Vonner said, pointing to a dataset on the screen. “You can verify it yourself.”

  “I believe you. Collins is one of our family names, but I don’t recall any relatives ever mentioning his name. Was John Collins wealthy?”

  “Extraordinarily so.”

  “But as you know, I was raised poor.”

  “The money went down a different branch of your family tree. I can show you the breakdown, if you’d like.”

  “I’d be curious, but this obviously isn’t the time,” Hudson said, glancing up at the television monitors with wall-to-wall election coverage of his shocking victory. Neuman was just finishing a brief concession speech. “So, you’re saying you chose me to be president because of some long-lost relative I didn’t know existed?”

  “I chose you because you met the criteria. Every point. Still, I must admit that the deciding factor was your connection to Collins. I thought it was a good sign that you’re a descendent of a CapWar winner.”

  “You people are crazy.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘you people’?”

  “The one-percenters like you. Bloodlines, money, the elites . . . Or, do you prefer to be called a REMie?”

  “I don’t know exactly what you’ve discovered, or what you think you know,” Vonner said, “but the world is not run by the Illuminati. There isn’t some kind of long tradition where a secret society passes the keys of power down by way of a torch-lit, skull-adorned ceremony where cloaked men brand each other or drink blood from gold goblets. People like to imagine a grand conspiracy exists, but it doesn’t.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Hudson said.

  “Is it?” Vonner asked, his voice turning impatient. “That depends on your point of view.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “You mentioned the CapWar, so I assume you know something about it, but you have my part all wrong,” Vonner said. “There isn’t one conspiracy, there are many. Everyone wants to rule the world, and there has been an invisible war going on for a hundred years to gain control—ultimate control.”

  “We’re on the eighth stone of the CapWar.”

  “Very good,” Vonner said, visibly impressed with Hudson’s knowledge. “But don’t be a fool, man. I’m not one of them. I’m the one who put you here.”

  “You put me here to use me.”

  “Hell yes, to use you in your position as president! But you and I, we’re going to defeat the REMies once and for all!”

  Hudson didn’t know what to say. He desperately wanted to believe that Vonner was working for good.

  “Hudson, I chose you out of hundreds.”

  “But the voters didn’t.”

  “The voters never have.” Vonner swept an arm toward the floor to ceiling windows and the city below. “You don’t really think we would leave this to chance, do you? What, and let the masses decide what’s right for them? Let the people choose the fate of the world? Ha! They don’t know what the hell they’re doing. These people can’t even run their own lives.”

  “Maybe it would turn out better than you think. Better than it has.”

  “Imagine if we let someone get into the White House by chance. It’s too important. It has to be orchestrated. The people electing the most powerful person on earth is a nice fairy tale. So is Santa Claus delivering presents to kids around the world. But neither one of them is remotely true.”

  “Didn’t you say a few minutes ago that you want to give it back to the people? Yet, you’re sounding a lot like a REMie.”

  “We’ll give it back to them when they’re ready. And we need your help to get them ready. First, we have to stop Bastendorff and the others from taking it all away. We’re fighting on behalf of the people!”

  Hudson glanced at Rex and walked to the window. He could see dozens of news trucks lined up in the parking area. The world was waiting for him to appear. They all believed it was real.

  “Hudson, just because you don’t like it, just because you didn’t know, and just because I’m involved, doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that I’m a horrible man,” Vonner said, joining him at the window. “Bastendorff is trying to take over because of some delusional belief that he’s divine royalty and needs to rule for the betterment of mankind. Seriously, that’s where this guy’s head is at. Bastendorff is the elite of the elite, the one-percent of the one-percenters.”

  “What about Booker Lipton?”

  Vonner did a good job at not expressing his annoyance at Booker’s name being brought up. “Booker Lipton thinks he’s trying to save us from another ‘evil’ group of REMies—the Aylantik—who apparently claim to be trying to stop human extinction.”

  “And you’re trying to save us from ourselves?” Hudson said, turning to face Vonner. “What is with you people? Is it that once you earn more than ten billion dollars, you suddenly believe you’re a god? Incredible!”

  “I wish you would trust me,” Vonner said. “Give it a chance and you’ll see I’m on the same side as you.”

  “What side am I on?”

  “The right one. The one that gets to fairness, peace, prosperity, and justice.”

  Hudson heard the word justice and thought of Rochelle. His mind had been on her all night; first, when he was convinced he’d lose and thought he’d let her down again, and later, once he’d won and realized there was still a chance to help her.

  “If I do this,” Hudson began, “I have to know that no matter how I got here, I’m actually the president. The final decisions are mine.”

  “Of course,” Vonner said, smiling, patting Hudson’s shoulder.

  “And I can do anything I want?” Hudson asked.

  “Well, Congress might have some ideas of their own. And I’d prefer you don’t start a nuclear war,” Vonner said with a laugh.

  “Nothing like that,” Hudson replied, missing the joke.

  Vonner looked at Hudson for a long moment, until Hudson, feeling the stare, met his eyes. “You cannot pardon Rochelle Rogers until the end of your second term.”

  Hudson coughed. Hearing Vonner utter Rochelle’s name stunned him. How did he know? But he kept going. “That’s too long. It has to be right away.”

  “Why do you want to do that? Were you dating her?” Vonner looked at Rex, still frustrated they had not found a connection.

  Hudson ignored the question. “If I’m president, I’m going to pardon her in my first few weeks. My popularity can take the hit.”

  “Why don’t we just transfer her to a minimum-security facility?”

  “No.”

  “We could arrange an escape, give her a new identity.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Hudson, be reasonable.”

  “She has to have complete freedom.”

  “No one has complete freedom.”

  Hudson nodded. “Maybe not.” He couldn’t argue that after all he’d learned. “But she has to at least have what the rest of us have. Why is that so hard?”

  “She assassinated a popular governor, from your home state,” Vonner said incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? We haven’t caught NorthBridge yet. What do you think your precious masses are going to do when Hudson Pound’s first act as president is to release a political assassin? There’ll be hearings, people will call for your head—”

  “You can fix all that.”

  “Do you think it’s that easy to convince the public what to think?”

  “Yes, I do.” Hudson pointed to himself as proof.

  “Let us take care of her,” Vonner said, smiling placatively. “She’ll be transferred, and along the way we’ll just lose
her. She’ll wind up on a tropical island where she can drink margaritas and live out her days picking up shells on the beach.”

  “No. I’m going to pardon her so she can live in Ohio, or wherever she wants.”

  Vonner looked at Rex, and then back to Hudson. “Okay.” Vonner took a deep breath. “I won’t argue anymore as long as you’ll take the office. Go down now and accept.” He looked at Hudson warmly. “What about it? I’m asking you the same thing I asked that day at Titan Bank. How would you like to be the next President of the United States?”

  “I need to do one more thing before I can answer.”

  “Damn it, Hudson, you’d think I was asking you to clean up a nuclear waste facility in your boxer shorts. We’re talking about being president, a part of history, a chance to improve the world. We can stop the REMies once and for all, and you want to think about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you realize you won the election? That there are thousands of people downstairs waiting for you, a few hundred million more across the country wanting to see their new leader, and billions around the world who are going to hang on your every word?”

  “I do.”

  “Ten minutes, Hudson,” Vonner said. “You go talk to Melissa, or your kids, or the hardware gods, whoever the hell it is that will make you feel good about this, but do it in ten minutes.”

  Hudson thought of asking, “Or what?” but he didn’t really want to know the answer right then.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Hudson, trailed by his Secret Service detail, went straight to Schueller’s hotel room. His son was waiting.

  “How’d it go with Vonner?”

  “He claims he’s on our team,” Hudson said, pulling the Wizard’s flash drive from his pocket.

  “Our team?”

  “Yeah.” Hudson shoved the drive into his son’s laptop and looked at his watch. “Says he’s trying to stop Bastendorff.”

  “Of course he is, so he can be the emperor.”

  “No, Vonner told me it’s so he can return control to the people.”

  “Do you believe him?”