The Unraveling

by James R. Clifford

  West read the story:

  European financier and philanthropist Nigel Firth was found dead in his home yesterday afternoon. Firth was strangled with piano wire in his brownstone where he was discovered by his wife of 46 years. The assailant is still at large and the authorities want to question West Collins, a reporter for the World Weekly Enquirer. Anyone who has any information about Mr. Collins or his whereabouts are asked to call the Department of Homeland Security or the New York State Crimes Division immediately.

  West flung the paper on Tank’s desk.

  “I’m being set up. I didn’t kill Firth. That article is a complete lie and I can prove it. I was at his building and we did have a conversation and I was supposed to meet him later that night. Hell, I thought he was the one who had set me up and was trying to kill me.”

  “You and I know you weren’t responsible, but that doesn’t really matter does it?”

  “It is all about the power and control, isn’t it?”

  “I think it is more about money. There are no poor tyrants or emperors. Money equals wealth which translates into power. In Rome it was silver and gold coins. In Mayan civilization it was agriculture and water. In the United States it was paper and that’s when our true decline began in the 60’s with three defining events. The war in Vietnam, LBJ’s Great Society and Nixon who first laid the foundation for the destruction of the dollar by taking us off the gold standard that ultimately destroyed the heart and soul of this country by creating the Petrodollar System.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Sloan. I never did quite understand the petrodollar deal?”

  “A petrodollar was simply U.S. dollars oil-exporting countries received from selling their oil, which was then deposited into U.S. banks. Nixon never got credit for it but for a couple of decades it was a stroke of genius. At the time the Petrodollar System was a brilliant political and economic move because it forced the world’s oil money to flow through the US Federal Reserve, which created an ever-growing international demand for both US dollars and US debt.

  In 1973 President Nixon and King Faisal of Saudi Arabia struck a deal that required Saudi Arabia to accept only US dollars as payment for oil and it also required them to invest their oil profits in US Treasury bonds, notes, and bills. In exchange, Nixon pledged to protect Saudi Arabian oil fields from the Soviet Union and other hostile nations like Iran and Iraq.

  By 1975 all members of OPEC and most oil-producing countries agreed to sell their oil only in US dollars. Over time the petrodollar system spread beyond oil with the majority of international trade and payments for commodities being denominated in US Dollars.

  For decades the Petrodollar System allowed the US to reap many rewards because it created constant worldwide demand for US dollars. A strong US dollar allowed Americans to buy imported goods at a massive discount – the petrodollar system essentially created a subsidy for US consumers at the expense of the rest of the world. Think about it this way: we have imported vast amounts of the world’s natural resources and products in exchange for paper IOU’s backed by nothing more than governmental decree.

  The net result was that through the 1980’s and 1990’s the strong dollar helped America create a lifestyle for the majority of its citizens that has never come close to being duplicated in the history of civilization.

  But the Petrodollar System had downsides and unintended consequences. The first problem with the Petrodollar System was that the availability of cheap imports decimated the US manufacturing industry.

  But the biggest problem with the Petrodollar System was once international trade began to shift away from the US Dollar into different currencies it resulted in a long term decline in the value of US dollars.”

  “And of course, economic decline brings instability,” West interjected.

  “It brings the death of civilizations. Despite what public schools teach 9/11 was won by America’s enemies. They succeeded in destroying what they hated the most about America, which was individual freedom and liberty. 9/11 ushered in the State Security System. Nineteen Saudi Arabians flew planes into three buildings and how did we respond? We declared war on countries in the Middle East who had nothing to do with the attack, but the real tragedy of 9/11 was America went down the wrong fork in the road. We declared war on ourselves.

  The Department of Homeland Security was established solely to protect the United States from terrorist activities. Yet the organization has become the largest terrorist organization to ever exist in the history of the world. Their sole modus operandi is to fight terrorists and the terrorists are everyone and everywhere.”

  “Look I don’t disagree with anything you have said but I still don’t understand how I can help you at all. I am wanted for murder. If anything I would think I would be a liability for you.”

  “It’s possible we can find a solution.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll call in some chips.”

  “We’re talking about the murder of a very well-known and connected person, a Dracun for Christ sakes. I don’t think there is anything you can do about it.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate the corruption of the system we live under. No one matters and everyone is expendable. For the right price, anything and everything can be bought. This is lesson number one and don’t forget it. You should think of us as double agents. We have access to the System, we operate within the System but our objective is to destroy the System. Sometimes innocent people get killed. You need to adopt that mindset if you have any chance of surviving going forward.”

  “So the end justifies the means?” West asked.

  “I wish it was that simplistic. You remember the big scandal about 10 years ago when Warren Hathaway went to prison for life?”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t he arrested for trying to take possession of black market gold?”

  “That’s right. He was one of the most loyal, most destructive of the corporatist that served the Dracuns. The guy truly was an evil son of a bitch. Of all the people I’ve dealt with over the years I don’t think I ever came across a more hypocritical, lying weasel than that guy. It is amazing how much people will believe in something if it comes from DC or the fucking television. I mean everything about who he was and how he acquired his wealth was a complete lie perpetuated by the System.”

  “I know all about Hathaway, I wrote an article about him. He was the ultimate “do as I say not as I do” douche bag. But the Wall Street Journal pulled my article for obvious reasons.”

  “We were responsible for his downfall.”

  “How?”

  “Besides the fact that he was a fraud and a liar? We figured out his biggest weakness was he had a compulsive need to be in the spotlight. In his mind he needed constant adoration, so we attacked his weakness.”

  “How’d you set him up?” West repeated.

  “We knew a guy like that could buy himself out of just about any situation so we had to do it in such a way that left him with no chance of escape. We set up the transaction but we also tipped off high-ranking officials from all the government agencies then we made sure journalists from a dozen different outlets were there and we also contacted the Citizens Watchers in the local area. We knew they would be practically salivating over the prospects of how large the government reward money would be. And once he was caught red-handed by everyone DC had no choice but to turn on him.”

  “So in the end he got what he deserved.”

  “It was never reported in the news but he was shanked to death by another prisoner who had been financially ruined by Hathaway’s company with DC’s compliance a few decades before.”

  West leaned back in his chair. “You know it is only a matter of time before the Dracun will discover your operation.”

  “Probably. But this is only one operation. We deliberately spread ourselves out and we don’t have a central chain of command. Like I said, the simple fact is every single one of us is expendable, including me.”

  “And that doesn’t b
other you?”

  “Of course it does. I have an exit plan if I have the time to enact it. And if I don’t, I’ll die with no regrets except for the fact that I got caught.”

  “You still haven’t told me specifically what you want me to do for you.”

  “You’ll work with Simon. He needs lots of help. Like him you’ll operate as kind of a liaison between us and various LT groups spread out through the United States. Much of that activity is done through code used in the Weekly’s articles.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll rat you out?”

  “I’ll just have to take that chance.”

  West thought about it for a second, then reached his hand across the table and shook with Tank.

  “Good, we’ll start getting your name cleared inside the System and hopefully you’ll be back in New York in a day or two. C’mon, I’ll show you to your room. You can shower up and take a quick nap before dinner.”

  “The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”

  – Ayn Rand

  Chapter 18

  West looked around the guestroom which was larger and much nicer than his dump back in the city. What in the hell had he gotten himself into? He was in as much control of his life as a dandelion pedal spinning through a hurricane. He was exhausted and his eyelids felt like steel curtains. He took two pain pills and sat down on the edge of the bed. After a few minutes the pain started to dull and his mind began to calm. He didn’t feel like fighting anymore. He lay down and drifted off to sleep.

  • • •

  West was running through the darkened streets of the city in a panic. Faceless Dracun agents were closing in on him. He ran blindly into an alley and halted to a stop. He bent over trying to catch his breath, his heart was beating erratically. But he couldn’t stop now. West straightened back up prepared to flee again as a figure emerged from the shadows.

  A sense of relief swept over West when he recognized it was Tank. He would save him from the Dracun.

  “It never ceases to amaze me how naive people like you are,” Tank said.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “You are so caught up in the miniscule dilemmas of your own life that you cannot see the forest for the trees. Hell, you’re so damn blind you can’t even see the goddamn trees.”

  “What you are talking about?” West stammered.

  Tank pulled out a gun and pointed it at West.

  “What are you doing?” West screamed.

  “You’ve been lying to yourself your whole life. You know what you are and now the price has to be paid.”

  Time slowed. He heard a muffled explosion and watched the bullet exit the barrel of the gun.

  • • •

  West bolted up in bed covered in a sheen of sweat. Someone was knocking on his door.

  “Yes,” he called out trying to calm his breathing.

  “Mr. Collins,” he heard a female voice reply from the other side of the door. “If you feel up to it Tank wants you to join us for a drink.”

  “Ah, okay. Can you give me a few seconds to clean up? I just woke up.”

  “No problem. Take your time,” the woman replied. “I’ll wait out here.”

  West got out of bed still shaken by the dream. He walked over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. A week ago he looked like shit, but now, he looked like crap piled on top of old shit.

  He dried his face, took a few deep breaths then went over and opened the door. A woman was standing up against the wall in the darkened hall. She held out her a hand.

  “Hi, my name is Sam.”

  West shook her hand. “Hi. I’m West.”

  He suddenly felt self-conscious and wished he didn’t look so bad. Sam was somewhere in her mid-thirties. She had long raven hair that fell halfway down her shoulders. She wore designer jeans with a black turtleneck, gold hoop earrings and a leather jacket. Her complexion contained a hint of cocoa that was prevalent in South Americans but it was her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. Even in the dark hall her translucent emerald eyes radiated a beauty he did not think was possible.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “Ah, yeah sure,” West managed to reply. “Where are we going?”

  “Have a drink with Tank. C’mon, follow me.”

  She turned and West dutifully followed her down the hall. They rounded a corner and she replied over her shoulder, “You know I used to read your articles years ago in the Wall Street Journal.”

  “Yeah, that was a long time ago, and it was a much different world back then. So what did you think?”

  She smiled and replied, “Someone once said in a time of universal deceit that telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”

  “Right,” West said trying to remember who had said that.

  “If you don’t mind me asking what happened to you? You just disappeared.”

  The last thing West wanted to talk about was his past. “It’s a long story but the short of it is I got fired and then trouble just seemed to follow.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “I seemed to have a penchant for self-destruction.”

  Luckily Sam didn’t press for anymore answers and West followed her into a dimly lit library. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling and a comforting old leather smell permeated the room. West walked over to one of the shelves and pulled out a book whose spine was cracked and weathered with age. He turned to the first page and smiled. It was a first edition Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities. He put the book back into its space and traced his fingers down the spines of the books.

  The authors carried the names of Orwell, Twain, Bradbury, Lovecraft, Vonnegut, Sinclair, Plato, Lewis, Shakespeare, Hemingway, London, Tolstoy and Poe. Timeless treasures bound in leather filled with magical words born onto paper spilling forth the stories of life with all its heartache, joy, tragedies, struggles and beauty.

  The book titles were The Iliad, The Old Man and the Sea, Macbeth, Dracula, Count of Monte Cristo, Of Mice and Men, 1984, Slaughter House-Five, White Fang, and Brave New World.

  A voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. “I knew a man of words would appreciate my collection. The writers have stopped writing and the readers have stopped reading and the dreamers, well they only have nightmares now but I will never forget.”

  “How’d you get all these books?” West asked Tank, astonished at the magnitude of the collection.

  “Back when we lived in a cultured civilization this collection would have cost a fortune. But I’ve been able to amass all this for a relatively small amount of favors and some Digidollars. It seems people are more interested in eating than reading or collecting books.”

  Tank walked over to a small bar and picked up a bottle of wine. He poured three glasses and carried them over.

  He handed a glass each to West and Sam. West cautiously took a small sip because of the medication and his propensity to consume a thousand if he drank one.

  Tank walked over to the one of the bookcases and pulled out a thick book. “You ever read this one, West?” Tank handed him the heavy book.

  He traced a finger across the cover and smiled. “Ann Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. I haven’t seen a copy of this in years.”

  “That’s because the government banned the book from schools and then destroyed every copy they could find.”

  West felt the weight of the book in his hands containing over six hundred thousand words of wisdom.

  “Who is John Galt?” He asked Tank.

  Tank smiled obviously understanding the reference to the hero in Atlas Shrugged. “I think Rand answered that when she said, Galt went on strike along with all the creative minds of the world who have refused to allow their inventions, art, business leadership, scientific research or new ideas be taken from them by the government or by the rest of the world.”

  “Too bad her books were blacklis
ted by the Department of Education. They should be mandatory reading for everyone,” Sam replied.

  “Come now, Sam,” Tank said sarcastically. “I don’t think the Department of Education appreciates the promotion of rational self-interest over bureaucratic mandated collectivism. I mean to think it’s preposterous Rand argued that when men are compelled through collectivism’s forced moral code to place the needs of their neighbors above their own rational self-interest, the result is chaos and evil. I mean who cares if incentive is destroyed and corruption becomes inevitable.”

  “You’re right about that,” Sam interjected. “I know this is a pretty lame story but I remember in high school I decided to compete in swimming rather than team sports because I liked the fact that if I won or lost it was all up to my individual hard work and talent. During my senior year I qualified to go to the state championships for freestyle. There were ten of us from across the state competing and I won by five lengths. I had spent four years getting up at five in the morning to train before school and it paid off. I was the fastest freestyle swimmer in the state. I was ecstatic, that was until the awards ceremony.”

  “What happened?” West asked.

  “An official from the state’s Athletic department showed up. No one knew why the hell she was there including the coaches but she took control of the awards ceremony. Up to that point it had been customary to award a gold medal for first, silver for second and a bronze for third. Well, this fat pig gets up on the platform and gives a thirty-minute political speech about the new governor and how every student athlete is important and how everyone’s achievements needed to be celebrated and on and on. So when it came time to hand out the medals, instead of awarding the top three finishers she called all the participants up to the platform. She handed out a silver medal to everyone in the race and declared that through our collective efforts our state’s education and athletic departments have proven to be the champion.”

  “Welcome to America,” Tank said.