Will Hawkins and Carlos Pendrill sat in the large open living area of the Hawkins ranch in Ozona, Texas. Wildcat Ranch, aptly named by Bo Hawkins nearly thirty years ago, had served many purposes over the years: hosting family holiday getaways; a hunting lodge for the senior Hawkins, his friends, and business associates; and a clandestine meeting ground for rendezvous that were best kept out of the press. On a blustery autumn afternoon, a meeting was taking place there that both participants were most anxious to keep out of the public eye.
As Will and Carlos exchanged pleasantries and stories from their college days, the well-appointed, rustic ranch house seemed to be absorbing the gravity of the moment. When both men appeared to have run out of small talk, Carlos Pendrill took the direct approach. “Will, it really is great to see you, but I’m tired of waiting to hear why you asked me here. What is so important and secretive that you send a rented plane to Mexico City to fly me to this beautiful home in the most god-forsaken portion of the Texas outback?”
Will remained quiet. As the two men stared at each other, Carlos was obviously getting annoyed. Finally, Will broke the silence. “Carlos, I’ve asked you here to do me a favor. Not just any favor; this is a monumental favor.”
“So what do you need, my friend?”
“Well, let me give you a little background. We’re not worried about winning the Democratic nomination. But once we match up with President Hughes, we don’t think we’ll fare as well. And since you probably don’t follow my political career all that closely …”
“Ah, but I do, Will. I actually follow your career quite closely,” Carlos said.
“I’m flattered, Carlos, but what I am getting at is that my campaign platforms are consistent with the leadership the American people want. These platforms also identify a relative weakness in the current administration. What I need is some help in accelerating the public awareness of this weakness in an effort to quickly surpass President Hughes in the public opinion polls.”
“And that’s where I come in.”
“Correct. I need your organization to execute a few mishaps resulting in some newsworthy ecological events that will reinforce my current platforms and capitalize on my yet-to-be-announced alliance with David Ellis and his Future State Foundation.”
The room fell silent. The only sounds were coming from outside where the hands on the working ranch were putting an end to another day.
When Carlos finally spoke, his voice was firm and direct. “I’m willing to consider your proposal, but my participation will not come without some reciprocal favors.”
“What about the favor of saving your life in London?” Will asked.
“I will never forget that night, Will. But what you are asking today could jeopardize everything I have worked so hard to build.”
Disgusted, Will responded, “What type of favors would you be looking for?”
“I would like to develop an arrangement where my product shipments find an easier path to my US distributors.”
“You mean I simplify your drug-smuggling operation? You must be out of your fucking mind! An agreement like that flies in the face of everything I stand for and believe. I will not stoop to that level.”
“But you’re willing to stoop to ecological terrorism to get elected. Seems somewhat hypocritical, don’t you think?” Carlos had a slight sneer on his face.
“Fuck off, Carlos. Hundreds of thousands of people, mostly kids, die by your hand each year. My solution is not intended to kill anyone.”
“You’re so naïve, Will. Any disaster of the magnitude necessary to warrant national press coverage will include some incidental human sacrifice. You need big disasters to generate big news. So get tough or stop wasting my time. And just one point of clarification,” Carlos continued. “Drug users die by their own hand, not mine. I’m simply a businessman dealing in the real world of supply and demand. And if I don’t supply it, someone else will.”
Again the ranch house was quiet. “I can’t do it, Carlos. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could.”
“Well, I guess that ends our little reunion,” Carlos said, standing. “I wish you the best in your efforts to become the next US president. Oh, and by the way, if I see an increased effort to crack down on my enterprise while you’re in office, I’ll make sure this private conversation becomes very public.”
Will stared at Pendrill. “Carlos, wait. I’m sure we can work something out. What if we plant one of your key lieutenants on the Drug Enforcement Council? Then you’ll have an insider who will have much more impact than I could have personally. And it also maintains the proper distance between us.”
“That’s an interesting suggestion, Will. Now, you see? I knew we could reach some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement,” Carlos said, smiling and sitting back down.
For the next hour, Will and Carlos discussed the types of events that would maximize impact and news coverage. The events they discussed were on a much larger scale than Will had originally envisioned but on a scale that was, in both their minds, ultimately necessary. The number of accidents was also discussed. One tragedy would be seen as just an isolated accident, two, a terrible coincidence. Three would generate the type of news coverage that would significantly benefit the campaign. But four unrelated, yet tragic, ecological disasters would spawn a worldwide outrage that President Hughes could never recover from.
As they talked, a corner of Will’s mind recoiled at how this had gotten so big, so fast. Yes, it was his idea to create some ecological hurdles for President Hughes, but his visions of hurdles were nothing like what he found himself agreeing to at this very moment.
When the two men were through with their discussion, Carlos told Will, “Now you must trust me and let me do my work. We should minimize contact to ensure neither of us is ever linked to these coincidental accidents.”
“I agree,” Will stated, “but I must know the final plan in order to fully capitalize on the opportunity. You can always reach me on my secure office phone at this number.” Will handed Carlos a slip of paper.
The two men stood, and after an awkward pause they hugged, knowing that they would probably never see each other again.
As the stretch Suburban transported Carlos back to the Wildcat Ranch’s private airstrip, Carlos Pendrill couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The naiveté of Will Hawkins amazed him. Soon he would be in control of the next president of the United States.
At that same moment in a small, dingy office in Portland, Oregon, Ray Langston, Will Hawkins’s chief Democratic competitor, was meeting with his top aides. Langston was a native Oregonian, a high school and college track star, and a Rhodes Scholar. He had chosen politics as his career to make a difference. His current position as minority whip in the US House of Representatives had catapulted him to the top of the Democratic candidate list … but that was prior to the entry of Will Hawkins.
Langston was a visionary politician. He too was very concerned with environmental issues and had a well-thought-out vision regarding the economic direction the country should take in the coming years. But today’s conversation wasn’t centered on either of those two subjects. Today’s subject was money. The Langston campaign budget was extremely tight, and the group sitting around the conference room table was discussing the options.
“I just don’t see how we can keep up,” claimed an exasperated John Baxter, Langston’s campaign chief.
“I agree,” added another Langston aide. “The Hawkins pockets are just too deep.”
Langston silently leaned back in his chair. He asked, “Are you telling me we should throw in the towel?” His question was met with silence and the bowing of heads. “I guess that’s answer enough,” he said. “Well, gentlemen, it’s disappointing that we weren’t even able to fight the good fight, but I’d have to agree. We just don’t have the resources to compete with Hawkins. And while he and I have had our differences over the years, I do believe his policies and mine have more consistencies than differences. So if you ar
e all in agreement, I’ll make the announcement tomorrow that we’re pulling out of the race and throwing our support to the Hawkins camp.”
Langston’s aides silently left the conference room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. As Langston pondered the situation, he cursed Will Hawkins’s family money and the fact that his race to the Oval Office was over before it ever got started.
seventeen
Carlos Pendrill and Jorge Castilla, his confidante, bodyguard, and enforcer, were sitting in the study of Pendrill’s Mexico City mansion discussing the meeting Carlos had just attended at Wildcat Ranch. As Carlos recounted the events of the meeting, Jorge looked confused.
Finally, when Carlos paused, Jorge asked, “Why would you agree to something so dangerous? I know you two were friends, but why jeopardize everything you’ve built?” Jorge was not accustomed to questioning his longtime boss and idol. Carlos made the decisions, and Jorge carried out his orders, effectively and ruthlessly. But this just didn’t make sense to him.
Carlos was obviously frustrated, having to explain himself to his bodyguard, but Jorge was more than that. They had been through so much together. It would take two hands to count the number of times Jorge had saved Carlos’s life.
“There are many reasons why I am willing to help Will Hawkins. First, he is a friend, and you more than anyone should understand that I am, by nature, a very loyal person. I give friendship out freely, and I demand it in return. Second, Will Hawkins saved my life in London one night many years ago. I truly believe I wouldn’t be here today if he had not intervened on my behalf. Third, because the favor Will has asked from me is beyond the scope of loyalty and a fight that happened so long ago, he has agreed, in principle, to insert one of our key people into the Drug Enforcement Council. I believe that could be very beneficial as we plan our shipment schedule and US points of entry.”
Jorge broke into a big grin. “The picture is getting clearer, jefe.”
“And finally,” Carlos continued, “once the accidents have been executed and Will Hawkins is the president of the United States, I will have leverage over the most powerful man in the world.” The way Carlos stated his final point sent chills down Jorge’s spine. Jorge had killed more people than he could count, but at that moment, he was reminded that Carlos Pendrill had the power and the cojones to be truly evil.
For the next two hours, Carlos and Jorge discussed the type of accidents that would be easiest to execute and that would generate the most US and world press coverage. As the discussion was winding down, Carlos took a moment to recap the discussion. “Okay, Jorge, over the next forty-eight hours you’re going to research the viability of our ideas. We need to identify a nuclear power facility that is very rural, but near enough to a major airport so we can get in and get out before anyone realizes there was a possibility of foul play. Next, we need to identify a trucking company that hauls toxic waste on the US highway system. Once we know who’s moving the stuff, we need to identify a common route that passes by a high-profile waterway. After that, you need to pinpoint the nerve-gas storage facilities. There are only a few, so choose a location that is most easily infiltrated while maximizing the distance from our other accidents. And finally, find me a hydroelectric dam whose failure will result in a minimal loss of life. I know it’s unrealistic to think we can do it without killing anyone, but let’s not have any small cities downstream, either. And Jorge … I need this information yesterday.”
As Jorge left the room, Carlos smiled to himself. This was the first time he’d felt an adrenaline rush in a long time.
Fifteen hundred miles away in the office of the chairman at GenSquare, Bo Hawkins and John Rollins were discussing Will’s campaign. Rollins finally decided that, while he had pledged his silence to Will, his true allegiance over the past twenty-five years had been with Bo, his largest and most powerful customer. Bo was lamenting the fact that the public opinion polls, while increasing in favorability toward his son, weren’t rising fast enough to ensure Will’s election.
“Bo, I believe Will has a plan that will accelerate his popularity,” Rollins interrupted.
“Really, and what might that be?”
“Well, I’m not sure where to start, but I have to tell you: I promised Will I wouldn’t share his plan with anyone.”
Bo exploded. “I’m not anyone, goddammit, I’m his father! Not to mention your friend and meal ticket over the past twenty-five years.”
“I’m very clear on that, Bo. That’s why I’m here now.” Rollins proceeded to explain the entire environmental sabotage plan to Bo Hawkins. When he was finished, a deafening silence followed.
Then, Bo leaned forward and said in a voice as quiet as a snake’s hiss, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re actually going to condone a front-running candidate for US president interacting with a known, big-time drug smuggler so they can win the sympathy of the American public? You must be out of your fucking mind.”
Rollins took a deep breath and raised his hands in an appeasing motion. “Actually, Bo, I believe it’s a brilliant plan. No one in the press has ever figured out that Will and Carlos Pendrill were college roommates in London. The accidents themselves are not intended to injure or kill, but rather to catch the attention of the press and the American people. The David Ellis alliance is beyond reproach. In fact, Ellis’s popularity currently exceeds that of both Will and President Hughes. And finally, with all the risks that are associated with a plan of this type, I believe it is infinitely safer than the plan you and I discussed a few weeks ago.”
Again, there was silence as Bo contemplated his adviser’s point of view. Finally, Bo agreed to keep quiet and let his son execute the plan that he was supposed to have no knowledge of. After John Rollins left his office, Bo sat quietly, considering what he had just heard. While the plan was dangerous, it had merit. But he decided he would also keep his own clandestine plan in play … for insurance.
eighteen
Forty-eight hours later, Carlos Pendrill and Jorge Castilla reconvened at the Pendrill compound to review the accident plan. As usual, Carlos was quite impressed with Jorge’s resourcefulness and efficiency. In just two days, Jorge had assembled the team, identified the accident locations, and outlined the methods by which the accidents would be executed.
Jorge explained, “The accidents will be geographically dispersed to minimize the chance of anyone making a connection from one to the other. The accident team will enter the US at a high-volume border crossing to avoid detection. The accident sites are identified.”
“All right, give me the topline on the accident specifics and locations.”
“Let me give you the rundown in the order they’ll be executed. First, Transcon is the transportation company that hauls the bulk of US toxic waste. I was surprised to find that more waste is moved via rail than truck, but we were still able to find a target. There’s a mining operation in Utah that requires a variety of toxic chemicals to excavate a rare mineral. Transcon has the contract to remove the toxic wastes created in this process. The nearest toxic-waste dump is in New Mexico, so the waste trucks must take Interstate 70 east to Denver and Interstate 25 south to New Mexico. There is a stretch of eastbound I-70 called Glenwood Canyon. This canyon was carved by the Colorado River. A strategically placed smart bomb, detonated at the right moment, should send the truck off the highway, down a steep embankment, and right into the river. The damages will be minimal due to the high volume of water that flows through the canyon, but the press will eat it up.”
Carlos smiled. “I like it. What’s next?”
“A nuclear power facility in South Carolina. It’s a very rural area. As it turns out, there is a disgruntled assistant director of the operation who has been widely quoted in the local press criticizing management’s cost-cutting tactics that are jeopardizing safety and key employee retention. The plan is to compromise the assistant director and use money and a message to management as our leverage.”
“What’s your conf
idence level that this guy will play?”
“Well, the guy is divorced with two kids in college and an annual salary of $47,000. So the money will be tempting. His profile would also indicate that an incident that would gain press attention would support his strong criticisms of the safety precautions management has ignored in recent years.”
“All right, how does it work?”
“It’s really quite simple. Our guy plants a device equipped to deploy a highly concentrated form of acid that will quickly eat through metal. Once the acid reaches the cooling system of the reactor, water will be introduced to the molten core, starting a minor meltdown.”
Carlos had a skeptical expression. “Won’t the acid leave some indication that the reactor was tampered with?”
“Actually, no,” Jorge quickly answered. “The minor explosion, along with the accompanying toxic steam, will eliminate the clues that would indicate any tampering took place.”
“Two down, two to go,” Carlos said, smiling. “I’m intrigued.”
“Nerve gas. We’ve identified a facility in Nebraska that is currently working with a new strain of sarin gas that will be the deadliest ever. The kicker is, the only way this gas can generate its deadly compounds is to be introduced to an outside force—for example, being dropped out of a plane or launched by a mortar. Our plan is to create this force by toppling a large storage tank in the laboratory, already having attached a tiny vial of the sarin to the outside to ensure contact and the resulting release of the deadly gas. We’re still working on the appropriate insider to help us, but we’ve got three or four weeks until the execution of accident number three.”
“Sounds viable for now, but I will want an update prior to execution.”
“Got it.”
“And finally?”
“The grand finale: the Woodrow Wilson hydroelectric dam on the Columbia River in Washington state. We’re certain that a structural failure at this location will minimize loss of life while creating a huge media event. The hundred-foot wall of water will carve a path of destruction that will make a tidal wave look like a ripple on a pond. But the beauty is that the water will not interact with any significant population centers, except a few hard-core outsiders in their cabins, for about 150 miles. By then the wall of water will have subsided, and flooding of the magnitude of Vermont after Hurricane Irene would be the result. We’ve got structural engineers working on the best way to create a failure of this type, but they’ve assured me it’s very doable.”
The Labyrinth Campaign Page 6