by Bobby Akart
“I do, Mr. President. With your assistance, I have planned a series of carefully orchestrated false-flag attacks this year. Everything is in order for the final collapse event.”
“Perfect. I will be in Hawaii,” said the President.
“And how will the Vice President react?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the President. “He will be in an unfortunate location when it happens. Where will you be?”
“Initially in Boston with my daughter; then we will evacuate together to Prescott Peninsula.”
“I am glad the acquisition worked out for you,” said the President. “We can offer your daughter a position in the new government when things settle down. What about her patriot friends?”
“Their lineage dates back to the founding of America. They will see the big picture, as will my daughter. All of them realize this country needs a reset. They just don’t know what that entails.”
As for you, Mr. President, your entire career is based upon planned obsolescence.
Chapter 50
August 28, 2016
National Mall
Washington, D.C.
“In a desperate attempt to generate more excitement from her base, Mrs. Clinton made what has been characterized as a racially charged and divisive speech at the National Mall today on the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s memorable speech—I Have A Dream. Let’s take a listen to an excerpt,” said Bret Baier, host of Special Report on the Fox News channel. The monitor changed to Hillary Clinton standing on a stage in front of the Lincoln Memorial.
“This nation was founded on the basis of freedom, but our Founding Fathers left one important task unresolved. They were slave owners and therefore were unwilling to address one of the original sins of this country—the inhumane ownership and mistreatment of African-Americans. While it is true the Constitution provided all Americans equal citizenship under the law, African-Americans were not considered people. They were property!” Clinton stood back from the podium and nodded her head as the crowd voiced their displeasure with the Founding Fathers’ oversight. She continued.
“The Constitution did not deliver on its promise of freedom for all Americans and I am here to say our country has failed African-Americans for over two hundred and fifty years!” She paused for the applause to die down.
“This nation owes an apology to all African-Americans. This nation owes all African-Americans reparations for the sins of past slavery and the sins of current oppression. Elect me President, and I will see that all African-Americans receive their fair share of the pie that was stolen from their enslaved ancestors!” The monitor faded out and returned to the Fox panel.
“Charles, what do you make of this?” asked Baier. Dr. Charles Krauthammer, a board-certified psychiatrist, was best known for his political commentary, which earned him a Pulitzer Prize while at The Washington Post. Confined to a wheelchair following a freak surfing accident in college, Dr. Krauthammer stood tall, however, among inside-the-beltway conservative pundits.
“Bret, the Clintons have gone back to the basics and opened a playbook that was so effective for Bill in the 1990s—racial divisiveness,” replied Dr. Krauthammer. “The difference is the extent of the rhetoric. Today’s speech by Mrs. Clinton on this historic date was more than a speech to rouse the emotions of the democratic base. She fired heavy artillery at our Constitution and all American institutions. This will do more than gin up the base. This will whip them into a frenzy with potentially violent consequences—as this afternoon’s riots show.” The monitors switched to cars burning and rioters battling police in front of the Capitol. Another scene showed barriers being knocked down as the protestors attempted to climb the steps of the Supreme Court building. Tear gas was administered to disperse the crowd.
“To Charles’s point, American cities have experienced a summer of discontent unparalleled in my lifetime,” added Laura Ingraham, talk show host and frequent contributor to the FoxNews panel. “Racial disturbances have wracked Boston, Cleveland, Memphis, and Washington, D.C. Not only is the racial divide evident from these clashes, but the explanation is deeply divided as well.” A poll was shown on the screen. The poll was labeled Cause of Racial Tensions.
“The Wall Street Journal, NBC poll seems to illustrate this,” said Baier. “Seventy-four percent of African Americans blame longtime mistreatment and disrespect as the cause of the divide. Seventy-one percent of whites claimed African-Americans were simply seizing an excuse to loot. Charles?”
“This is not a racial divide, this is a chasm,” replied Dr. Krauthammer. “It is a crevasse that is expanding and the political rhetoric we experienced today will not help bring the country together. Which brings me back to the Clinton playbook. She continues to fall in the polls and with ten weeks to go, she is looking for some traction. She needs the coalition of African-American voters to turn out in record numbers, as they did for the President in the last two elections, in order to overcome Senator Paul’s momentum. This speech is just the first step in that direction.”
“Let me add,” said Baier. “There are protests organized throughout the upcoming Labor Day weekend by African-American activists and another core constituency of the democratic party—America’s labor unions. They intend to make their voices heard in every major city across the country as the start of a fall push to get Hillary Clinton elected. The question is whether it is too late to turn the tide.”
Chapter 51
August 31, 2016
Undisclosed Location
Boston, Massachusetts
“Is this kid ever gonna come out of his apartment?” barked Sharpie into the comms. “I went to Harvard and there was no way I could afford to live in Regatta Riverview.”
Steven shifted his seat in the surveillance van as he watched through cameras identifying the entrance to the east tower parking garage. He hoped the overnight surveillance team didn’t miss his departure.
“Stow it, Sharpie,” replied Steven. “Bugs, sitrep.”
“Oscar Mike,” replied Bugs, who had picked up the young woman, Anna Fakhri, fifteen minutes ago.
“Roger.”
Two days before, Steven was summoned to 73 Tremont to meet with John Morgan and Malcolm Lowe. Morgan instructed Lowe to create a state-of-the-art cyber facility in an old warehouse downtown. He asked Steven and Lowe to bring in the Zero Day Gamers—quietly—to finish their task in Morgan’s facility. Morgan believed they were at risk of being arrested by the FBI.
The team arrived at the loft on Binney at O Dark Stupid and gathered up the tired-looking professor. He apparently slept on his couch a lot. The professor didn’t protest excessively but seemed skeptical of Steven’s explanation. As the Aegis team pulled hard drives out of the computers, the professor’s look of concern turned to fear.
Steven was a good soldier and learned not to outwardly question his orders. But the abduction of the Zero Day Gamers for their own good was added to the growing list of questionable missions. If the FBI was hot on their trail, Katie would know. She hadn’t mentioned it to him.
“Here we go,” announced Sharpie. “Damn, there’s a girl with him. Redhead. Copy?”
Steven thought for a moment. He was under strict instructions—no witnesses.
“I have them on the screen, stand by.” Steven looked at his watch. The kid was nearly an hour past his normal routine. She must be a girlfriend. The Binney Street location would be less conspicuous at this hour.
“Ahh, how sweet,” said Sharpie. “She gave him a kiss good-bye as he goes off to work. Fat boy is bangin’ the Wendy’s girl. He needs to lay off the cheeseburgers.”
“Change of plans, Sharpie,” said Steven. “We can’t pick him up here because she’ll notice the abandoned car. Follow him down to Binney Street. We’ll grab him there, roger?”
“Roger that. Rollin’ on,” replied Sharpie.
Seven minutes later, the youngest member of the Zero Day Gamers was en route to join his associates in their new digs.
> Chapter 52
August 31, 2016
Undisclosed Location
Boston, Massachusetts
Lowe and Steven emerged from the makeshift command and control post set up for the surveillance and abduction of the four hackers. Lowe was proud of his handiwork. In just a few days, he had transformed this dilapidated downtown car dealership into a brightly lit series of individual offices and cubicles. Other than the paint peeling off the walls and the asbestos-filled ceiling, this could pass as a state-of-the-art cyber center.
“Steven, have them all brought into the small conference room,” said Lowe. “After that, my team will take it from here. You guys can wrap it up.”
“Well, sure,” replied Steven hesitantly. Mr. Morgan was explicit in his instructions—neither Steven nor his team was to be involved in the continuation of this project.
Steven waved to his men, who brought each of the Zero Day Gamers into the room. The looks of apprehension were obvious. He had to calm them down or they wouldn’t be able to function. They sat down and Lowe joined them.
“Good morning, everybody.”
“Was this necessary, Troutman?” asked Lau. He was brought into the facility the earliest and was now visibly suspicious of Troutman and his intentions.
“Professor, I truly apologize for the surreptitious methods we employed this morning to bring you all together,” replied Lowe. “Unfortunately, our friends in Washington gave us credible information regarding interest in your past activities by law enforcement.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lau.
Lowe noticed a tear run down the face of the young woman, Fakhri. Lowe learned long ago fear was the oldest and strongest emotion affecting man. The strongest fear of them all was the unknown. His approach would be to quell their fears of the immediate threat, but allow the unknown to lurk in their subconscious to keep them focused on their task.
“First, let me calm your anxiety for a moment while being aboveboard on the situation,” replied Lowe. “Effective this morning, your location on Binney Street is closed—emptied out completely. We have removed every piece of equipment and our team has wiped every shred of latent evidence indicating your presence there. You are ghosts.”
“Why?”
“Our contacts in Washington informed us the FBI has tied your Binney Street location to the security breach of Senator Abigail Morgan’s personal computer,” replied Lowe. “Apparently, the breach occurred several weeks ago and has been identified as cyber vandalism. Our sources tell us your intent was not to cause the senator any harm or retrieve information. It is being labeled as a possible campaign stunt.” Lowe purposefully avoided eye contact with Walthaus. He hoped to keep the group together without animosity between them.
“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Lau. “We have no interest in her computer. There is no benefit to us. Further, we are extremely careful, following all necessary protocols.” Lau pushed his chair away from the table as if to leave.
“Please keep your seat, Professor,” demanded Lowe.
“I don’t like this at all,” complained Lau. “The senator’s problems have nothing to do with us!”
Walthaus slumped into his chair, hoping to disappear. “But—”
Lowe cut Walthaus off. “We believe you have been set up by Anonymous or a similar hacktivist group—perhaps out of jealousy or with the intent to eliminate you as a rival.”
Walthaus showed signs of life as Lowe made direct eye contact. Shut up, kid.
“We’re here to help you weather this storm. My employers are willing to continue working with you towards our goals but only under certain conditions.”
“What conditions?” asked a still-agitated Lau as he settled back in his seat.
“The conditions of our original offer stand,” replied Lowe. “Based upon our conversation the other day, you’re prepared to initiate the grid-down scenario on Saturday night. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, we have a few details to iron out,” replied Lau, who was calming down. “What are the other conditions?”
“Until we have more information on the intrusion into the senator’s personal computer, we must take certain precautions. I hope you understand. I don’t want to offend any of you, but we have to insure there is no mole in your group.”
“Oh, come on,” protested Malvalaha. “We know each other like brothers and sisters. None of us are working for the government and we would never expose each other to criminal prosecution.”
Walthaus hid within himself again.
Lowe ignored the protest and turned his attention back to the professor. “We mean no disrespect to you or your associates, Professor, but the stakes are high for all concerned. The circumstances have changed and we all need to rely upon each other’s protection.”
“What are the other requirements?” asked Lau.
“You will each be assigned a dedicated workstation that will be connected via an enclosed intranet system. All activity will be continuously monitored by my team. Do not attempt to contact anyone via your computers, please. This is for your own safety.”
“Okay.”
“Once the task is completed, you will be paid in full together with an additional stipend for your stay.”
“What does that mean?” asked Fakhri.
“You’ll not be allowed to leave this facility until after the task is completed.”
Lau exploded. “You can’t hold us hostage. Are you crazy? Come on, let’s go. I’ve had enough.”
Lowe nodded his head, indicating for his security team to come in. The room was quickly filled with four Aegis operatives. “Please sit, Professor. It’s not as bad as you make it out to be. There may be warrants for your arrest as we speak. Our people in Washington will take care of this for you in the next day or two if you can calm yourself, and let’s move forward.”
Walthaus spoke up. “Professor, here’s the thing. The senator’s laptop…” Walthaus trailed off. “The senator’s laptop is irrelevant right now. These people have made us an offer that will allow us to disappear to some tiny island in god knows where. I don’t mind hanging out here for a couple of days to focus on what may be the greatest hack of all time. Come on, guys, don’t you agree?”
Again, Lau calmed himself and sat down. The Aegis security personnel left the room and Lowe was back in control.
“Fine, Mr. Troutman, or whatever your real name is,” said Lau. “We’ll move forward, but we want confirmation of half payment by the end of the day. We’re not going anywhere and your watchers won’t allow us to access it. We just need some assurances.”
“Done. Now, it’s a little hot in here, don’t you think? Why don’t we step out here and let me introduce you to my team. I’m anxious to hear the updated details of your plan.”
Lowe led them out of the room, but he pulled Lau back in by the arm.
He whispered in his ear, “You and I will need to speak privately, Professor. My employer has an additional offer for you.” An offer you can and will accept.
PART FIVE
Chapter 53
September 3, 2016
73 Tremont
Boston, Massachusetts
Morgan was uncharacteristically dressed in khakis and a polo shirt—not because this was a rare day in the office—but because today would be a rare day.
It was getting late, the sun having dropped below the western horizon, leaving only a pale white remnant in his view. He left the sofa and his dinner and looked at the museum case full of antiquities, including a copy of Poor Richard’s Almanack written by Benjamin Franklin in 1739. He hadn’t opened the glass door to the climate-controlled piece in over fifteen years. He removed the book and gently thumbed through the pages. He found the page he was looking for, the one pointed out to him by his father when he was very young. Morgan muttered the words aloud.
“By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”
The Morgan family built a financial dynasty on this premise. His father, Henry
Sturgis Morgan, the grandson of J. P. Morgan, took the family investment banking business to the top of the global financial world. Now, Morgan Global protégés held positions of power in every European central bank, in the top fifty global lending institutions and at all levels of the most powerful nation-states. I have prepared, Father.
Morgan used his vast network of think tanks, corporate public relation firms, and the corruption of government institutions from the presidency to Congress to judges. This complex system was created to insure profits and earnings would flow to the Boston Brahmin and any associated risks would fall on the shoulders of others.
He allured a delusional President, willingly, into a fool’s paradise. Desperate to hold onto power, the present occupant of the office would sell his soul to remain there. He would be an excellent propagandist for the goals Morgan sought to achieve. The President, blinded by power, was easily manipulated to advance the geopolitical and financial strategies of the Boston Brahmin. But his term would also come to an end.
Now, decades of preparation were coming to fruition. With every shock to the system, governments were weakened and the wealthy oligarchs of the world became more powerful. As nation-states collapsed, the void was filled by the surviving power brokers. This nation had survived catastrophic economic collapses in its past. America, with his guidance, would emerge stronger, wealthier and more powerful—without the baggage that was dragging her down.
“Sir,” said Lowe, bursting into the room without knocking.
“What is it, Malcolm?”
“I’ve received a text message from your daughter’s chief of staff.”
Morgan looked at his watch—9:10 p.m. “What does it say?”
“The campaign delayed her return in order to make an impromptu campaign stop.”
“What? Where?”