by Mark Goodwin
Everett didn’t think much of it. He had been taught by the mainstream media that this was the normal cycle, and it could go on indefinitely. He looked at his watch. Where are these people?
When he had first sat down, the three seats on either side of him had been empty. Now someone had taken the seat next to Everett. He glanced over at the man but avoided eye contact. Everett covertly eyed what the man was drinking. Cuba libre, fancy way of saying rum and coke with lime.
He noticed the man’s ring, a large gold ring with a builder’s square, compass, and capital G in the center. Looks like Agent Jones’s ring, he thought. For a secret society, the Masons sure like to show it off. Then he smelled the familiar stench of cigarettes. He looked again, but unlike Agent Jones, the man had a full beard. His ball cap and jacket also looked different from anything he’d seen Jones wearing.
“Double fisting the mojitos, Everett?”
The familiar voice confirmed Everett’s suspicions. He tried to stay cool. “I was expecting some friends to join me. The other drink was intended for one of them.”
Jones smiled. “I see.”
“I didn’t recognize you,” Everett said.
“I guess that means I’ve still got it,” Jones said. “Would you mind pulling the battery out of your phone?”
Everett pulled his phone out of his pocket, removed the back cover, and took out the battery. He figured the menu must have been placed on his car by Jones. Now the only question was why? Am I being invited to join the Freemasons? Maybe I’m in trouble.
“You must be wondering why you’re here.” Jones sipped his drink.
Everett had to fight back his initial response of that’s very insightful of you. Not wanting to sound overly sarcastic, he simply said, “Yes, sir.”
“The short answer is that we’re here to talk about your curiosity. It is something of a conundrum for the Company. They recruit the best and the brightest and then ask them to stifle their intuition and skills.”
Everett poked the mint sprig to the bottom of his glass with his straw as he listened.
Jones kept his gaze straight ahead as he spoke. “You haven’t popped up on anyone’s radar just yet, but you’re on your way. If that happens, they’ll call me, and I’ll give you an official warning to cease and desist. If that’s ignored, you’ll find yourself unemployed with no official work history. Your files will be scrubbed, and no one at the Company will ever acknowledge that you worked there.”
“I suspect you wouldn’t organize a covert meeting just to give me a heads up.”
“I don’t know. I might. The years have made me appear a bit rigid, but I’m not without emotions. When I look at you, Mr. Carroll, I see a bit of the fire I once had.” Jones paused before continuing. “But you’re right. That’s not why we’re here. We’re here for you because I don’t want to see that ingenuity go to waste, and we’re here for me because I’m not ready to retire just yet.
“I don’t mean to bore you with the details, but I’ll have to give you some background, so you can fully appreciate my present predicament.”
Everett was impressed that Jones thought so much of him. He was intrigued to hear about Jones’s past as well. The office rumor mill spit out just enough information about the man to make him something of a legend. “On the contrary, Agent Jones, I’d enjoy hearing your story.”
“I was tapped for the Company while in the Army in the late eighties. I was trained as a field operative and served in the Persian Gulf region for over a decade. I learned the languages and the culture and worked for US interests in the region. In 2003, I was involved in a covert finance operation on the Tajikistan-Chinese border. Someone tipped off the Chinese, so they were waiting for us. I was injured in the operation. I lost my right leg from just above the knee. After that they put me on desk duty.”
Everett listened in amazement. It was the type of life he’d envisioned when he had accepted the job. “Sounds pretty dangerous for a finance operation.”
Jones nodded. “One of the primary revenue sources for the Taliban was heroin. Our operation was to act as US government contractors who had clearance to transport drugs into the States. We earned their confidence, got to know their trade routes and manufacturing facilities, and then we started robbing them. The best way to unload the product was to sell it to the Chinese drug lords. The Tajikistan-Chinese border is nothing but sand and rocks. No one ever guarded it—until that day. We’d ripped off the Taliban and gotten away with crossing the border for over two years. I guess someone got the same idea to rip us off. While it lasted, we made a ton of money for the Company.”
“You were stealing and selling drugs?” Everett had never heard of such a thing.
Jones laughed. “Most of the covert operations performed by the Company are self-funded. In other words, you can’t ask Congress to give you money for operations that ‘don’t exist.’ After I lost my leg, I went to the Emerald City.”
“You mean headquarters in Langley?”
“That’s right. I got a crash course in computer systems and was assigned as a consultant for Project Prophecy. Prophecy was developed in the years following 9/11 to alert us to the insider trading that always occurs prior to terrorist attacks.”
“So the conspiracy theories about the US government’s involvement in the attacks are all false?” Everett asked.
“Compartmentalization within the intelligence community is a high priority. I was in Kuwait at the time and heavily invested in relationships with ranking members of Al Qaida. If the government wasn’t involved, something should have leaked out and found its way to my ears.
“A CIA covert cell could theoretically be assigned a mission to recruit, organize, and fund an operation like 9/11 without anyone else in the agency knowing anything about it. Everything is on a need-to-know basis. The information flows are heavily guarded, and everyone keeps their mouths shut. Those who don’t, eventually become depressed or have delusions that they can fly off buildings. Once a mission comes from the top, you don’t question it or discuss it; you just do it.”
“So Project Prophecy was developed to catch inside traders who had advanced knowledge of terrorist attacks?” Everett wanted to know more.
“Yes. With the intent of deciphering exactly the nature of the threat. In the week prior to 9/11, there were massive short positions in American Airlines stock, as well as United Airlines.
“As a side effect, the program was soon able to predict market trends with a higher degree of accuracy than any other trading program to date. This lead to Project Markint. The name comes from market intelligence. It was designed to do everything Prophecy could do and more. The capabilities to predict a sovereign country’s intentions to financially attack another country are just the beginning of what this technology can do. The next generation of Markint uses the quantum computing capabilities at the Utah data center.”
“Utah has a quantum computer?” Everett asked.
“Seven. Six of the quantum computers handle specific tasks, and one acts as the soul that links them all together. The seven computers working in unison form Dragon.”
“I thought Utah was just a data storage facility.” Everett sat up straight with his eyes wide open.
“DARPA has a thumb drive that holds four terabytes of information. The NSA data center in Utah is over one million square feet. Can you imagine a thumb drive that size? There isn’t enough information in the world to fill that. We would never need that much space for storage.
“The intelligence community has learned that the best cover-up is to provide a narrative that is close to the truth. That way, when the inevitable whistle-blower comes out with information, it isn’t far enough away from the official story to get any play from the news.”
Everett was staring down the rabbit hole. “So the news is independent? You know, we hear all sorts of things around the water cooler. Mostly speculation, I’m sure.”
“Yes and no. One of the first initiatives when the CIA began was
Operation Mockingbird. The objective was to control public opinion through media, both overseas and in the US. Officially, Mockingbird shut down, but Director of Central Intelligence, William Colby, admitted to the House Intelligence Committee in 1975, that the Company was still engaged in manipulating the media. The only difference between then and now is that we’ve perfected the art. And it’s not just the mainstream news media. We’ve got our hands in foreign media, Hollywood movies, the music industry, education . . . you name it.”
Everett struggled to take in all that Agent Jones was revealing. “The Company is controlling all of that?”
“I didn’t say we’re controlling any of it. We just have an influential hand in it,” Jones said.
“And Director Colby admitted to manipulating the press in a congressional hearing?”
Jones nodded and smirked. “Right before he was replaced as CIA Director by Skull and Bones member George H. W. Bush. We’re getting into more detail than I intended. Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
“No. I have all night. If you don’t mind my asking, why would you risk telling me all of this? It must be against protocol.”
Jones silently studied the wood grain of the bar. After a moment he downed his drink. “Why don’t you pay for the drinks and get a table. I’ll buy dinner. I’m going to step out for a few minutes for a cigarette. I’ll find you and then explain why we’re here.”
Everett found the hostess, who took him to a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. He perused the menu while he waited for Agent Jones. “Ropa vieja, shredded beef in a tomato broth with onions over white rice. Served with caramelized sweet plantains. Sounds good.”
Jones arrived at the table and sat down. “Anything good on the menu?”
Everett nodded. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place. The menu is spectacular.”
The waiter placed a basket of toasted Cuban bread on their table and filled their water glasses. The two men ordered their meals and returned to the conversation.
Jones picked up where he had left off. “I’d been working with a think tank to research the best ways to exploit the unique abilities of the Markint quantum computer linked to Dragon. I could spend weeks telling you the capabilities of Dragon to predict not only terrorist attacks through market analysis but also its ability to predict the trajectory and anticipate volume on any given trading day. Dragon can also change the direction of markets through complex algorithmic trading programs, which it has the ability to develop itself.”
“When you say it can steer markets, what are you talking about? Do you mean indices like the S&P and Dow, interest rate markets, or currency markets?” Everett asked.
“Everything.”
“And is this absolute control?”
Jones sipped his water. “Almost. Think of the markets as a car. Dragon has the potential to override common market forces, sort of like controlling a car: the steering wheel, brakes, accelerator, and such things. As the driver, Dragon has no absolute control over road conditions or what might equate as liquidity and credit crisis. What it can do is predict those problems well before the ‘car’ approaches the road hazard. It can make corrections to avoid those hazards to the extent that they can be avoided.”
“Sounds like that much power has a high potential for misuse,” Everett commented.
Jones laughed. “That’s an understatement.”
“Working on Dragon must have been more exciting than being an analyst supervisor for some low-level Company outpost.”
“And that, Mr. Carroll, is why we’re here.” Jones took a bite of the bread, chewed, and swallowed, clearly collecting his thoughts. “I was diagnosed with lung cancer last year. Dragon is a delicate program, and the Company can’t have people working on it who might not be around six months from now. I was offered a generous retirement package, which I considered.”
Everett gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve lived a full life. I’ve lived through adventures most people never dream about. Besides, I knew I should have quit smoking years ago but didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you take the retirement package?” Everett asked.
“I don’t have any family. My only interests and hobbies are tradecraft.” Jones spoke solemnly. “It might sound sick, but I want to live out my days working for the Company.”
The food arrived, but neither of the two men seemed interested in it at the moment.
“Working in my capacity, Mr. Carroll, one is asked to do things that seem counterintuitive to the morality of the psyche. One does those things both because he believes that it truly is for the greater good and because of the consequences of rejecting the order.
“Working as an operative in foreign states, I was constantly aware of my mortality, though I was very busy and had little time to contemplate it. I had to focus on the task at hand or risk facing my mortality sooner rather than later. There was also the distraction of the mission and the feeling of being right because of the greater good. As I grew older and saw operation after operation focused on convincing people of things that weren’t true, I began to question whether I also may have been deceived by the Company.
“Now, that my hour is fast approaching, I find myself thinking of things I have never considered. With no grand mission to distract me, I commit a large portion of my day pondering these things.” Agent Jones studied Everett. “Are you a religious man, Mr. Carroll?”
“No.”
Jones smiled and looked down. “I guess I wasn’t at your age either. I have, however, started to contemplate these things lately. I do believe there is a God, as well as absolute right and wrong. I wonder how I’ll be judged for the things I’ve done.”
The subjects of right and wrong, God, and judgment always made Everett uncomfortable.
Jones must have sensed Everett’s uneasiness. “But I’m not here to convert you, Mr. Carroll. I’m here to offer you a mission. Should you choose to accept it, you’ll be provided with something to satisfy your curiosity, something with meaning, something I suspect you greatly desire.”
“And what will you get out of the deal?” Everett asked.
Jones took a deep breath. “A chance to right a few wrongs. An opportunity to leave a legacy and pass on my tradecraft skills to the next generation. I can’t explain how important that is to me.
“I’m not ready to put up my cloak and dagger, Everett. I don’t want to be put on the shelf and forgotten. You’ll understand these things more when you’re older.”
“That makes sense,” Everett said.
The heaviness of the conversation had passed, and the men began eating.
“We almost let it get cold,” Agent Jones remarked. “Still, it tastes great. How is yours?”
“Fantastic,” Everett replied.
Jones dipped his bread into the sauce on his plate. “Let’s enjoy dinner and resume our discussion at a later date. Of course, we’ll avoid the subject at work.”
“I assume you’ll contact me when it’s time to meet again,” Everett said.
Jones nodded and winked.
CHAPTER 7
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
Edmund Burke
Sunday afternoon Noah mingled at the back of the church. Faith Church offered bagels, doughnuts, and coffee to encourage congregants to fellowship with one another after the service.
Noah spotted David Ray at the table getting coffee. He walked over. “Looks like all the chocolate glazed doughnuts are gone.”
“That’ll save you a couple of laps tomorrow morning,” David said and chuckled.
Noah laughed. “Thanks again for keeping Lacy last night.”
“No problem at all. She keeps Lynette occupied. It’s actually almost like a date night for me and Becky. How was Hickory Creek Lodge?”
“A little too swanky for my taste,” Noah replied. “I didn’t know if I was using the right silverware or putting my glass in the
right place. Cassie enjoyed it, though. The food was really good. Not necessarily better than what you’d get at the Country Kettle, but different.”
David helped himself to a spinach bagel. “Prices about the same as the Country Kettle?”
Noah was drinking his coffee and had to fight to keep from laughing and spitting coffee all over himself. “Yeah, about the same.”
David cocked an eyebrow and grinned, indicating he knew better. “Is Cassie getting Lacy from the children’s ministry?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “Probably won’t see her for another half hour. I’m sure she has to tell everyone about the lodge.”
“I’m looking forward to Thursday night’s study. I guess we’ll bring Lynette so Becky and I can both go. Are you coming?” David asked.
Noah nodded. “I think so. Especially if Lynette is going to be there. With the girls both being homeschooled, it’s good for them to be around each other and have some social interaction. Isaiah doesn’t seem to mind having them in the house. Maybe we should try to make it a weekly commitment.”
“All right,” David said. “Speak of the devil, there’s Isaiah.”
“Great, I’ll let him know you just called him the devil.” Noah winked.
“You wouldn’t!” David said.
Isaiah joined the two men. “You fellas coming Thursday night?”
“As long as you don’t mind having the children around,” Noah said.
“They’re an absolute joy. The girls are always welcome in my home,” Isaiah said.
“You didn’t exactly answer Jim’s question last Thursday,” Noah said.
“About what?” Isaiah asked.
“About the pretribulation rapture. The way you answered left a little room to wonder what you believe,” Noah explained.
“Oh, that.” Isaiah stroked his beard as he often did when in thought. “As an official facilitator of a small group for Faith Church, I believe in the possibility of a pretribulation rapture. Pretrib is Pastor Mike’s position, and as someone teaching under his authority, that is what I teach.”