Foreign & Domestic
Part II
Hannibal is at the Gates
Foreign and Domestic, Part II: Hannibal is at the Gates. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address DJK Publishing House at [email protected]
First DJK Publishing House edition published 2014.
Copyright © 2014 by David J. Kershner
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art designed by Pintado
Copyright © 2014 David J. Kershner
Disclaimer: There are several survival and sustainability concepts expressed in this work. These topics and descriptions are not meant as instructions for the construction, use, or tactic of any concept noted. Readers should seek proper training with regard best practices when employing any concepts noted herein especially with regard to the safe handling of weapons and explosive materials and, if at all possible, become certified from an accredited training facility or institution.
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Foreign & Domestic
Part II
Hannibal is at the Gates
By: David J. Kershner
Introduction
Basilia walked over and immediately began examining Heather’s injuries. As she looked her over, she said aloud, “This swelling will go down in a couple days, but these cuts and abrasions need cleaning. Josh, where’s your med kit?”
“Upstairs. I’ll show you,” he replied and escorted the pair to the medical supplies stowed in the bathroom cupboard.
When he started to make his way back toward the group in the living room, he heard Layla explaining what had happened.
“Javy followed her from the movie set – ,”
All heads immediately snapped in her direction.
“WHAT!” her father said forcefully from the top of the stairs. “Where is he?!”
“Calm down, Dad. We took care of him,” she said as she casually walked over to the map sprawled out on the table. She reviewed it, collected her bearing, and pointed to a spot. “He’s tied up to that big white oak right about here. He’s got a rope burn around his neck and a few extra holes though.”
“You hung him and shot him?” the Sheriff said incredulously.
“Well, yeah. He was beating the crap out of her when we came up on them, so Katherine put a round in his shoulder to get his attention. Then he held a knife to her throat so I hit him again in the other one. After what he did to me as a child, and what he attempted to do to my new sister, the least we could do was give him a dose of his own medicine. Besides,” she concluded, “he deserved it.”
Behind them the front door slammed shut.
Josh was gone.
Chapter 1
October 12, 2022
Former President Tom Sarkes exited the armored limousine with his usual compliment of Secret Service Agents in front of The Hague’s United Nations Complex. Given his previous position and title, he by-passed security and went straight to the U.S. Ambassador’s office.
Without so much as a ‘Hello’, Tom threw his overcoat and briefcase in a leather upholstered chair, and emphatically questioned, “What the hell have you done?”
“Me?” the Ambassador replied with equal emphasis. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the President when we forfeited our Permanent Seat on the Security Council? Wasn’t it you that took a more isolationist stance toward foreign policy? My predecessors and I have been trying to clean up your mess ever since.”
Sensing where and how this conversation was going to go, the Secret Service Agents quietly backed out of the Ambassadors office and discreetly closed the door as they departed. The five Agents then took their standard defensive positions.
“That’s bull and you know it! You and your predecessors have been asleep at the wheel,” Tom shot back. “Bunch of idiots. While you and your wives were off rubbing elbows at every banquet and ball, the British Prime Minister and his cronies have been busy re-writing international finance law. I’ve just spent a week in a dank NSA basement culling over every piece of intercepted communication between that conniving jackass and the heads of every country that owns our debt. Hell, I’ve even read through all of the data provided by the French. It seems that there’s still an ember of hatred for the English, turns out empires never really die.”
Tom paused for a moment to assess the diplomat’s body language. It was clear that he was unaware of any of what Tom had just said.
“You haven’t got a clue, do you?”
“President Rayburn just called me and informed me of our predicament,” the man replied with pride.
“Did you know what I was talking about before then?”
“Well, no,” he answered haltingly. “We aren’t privy to secure NSA intercepts. The only intel we receive is filtered through the State Department after it’s been scrubbed,” the Ambassador replied in defense.
“Open your eyes man! How is this country even moving forward with you morons running the show?” Tom said more to the empty room than to the Ambassador.
Having been in politics long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, the UN Ambassador stood stoically until President Sarkes engaged him in the conversation once more.
After spending days on end at the NSA, and another seven hours in solitude on the flight, Tom had formulated a plan to try and head off the Prime Minister.
“I want you to call the French Ambassador and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. Tell them that we need to have a face-to-face,” Tom instructed.
“What makes you think they’ll agree, or even show up?” the Ambassador questioned.
“Because, you’re gonna say it’s me that’s requesting the sit down,” Tom replied.
“Why don’t you call them yourself?” the Ambassador answered incredulously. “I’m not your secretary!”
The two paused to take stock of one another before the diplomat continued. “Why don’t you fill me in on whatever is going on... maybe I can be of assistance. I’ve only had a five-minute conversation with President Rayburn. He had enough time to hit the highlights and to inform me that you had just landed at Schiphol airport.”
Exhaling loudly, Tom turned to the Ambassador and said, “Take a seat.”
* * *
The French Ambassador to the UN glanced down at the screen on his smart phone. The device had vibrated in his pocket to alert him to the incoming call. With the display lit up, the caller ID read: U.S. Ambassador.
Well, that didn’t take long, he thought as pressed the ‘Decline’ button. Former President Sarkes had been in the country barely two hours. The diplomat accessed the text message app on his phone. He quickly typed: Finishing up with PM Windbag. Meet ur office in 30. Bringing friend. Adieu.
The information was relayed to Sarkes and both men sighed in relief that the French were expecting the call.
Thirty-five minutes later the Frenchman walked in with the Director of their Foreign Intelligence Service (DGSE). The head of the DGSE looked like a character right out of a 1940’s film noir spy caper, complete with tan trench coat. The two bypassed the American Diplomat and went straight to Tom. They exchanged handshakes and began a conversation. As they conversed and renewed their friendship, they completely ignored the U.S. Ambassa
dor. The trio went back over a decade, all the way to the early years of Sarkes’ presidency. It was with the heavy heart, and the best wishes of the French, that he planned and executed the United States exit from the Security Council.
The three promptly raided the U.S. diplomat’s liquor cabinet for the scotch and took seats around a circular table in the Ambassador’s office. When the pleasantries were out of the way, President Sarkes said bluntly, “So what’s the word?”
“Monsieur President, if you and your countrymen were not on the wrong side of this, I would actually admire the work he has put forth. The Prime Minister has managed to cobble together just about every nation holding U.S. debt.”
“But to what end, Gabe?” Tom said, referring to the Ambassador informally.
“Monsieur, based on the briefing we just sat through, it is his intention to incite a financial coup d'état. They have written and revised so many international finance laws that the United States might as well declare bankruptcy.”
“What does that even mean? We’d never do that.”
“Thomas, if I may,” the Ambassador began. “If every nation holding U.S. debt were to try and collect all at once, could it be paid?”
“Hell no. That’s over thirty trillion dollars. We’ve raised the debt limit so many times no nation could do that,” Tom answered with his usual candor.
Prior to absolving itself from the gold standard, the United States Treasury functioned similarly to a casino. They had to ‘guarantee every chip on the floor’. When the United States walked away from the long held global system, it essentially stopped guaranteeing the dollar. Complicating matters for the United States was the involvement of the International Monetary Fund (IMF). The institution had been entrenched in international finance and currency exchange since WWII. Every dirty little secret the United States had regarding its debts was known to the powers that be in the IMF. If this organization were assisting the English, there wasn’t any path that would allow the U.S. to force or bluff its way out of any obligations.
“I would start preparing for that eventuality,” Gabriel replied just as candidly. “Austerity sanctions will take immediate effect if it cannot pay. The interest rates for any ‘assistance’ in the form of multiple bailout loans would be exorbitant and extremely painful. If the United States doesn’t ‘voluntarily’ shrink its expenditures to less than 20% of its Gross Domestic Product, then a provisional international board is convened to ‘assist’ the government.”
“Holy sh–,” Tom started to say.
“Exactement,” the Ambassador said in French, cutting Tom off.
Pausing to let the weight of the information sink in, President Sarkes asked the obligatory question, “And if we refuse?”
Gabriel clicked his tongue rapidly before saying, “No, no, no, Monsieur. You do not want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“If the United States refuses, force is authorized.”
“WHAT!” Tom exclaimed.
“Oui,” Gabriel replied.
“No foreign army has stepped foot on American soil in over two hundred years! What are they gonna do... raid Fort Knox!?”
“Oui, and how ever many Treasury banks, branches, mints, foreign accounts, and bank vaults it takes until they have their trillions,” the Ambassador replied knowingly.
President Sarkes slumped back in his chair, sighed, and said, “Hannibal ad portas.”
“Oui, Monsieur,” Gabriel replied.
“What’s that?” the American Ambassador asked.
“It’s Latin,” Sarkes replied, crestfallen that he had to even explain it. “It means ‘Hannibal is at the gates’,” the former President answered with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He concluded, “The spoils of war then. But why do this?”
Looking up at the French Ambassador, he added, “They have their own financial problems. Invading us won’t absolve them of their own obligations. They’ll spend billions trying to take ours. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Gabriel glanced over at the Minister Pinault, “Monsieur.”
The Head of the DGSE cleared his throat and said in heavily accented English, “A few months ago, Prime Minister Goodspeed flew covertly on a commercial airliner to meet your President Rayburn. He also met with heads of the Federal Reserve and the Treasury. At that time, he attempted to broker a back door deal for several hundred billion dollars that the U.K. owned of U.S. debt.”
“I know. Rayburn told him to take a hike,” Sarkes stated.
“Oui,” Minister Pinault replied. “This situation is not all that dissimilar to the Iraqi’s and Kuwaiti’s.”
The U.S. Ambassador was thoroughly confused. “What does the freeing of Kuwait have to do with England thinking about invading the United States?”
“My God man! How did you even get this job?” Sarkes exhorted. “The Iraqi’s invaded the country over an insult. They were negotiating oil rights in the region and the little nation didn’t like being bullied by its big brother. When the delegation stormed out the Kuwaiti Ambassador spat on his counterpart. That’s a huge insult over there. King George is feeling just as aggrieved.”
“He wants you... oh, merde. What’s the translation for ‘sur les genoux’?” Minister Pinault asked.
“On our knees?” Sarkes asked.
“Oui, Monsieur. On bended knee begging for mercy.”
“Well, they’re in for one hell of a shock when they get to Kentucky,” Tom inserted.
“Why’s that? How much is there?” the U.S. Ambassador asked.
“Next to nothing now,” Tom replied. “We’ve already started relocating a great deal of our assets.”
“Monsieur,” the Minister said. “Forgive me, but you are in checkmate.”
“Sir, shouldn’t we call President Rayburn!” the inexperienced diplomat proclaimed in a panic. “Tell him what’s going on and that we need to go faster! We –,”
The former President rolled his eyes and calmly responded, “Relax, relax. ‘Operation Delta’ started weeks ago. In a month or two, all of the vaults will be empty and the resources safely hidden away. Screw the British.”
Chapter 2
October 15, 2022
The three women cautiously approached Javy with their weapons drawn. Once they were satisfied that he was alive, but unconscious, they removed the noose and tied him to the oak tree with a series of constrictor knots.
While Layla was finishing her knot, she asked, “So the photographer thing, you knew who we were the whole time?”
“Pretty much,” Heather answered as she watched the two check the horses. “Are you guys headed back to your farm?”
“Yeah. We need to call the Sheriff,” Katherine answered then asked, “You wanna ride?”
“Can I? I’m pretty exhausted,” Heather replied matter of factly.
Smiling, Katherine replied, “Hop on.”
Satisfied with Javy tied to the tree, the three mounted the two horses and rode the remaining distance back to the farm. On the way, Heather detailed their fathers visit to California and the conversation they had. She explained how she tracked him down only to be turned away by their mother. Javy hadn’t lied about any of it. Layla and Katherine just listened. Once inside the barn, they quickly unsaddled the horses, brushed out their coats, and placed them in their stalls with water and feed.
“You ready to meet your father? Officially?” Katherine asked.
“You don’t think he’ll be mad? Me just showing up like this?” Heather asked, starting to second-guess her decision.
“Seriously? He basically told you to come find him. Besides, he has a lot of explaining to do,” Layla answered.
The three headed to the front porch and entered the house expecting to see an irate Evan. What they didn’t expect to find was their father’s employee, the Martinez family, the Sheriff, and their father examining a relief map of the Hocking Hills region over the dining room table.
“What took you guys so long,” Evan demande
d to know.
“We were waylaid,” Layla answered. She then turned her head and said, “Come on in.”
Heather crossed the threshold and in to view of the others.
“Heather? What happened?” Josh said as he went to her and surveyed her battered face.
“Hi, Dad.”
Basilia walked over and immediately began examining Heather’s injuries. As she looked her over, she said aloud, “This swelling will go down in a couple days, but these cuts and abrasions need cleaning. Josh, where’s your med kit?”
“Upstairs. I’ll show you,” he replied and escorted the pair to the medical supplies stowed in the bathroom cupboard. When he started to make his way back toward the group in the living room, he heard Layla explaining what had happened.
“Javy followed her from the movie set – ,”
All heads immediately snapped in her direction.
“WHAT!” her father said forcefully from the top of the stairs. “Where is he?!”
“Calm down, Dad. We took care of him,” she said as she casually walked over to the map sprawled out on the table. She reviewed it, collected her bearing, and pointed to a spot. “He’s tied up to that big white oak right about here. He’s got a rope burn around his neck and a few extra holes though.”
“You hung him and shot him?” the Sheriff said incredulously.
“Well, yeah. He was beating the crap out of her when we came up on them, so Katherine put a round in his shoulder to get his attention. Then he held a knife to her throat, so I hit him again in the other one. After what he did to me as a child, and what he attempted to do to my new sister, the least we could do was give him a dose of his own medicine. Besides,” she concluded, “he deserved it.”
Behind them the front door slammed shut.
Josh was gone.
He had heard Layla’s description and seen where she had pointed on the map. That was all he needed. If he had his way, the last living cretin that had stolen his daughter’s innocent youth wasn’t going to see the next sunrise.
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