The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  “Second, GDP growth for the first quarter came in at 3.2 percent in today's report, slightly above our projections, probably due in good part to raised dividend payments to shareholders and in part to more folks stocking up ahead of the national sales tax than we had expected. So we will not be surprised if second-quarter GDP growth backs off a bit, although the February and March job reports both showed net gains of over half a million jobs, even with the offsets of over a hundred thousand job losses in the federal government each month. That's brought the unemployment rate down to 7.4 percent. Still a long way to go to get to my goal of four percent, but overall, the recovery seems to be progressing well.

  “Third, our health insurance reforms appear to be popular, but it's still early. Allowing companies to operate nationwide and to offer multiple choices, from bare-bones to comprehensive policies, and to provide ala carte rider selections, along with the expanded health savings accounts, all are getting upwards of 75 percent approval ratings in the latest polls. And our requirement that all medical providers post their prices prominently in their offices, in print and on their web sites, which helps consumers to make more informed choices when they can, also gets positive approval, above eighty percent, in the same polls. So we're encouraged on that front, as well. There's still much more to do there, of course.

  “Fourth, as for the protests, demonstrations and occasional riots, we are making good progress on containing and redirecting those. My policy of holding organizers and instigators personally liable for any damages and requiring participants to repair those damages, under supervision of military personnel, has begun to have some positive results. I don't have any statistics on this yet, but I've gotten anecdotal reports that many demonstrators have moved into apprenticeship programs in carpentry, plumbing, electrical and glass repair and are preparing for good jobs in those fields.

  “Finally … and this is going to require a lot of explanation, which you'll find in Directives 558 to 573 by ten p.m. tonight … as of the end of June, the one-hundred-dollar and fifty-dollar bills will no longer be legal tender; they will be replaced by brand new bills in those two denominations, which will be legal tender as of … well, right now.

  “We've been printing them up since late December, so we should have enough available. Here's what they look like.”

  Donne held up two bills and flipped them front and back for the camera, which zoomed in for closeups.

  “Both bills have multiple anti-counterfeiting features embedded, as well as embossed numbers, so the blind can distinguish them.”

  Donne set them aside and the camera zoomed back out.

  “Individuals will be able to exchange the old bills for new ones at their local banks all around the world, beginning tomorrow morning, and can continue that until June 30th. There will be a limit of one thousand dollars per person per day, and thumbprints or other biometric identification will be required.

  “Businesses will be able to exchange old for new up to their average daily deposits, and will have an extra week in July to make the swap, since they will be accepting old bills up through the end of June. Again, thumbprints or other bio ID required.

  “After that, any of the old bills in anybody's possession might make good kindling for a fire, because they will have zero value … well, some collectors might give you a few cents apiece for them … or, if you have lots of them in bundles, you might add some water and glue and use them for building walls. I don't believe they have any nutritional value, so I wouldn't suggest eating them … unless you don't care about nutrition, which many of you apparently don't.

  “I guess that's all for – oh, one more thing. I want to thank the 38 billionaires who've joined me in donating at least a billion dollars to help with the deficit, and the more than five thousand millionaires who've donated at least a million dollars each, for another five billion bucks. And I'll continue to extend that invitation to any others at our wealth level to do the same.

  “Now I do believe that's it for tonight, so I'll wish all of you a good evening and a great weekend. Good night.”

  * * * * * *

  As soon as the camera was off, Donne stepped from behind his desk and joined the other people sitting on the couches in the middle of the Oval Office.

  “Okay, folks, are all our surveillance assets in place and ready?”

  The directors of the Secret Service, CIA, DEA, FBI, NSA, IRS and Homeland Security all nodded.

  “Good, good. And our military backup teams are also in place?”

  Martin Dean, director of the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), said, “Locked and loaded, Gordy.”

  “And we've coordinated with the governments we can trust?”

  Eileen Tavestory, the new but experienced Secretary of State, looked around the room, nodded and said, “Yes, other than Pakistan, North Korea, Iran, Syria, Egypt, Venezuela, Cuba, Mexico, China, Russia, Libya and some others.”

  “Great. So as soon as any of these bozos start to move their dollars, your teams will move in and either confiscate or burn their caches or just surveil and report, depending on their assigned targets and priorities.

  “Grant, Dave, your teams in Mexico and Colombia are prepped for heavy resistance?”

  The directors of the CIA and DEA both nodded.

  “And, Grant, you know that your legit agents will be able to convert their safe house stashes for the rest of the year, right?”

  “Right, Gordy. As for the rogues, too damned bad.”

  “Good. Any questions?”

  The director of the DIA spoke up. “We're fully authorized for deadly force if needed?”

  “Absolutely, General, especially with the drug cartel assholes, the arms runners and the human traffickers. And we are more interested in intelligence than in prosecution when it comes to any prisoners.

  “Any other questions?”

  Nobody else responded.

  “Okay. Operation Dragon Scramble is a go. Keep me posted.”

  As everyone stood to depart, Donne touched the Director of the Secret Service on the shoulder and said, “Pamela, hang back a second, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  Once the door had closed, Donne waved the Director to the couches, where she settled her substantial bulk onto one while Donne took a seat on the opposite one, picking up the clipboard and setting it beside him.

  “Two things I wanted to discuss with you, Pamela. First, it's been three months since I promoted you into Mark's slot when he retired. Any problems settling in?”

  “Well, sir, I've been in the Service for 35 years, and worked pretty closely with Mark the last five, so it hasn't been too difficult so far.”

  “Good, good. No problems with the security team I brought with me?”

  “Well, a few of the agents are a bit disgruntled at playing second fiddle.”

  “In a major way?”

  “No, just the usual ego stuff; I can handle it.”

  “Good. Now, the other thing is this: I've been hearing about a few agents on advance teams last year breaking protocol and letting hookers into their rooms with sensitive materials in plain view. That was before I took over, but it's apparently an ongoing concern.”

  “Yes, sir; it's a cultural thing, going on since the mid-90s, but only with a small minority of the male agents. I hadn't been able to push to change that until you promoted me, but now that I've been investigating, I've fired seven agents so far, with fourteen more on suspension, and they'll most likely be gone soon, too.”

  “Good.”

  “But it cost me one of my top investigators, CIA experience, science and accounting, also did some honey-trapping in the '80s. She took retirement as soon as she turned 50, after a really nasty conflict with her boss last summer down in Florida, and now she's working with a private security company. I've tried to get her to come back, but she says she's very happy where she is.”

  “What company is that?”

  “Uh … oh, it's Optimum Protection. Is that – yeah, tha
t's it, O-P.”

  “That's a DEI company; no wonder she's happy there.”

  “Oh. Can you help get her back?”

  “Sorry, Pamela; I don't mess with people's choices. And I'm not in charge or even involved over there anymore, as you know; conflict of interest.”

  “I understand, sir. Just thought I'd give it a shot.”

  “No problem; no need to be anything but forthright with me.”

  “Her boss was one of the seven I just fired, and good riddance. Still a ways to go with the investigation, though.”

  “Anything I can do to help you with that?”

  “I don't think so, sir, at least for now. I've got a pretty solid handle on it.”

  “Good, Pamela, very good. If you need anything, just call.”

  “Thank you, sir; I will.”

  “And, Pamela, you can call me Gordy, okay?”

  “Okay, Gordy. Thanks again.” She pushed a loose strand of gray hair away from her eyes, struggled to get up from the couch, accepting a helpful hand from Donne, and slowly made her way to the door. As she reached for the handle, Donne said, “Oh, Pamela, one question.”

  “Yes, sir – I mean Gordy?”

  “What was that agent's name, the one at O-P? No promises, just curious.”

  “Pamela Robertson-Brooks.”

  “Could you send her file over? Especially anything about that conflict with her boss.”

  “I'll do that as soon as I get back to my office,” Pamela said, smiling broadly. “You should have it in ten minutes, max.”

  “Appreciate it. Good lu- – wait a minute. Did you say 'Robertson- Brooks?'”

  “Yes, si- – Gordy.”

  “Was she the one who was married to the Beige Man, the CIA guy who was killed in '90 or '91? Uh, Zach? Zach Robertson?”

  “That's her, and yes, that was him.”

  “Oh. He was a legend. I met him once. So nondescript, he could fit in anywhere, almost invisible.”

  “That he was. She was shot in the same op that got him killed and came to us right after she recovered.”

  “They had her doing honey traps all through the '80s, right?”

  “Right; codename 'Pepper.' But when she came to us, we paid for her to get an MBA, forensic accounting, and she was top-notch. She also rotated into the presidential protection detail twice, overlapping Clinton to Bush and then Bush to Obama. Best I ever worked with.”

  “Hmm. I do want to see her file. Thanks.”

  “Okay. Ten minutes and you'll have it.” She headed out.

  Once the door closed, Donne returned to his desk, picked up a paper from his inbox, then set it down and buzzed the intercom.

  “Emily, could you have the kitchen send up my usual, please?”

  “Sure, Gordy. Uh, can I suggest --”

  Donne chuckled. “No, no, Emily, I'm just fine with the grilled ham and cheese. Save your mothering for your grandkids and your hubby, okay?”

  “Okay, boss.”

  “Maybe someday I'll try something different, but – oh, remind me to call Jean-Claude tomorrow. I want to see how he's enjoying Paris and see if he can come back for that state dinner in July.”

  “Will do, Gordy. Mid-afternoon his time?”

  “Probably about two; the restaurant should be quiet then.”

  “Got it; in your calendar for eight a.m.”

  “Thanks. And Pamela will be sending a file over soon. Can you get it in here as soon as it shows up?”

  “Will do. She told me about that when she left.”

  “Thanks, Emily.” Donne clicked off and went back to the papers in his inbox, finished them up in just over an hour, then, with Pamela's file in hand, headed over to the Residence, where he settled in for a much-needed good night's sleep.

  -111-

  Sunday, May 6, 2012

  9:17 a.m.

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  The Mimosa twins began their day strolling north and south from their usual spot on the beach, near the boardwalk from the Collier County parking lot, Jill going south, Carie north. Jill glanced into the gazebo with the AA meeting and saw that all seemed to be going normally there. She walked to the southernmost gazebo and turned back north, scanning the slowly growing crowd, ignoring the men ogling her young, lush body. As she neared the boardwalk, her sister's voice came over her earbuds.

  "Jillybean, got a possible situation up here near Pop's, by the volleyball net. A young couple just set down a beach bag and turned back north, where they came from. It may be nothing, but they're acting a little hinky, so I'm gonna follow them. You got your tool kit with you?"

  Jill replied "Rodger Dodger, Carie Berry. I'll check out the bag."

  "Yup. It's the yellow one right by the post."

  "I see you. Got it. Be there in a sec."

  "Okay. Keep me posted."

  "Will do." Jill meandered up to the bag, opened it, lifted up a corner of a folded beach towel and looked inside.

  "Oh, geez, it's a bomb, all right; C4 and ball bearings, with a timer set for noon and a backup cell phone detonator."

  "Can you defuse it?"

  "Of course. But I've got to sort it out. Blue, red, green, black ... hmm. I don't see any booby traps, at least. Amateur hour, looks like. Okay. Here goes." Jill pulled the blue and red wires together, then the green and black ones separately, pulled out a pair of wire cutters, then a second pair, held her breath and simultaneously cut all four wires. The timer stopped and Jill exhaled.

  "Got it. Gonna pull all the detonators out now. Done. Think we can use some C4 sometime?"

  "Oh, yeah, Jillybean. Take it all back to the van."

  "Will do. Uh-oh. Some of the locals are watching, and a couple are pointing cell phones at me."

  "Got your floppy hat down, Jillybean?"

  "Oh, yeah, CB, all the way down. Casual, casual. Okay, I think I'm clear, but my cover may be blown. What are your guys doing now?"

  "Just coming up on Access 2. Can't tell if they're parked in there yet."

  "I'll head up your way in the van, back you up."

  "Good. Ah, not Access 2; they're going on. Maybe they're not in one of the accesses; maybe they're in one of the McMansions. You might want to put some speed on."

  "Will do." Jill walked nonchalantly back to where they had dropped their own towels, picked those up and jogged out to the Collier lot, climbed into their van, got it started and headed out.

  "Okay, Carie Berry, on my way."

  "We're coming up on Access 3."

  "Damn; the light's red. But there's a car ahead ... ah, here we go."

  "Okay. Just passing Access 3."

  "Just starting the curve onto Hickory ... okay, passing Pop's."

  "Good ... hold on ... okay, they're angling up toward Access 4. Maybe 50 yards to go. I'm about 30 yards behind 'em."

  "Just passing Access 3. Silencer on, taser charged."

  "Mine, too."

  "Descriptions?"

  "Mid-twenties, maybe younger. He's about five-eight, medium weight, short dark hair, clean-shaven, I think, red and black striped jams; she's maybe five-three, heavy, long dark hair, black scarf, dark brown one-piece, yellow skirt, small red over-the-shoulder bag."

  "Got it. How you wanna play it?"

  "Barcelona?"

  "Naw. How about London?"

  "Sounds good. But I don't want to spook them or get burned. Can you get there before they do?"

  "I think so. Ah, here's the flag."

  "They're about twenty yards from the boardwalk. Great timing, Jillybean."

  "Oops. There may be another one, 50-ish, skinny, full beard, just standing on the boardwalk, looking your way. He's a little hinky, too."

  "Can you take him out of play?"

  "Sure, no problem. Okay, outa the van now, and it's blocking this end of the boardwalk."

  "They've seen him, JB ... and ... yup, a quick wave. He's with 'em, not a local."

  "Anybody else around?"

  "Just some locals coming south at t
he shoreline. So not London. How about Joberg?"

  "Okay. I'll hold off till they meet up."

  "Good. I'll be right there once you've contained them. Silencer on, taser charged."

  "Okay ... ah, here they come. Excuse me! Are you leaving?" Carie could hear muffled voices in the background, then "Hold it right there; hands up. HANDS UP! DROP THE PHONE! DROP IT!!"

  "On my way, JB."

  "I SAID DROP IT!!! Aw, shit. Okay. I've tased him, CB, covering the other two. But he pushed a button and the phone in the van is ringing."

  "Boy, he IS twitching, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah – CB, look out! She's --”

  “No, girlie, don't even THINK about it! Oh, fuck."

  "Geez, CB, she's twitching even more than he is."

  "Now, buddy, that's both of our tasers. So if you fuck around, a gunshot is a LOT more painful. Jillybean, can you get the door, get the flex ties and tape ready? And gag him. Good. Now keep him covered while I ... well, well, well, a little handgun in her bag, looks like a tunnel gun; haven't seen one of those in a looonnngg time. Okay, buddy, now you and I are gonna get your girlfriend into the van. No, you WILL touch her ... NOW! Heave ho. Geez, she shoulda gone to Fatties Anonymous. Okay. JB, keep him covered while I flex-tie and gag her."

  "On your knees, raghead. And quit crying. Geez."

  "Okay. Now the old guy, buddy. I said NOW! What are you, a germophobe?"

  "Maybe he thinks he's Howie whatsisname, CB."

  "Well, Howie, here's my offer. You pick up his feet and I won't have my sister shoot you. Deal or no deal? Which one? That's better. Heave ho. Geez, JB, I coulda done this by myself; he's nothin' but skin and bones. Good."

  "Back on your knees, Howie. Or is it Kamil? Abdul? Zafir? Rashad?"

  "All set, JB. Now, buddy, hands behind your back. Good. Now get over there and sit down on the mattress, feet together. Good. Now roll over on your side, bend your knees back up. Good. This may hurt a teeny weeny bit. Just don't wiggle around; you might dislocate your shoulders."

  "Hogtied 'em all, CB?"

  "Yup. And I got some car keys from the old guy."

  "Umm ... probably fit that old green sedan, rusty. Yup. Guess we oughta take it along."