by Tony Bulmer
Borkin’s eyes prowled the room. At length, he padded over to the Vice President’s desk. Dusted off one corner with a careless flick of the wrist and sat down. He sniffed, looked the Vice President dead in the eyes and said, “Cute. Real cute. Keeping me waiting in your goddamn front office with all your pansy-‐asssed little helpers, like I am some junior-‐league snot-‐wiper from darkest Africa.”
Hanssen nodded, laughed, and said, “You got your self a nasty mouth, Al, I like that—I hope you haven’t been mixing it up with my Chief of Staff Daniel though—he’s highly strung, gets tearful at the drop of a hanky.”
“No shit. You think I give a good-‐goddamn about your swish-‐dish flunkies? I am here to set you straight Hanssen, Let you know who you are dealing with.”
Hanssen’s eyes drew thin, but his craggy golf-‐tan face remained enigmatic. He analyzed Borkin carefully for several quiet seconds, then said, “Why don’t you tell me all about it. Sweat out your troubles, so I can take measure of just what it is you need.” Hanssen smiled. He reached over his desk, to the polished wood cigar box and selected a Torro Grande. Then he sank back in his leather chair, rolling the cigar idly in his fingers, as though Borkin’s voice was the sweetest thing he had ever heard.
“I like to play things clean and tidy Hanssen, You get me? When I am running an operation I don’t like interference, from anyone. When we got into this thing, you told me that’s just how things would be—”
Hanssen nodded. He Reached his silver cigar guillotine out of his waist coat pocket and neatly clipped the end of his cigar. “Let me get this straight Borkin, you came running all the way down Pennsylvania Avenue to bellyache about how you want to be the Captain of the Ship?” Hanssen raised his thick grey eyebrows, and paused. He reached over the big desk and picked up a fancy five-‐burner cigar lighter and examined it, before firing up his cigar.
“The Department of Justice have some
bitch-‐faced investigator from the criminal division
nosing around the island. She is asking all kinds of
questions. Poking her nose into things that are
none of her damn business. Lucky for you, we are
running this game tight, or she would be all over
us.”
Hanssen drew a long pull on the cigar and
blew smoke.
“You got nothing to say Hanssen? You were
supposed to be on top of this. I thought you had
those pricks at the Justice Department pulling for
the cause?”
“I do.”
Borkin narrowed his eyes, leaned in a half
inch and said, “What do you mean you do? You
listening to a damn thing I tell you? This nosey little
bitch is causing all kinds of problems—a real tough
assed little sharpshooter she is too—every time I
run interference on her, she takes out one of my
guys. It has to stop. So why don’t you get your size
nines off that damn desk. Ring the DOJ and lay it on
the line. Tell them they got to pull special agent
Kane back to base camp, or you will tear them a
new one.”
Hanssen angled the cigar out the side of his
mouth. “Don’t you think that will look rather of
suspicious, me pulling the plug on an independent
law enforcement operation?”
“Who cares? It won’t matter a hot damn in a
few days anyway, but that girl of theirs is digging-‐
deep. She keeps rooting around in the filth, like a
little truffle-‐hound. You can bet she is going to
come up with something. Question is—are you
prepared to take that risk, Dick?”
Hanssen smiled. “Talking to the DOJ isn’t going to do a blind bit of good, you know that don’t you?”
“What do you mean it won’t do no good?” “Some times I despair at you Al. You tell me you want to move up to bigger things, but I just wonder if you are ready. I mean, here you are, sitting in the navigators seat of the premier law enforcement Agency in the world, and you have no idea who this Kane woman is.”
Borkin leaned in, his bottom lip hanging loose. “What do you mean I got no idea? Who the hell is this bitch?”
“She is CIA. A deep cover-‐operative authorized by the president to use deadly force.
Borkin’s mouth hung wider. He made a guttural noise deep in his throat, finally he said, “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?” The words came slow and deadly, like a prison-‐yard threat.
Hanssen, examined his cigar, for a moment, then huffed smoke. “Now you listen to me, and listen good. You get told what you need to get told. And when I tell—you listen. You understand me?
Borkin scowled. “Hey, don’t you give me that bullshit Hanssen. We are partners in this thing. This big idea of yours ain’t gonna pass base-‐one without my say so—”
“You are a junior partner Al, so dial back the attitude.”
Borkin nodded, “The way I see it, this Kane spook is going to blow the lid on the whole operation, so don’t give me that junior partner bullshit. If the Agency is involved we got ourselves problems—big dangerous problems. And if you are
wanting me to take care of that, your backers are going to have ask nice and pony up and eight-‐digit increase in my fee, on account of the fact I don’t like being called a ‘junior partner’ by no one—least of all some West-‐Virginia golf caddy with delusions of grandeur.”
Hanssen examined Borkin, with his cold grey eyes, then smiled. He wagged his finger in admonishment. “You got yourself a real smart mouth Al, the kind that’s going to land you in a whole mess of trouble, if you don’t watch yourself. So, you got to think yourself lucky you are a friend of mine. We are living in perilous times, the kind of age where just about anything could happen to a person if they didn’t have friends in all the right places—look at Senator Johnston, or that greedy little friend of his.”
“You got me breaking out in goose-‐bumps Hanssen.” Borkin dusted off his pants leg with the back of his hand and Gave Dick Hanssen a steady look. “The girl has to go. It is just as simple as that.”
Vice President Hanssen leaned back in his chair, and took another long slow pull on his cigar. At last he said, “Don’t worry about the girl. I got people working on that already.”
40
Oahu, Hawaii The white-‐jacketed flunkies marched Karyn to the stern of the Chánchú, to an area guarded by sharp-‐ suited goons, who looked like they were running a presidential-‐style security operation. The décor was grand but tacky, like a floating Taj Mahal. The interior was garlanded with white drapes, blanc on blanc furniture and a collection of imposing objects d’ art that looked like they had been fresh dug from the tomb of some ancient imperial despot. Karyn paused a beat, and looked up at the giant
bronze guardian lions looming over of the vast club-‐like interior.
“Quite some place isn’t it?” said Calista Johnston in a revered tone, as though they were about to make acquaintance with the Pope himself.
“That is one way of putting it,” said Karyn. The Tao symbol was everywhere, back lit in bronze and gold like some holy relic. And then there were the portraits—dozens of them on every wall— ancient kings on horse back, brave spear carrying warriors, standing proud above their vanquished enemies, and emperors of old, receiving tribute from their adoring public. At first the paintings seemed to meld with the grandiosity of the decor, but as Karyn looked closer, a sudden chill ran through her. On every canvas the face of the great heroic leader was the same—Deng Tao—emperor, hero, warrior king. This was more than some rich mans dream palace it was a floating monument to megalomania.
Moving forwards now, deeper inside the ship, Karyn noticed more of the sharp suited goons standing ready in the shadows. Her mind raced forwards, as yet another puzzle piece fell into place—this billionaire goofball wasn’t playing president—he thought he was better than that, reining over his international kingdom of limitless avarice like some god emperor from days of old.
As she walked, Karyn peripheralized the honor guard escorting her. She could take them out if she had to, but what then? Deng Tao had a small army guarding the boat. If she lost her nerve and made a play now, the game would be ruined. The façade of politeness would disappear and the Deng Tao organization would draw in around their master in a protective formation. No, she had to play the amenable guest for just a little while longer.
There were other considerations too of course. Perhaps Deng Tao really did think himself omnipotent? Perhaps he thought his money could buy him a seat at the table of world leadership? Or maybe this vulgar display of wealth and vanity was designed as a challenge to authority—a play to show that the Tao Corporation was a transcendent entity; a force so powerful it could rise above the laws and responsibilities that governed more mundane lives? Many had made that mistake before, but perhaps none with the style of Deng Tao. Perhaps the power mad creep figured his empire of avarice was so big he no longer had to answer to the Government of the United States, if so, it would be the biggest mistake he had ever made.
Servants scurried now, as the party led by
Calista Johnston paused before a pair of heavy
bronze doors. She shot Karyn a perturbed look. We
will wait here for you my dear, Mr. Tao requires a
personal audience with you.”
“Personal, huh? I am honored.”
“Indeed you should be my dear, Mr. Tao
rarely grants such exceptional privileges, to those
who are not followers of the way.”
Karyn gave Calista Johnston a hard look.
The older woman looked nervous, her thin hands
twisting together like God himself was going to
reach down from the heavens and snatch her up at
any second. Karyn felt kind of sorry for the spooky
old girl, she had swallowed down the Deng Tao
rhetoric like some swirly–eyed teen and now she
was talking about her hero like he was Jesus Christ
himself. Disappointment was coming and soon, no
doubt about that. Karyn stood for a moment,
thinking wise words of consolation might help. But
really, she knew they wouldn’t. Instead, Karyn
turned and saw Enrique looking at her lustfully.
“Maybe we see you soon pretty lady, maybe not.”
He laughed. It was a cruel, meaningless laugh that
that offered nothing but contempt.
Karyn winked and shot him a pistol
fingered salute.
He didn’t like that—not even a little bit. But
as Enrique’s lips quivered with the effort of a
snappy come back, the white-‐jacketed flunkies
pulled open the heavy bronze doors and stood back
so that Karyn could walk through into the private
world of Deng Tao.
As she walked inside, her eyes adjusting to
the gloom, Karyn had the sensation that she had
entered into a world of almost limitless depth. There was glass everywhere—the walls, the ceiling and the floor—and beyond the translucent divide, an undersea world swirled with fish of every description—it was difficult to comprehend whether they were now below the water line of the ship looking out on the ocean floor, or if they were encased in a giant fish tank, so large it defied comprehension. At the centre of this undersea realm was an opulent glass table, almost fifty feet long, surrounded by translucent glass chairs and illuminated by surreal crystal candelabras that rose from the table like coral.
As Karyn stood, marveling at the strange and exotic space, a parallel set of doors opened at the other end of the room. And there he stood— Deng Tao, the diminutive ruler of this weird undersea kingdom. As he approached, Karyn saw that he was wearing an exotic Changshan robe, embroidered with golden dragons. On his feet he wore white silk slippers. With his hair clipped close at the sides and oily black on top his cherubic face was accentuated. He looked like a young emperor, risen from the tombs of the past, so that he might once again rule over all he surveyed.
Deng Tao said, “Welcome Ms. Kane. Please, have a seat.” As he spoke, the unmistakable scent of jasmine filled the air.
Karyn paused, transfixed by the
approaching vision. She remained standing, but Deng Tao was unperturbed. He drifted towards her, in his immaculate white-‐robes, his uncanny aura of power filling the room. As he reached the end of the table, Deng Tao paused momentarily, his black, intense eyes eating into her. He smiled, his lips
parting, to reveal delicate little teeth, glistening with an almost jeweled whiteness. For all their size, they looked sharp and dangerous, like they could tear flesh to the bone.
Karyn said, “Quite some ship you got here Tao.”
Again the razor sharp smile broke wide. “Very generous of you to say so Ms. Kane, The Chánchú is perhaps the smallest vessel in my fleet, but she is more than adequate for my needs in this part of the world.”
“Interesting. What are your needs in this part of the world Tao?”
“Facilitating the dawn of a new future Ms. Kane. Tomorrow, my newest power plant will go live on the Big Island of Hawaii, providing all who live and work here with limitless free energy. Imagine that Ms. Kane, no more reliance on dangerous nuclear fuel, or dirty coal. No more servitude to the oil economies of the Middle East. We are about to witness the dawning of a new age Ms. Kane, an age were the people of the world will be able to throw off the shackles of their slavish dependence on expensive fuels. Now I ask you, is that not a cause for celebration?”
“The problem with every utopian idea is there is a dollars and cents aftertaste. What’s the angle Tao?”
�
�No angle Ms. Kane. More and more people are recognizing that world government is unfit to meet the challenges that face us. Rather than providing the social and economic freedoms they promised, the nation states have failed in their sworn duty to the people of the world. Such failure cannot be allowed to continue. The Tao
Corporation is a world leader in many fields—but we are always looking to diversify our portfolio— seeking new, exciting and profitable business opportunities. It makes sense therefore that we break in to the highly lucrative new market for world government.”
“I didn’t know there was a market.” “Oh, come, come. Don’t be coy Ms. Kane. We both now that corporations have been funding world government for decades—particularly in this bankrupt little country of yours. How amusing, that the money-‐men of Wall Street still speak of free market economics, when really they are nothing but whores, bought and paid for by the new world order.”
“So, what are you saying Tao? You going to move in, wearing that hot little pimp coat and bitch-‐slap the world into doing your bidding?”
“It is time for the hypocrisy to end—time for new and more vibrant leadership,” said Tao coldly.
“Let me guess, you are planning a hostile take over.”
Tao paused, smiled and said, “You misunderstand me Ms. Kane. I am merely a humble facilitator. When the people of the world come to realize that they are being used as slaves by the parasitic and outdated thinking of the old order, they will rise up in revolt. Take a look at the evening news Ms. Kane—already it begins—the world is coming together, the voices of the people are uniting as one, demanding change, demanding an end to the old, parasite thinking.”
Karyn sniffed and said, “History is graveyard of big thinking revolutionaries—Stalin,
Mao, Pol Pot—what makes you think you and your smart talking pals have all the answers?”