The Eye of Moloch ow-2

by Glenn Beck

  Arthur Gardner endured the onslaught of these words and again, quite out of character, he made no attempt to counter. He only took a small step closer before seeming to recall that he’d been told to stay right where he was.

  “Son,” he tried to begin again, “it may be very important—no—it is, very important, that you attempt to put the old feelings between us aside for now and do what I ask. Important for everyone, not only me. This concerns the young woman, Molly Ross.”

  Noah frowned. “What about Molly?”

  “It’s as simple as this.” Arthur Gardner stole a glance toward that camera again. “If you’ll do what I ask, she can live.”

  When listening to a man who’s spent his career constructing deceptions so perfect as to shape entire cultures for his profit, it’s a good idea to think hard before buying into his lines. Noah didn’t speak, and the old man continued.

  “More than that, son; you can have a future again. Back in New York, or in London, or Geneva, or Zurich, or the south of France. Anywhere, or nowhere if you’d prefer to disappear and put me and everything else you’ve ever known behind you forever. I’ll arrange that myself, with Charlie Nelan. You’ll trust Charlie; I can’t blame you for doubting me but you must know he wouldn’t let you down. He can set you up for life in a way that no one could ever undo it.”

  “Sounds just great,” Noah said. “You know I had most of those options already, don’t you? Before you took them away.”

  “Now you listen.” And there it was, low and menacing, a venomous hiss from the real man had momentarily escaped containment. “The past is gone, son. There’s a change coming, and soon. Our failure last year only delayed it, but the storm is gathering again. This offer I bring will cost me more than you’ll ever know. But it will buy a life for you, a good life, and one for her, if that matters to you more than your own.”

  “It does,” Noah said, and he was more than a little surprised to hear himself admit to that. As his mind raced to find the old man’s hidden angle—because there was always at least one of those—he couldn’t see how it could hurt to hear the proposal. “So what do you want from me?”

  “I’d like to sit.” He’d pulled a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket and was dabbing at his neck and his brow.

  “Be my guest.”

  His father took a seat at the foot of the bed. He seemed unusually weary and short of breath when he spoke again.

  “We’ll bring someone in to meet with you,” he said, “an investigator whose honor and integrity you’ll know you can rely upon. She’ll ask you what you know, and then she may require that you make contact with Ms. Ross and arrange a meeting, and you’ll do that. Through this interaction she’ll be brought into custody. She’ll stand trial for a minor felony and spend as little time as we can bargain in a minimum-security federal penitentiary.”

  “And what about her people?”

  “They don’t matter at all without her. They’ll scatter and soon be forgotten, and they’ll be left alone.”

  It hurt to do it but Noah brought himself up to an elbow, a little closer to his father and on a more eye-to-eye level. “So that’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, that’s all? I just have to rat her out, and set her up, and then we all live happily ever after?”

  His father didn’t respond to this latest snide rejoinder because he must have known by then that he didn’t have to. There comes a time in a sales transaction, right before the close, when the mark’s been reeled in and both the salesman and his victim know the deed’s already done. When it’s over and everyone knows it, you stop the pitch, slide the contract across the table, and you wait.

  It went without saying that Noah didn’t believe a word of this, but he thought for a moment before he spoke again. Maybe there was something to be gained by playing along.

  If he declined this deal he’d only be shut out while they continued to pursue her. They’d find her before too long and then they’d do whatever they wanted: kill her, humiliate her, publicly destroy her work, and erase any good she’d ever tried to do. Probably all of the above. As an afterthought they’d no doubt do the same to him.

  But, if he said yes, he might retain some form of leverage and at least remain in the game. That way there was a chance that he could buy them both a little time.

  “You know what?” Noah said. “Fine. You win, as usual. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 20

  As the heavy door eased closed behind him, Arthur Gardner stopped at an interior window in the corridor and reviewed his reflection in the darkened glass. Gradually he straightened himself, adjusted his collar and perfected his cuffs, breathed in deeply, and shed the façade of physical weakness he’d worn for the benefit of his son.

  Guilt was still an unfamiliar sensation; only lately had the capacity to feel it returned to him like a bad penny, or more correctly, like a debt that had finally come due. Still, the ache of his conscience wasn’t as sharp as it might have been. There was some acquittal in the knowledge that almost half of what he’d said in there had been the unvarnished truth.

  He bid a fond good night to Ellen Davenport and sent her off to her hotel with his thanks and all best wishes to her parents in East Hampton. She was innocent in all this and would remain that way, but she would still serve a role. His son would feel protective of his old friend, and with her close by he’d be far less likely to attempt any costly and unforeseen adventures as the finish line drew near.

  That left just one more key player to be brought onto the stage.

  Down the hall he saw his man arriving, apparently fresh from the airport with an overnight bag still slung over a shoulder.

  “Where have you been lately?” Gardner asked when he’d come near. “I’ve needed you.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Warren Landers said. “That George Pierce—what a piece of work. Those guys were more than a handful and it took longer than we’d hoped to get them into line out there.”

  “And what’s the outcome?”

  “Pierce and all his men are good to go. He’s got a following you wouldn’t believe, cells all across the country. We’re deploying them now; if you’ve been watching the news you’ve seen the beginnings.” Landers ticked his head toward Noah’s room. “How are things here?”

  “Good, I think.” Despite the weight of the situation, he smiled. “And he’s changed, Warren. I don’t know how to say it exactly. There’s something more to him now.”

  “More?” Landers asked. “In what way?”

  “Balls, I think, is the term I’m seeking. We knew when we left him last year with the consequences of his acts that the experience would either kill him or make him stronger. At that time I had the considerable advantage of not really caring which one it did. And I’m not ashamed to tell you now that I’m glad he managed to survive.” He paused and looked the other man over. “Just flew in, did you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “From where? Not from Cheyenne.”

  “No.” Landers seemed briefly to be searching his mind for a handhold. “Cheyenne’s just a shuttle hop from here. No, after Pierce I had some business for you in Philly and Chicago, and there was weather, and some other delays I couldn’t avoid. I’m sorry, again, I know I should have gotten word to you.”

  “Well.” Arthur Gardner nodded and let a bit of thoughtful silence linger on. “I wasn’t aware. Be sure to leave me a briefing about it all.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now then, I’ll be returning to New York tomorrow morning, and you’re off to Arizona by the afternoon.” He took a small pad and pen from his pocket and wrote out a name and location as he spoke. “You’ll meet with a woman there, an operations officer; her name is Virginia Ward. She’s former CIA and now I suppose she could best be called a freelancer. I’ve worked it out with her higher-ups; she’ll be expecting you, and she’ll be central to our pursuits from here on, so please conduct yourself accordingly.”

  “Former CIA? Is she
one of ours?”

  “Oh, good heavens, no. You’ll see when you meet her; she belongs to no one. She’s a real straight arrow and a card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool American hero.”

  Landers took the sheet and looked it over. “Isn’t it quite a risk to take, someone like that in the middle of all this, running off the leash?”

  “It’s necessary. We’ll need an advocate whose credentials are unimpeachable in order to bring the real force in behind us. We need someone who can go before Congress and testify as to the terrorist nature of this Molly Ross and her movement. Think of Colin Powell making that case for war with Iraq before the UN Security Council in 2002. We must weave a believable body of evidence from a tissue of lies and then have it served to the American people by a very attractive waitress. With someone like Virginia Ward on our side they’ll swallow whatever we say, hook, line, and sinker.”

  “ ‘On our side’ being the key phrase,” Landers said. “The way you’re describing her, how can you be sure she’ll stay on our side?”

  “That will depend in good part on the quality of your dirty work with Mr. Pierce, which I’m certain will be nothing short of exemplary. Do you feel he’s ready and able to terrorize?”

  “Oh, he’s ready.”

  “Good. And this is far from the first time you’ve helped frame a perfectly innocent victim for the greater good. Surely you’re not doubting that you’re capable.”

  “No, sir, it’s just—”

  “Fine, then. We’ll proceed as I’ve directed. I’m sure it’s what Mr. Doyle would want.” He gave Warren Landers a pat on the shoulder. “But you must be tired after your long trip. We’ll wrap up tomorrow and then you’ll do what needs to be done to line up Ms. Ward, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good man. We both have a big day ahead, Warren. Go and rest.”

  • • •

  As Gardner watched the other man leave he considered some revealing details of the encounter.

  There’s a visible difference between a man who’s just come off a harrowing series of domestic connections and one who’s spent those same fourteen hours enthroned in the splendors of nonstop international first class. His spindly cover story notwithstanding, by his vigorous and unwrinkled condition Mr. Landers had obviously arrived fresh from a sojourn in the lap of luxury.

  That he’d lied about his whereabouts was obvious and not terribly unusual. But why he’d lied this time was the key question to be answered.

  All things considered, it was more than likely that Mr. Landers had been invited overseas for a covert meeting with the Man Upstairs. Such a major break in the chain of command, especially under current circumstances, could foretell only one thing.

  A forced retirement would be an inauspicious end to Arthur Gardner’s long career. Still, after the previous year’s failure someone had to take the blame—such momentous plans upset by a band of patriotic amateurs, and with the assistance of his own son! Indeed, his time had come, though when all was said and done his departure wouldn’t be due to any reason that old Aaron Doyle might guess. That is, if he was allowed to depart voluntarily at all.

  Long ago, when he was younger than his own son was today, the boss had laid down the cardinal rule of his world-changing enterprise. Great power and wealth were among the many rewards he offered, but the penalty for insubordination would be swift and permanent.

  Once you’re in, you’re in, Aaron Doyle had said. And once you’re out, you’re dead.

  Chapter 21

  Though the day was done, there was something Arthur Gardner felt he needed to do before he left for the hotel.

  As quietly as he could he eased open the door to Noah’s room for a last look inside. He found the boy already sleeping and was thankful for that. There was a nagging feeling that this could be their final parting; it would have been a shame to have it end in another angry tirade.

  As he stood watching, it also occurred to him that there must have been thousands of other nights when he’d neglected to make this sort of simple fatherly gesture. So many moments, now long lost, when the normal things expected of a parent had been the very lowest of his daily priorities—why, after all these years, were such feelings arising to haunt him now?

  There was a ready answer to that question, of course. This and other equally unsettling emotions had suddenly begun to rear their ugly heads in the wake of a recent meeting. This wasn’t a business conference, but a follow-up visit to a routine, company-mandated medical checkup.

  The grim specialist had come in and clipped a single X-ray transparency to a glowing panel on the wall. He then sat down uncomfortably close and delivered the prognosis without any adornment. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer, he’d said, with the sort of doctorly gravity that assured there was nothing to be done beyond getting one’s affairs in order.

  Death awaits us all and Gardner always would have said he didn’t fear it. To see the certain schedule of its approach, though, to be told when it would come almost to the day, that knowledge had opened his eyes and altered him—it was still working on him now.

  He’d told no one of his terminal condition and it would stay that way. He would neither wallow in regret nor beg repentance; it was worse than useless to bemoan the past. He’d brought about many terrible things in the course of his life’s work, that was true, and he owned those things. Still, there was no denying that these new and unfamiliar feelings had led him, step by step, to the sort of turning point that he’d experienced only one other time in his entire life.

  Arthur Gardner had experienced a change of heart.

  At first he’d fought it tooth and nail. Doubt was only a symptom of weakness, his mentor had always told him. Our way is hard but the rewards are unlimited. Good and evil, left and right, right and wrong, light and darkness—these are only childish illusions we create and maintain to confuse and control the feeble masses. There was only one fundamental conflict—no less than the struggle to decide man’s ultimate destiny—and throughout his career that battle had been embodied in the philosophical tug-of-war between the two senior partners of Doyle & Merchant.

  One side envisioned a paradise of true liberty, divinely gifted. Blessed self-determination, the opportunity for each hearty soul to set forth and pursue his happiness upon the choppy and hazardous seas of commerce. Throughout all time this free-market fantasy had only once been realized in a society, and that one hadn’t survived for very long. The fatal weakness of the United States was a doomed reliance on goodness and faith and charity in the black hearts of the common people.

  The other side would end the human condition in utopian slavery to the almighty State. The built-in advantage of this solution was that it played to the lowest instincts of the corrupt and cynical leaders, their legion of obedient cronies, and their ever-more-dependent subjects. Vulnerability to the lures of wickedness, willful submission to sloth and avarice—without a guiding light from above these were the only reliable tendencies in every culture of human design. History had proved it over and over, worldwide; only an all-powerful government could ever hope to control a populace with no moral core.

  Arthur Gardner had toiled for more than fifty years in service to the side he’d always assumed to be most likely to succeed. The one-world alternative might not end suffering—nothing ever could—but at least it would preserve the old fortunes and dynasties while spreading the inevitable misery evenly across the planet. Social justice indeed; the only righteous thing Aaron Doyle’s coming regime would ensure was a permanent, unbreakable wall between the elites and the great unwashed. All the wealth and power would be kept safe at the very top, with the masses scrabbling for their metered rations on a perfectly level playing field at the bottom. Far from ideal, it nevertheless seemed to be the best available answer to an age-old global problem.

  But something had happened to him very late one night as he struggled to quiet the thoughts of his own mortality. He’d sought refuge in his work, poring over the dusty writings of his enemies
as he tried to understand how his son Noah could have gone so far and so suddenly astray. After many hours, near his wit’s end, he remembered something that could hold an answer—something he’d long ago pushed safely to the back of his mind.

  Before her own untimely death twenty years ago, his dear wife had written him a farewell note and asked him to promise to read it only after she was gone. He hadn’t broken that promise; he’d kept his word in his own way. In fear that it might only prolong his grief, he’d never read the note at all.

  That night he went to find it, still sealed at the bottom of a small box of keepsakes in the dresser drawer. After more than an hour of sitting with it unopened, he’d mustered his courage, cut the envelope across the flap, unfolded the paper within, and read.

  My darling Arthur,

  We’ll have said our goodbyes before now, so that isn’t my purpose here. Though you haven’t shared my faith, I haven’t any doubt that we’ll see each other again one day. When that time comes, I’ll be hoping that you’ll have taken what I write here to heart, and so there will be no place for anything but joy at our reunion.

  When we met, you and I could not have been more different. I knew you were sent to try to change me. You must know, too, that in those first days together I also saw you as a project, nothing more. Even as we fell in love each of us still thought we could win over the other. Then for the sake of keeping the peace, you finally gave it up. But I confess, I never lost my hope for you.