Full Black sh-10

by Brad Thor

  They were of medium height and solidly built. Their eyes were hard and dark, like pieces of flint, and told him everything he needed to know about them. These men were no strangers to violence.

  Despite the men’s rough demeanor, Chase kept up the haughty hacker act and repeatedly asked the men how much longer they were going to have to wait until they could leave the garage.

  When one of the men retrieved a newspaper from the car and tossed it at him, Chase took a look at it and threw it right back at the man, saying in Arabic, “Do I look like I read Swedish?”

  The sooner the men could get rid of him, the happier they were going to be.

  Two hours later, one of the men’s mobile phones rang and he listened before saying a few words back and hanging up. He then motioned for his colleague to join him at the far end of the garage where they conversed in private. Chase didn’t like it. The sudden sequestration made him very apprehensive.

  When the men finally returned, he asked them what the call had been about, but they wouldn’t say. He was starting to regret having left his shiv in the bathroom. Once again, he took stock of anything in his immediate surroundings that could be used as a weapon.

  With nothing to do but wait, he cracked another energy drink and sipped on it as he put together a plan for which of the two men to kill first and how, if he needed to.

  He was running through the clever ways he could dispose of the bodies when there was the bleat of a car horn outside and one of the men went to open the garage door.

  Once the door was opened wide enough, an anemic-looking Volvo rolled inside. Chase watched as it came to a stop and its engine was turned off. Seconds passed. Through the windshield, the driver appeared to be on his cell phone. When the call was over, the man lowered the phone and stepped out of the car.

  He was very large, and judging from the way the other two men reacted to him, someone of stature within the organization. He had a certain presence about him and for a moment, Chase wondered if he was looking at the cell’s leader. He was a bit too rough around the edges, though, and Chase pegged him as being somewhere in the command structure, but not at the very top of the pyramid. This was not the kind of man who could blend in and easily remain beneath the radar.

  There was also something about his bearing that Chase could not quite place. As he approached, there was a way he walked that he found interesting. He had the bearing of a cop.

  His face was a mix of the most exaggerated of Arab features; the long hooked nose, the dark-circled, heavily hooded eyes, thin lips, and dark, weather-beaten skin. His sheer physical size, on the other hand, made him one of the biggest Arabs Chase had ever seen.

  “Salaam alaikum,” said the man as he approached and kissed Chase on both cheeks.

  “Wa alaikum a salaam,” replied Chase, returning the greeting. The man’s enormous hands gripped Chase by the shoulders.

  “Allah has taken two of our brothers today, but you he has spared.”

  Chase was not sure how to answer. Was the man testing him? “I am undoubtedly unworthy of Allah’s favor,” he replied.

  The large man smiled. “May I?” he asked, indicating he wanted to remove the bandage covering the wound on Chase’s head.

  Without waiting for permission, the man reached out and peeled the bandage back. Placing his other hand under Chase’s chin, he tilted his head back so he could better see the laceration. Even if Chase had wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped him. The man was that strong.

  Apparently satisfied, he released his chin and gently put the bandage back in place. “Sit down,” the man said, pointing to a crate nearby.

  Chase did as he was told. The man was speaking to him in English now. It wasn’t perfect, but it was quite good. He told the other two men in Arabic to wait outside.

  Once they had exited the garage, he turned his attention back to Chase. “Tell me about the accident,” he said.

  Chase was definitely being tested. “Someone ran us off the road.” He made sure there was just enough British in his accent.

  “Intentionally run off?”

  Chase shrugged.

  “What did the car look like?” asked the man.

  “It was blue or gray. I can’t really remember.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “Not until it was too late. Nafees and I were talking.”

  The man studied him. “Talking about what?”

  Chase was silent for a moment. Finally, he replied, “About my uncle.”

  “And what exactly about your uncle were you talking about?”

  “I wanted to know what had happened to him; how he had died. I wanted to know who killed him. I wanted to know why.”

  “What did Nafees tell you?” the man asked.

  “He told me the same thing he had at the airport. He told me to wait until we arrived in Uppsala and all would be revealed.”

  “And what did Waqar say during your drive?”

  “Not much, except that I ask too many questions.”

  The big man smiled, but as quickly as the smile crossed his face, it disappeared. “How did they die?”

  Chase had been trained by the best. He knew the man was probing him. The mantra that was drummed into every intelligence operative’s head was to deny, deny, deny and launch counteraccusations. The big man had yet to accuse him of anything directly, but the intimations were clear and he needed to go on the offensive. “How do you think they died? I told you, we were in a car accident. You don’t believe me? Why don’t you go take a look at it yourself? There’s blood all over. Nafees was thrown halfway through the windshield.”

  “But Waqar was still wearing his seat belt,” said the man.

  “And?”

  The man shrugged and said nothing.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” said Chase.

  “I am Sabah.”

  “Your name could be Mickey Mouse for all I care, mate. How do I know you are not a cop?”

  The big man smiled again. “I am not a police officer, at least not anymore.”

  “Well, that’s not very reassuring. Waqar and Nafees were friends of my uncle. I don’t know the rest of you at all.”

  “Yet you accepted the plane ticket and came when we asked.”

  “I came when Waqar and Nafees asked,” clarified Chase.

  Sabah nodded. “Understood. I only have one more question.”

  “Only one?”

  “What happened to the other car?”

  “What other car?” asked Chase, the exasperated, smartass programmer tone fully apparent in his voice.

  “The one that ran you off the road?” said Sabah.

  “I was in the backseat. I didn’t see where it went.”

  “It didn’t stop? The driver didn’t offer you aid?”

  “I told you, I hit my head.”

  Sabah smiled. “You told me no such thing.”

  “Well, whoever I talked to on Waqar’s phone, I told him.”

  “So you were knocked unconscious. When you awoke, the other car that ran you off the road was not there. Is this correct?”

  “The more you talk, the more I’m convinced you’re a cop,” said Chase.

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “I must have blacked out, because the last thing I remember is us rushing headlong into a tree. The next thing I remember was the blood pouring from my head and finding Waqar and Nafees both dead.”

  “Yet you had the presence of mind to take Waqar’s cell phone and call us,” replied Sabah.

  “Who else would I call? I don’t know anyone in this country.”

  “How did you know to use Waqar’s phone to call us?”

  “That’s a serious question?”

  Sabah nodded and Chase rolled his eyes. “Because,” Chase said, thankful they’d had the men under surveillance at the airport, “Waqar placed a call when we were walking to his car after I got off the plane. I assume he was calling to tell you I had arrived.”

  “
What did you do with Waqar’s cell phone after you made the call?”

  “I did exactly as I was told.” Chase removed his shoe, pulled out the two SIM cards, and handed them to Sabah. “Just before the village with the soccer pitch, there was a small lake. I took the phones apart and threw the pieces into the water. Anything else you want to ask me?”

  Sabah smiled and placed his large hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No. I have no more questions,” he said. “All that matters is that Allah has delivered you safely to us.”

  As Sabah motioned to his car, it was obvious to Chase that the man didn’t trust him at all. He was beginning to think that leaving the shiv behind had been a very bad idea.

  CHAPTER 15

  SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

  Ralston wanted to know all about the plot Salomon thought he had uncovered to collapse the United States. “Give me the details on Project Green Ramp.”

  “To understand it,” said the producer, “you have to grasp its underlying principle. It actually boils down to a simple question. If we were in a house and I thought it was burning, but you didn’t, would it be okay for me to lie or even use force, to get you out of the house?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  Salomon smiled. “Bingo.”

  “What do you mean, bingo?”

  “Individualism in America is hard-wired into our DNA. We want to make our own decisions, even if it means making mistakes. We don’t want other people telling us what to do.

  “There’s a group of people, though, who believe that you and I are too stupid to make our own decisions and that they should do it for us. Despite America being the greatest force for good in the history of the world, they see it as greedy and evil. They’ve been tearing it apart bit by bit for decades and have become desperate to finish the job. They believe they can and should use any means necessary to get across the goal line, no matter what the cost.”

  “The ends justify the means,” said Ralston.

  “Exactly,” Salomon replied.

  “And getting across the goal line means collapsing the United States?”

  “According to James Standing, the United States is the only remaining obstacle to a just and stable world.”

  Ralston shook his head. “That’s beyond insane.”

  “So is sending a Russian wet work team to kill three filmmakers. Standing is a full-on sociopath. Nothing about him makes sense. Despite being born and raised Jewish, he’s a rabid anti-Semite. Despite being a billionaire many times over, he’s a vehement anticapitalist. Despite having benefitted greatly from everything America has done to empower the individual, he is a vocal proponent of social engineering and the redistribution of wealth.

  “One of the best descriptions of him I ever heard was that he was a malignant, messianic narcissist who, left unchecked, would bring about horrors beyond those performed by Hitler, Stalin, Mao, or Pol Pot.”

  “So who’s keeping a check on him?” asked Ralston.

  “Nobody.”

  “Come on.”

  Salomon held his right hand up and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy almost anything else. Even an entire political system.”

  Ralston looked at him. “Now who’s insane?”

  “I heard a comedian make a pretty good point recently. He said that all members of Congress should be required to wear NASCAR uniforms. You know, the kind with the patches? That way we’d know who was sponsoring each of them. I think he was kidding and we’d never be able to get them to do it, but it’s a great idea and would wake people up in this country instantly.”

  “And Standing would be seen as the root of all evil? That’s hard to believe.”

  “He has a very clear vision as to what he wants to have happen to America. Along with a handful of leaders of other key foundations, he developed a very simple plan to bring it about.

  “He started by using his wealth to co-opt anyone who could have any impact on popular culture or public opinion. Newspapers, actors, journalists, publishers, politicians, business people, unions-you name it. The idea was to be able to control the media, as well as any other voices Americans trusted.

  “They knew they needed to change the way Americans saw themselves. It’s ideological subversion, plain and simple. To get it to take hold, though, they needed to begin planting this new way of thinking in the most fertile minds they could get a hold of.”

  “Which means kids,” said Ralston.

  “Precisely,” Salomon replied. “That’s why Standing and the foundations aligned with him have been such heavy contributors to educational endowments. It’s the golden rule. He who controls the gold controls the rules, or in this case, the curricula.

  “But it wasn’t enough to simply plant this new ideology. For it to blossom, it had to grow without being challenged. Hence the disappearance of civics classes and the portrayal of American history through the lens of imperialism and aggression. Instead of social studies, children were taught studies in social justice with America repeatedly shown as the bad guy.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Ralston broke in.

  “Decades,” replied Salomon. “The students subjected to Standing’s propaganda are now adults. They’re everywhere you look-business, the media, government, even teaching successive generations of kids in our schools.”

  “Couldn’t they be deprogrammed?” asked Ralston. “I’m sure it’d be a monumental task, but-”

  The movie producer shook his head. “They’re completely immune to anything that deviates from their ideological perception of reality and what they have been taught is the ‘real’ truth. The lens they look through life at has forever been altered. It’s both terrifying and brilliant in its totality.”

  Ralston nodded. It was terrifying.

  “On top of indoctrinating kids,” said Salomon, “Standing wanted to get as many people dependent upon the government as possible. Government handouts, even for corporations, are like heroin. Most people, once they’re hooked, remain hooked and don’t even realize it. They rationalize that they’re entitled to the handouts.

  “And the politicians are just as addicted, except they’re addicted to power, and to increase their power, they need to keep doling out more and more handouts. It doesn’t matter if we can’t afford the handouts. They’ll keep borrowing and printing money, running the country deeper into debt in order to keep the heroin flowing. It’s a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle.

  “In fact, one of the most apropos political observations I have ever read is that a democracy can exist only until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury. From the moment that realization takes hold, history shows that the majority of the people will always vote for the candidate promising the most goodies from the public treasury.

  “History also shows us that once a democracy goes down this road, things never end well. Each and every single time, the democracy collapses. It always happens. It collapses over loose fiscal policy, and democracy is always followed by dictatorship. And guess what the dictator promises?”

  “Utopia?” Ralston replied.

  Salomon shook his head. “No. When democracy collapses, fear, violence, and uncertainty fill the void. In essence, it’s chaos, and that’s what the dictator preys upon. The people are so terrified that they will agree to trade anything, even the most precious possession they have-their liberty-in exchange for a return to order. But when order is restored, freedom is never seen by those citizens again.”

  “So that’s Standing’s goal,” said Ralston. “But how does he intend to get there? How the hell could he force America to collapse?”

  “That’s the tricky part,” Salomon replied. “Historically, when democracies have collapsed it’s because they were already unstable to begin with, like us. Then, some sort of crisis, or a group of crises come together in such a way that they push t
he democracy over the brink. They can come in any form. Often, it’s some sort of black swan event.”

  “Like the earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan,” stated Ralston.

  “That’s a perfect example. The 9/11 attacks were another. Basically, a black swan is something that no one would have ever expected to materialize, which ends up causing massive unforeseen consequences, and after the fact is rationalized as something everyone should have seen coming.”

  “So Green Ramp is about choreographing a black swan event?”

  “That’s what we think,” Salomon replied.

  Ralston shook his head. “Standing manipulates America right up onto the ledge and then shoves. He ought to be tried for treason.”

  “Now you know why I wanted to make this film. He needs to be exposed.”

  “What he needs is to be swinging from the end of a rope. That’s the price you pay for treason.”

  “Not anymore,” Salomon said. “Not in today’s America. We don’t try people for treason, much less put them to death for it. It’s looked upon as an archaic reaction to what should be handled, if at all, as a criminal matter. If we began hanging traitors, we’d lose a good many of our politicians, business and union leaders, even teachers.”

  Considering some of the crimes that had been committed in the past twenty years in America, Ralston didn’t exactly think that would be a bad thing. “Do you have any idea what kind of black swan event they were looking at creating?”

  “Unfortunately, no. It’s not the kind of thing they put on their website. And it might not be just one black swan, it could be a whole wedge of them.”

  “But it’ll probably have something to do with the economy, right? Some sort of new financial crisis?”

  The film producer shrugged. “Considering his expertise, that makes sense, but there are other possibilities. He’s stirred revolutions in other countries by creating crises of confidence in government. He’ll rig an election and then leak that the election was rigged. But even that might be too pedestrian when it comes to what he has planned for the United States. With his money and demented worldview, anything is possible.