The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)

by Randy Dutton

  “But Mr. President, it wasn’t meant to be temporary,” Dowell reminded him.

  President Fernandez thought for a moment, then suggested, “We can show some never-before-disclosed documents that show it was – perhaps some memo or letter. Just enough to lend credence. We just have to have some created with an accelerated age. Perhaps a copy of a document from the time period showing the details but with the quality too deteriorated to validate it. Anything copied onto microfiche could be subject to aging. Ever hear of the vinegar syndrome? Old nitrate-based film would age slowly for decades, releasing small quantities of acetic acid vapors, increasing exponentially until it suddenly would spike and destroy the film in a couple months, and often the film next to it. It turns it into a gooey, yellow mess. Destroyed whole film libraries. Perhaps that may have happened in this hypothetical document. We could claim the original paper was destroyed decades ago, maybe in some archival fire.”

  “Such a scenario would prevent original document scrutiny,” Swanson assured him.

  The president leaned in toward Swanson, “Alexis, would the Russians go along with this? They would need identical documents in their archives.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, it’s possible.” Swanson smiled.

  “There’s another thing,” the President added. “Make sure all documents meet the script and style of the period. I don’t want any repeat of the birther document issue that erupted back in 2011.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Dowell said. “When Mr. Swanson requested this meeting and faxed me the Russian proposal, I was skeptical. So I did a little checking. For years now there have been books and rumors circulating about the possibility of selling Alaska to Russia. I’ve seen little outrage from people when the issue comes up. Now I’m hopeful we could make this work.”

  “So am I. Gentlemen, it’s agreed, selling Alaska to Russia could work,” the President concluded.

  After some continued political discussions Alexis Swanson departed the White House.

  Chief of Staff Jack Dowell excitedly re-entered the Oval Office after escorting the visitor to the waiting limo.

  President Fernandez was sitting at his desk, with a Scotch whisky in his right hand, still mulling over the Russian proposal and Swanson’s part in it. “Jack, help yourself to the bar.”

  “That’s an incredible deal if it goes through, Mr. President. It fits our agenda fantastically,” he said as he poured himself a gin and tonic.

  “Does it? While it makes sense financially, it worries me politically.”

  “Mr. President, consider our political, economic, and military goals.” Dowell held his drink with his left hand, and counted with his fingers on the right.

  “First, our budget’s out of control – this gives us some breathing room and eliminates federal payouts to Alaska.” The index finger went up.

  “Our debt has been downgraded three times in the past six years – this puts off asking for a debt ceiling increase for another year or so. It also keeps Russia buying our debt for awhile, which causes concerns about even higher interest rates.” The middle finger extended.

  “America has been viewed by others as an imperialist country, expanding its territory by force or acquisition – this shows a reversal of that trend. We can use this to further downsize our military. Let the Asians have the western Pacific. We’ve already pulled out of Japan and South Korea. Hell, maybe we’ll get some great offers on Guam and other territorial possessions!” He chuckled while raising his ring finger.

  “Our domestic political position is strengthened by eliminating a conservative stronghold. You and I can’t stand the Alaskans – too independent, too many guns, and too damn cocky.” His thumb went up.

  “And, it eliminates the call by global warming skeptics to drill in Alaska.” With his pinkie up, he had run out of available fingers.

  “Jack, you and I often said that a smaller America would be a stronger America…that we should focus on competitiveness, growth, green innovation, and influence.”

  “This opens the door.... About the public response, we can manage the liberals easily on this. Many will applaud your vision. As for the conservatives, it might get a little out of hand.” Dowell grinned.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Well, the Ready Reserve Force was created years ago as a paramilitary quick-response force under your personal direction. Maybe we should call them up in anticipation of…resistance.”

  Fernandez nodded his head. “That might be a good idea. Find out what it would take, but don’t reveal the reason.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll take care of it. Now, how about the Russians? Think they’ll renege on their commitment to shut down their oil industry?” Dowell asked.

  “Of course, I never expected they would actually shut it down. They don’t really care about global warming. To them, the UN Carbon Law is a means of making money and gaining power.”

  “They may succeed in the short run.”

  “But they’ll be on the wrong side of history. The world will condemn them for their carbon emissions. And while we’ll focus on intellectual capital and a high-tech infrastructure, Russia will stay focused on a resource constrained path and lose its competitive edge in a green economy.”

  “And the world will praise us!” the President concluded. They clinked glasses. “To a brave new world!” As he sipped his Whisky, he pondered the opportunity. Nodding his head after a moment, he re-emphasized the decision.

  “We’ll do it. Let’s sell the damn place. Let’s sell Alaska!”

  Chapter 15

  June 23, 1900 hours

  Swanson’s Penthouse

  New York City

  Jared swung the door wide for Anna to enter. “Welcome, Anna,” he said with a warmer than usual tone. She noticed his eyebrow lift in approval.

  “Thank you, Jared,” she responded dismissively.

  For this evening, Anna was dressed in a one-shouldered, lace embellished evening gown in a stunning combination of black fabric and flesh tones. A bellhop, trailing behind, brought her overnight bag and, with his tip, quickly departed.

  Jared picked up her overnight bag and carried it to a guest bedroom. Anna was used to this serious but stoic man’s short conversational style. Jared was Swanson’s virtual shadow, usually within ear shot, and she didn’t trust him.

  She looked around the entryway as she walked in. This is a rare event, to be summoned to his private abode, she thought. The great expanse of Alexis Swanson’s Central Park Plaza penthouse lay before her. The soaring ceilings and tall windows gave the apartment a majestic appeal. Down below, the night view of Central Park was spectacular.

  “Come in, my dear, come in. My but you look stunning! Going to the opera later?” Swanson was beaming.

  She smiled radiantly. “Hello, Alexis. No opera tonight. I merely dressed for dinner. How goes the war?” she jibed.

  “Wonderful, come sit down. Have some wine.” He poured a glass for her. “I know how much you like to drink the finest from my collection,” he mused while passing the glass to her outstretched hand.

  Jared by now had moved to a private desk off the living room and started tapping on his laptop.

  “Why, Alexis didn’t you once say mi casa es su casa? I assumed that meant the wine cellar as well,” she teased.

  “Why, I believe I did, my dear, I believe I did. But never did I expect when I hired you that you would have such exquisite tastes.”

  “Alexis, my darling benefactor, would you not have me practice my skills? After all, I am a member of the Confrérie des Chevaliers du Tastevin.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Which is what exactly?”

  “Why the ‘Brotherhood of Knights of Wine-Tasting Cups.’” She chuckled. “It’s an exclusive club of Burgundy enthusiasts.”

  “Okay, okay, you win.” He raised a glass to her and their glasses clinked. “Drink what you must. Your entertainment value alone makes it worthwhile.” His eyes were drawn to her necklace, and he motioned with his hea
d. “Did I buy that?”

  “No, Alexis....” She smiled while fingering the necklace. “The diamond necklace and the matching bracelet were gifts from an admirer, though on different occasions.”

  “They look elegant on you. Jean Schlumberger, perhaps her Lynn design?”

  “Why Alexis, you do know your designers! I’m impressed.”

  “I should. I’ve bought enough trinkets for women over the decades.”

  She gazed into his eyes. There was a glint of excitement in his. “So Alexis, you summoned me. What can I do for you?”

  He was grinning. “I need you to create a document.”

  “Sure. What of?” She pulled a small notepad out of her clutch and prepared to take notes.

  “A letter discussing the reason for the purchase of Alaska and of its possible resale back to Russia. It has to fit the 1867 handwriting and style of William H. Seward to pass the scrutiny of the world’s best forensic agencies.”

  She cocked her head and for a few seconds just looked at him with curiosity. “I think I need more details, Alexis. What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to sell Alaska.” His grin expanded.

  She lowered her pad and pen and looked dubiously at him. “Alexis, you don’t own Alaska.”

  “Not me...America is going to sell Alaska, but right now it’s a secret between the US and Russian Presidents, a couple each in their staffs, Vladimir, Jared, and me…and now you.”

  “That’s pretty bold. Why?”

  “The selling price should explain most of it. One trillion dollars plus some costs.”

  Anna forced a straight face but inside she was flabbergasted. “Isn’t Alaska worth more than that? After all, look at the oil and gas, gold, and other resources.”

  “Government agencies have downgraded the available resources, though more for political reasons than reality, and they’ve blocked most of the mining projects such as the Pebble Mine.”

  “I’ve read about that. Isn’t that alone worth over $450 billion in gold, copper and molybdenum? I mean, it’s supposed to be the world’s largest untapped deposit of copper.”

  “Only if it were to be developed...which it won’t. Through our puppet legislators, and by using The Clean Water Act and pleading on behalf of the birds and salmon, we’ve successfully prevented any mines from being opened. The salmon have been a particularly useful rallying cry.... It’s a tactic I learned from you, by the way.”

  “Indigenous tribes have helped you there.” She nodded. “They’ve been decidedly anti-development.”

  “And the oil won’t be developed either, so it’s irrelevant.” He chuckled. “Without oil and minerals, Alaska becomes a financial drain.”

  “Alexis, in all honesty, do you really think the Russians would sit on probably $1 trillion in minerals and trillions in oil and gas in Alaska, and not use them? I mean, didn’t the USGS estimate the Arctic’s recoverable oil and equivalents at 400 billion barrels in 2008? If oil were $100 per barrel, that’s $40 trillion. If Alaska has 10% of the Arctic’s total, that’s $4 trillion, not including what’s in lower Alaska. If the US didn’t use the oil but just sold it on the open market that would raise money it could use to pay down some of America’s $24 trillion debt. And here’s a consideration, what if they then sell the oil rights to the Chinese?”

  “Anna, I think we both know you’re sharper than the President. He’s real big on hope, but a little short on brains...if he’s even considered your points. He’s probably hoping they don’t – and would rather trust they don’t – but, I believe even he suspects they may. President Fernandez is playing publicity games with his core constituency. If the Russians exploit the oil, the President will just tell the public we’re the good guys, they’re the bad guys.”

  “What are you getting out of the deal?” she asked playfully.

  “Money and influence,” he answered proudly.

  “It must be a lot,” she grinned.

  “Oh, it is.” He mimicked her expression.

  “Does President Fernandez personally know of the document you want me to create?”

  “Yes, he does. But he wants to keep all government people out of this to ensure plausible deniability. It’s not a critical document, but it would provide historical support for a sale.”

  “Okay, tell me what you need for the document.” She lifted her pad and started writing. As Swanson went over the details, Anna made suggestions that would further obscure forensic validation.

  Dinner mostly involved inconsequential conversation. They spoke of society events, general politics in historical context, and some of the latest trends.

  After dinner, Anna was glancing out the penthouse window from the sofa, gently swirling wine in her glass. She was in a thoughtful mood. “Alexis, what comes next?”

  “After what?” He was pouring himself a vodka.

  “After we’ve reined in CO2.... Will you ever retire?” She was pensive.

  “My dear.” He chuckled. “I’ll never retire. The game’s too important. I’ve spent my whole life accumulating wealth and power, why would I give up when I can enjoy the fruits of my labor?”

  She looked up at him through long eyelashes. “Haven’t you won already?”

  He shook his head. “Not quite, though we’re getting closer.”

  “What marks success for you Alexis?”

  “Well, I’ve got three main goals.”

  “Which are?” Her head tipped up in curiosity.

  “The first is when government power is absolute. Government needs to be in the firm position to run the lives of the proletariat – what they eat, the jobs they do, what they buy and make, what they do and where they go.”

  Her body tensed slightly. “Why’s that important to you?”

  “To coordinate a more efficient society, my dear. People are so sloppy and ignorant. Most really do want to be told what to do, even if they won’t admit it.”

  “I don’t know, I kind of like the spontaneity, the chaos.” She waved her hand toward the window, “Look at the car lights in the streets around Central Park. Many are going faster, some slower, some stopped to talk to people. It tells a more interesting story.”

  “Individual choices are a waste of resources,” he scoffed. “And there are too many to support.”

  She winced at the overpopulation issue. It hit a nerve in her. “So what’s the second goal?”

  “Concentrating power in the central government.”

  “You mean taking power from the states and giving more to Washington D.C.?”

  “As a step, but ultimately concentrating in the UN. Forget America as a sovereign nation. Peace comes from a top-down global directorate.”

  Trying to shake off the wine’s dulling effect, she leaned forward. “And the third?”

  “By helping the President seize power from Congress and the courts, and increase the debt to a point where a reorganization of national unity will be required, then we get economic power moved to the UN. Once the national currency collapses, power will flow to the financiers.”

  She rigidly nodded. “You, in other words, will receive the power.”

  “Well, men like me.” He was nodding in return.

  “And what of women like me?” Her head pulled back with a lifted brow.

  “You, my Dear, will have whatever you desire...once the dust settles.”

  “And when will that be?” She looked into his gray eyes expectantly.

  He grinned. “Maybe five, perhaps ten years.”

  Her forced smile faded. “Sounds like eternity.”

  “We still have work to do.... Why, you still thinking of buying that Greek island?”

  She exhaled deeply and nodded.

  “If all goes well, hell, I may buy the island for you.... But why talk of deadlines? You and me, we’re connected, cut from the same cloth – inextricably woven together...no children, no familial obligations. We live to play the game – we’d never be satisfied as spectators.”

  “Fam
ily....” She sighed.

  After an aperitif they returned to more operational specifics. Anna briefed Swanson on the progress of her financial infiltration system, purposely leaving out key tactical details – something Swanson tolerated.

  He knew Anna was paranoid about operational security. But he also knew she had been extremely successful in protecting her operations.

  She handed him a thumbdrive from her clutch. “Here’s the latest status. We’re set for the July 1st rollout of Snath’s carbon trapping products, and I’ll have Operation Prion up and running by the end of Black Hat, on August 2nd. I’ll personally brief you afterward.”

  “Anna, you need to know that there are some competing groups that will launch at the same time,” Swanson warned her.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Will you tell me who?”

  He just smiled and shook his head.

  She shrugged, “Thought I’d try.... My group may run afoul of these other competitors if their targets overlap. That may create some problems.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it, young lady.”

  “I always have.”

  The evening was late. Anna was sitting back on the sofa, her shoes off, the crystal wine glass in her hand filled for the fifth time.

  Swanson sat opposite in a high-backed chair. “Okay, now about Snath Genetics. It’s doing well, Anna, but I’m worried about Sven.”

  “What’s your concern?” She cocked her head with curiosity.

  “I think he’s drifting.”

  “In what way?”

  “He’s been focusing too intently on the phytoplankton project, and I’m not sure how he’s going to deal with rejection.”

  She tipped her head and narrowed her eyes. “Who’s rejecting him?”

  “I will be. I’ve reviewed his latest status report. I’m not authorizing that product to be released.”

  Her eyes widened. Putting the glass down, she leaned forward. “May I ask why?”

  “His team has continued to improve the genetic coding beyond the original specs. They’ve lowered its CO2 requirements, enhanced its survivability and its resistance to predation so well that putting it out there may eliminate any need for other methods.”