by Leslie Wolfe
“While the American spirit still thrives in every one of us, our leadership needs to change its views about how to lead this nation back to the greatness it once knew. Our country’s leadership needs to set goals and strive to achieve them and be held accountable. I don’t mean political goals; by all means, no. I am talking about financial, economic, standard-of-living-for-the-average-American goals, measurable and executable.
“It is my strong belief that the American people will gladly reunite when presented with such goals and decisive, action-driven leadership. We need to restore the strength of our currency. We need to restore the health, wealth, and well-being of our families, cities, communities, and society overall. We need to restore the American dream and open access to it for the younger generations who, sadly, don’t even know what it is anymore. With 27.5 percent of our children living in poverty, that’s no surprise. With 750,000 homeless Americans, we have a national crisis on our hands.”
Krassner took a sip of water from a glass on his lectern.
“If I am elected, I will consider the people’s vote of confidence as a mandate for me, as president, to achieve these goals and restore the greatness of the American dream, the greatness of America.” He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of those in the audience. “Thank you. I will take questions now.”
A roar of applause and cheering took over the press conference room. The screen shifted back to Phil Fournier in the studio.
“It was one of the shortest candidacy announcements in the history of presidential elections, yet conveyed a very meaningful message. We will keep you informed with comments, polls, and reactions to this announcement. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good evening.”
...Chapter 13: Firing Range
...Saturday, January 2, 10:32AM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)
...American Shooting Center
...San Diego, California
“Open your eyes,” Lou said with frustration. “How hard can it be?”
“They’re open,” Alex said, then turned toward him and stared at him with eyes wide open, in a demonstration worthy of a toddler with attitude. “There. See? They’re open. How much wider would you like me to open them?”
“Not now. When you pull the trigger,” he said, unable to control a chuckle. “Keep your eyes on the target and keep them open. Otherwise you’ll miss.”
“Ah...that. Well, that is hard, ’cause it makes a loud noise, and it’s a reflex.”
“A reflex is when you close your eyes after pulling the trigger. You’re shutting them before.”
“That’s ’cause I know it’s gonna pop. I’d still call it a reflex. Of sorts.”
“OK, we’re gonna shoot until you get used to it, and you keep your eyes open and focused.”
“Ugh...maybe they’ll run out of ammo, or you’ll run out of money, ’cause that will take a while.”
“Tough chance. Tom gave me one of those limitless gold credit cards, and this range’s marketing slogan is ‘got ammo.’” He laughed. “We’re not leaving here until you’re comfortable handling your gun.”
“But can you at least give me a gun that makes less noise?”
“Alex, you’re handling a brand new Walther PPK: reliable, quiet, low recoil, semi-automatic, concealable, sleek, and exquisite. Excellent performance. Great for what we do. Plus, it’s James Bond’s gun, perfect for a spy,” he added and winked.
She looked at the gun in her hand with renewed interest.
“OK, show me again,” she said with determination.
Lou corrected her grip on the gun’s handle.
“Right hand grips the handle and index finger rests on the frame until you’re ready to pull the trigger. Left hand stabilizes from underneath, like this. Expect the sound, the loud bang, and decide to anticipate and welcome it. Bang means the bad guy is down. You wanna see that happening.”
They put their earmuffs back on.
She squeezed the trigger, fighting hard to keep her eyes open.
“Keep on going!” he shouted to make himself heard over the earmuffs. “Or else I’ll downgrade you to a .22.”
She sent a murderous look his way, then shot the entire magazine, getting more used to it with every shot.
“Let’s see how you did,” he said, bringing the target closer. “You nicked his ear, took a couple of fingers off his right hand, and gave him a flesh wound in his left thigh. This bad guy’s still coming at you, and you shot an entire mag. Now you have to reload, and he’s still coming! We have work to do.”
She watched Lou change her mag with lightning-fast precision. This was her new reality, and she was going to be ready for it. Time to grow up, girl, and fast, she thought, putting a bullet through the target’s head for the first time after several wasted mags.
...Chapter 14: First Council Meeting
...Sunday, January 3, 1:07PM Local Time (UTC+2:00 hours)
...CANWE Headquarters
...Undisclosed Location, Greece
The property spanned several acres of forested land, showing some glimmer of blue toward the west, where the Mediterranean was visible between two mountain peaks. The owner of the property didn’t care much for that view though. A high security fence surrounded the main property, eight-foot tall and two-foot thick, made of concrete, its top covered in glass shards cemented into the structure. The fence was equipped with motion sensors that triggered silent alarms anytime something passed through their invisible rays. An electrified spiraling barbed wire roll, too wide to hop over, would also greet any daring intruders.
The barbed wire was installed on the inside of the fence, making it almost invisible from the outside. Inside the fence, there was a neatly mowed lawn, about ten acres or so, surrounding the main house. Security guards with Dobermans patrolled the yard, walking along the fence and around the house. A gardener was the only other human being who would normally make an appearance in this yard, tasked to keep the grass neatly trimmed. He also had the unpleasant duty of picking up the numerous dead birds and squirrels killed from climbing over the wall or getting zapped by the electrified roll of barbed wire.
Behind the house, there was a small heliport, equipped to handle night flights. At night, the pilots had little trouble finding it. Tucked in a clearing within acres of thick forest, it was equipped with an airport grade lighting system, inset LED lights in green, yellow, and orange, marking the approach and safety zone for inbound choppers.
The landlord’s helicopter, a black Eurocopter EC145, was able to accommodate up to six passengers. The EC145 could come and go as needed, unnoticed by any neighbors, who were too far to have any suspicions about anything out of the ordinary. The villagers thought the place belonged to a famous Hollywood movie star who wanted to lead a secluded life in retirement, hiding away from countless paparazzi.
The house appeared quite normal on the inside. The graded roof covered the best part of the house, extending over a large living room with very high, vaulted ceilings. Nothing was unusual about it, other than how it was equipped and what it was used for.
Entering the house, one had to go through three layers of security screenings. The first step was to pass through an imaging device that detected, using resonating ultrasound, any unexpected items hidden in the visitor’s clothing. A thorough pat down was next, followed by passing through another portal, this one meant to identify any recording or transmitting devices the visitor might carry. All this happened while the visitor’s personal items were screened via a high-resolution, X-ray machine, a few generations more sophisticated than the ones the TSA currently used in high-traffic airports.
Then the visitor could enter the living room, leaving his cell phone and any other electronic devices with security personnel. That’s where most new visitors stopped and stared before proceeding. In the middle of the huge living room sat a structure housing an eight-seat conference table and chairs. It was elevated two feet off the floor on posts, and built entirely out of thick transparent glass. A
room within a room, completely transparent and lifted from the floor of the house; the structure made it absolutely impossible for any surveillance device to be placed inside those walls.
This type of structure contained all vibration within its walls, making even passive surveillance impossible. Most visitors hesitated before stepping onto the transparent floors, but they were thick and sturdy enough to hold eight elephants instead of people. House staff referred to the glass room as “the Aquarium,” but no house staff was allowed to enter it without supervision, not even to clean the shiny surface of the glass conference table.
There was chopper traffic expected at the property, and the helipad lights were on. The EC145 landed and dropped off one passenger. The moment Myatlev set foot on the heliport surface, lowering his head slightly under the moving rotor blades, his chief of security greeted him promptly.
“Welcome back, Mr. Myatlev.”
“Thanks,” Myatlev answered and then hurried into the house.
The black chopper took off and almost an hour later brought four more men. As they disembarked, they went through security, then hesitantly entered the Aquarium and took their seats at the glass table. Myatlev greeted every one of them personally as they arrived. After the last visitor had taken his seat, Myatlev pushed a button to close the door to the Aquarium, then another to turn the glass walls opaque.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Myatlev said, “to the first gathering of our newly formed council. As you have already noticed, we are in a highly secure location, where we can discuss the matters at hand freely and without concern. I will start with some introductions, and then open the floor for discussions and ideas.” Myatlev turned to his left and gestured toward the man sitting next to him. “The first man to join our new council was Mr. Karmal Shah from Afghanistan. Then we were joined by Mr. Mastaan Singh from India, followed by Mr. Ahmad Javadi from Iran, and, finally, Mr. Muhammad Sadiq from Pakistan.”
The men greeted one another; some reached across the table and shook hands.
“Our small yet powerful organization, aptly named the Council for a New World Equity, or CANWE, is welcoming today a few very powerful men from various countries, united by common goals. We all want to establish a new world equity, one where we will rid ourselves of the self-righteous, uninvited, and unwanted interference of America in everything we do in our own countries.” As he spoke, he looked the other men in the eyes, one by one, and what he saw made Myatlev very happy. He had chosen well.
“America is powerful, the strongest economy of this planet, and that makes Americans think they have the right to police the world. All of us here want to end that. All of us here are disgusted by having to deal with their obnoxious interference in everything we do, in our countries and in our homes. All of us here want them gone from our lives and their supreme arrogance kept in check. America is powerful, the strongest economy of this planet,” he repeated his earlier statement.
“For now. We, too, are powerful, and we can end their arrogant supremacy once and for all and throw them spinning into a bottomless hole of economic decay and despair. All of us are powerful as individuals. Some of us have our powerful countries supporting our interests as they are stated here today, in this first formal meeting of our council. We can be the architects and strategists of the future, the five of us.” He stopped talking for a little while, evaluating his audience.
“The future belongs to the bold, gentlemen, and we are going to take back what was always rightfully ours, the freedom to do as we please in the spaces of our own countries.” He let a few seconds of silence go by, and then invited the group to the conversation with a wide hand gesture. “Let’s discuss.”
“It’s an honor to meet everyone here,” Javadi opened, “and I want to thank you for inviting me to be a part of CANWE.”
Myatlev nodded in response.
“I wanted to ask,” Javadi continued, “are we considering adding more members? Syria, China, and North Korea come to mind.”
“Syria might be a good idea,” Sadiq seconded.
“I beg to differ,” Shah intervened. “If my understanding of what we are here to do and how we are looking to achieve our goals is correct, we have no business bringing the Syrians to this organization. They are reckless fanatics. They have no respect for strategy. They are primal and bloodthirsty, and, in my opinion, they’re unable to execute complex plans that require forethought and self-control.”
“They are devout Muslims, though, hence anti-American,” Sadiq insisted.
“CANWE is not about Muslims against America,” Myatlev intervened. “CANWE is not about religion. It’s about politics and economics. Not all of us are Muslim, and that’s not even by design; it’s by accident.”
“I assume we are going to coordinate attacks against America, retaliatory missions. In that case, Syrian fanaticism might come in handy,” Sadiq added.
“We might,” Myatlev responded, “we might if we have to. Such missions are just one device in our toolbox holding many different weapons. My vision is a little different, and I am hoping you will embrace it. Americans are equipped to identify terrorist attacks early on, and that makes it relatively hard for us to orchestrate a major attack, major enough to destabilize them for centuries to come.”
“What if we nuke them?” Sadiq offered. “We could find ways to smuggle numerous nuclear bombs into the States and detonate them from anywhere. They wouldn’t see that coming; they wouldn’t have a defense against that kind of massive, coordinated attack.”
“Then what? Nuclear winter for the entire planet?” Myatlev asked.
“It would be well worth it to see them suffer and pay, finally, for every bit of blasphemy they engage in every single day. Millions of them are guilty of blasphemy against Islam, and they never see punishment. It has to end.”
“Yes, but we shouldn’t rush into doing things that are short-lived and plain stupid,” Myatlev said bluntly.
Sadiq’s face flushed, which made his olive-toned skin turn a dark shade of purple. “This is insulting. I will not stand for it!” He stood abruptly, throwing his chair back. “I thought we had the commitment to do something, not just talk like impotents!”
“And we do have commitment, but we also want to have a good strategy,” Myatlev said firmly. “Just think about it. If you nuke a couple hundred million Americans, would they even know what that was about? No, they’d end up having lived a life of luxury and ignorance. They would die quickly, painlessly, without having seen or understood what they’ve done wrong. You would punish them for their countless blasphemies by killing them, but they wouldn’t know the reason. They wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t punish them for their arrogance because they would die. still thinking they’re better than everyone else on this planet.”
Sadiq held Myatlev’s gaze sternly for a couple seconds, still angry, and then lowered his eyes. The Russian had a point, albeit hard to admit.
“What if the Americans saw it coming, and there was no place to hide from it?” Myatlev continued. “What of their arrogance then, when chaos, fear, and poverty will take over their lives, day by day, minute by minute, while they sit powerless, unable to do anything about it? What of their arrogance when they’ll have to watch the peoples of the nations they have despised rise to unprecedented power, while they lose everything they have? That’s what I would call vindication. That’s what I would call punishment for their many blasphemies against Islam. That’s when I would be satisfied that they can no longer feel entitled, and that’s when I would agree the new world equity has been established.”
“Do you have a plan, or is this just wishful thinking?” Singh asked.
“It is a goal for now. But if we keep this goal central in our minds, a strategy will soon be set,” Myatlev answered. “Once you’ve all had time to think about some potential strategies, we will meet again and finalize a plan of action.”
“What about money?” Javadi asked. “Whatever we decide to do, it will require tens, maybe
hundreds of millions to make it happen.”
“Although we are all among the richest people in the world, we cannot directly fund this initiative from our personal accounts,” Myatlev answered. “We will find and organize sources of funding, and it’s entirely up to each of us what or who those will be. After all, we’re business people, aren’t we? We should be able to put something together to fund this organization. Please remember, there is significant opportunity at the time an empire falls. Our businesses will thrive beyond our wildest dreams. Consider your fundraising efforts nothing more than what they really are: seed capital investments for our futures.”
He stood, signaling the meeting was over. “Only one question remains. Can we?” Myatlev asked, the pun with the council’s acronym noticeable to everyone. An unexpected question, they all answered in different tones of voice, but quite forcefully.
“Yes, we can.”
Myatlev escorted his guests to the helipad, while his staff radioed the chopper to come back and pick up the passengers. He watched them interact casually with one another while waiting. They were a good group: strong, motivated, and bold. They were ready to hear his strategy and adopt it; although it was already in play.
...Chapter 15: Vendor Selection
...Monday, January 4, 9:07AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...DCBI Headquarters, Sixth Floor Conference Room
...Washington, DC
“Good morning, guys, let’s get started,” Robert said, entering the conference room a little late. “We have a tough one ahead of us. We’re selecting vendors for the e-vote contract today, and we won’t be going anywhere until they’ve been selected. It’s already very late in our timeline, and we can’t delay the decision anymore.” Hearing how harsh his own voice sounded, he changed the pitch and topic a little; these people had no fault or play in his internal nightmare. “That’s why I ordered us lunch, and it’s a good one. We’re getting pizza from La Perla, special delivery.”