On Deception Watch

by David H Spielberg

  As Congress injected legislation into more and more complex issues, the need for the issuance of clarifying executive orders became greater and greater. And because these laws covered all aspects of American life, the executive orders began to carry a weight beyond the original intent. Clarification is one step short of instruction and instruction is only a nudge away from the weight of law. And that’s how the system grew and morphed and gained a life of its own.

  So Paxton recognized Slaider’s con, all right. Slaider would change the system from within by a cunning encroachment using executive orders to enter the domain of the other two divisions of government. He would use Alexander Llewellyn as the new president to do this. Or maybe Llewellyn was the brains behind the con. It didn’t matter to Paxton. The con had been organized exceptionally well, Paxton thought. There were only two checks on the executive order. The Congress could pass a law contravening it or it could deny funding to implement the bill that it had passed that the executive order addressed. In the first case, the president could veto the contravening law, necessitating a supermajority in Congress to override his veto. In the second case, the Congress could look like fools and draw fire from those having a stake in the bill. These two controls over the executive order had been rarely applied and when applied were rarely successful. The executive order had become bulletproof. Yes, Paxton concluded, Slaider or Llewellyn had chosen well. And right now they were getting away with it.

  General Morgan Slaider was everywheregiving interviews, going on talk shows, making speeches, cutting ribbons, blogging with bloggers, making his case for the temporary need for the executive council, touting its accomplishments, elevating hope for a more secure future, and stealthily praising the patriotism and leadership of Secretary Llewellyn. Slaider was a charmer, a hero, and a very smart and dangerous man. This was a formidable ally and a formidable enemy.

  To what end was Slaider doing all this maneuvering? Paxton thought he knew. Slaider viewed America’s grip on world dominance long past slipping. It had fallen into serious decline and Slaider was determined to reverse this slide. The Chinese monolith had jump-started itself and proved a more focused and unified contender on the world’s stage than the European Union, which both he and Slaider well knew would never rise above its regional factions and unify to the extent necessary to be more than an annoyance to the United States. Russian leadership was too corrupt and paranoid, and the Russian people too in love with czars to ever break free of its melancholy and ineffective past.

  But China was a different story. It was a closely controlled behemoth of immense intellectual and industrial capacity and drive, coupled with a clear sense of purpose now. Unlike its former cloistered international posture, it now drew to its bosom its own sense of “manifest destiny.” Isolation was no longer part of the Chinese lexicon. It was defining its goals and they were practical, economic, and political. Their military developments were astounding in so short a time, equaling or surpassing the weaponry of the United States in sophistication. The crown of best programmers in the world had slowly shifted as well from the United States to the People’s Republic of China.

  Paxton concluded that Slaider was laying the groundwork, somehow, for dealing with the decline of the United States. Economically, ideologically, politically, and structurally it had lost its way, while China was charting its path with ink that glowed in the dark. Paxton saw China as the ultimate target of Slaider’s con. But in what way? Was he intending to confront China, challenge its growing dominance, replay the cold war only with China instead of World Communism as the enemy? Or was he aiming at alliance with the only other superpower on Earth? Paxton saw all of Slaider’s moves as “clearing the deck,” giving himself maneuvering room, and “preparing the field.” But for what?

  Paxton had his own vision as well of what needed to be done. His understanding of the problem was about the same as Slaider’s. It was the path forward where the charts diverged. For Paxton, Slaider was on a fool’s mission. Every great nation has its period of growth, emergence, dominance, and decline. It is inevitable. He saw no point in trying to fight a law of nature. His worldview was more practical. The country will go where it will go and no force on earth can change its destiny now. Self-indulgence had sunk too deeply into the body politic that no grand design, no new founding father could motivate the kind of change needed for real change. People become infatuated. But no matter how great their enthusiasm after eight years at the most, the stage must be vacated, space made for the new ‘engine of change.’ And a new infatuation arises. Even Slaider, with all his public support and adoration, cannot maintain this executive council nonsense forever. He has a window of opportunity, a window that must and will close soon. Then what?

  Slaider has managed to expel the UN from the United States and the United States from the UN, moves generally applauded by the vast majority of Americans. He moves the pea from under this shell to under that shell under the people’s noses while distracting them with his control of domestic disorders that were probably gremlins of his own making. He too had his sources and he too knew of Slaider’s little walking disaster, that Jeremy Leach creature. And he distracts the international community with his brazen but reversible antics at the Federal Reserve and within the military. General Stoner played right into Slaider’s hand with his idiotic insurrection. Latimer was finished once Slaider was successful at festooning him in shades of doubt among the people.

  Latimer and Stoner had more faith in the Libertarian crowd it would seem, thought Paxton with a laugh, the first one he had had in days. Did they think the talking heads, the pundits, the ACLU, for god sakes, would come to their rescue by instructing Slaider in his misguided ways, not in accord with our laws? Were they thinking someone would sue Slaider? Enjoin him, find some judge to hold him in contempt? Arrest him for violating the constitution? Wait for Congress to strip Slaider of his self-declared powers? Paxton knew these were never going to happen considering the wide public support for the man, verging on mania. Paxton knew politicians as only another politician, one of the most successful in Washington, could. We’re all whores, he thought. It’s just that I don’t try to fool myself. And even a whore can give some pleasure and do some good once in a while, while we strut and parade and pretend.

  No, he thought, politics is not the art of compromise. It was more a physics problem. He smiled, thinking how much he disliked that course so many years ago in high school. But there are laws that govern that you violate at your peril. There is the clash of forces, the establishment of a new equilibrium. He remembered his fascination with the word equilibrium. He understood that equilibrium represented a kind of balance. But who’d have thought there were different kinds of balance. Static and dynamic. A book on a table is in static equilibrium. It’s at rest and all the up forces acting on it are balanced by all the down forces. No, that’s not it. Nothing is at rest in politics. He thought again. No, it’s more like a chemistry problem. Chemical equilibrium. The rate of reactants to products equals the reverse rate of products back into reactants. Yes, that’s it. Politics is like a chemistry problem, also not a favorite subject when he was young. Inflow and outflow balance eventually, until “what is, is.”

  Paxton walked to the door to his office, opened it and gave an envelope to an intern, telling her where to go and to whom she was to deliver the envelope.

  102

  There was only one way to manage this and Morgan Slaider knew what that was. Relentlessly, he was moving forward with his plan. Only a very select few knew which shell the pea was under, and it was time for him to begin to reveal that pea. He would fly to Taiwan tonight. From there, he would arrange a secret flight to Gaoqi International Airport on Xiamen Island. From there, he would travel inland to a military base in the Fujian Military District. It was time to take the next step.

  He placed a call to Alexander Llewellyn.

  “Alex, I cleared my calendar for the party tomorrow. I’m planning to arrive on time so I will be leaving
tonight.”

  “Okay,” was Llewellyn’s terse reply.

  He next summoned his adjutant, who entered Slaider’s office a few moments later. He stood by the desk as Slaider wrote instructions on a yellow pad of paper. It took several minutes for him to complete his writing. He placed his pen down and looked at the man standing before him.

  “Tommy, this is what we’ve been working for and waiting for. Come back in less than twenty minutes, Colonel Tomlinson, and I’ll give you ’alf a crown.” Slaider smiled, borrowing a mood from Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.

  Colonel Tomlinson reached for the yellow scratch pad and tore off the top sheet. He read it carefully to make sure he understood all the instructions. “Yes, sir. Twenty minutes or less it is, General.” Colonel Tomlinson turned to leave when Slaider stopped him.

  “You understand what this message means?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Colonel . . . Tommy . . . I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember that you were there. You were instrumental in a great leap forward, finally, for humanity. I want you to be able to tell your children and your grandchildren that you were there and how and why you helped this happen.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We both know the military mind, Tommy. We can easily lose sight of the grandeur while we focus on the minutia, on the details of the mission. We do that, Tommy. This is not a moment for the military mind alone, for military thinking alone. I want you to keep that in mind, Colonel Tomlinson. Loyalty and military discipline . . . yes, I have and continue to trust you with my life. But I want you to do this with all your heart because it is one of those true decisive moments in the history of civilized humanity. Do you understand?”

  “General Slaider, sir, I understand completely. Your instructions will be followed exactly according to plan, exactly because I do it with all my heart, with no reservations or doubt. I cannot have worked for you all these years and not learned to be reflective in addition to being responsive. General, I truly believe there is a god and that he is shining on you this day, and that if we have not yet found the road to the perfectibility of man, we have at least found the road to the perfectibility of how we will govern ourselves in the future. General Slaider, I need to get moving or I won’t get my ‘alf a crown.”

  “Dismissed, Colonel.”

  Colonel Tomlinson snapped a salute, turned, and quickly exited Slaider’s office.

  Slaider became lost in thought as he waited for events he had just set in motion to unfold. On his yellow scratch pad he scribbled: US, China. Beneath these he scribbled: EU. He sat looking at his scribbling. He circled EU several times, then crossed it out with slashing lines through it. Then he crossed out all the words, tore the sheet of paper from his pad and placed it into the feed slot for the paper shredder beneath his desk. He listened to the blades of the shredded whir as he got up and went to the bathroom connecting to his office. By the time he opened the bathroom door he put his scribbled notes out of his mind.

  103

  Special Agent Theodore London was running dry. He had followed Sylvia Carlyle, planted a locating device on her, listened to her conversations, got whatever there was to get about her relationship with General Slaider, with James Marshall, with AJC Fusion. Whatever there was to get from her he got. He was barking up the wrong tree now and he knew it. Time to change targets, he decided. The key to what is going on in Washington, he was convinced, lay with General Slaider. It was time to see Director Brock. He felt strongly he was wasting his time with further surveillance of Sylvia Carlyle.

  London arrived at Brock’s home about eight o’clock, safely past dinner and still early enough for a visit without arousing the interest of neighbors. After ringing the doorbell, Lenny Brock, Amanda’s husband, opened the door.

  “Good evening, sir,” London said, taking Mr. Brock’s outstretched hand in his and shaking it warmly.

  “Come right in, Teddy. Amanda is expecting you. We’re just having bit of bourbon right now. Here, let me take your coat.” He ushered London toward the family room, pointing the way while he hung up London’s windbreaker. London stopped midway between the closet and the entrance to the family room, discretely waiting for Brock to catch up.

  “Care for a little something? Take the chill out?” Lenny Brock asked as they entered the family room.

  “Bourbon works for me, sir. Thank you. One cube, if you please.”

  Amanda remained sitting, but offered her hand to Special Agent London, who took it gently and gave a perfunctory shake.

  “Good evening, Director,” he said.

  “Good evening Special Agent London,” she said with exaggerated formality. “The flowers were a nice touch.”

  London looked surprised, suddenly at a loss as to what occasion he must have forgotten. Then, noticing her smile, he realized she was just kidding with him. “Don’t mind me, Teddy. I’m just letting the bourbon work its magic. Very smooth. Here you go. That’s a good man, Lenny,” she said to her husband as he handed London his drink. He sat down on the chair the director pointed to and took a slow sip from his glass. Her husband left the room with a nod to London, closing the door behind him.

  “So, Ms. Carlyle has run her course, it would seem. And you want bigger fish. Is that it?”

  “Director, something big is brewing. Carlyle has been going through something of a test of loyalties. Philip Layland had a meeting with her that took her by surprise. I didn’t get the skin transducer on her soon enough to find out what the conversation was about but I think it’s a safe bet that they were trying to buy her loyalty or at least agree on some kind of quid pro quo. If her conversations with Slaider at the Federal Building are to be believed, Slaider has her locked up with stars in her eyes. Marshall has been pretty useless to her, professionally I mean. Other services seem satisfactory, if you get my drift.”

  “I understand the concept of a good lay, Special Agent London. Continue please.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I think Slaider has her locked up and it’s all pretty mundane stuff. Keep the company together, keep it moving, keep morale high, rah-rah stuff, for which she will be rewarded with titles and money. The usual Washington BS.” London caught himself and stopped, embarrassed and uncertain how to proceed.

  “Go on, Teddy. I’m well aware of how the system works.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, that’s about it for Sylvia Carlyle. But there is something big brewing. I can feel it. Layland intercepting Carlyle at the airport, his meeting with Paxton and those Big Oil guys, and now Slaider is out of the country. I know that for a fact. He drove to Pittsburg in civvies, alone, flew from there to Chicago and then went tourist class with some modest appearance modifications on to Taiwan. My sources lost him in Taiwan. But it’s impossible that he would leave the country now for anything less than a major development. And those oil boys are not just going to roll over and play dead. There’s too much money involved. They lost out on Sylvia Carlyle it would seem, but she is small potatoes compared to the interests they represent. And Senator Paxton is in this up to his eyeballs and speaking of balls, if you excuse the expression, his are solid brass. We both know what side he’s on, but we don’t know what he’ll do about all this chaos everywhere. A window of opportunity is closing fast for everyone. Congress can’t be held off for much longer.”

  “You’re exactly right there, Teddy. This banana republic bullshit is about to end. But who is going to be left without a chair when the music stops. It looks to me like it’s going to be Paul Latimer sent to the sidelines. So why has Slaider been pushing so hard for Alex Llewellyn to be declared the next president? Llewellyn seems quite pliable, wouldn’t you say? He seems to have bought in completely to Slaider’s tactics and this executive council. Well, if he can stomach that, where else might he go for his führer?”

  “Is this a kind of Manchurian candidate, Director, only a Pentagon candidate? Someone who will do General Slaider’s bidding?”

  Director Brock got u
p and began pacing the room. “It’s got to be something more than simply winning an election. This is all absolutely unprecedented behavior by our government, such as it is, our diplomatic people, and for sure our military. Occupying cities, widespread martial law, military justice system dealing with civilian issues in time of peace. No, it’s got to be something bigger. I agree with you on that completely. But where to look for the answer? That’s the sixty-four-billion-dollar question.”

  She stopped pacing, reached over for her glass of bourbon, and sat down again. Although Special Agent London thought he heard a question aimed at him in Brock’s comments, he wasn’t sure. So he waited.

  “Teddy? What are you proposing?”

  “Well, I think the two major actors now are Paxton and Slaider. I think whatever Paxton is doing, he’s doing it about money. Whatever Slaider is doing, he’s doing it about power. Power to do what, I don’t know. But I think he is all about power. They’re both pretty big motivators, Director. But right now I would say you never go wrong by following the money. Also, I’ve considered going to Taiwan myself to pick up the trail. But we need to be invited in. The CIA boys would need to be involved and that ends the control I and especially you have over what I’m doing. So, I think we may get the best bang for the buck using my time to work Senator Paxton.”

  “Hmm. Slaider’s out of the country. Fuck! I wish we could get a skin transducer on him. Yes, you’re right again about following the money. But Slaider. He’s not interested in money.” Amanda Brock lifted her glass for another sip, noticed she had already drained the glass, and put it down with a sigh.

  “Director, it’s been my experience that money and power have a way of intersecting each other eventually. I think if we follow either one we will eventually cross paths with the other. I think working Senator Paxton will lead me to General Slaider. They will either join forces or be at each other’s throats. Either way I want to be there. I don’t care who is left standing.