“Goddammit, I swore to uphold and defend the constitution of the United States and, ma’am, I take that oath seriously. If the Congress decides that Alexander Llewellyn is to be the next president of the United States, which it seems more and more likely to do now that Senator Paxton is supporting the move, it is violating the succession clause of our Constitution. And if Slaider is using stealth and deception to work the system in ways the constitution did not anticipate or our founding fathers had not intended in order to undermine and threaten the freedom of the people, then he’s a low-down dog. I want to take either one or both out. It’s my duty, ma’am. As I see it.”
Amanda Brock sat silently thinking. She thought for a long time while Special Agent London waited patiently for her response.
Thinking out loud, she said as if her inner thoughts had simply risen to the audible level unknowingly, “Why Taiwan? Why now?” The room then returned to a palpable silence.
Her mind was racing when she wanted it to move slowly, carefully methodically. The ringing in her ears grew louder. She hadn’t told anyone about this. Not even Lenny. She had developed tinnitus several years ago. The ringing simply began one day and never stopped. She knew that for the positions she was shooting for this could be a deal killer. It would make her stability suspect. That maddening sound in her head could claim her sanity. What to do? Go to the doctor and it was all over because her condition would come out. She did some quick research on the internet and it was not promising.
What she discovered about her condition was that after untreatable pain and untreatable vertigo, severe tinnitus was the third most horrible illness for a person to endure. The constant cacophony blaring in her brain, unrelated to any objective stimulus, twenty four hours day, three hundred and sixty five days a year, nonstop, was maddening, sleep-depriving, and relentless. She learned that no one knew what caused it or how to treat it. Doctors routinely said simply to learn to live with it. It seemed that the more she resisted it, the more alert she became to it. The more she read about it, the louder it got. And it was not just maddening. It had really, truly, actually been driving her insane.
Amanda Brock had always been a control freak. She was stunned and profoundly frightened for the first time in her life when she found herself the helpless victim of this vicious onslaught. Suicide was never far from her thoughts. What stopped her from that drastic step was something she had read once, meant in jest, about suicide. ‘Suicide was a long-term solution to a short-term problem.’ She would not let her problem get the best of her.
Nothing conventional worked from what she had read. Spontaneous remission was possible but rare and could not be counted on. Some drugs had helped her get to sleep. Of these, some had helped fortuitously to lower the volume somewhat, but there where no drugs, none, approved for treatment of tinnitus. No one knew where it was coming from or why so no drug could be designed to address it. Alternative treatments, she had found through her searching the net, were just as dubious. Most successes with acupuncture, herbs, hypnosis, you name it, seemed to be based on the client’s faith in the practitioner rather than efficacy of the treatment. There was not one double-blind experiment validating any alternative approach as well.
Fuck it. She would work it out herself, she had decided. Outside the boxwithout the witch doctors, conventional or alternative. But where was the box and where was the outside? One day she was walking along the beach in Northport with Lenny enjoying the beauty of the day, the breaking tumble of waves, and the rushing sound of the water returning to the sea as it drained back out over the pebbled beach. She turned to Lenny almost ready to say how the sound in her head was less than the sound of the beach that she was enjoying so much. She had stopped herself, intent on keeping her secret affliction a secret. But she did not stop soon enough to block the knowledge that the sound in her head had suddenly become her friend.
It was like jujitsu. Your enemy’s motion becomes exactly where you wanted your enemy to go. It was the Buddha saying to her, “Your enemy is your friend. He shows you how to develop restraint and compassion.” Yes, she had decided. Instead of trying to eliminate the roaring in her head, or diminish it, or learn to ignore it, she would embrace it. She would become friends with it. She would use it as a means to focus and center herself the way meditators use their breath. She would stop trying to conquer tinnitus. She would absorb it.
And slowly, very slowly it began to work. During the day when she was busy, actively engaged with her day she simply ignored the sound in her head. However, during those innumerable times of the day when she was simply waiting, waiting for an elevator, waiting to get off the elevator, waiting for lunch after ordering, waiting for the check, waiting, waiting, waiting . . . during those times, she would greet her sound, listen to it, notice if it was different, examine its nuances. She would close her eyes if the location allowed for that without drawing attention, and she would breathe in and out slowly, letting the sound of her breath mingle with the roar. The one, a sign of life, gave to the other, also an element of life.
After a while it was no longer a trick. It became second nature to her and her sound had become for her a valuable resource.
Amanda Brock sat waiting, listening to her inner voices.
“What if Taiwan was not his final destination?” she finally said out loud, rhetorically, getting closer to an idea.
“Ma’am?”
“What if China were his final destination. The People’s Republic. What if that’s where he is really going? Suppose he is not crazy. Or a traitor to his country. Suppose there is a method to his madness. Slaider’s done such a good job blowing smoke everywhere that it would be easy to miss the forest from the trees. Right now the United States, China, and Japan have the first, second, and third largest economies in the world. The European Union doesn’t count because it’s not really a country and it’s not really a union considering how they disagree more than they agree on any important issues. But still, if they get their act together they would command a combined economy as great as ours. And they’ve set a precedent, haven’t they, Special Agent London? Fortuitous name yours, I think, right now, Teddy.”
“Director?” London intoned, not understanding where Brock was going.
“You know. London, European Union. London. Don’t you see the connection? A joke Teddy. Alright then, let me get another drink. Can I refresh yours, Teddy?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“You know Teddy, Tennessee Williams was said to have written his best stuff while drunk as a skunk. It frees up the mind for some people. I don’t need it. I have other tricks. But, Teddy, let me tell you a secret.” She turned her head around, feigning looking for interlopers. “No, I can’t tell you,” she whispered. “Then I’d have to kill you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Special Agent London smiled and took a sip of his bourbon.
He knew how to milk a drink, Director Brock thought approvingly.
She began again.
“‘What precedent did our European friends set?’ you might ask.” She waited a moment for effect. “Special Agent London, the precedent of following the money, not as a motivating principle—that’s old news, but as an organizing principle. What do you think of that? Well, that’s old news too. And not for companies. Old news again for companies. No, not for companies, but for countries. What if Slaider is cooking up is something really revolutionary. He is not a small thinker, you know, Teddy. You don’t get to be chairman of the joint chiefs of staff of the military by thinking small. If he’s gone to all this trouble to create all this chaos, he’s got a smart reason for doing it. Or at least a big reason. It’s too easy just to say the guy is nuts. Only history decides who was crazy and who wasn’t. I’ll bet you anything, he’s cooking something up with the Chinese. The man is a big thinker.”
Brock relaxed back into her chair again. She sat silently again, eyes closed, thinking.
“But, Director, if you are right it couldn’t be anything military . . . a m
ilitary alliance of some kind with a communist country would be unthinkable. He would never get support for such an idea. Not in the Congress. Not with the people.”
“Communist country my ass. Shit, they know more about capitalism than we do. But you’re right, I think. Not military. Of course, not military. No. I’m betting on something commercial. And I’m not just talking about trade agreements. Too small for Slaider and not really his bailiwick. Actually, it’s too small for the Chinese now, considering the level of debt they already purchased from us over the years. The Chinese have over two trillion dollars worth of US Treasury bonds. That’s more than any other country on Earth. Probably more than all the other countries combined. As for Japan, the United States takes up more than thirty percent of everything Japan exports. We are by far its largest trading partner. There are already significant economic bonds between us, China, and Japan.
“If you put all three economies together, why you have almost half the value of the economies of the entire world. It’s as plain as the nose on your Special Agent face. Slaider is dreaming up some kind of economic powwow, and just for the heavy hitters, is my guess. And my best guess is they will be the US, China, and Japan. Whatever he has planned, it’s with China for sure and probably with Japan. By god, that’s why he wants Llewellyn president. So he can make this happen.”
“Excuse me, Director. Make what happen?”
“Exactly the right question. But you need to know now which weasel to watch. If I’m right, energy is the key. We know pretty much all we need to know about AJC Fusion—a.k.a. the National Laser Fusion Laboratory—and our Ms. Carlyle. Likewise, her Mr. James Marshall seems to be exactly what he appears to be. No new nuggets there either. Paxton, Layland, the oil crowd? Possibly. If they could kill someone and make this all go away, they would, but this fusion genie is out and there is no stuffing it back in with a bullet. Technically something may yet turn up to kill the deal, but I doubt that. Once one scientist shows that the impossible can be done, suddenly everyone is able to do it. I’m sure laser-fusion energy will follow that pattern.
“So, who shall it be? We can’t be conventional on this, Teddy. We have to think big also. No second stringers are going to get us where we need to go with this investigation. Paxton is a strong choice, but I don’t think he’s your best target. No, we need to know for sure what Slaider is up to. Find out for me, Special Agent London. He’s your weasel.”
“Hmmm. I’m not so sure, Director.”
Surprised, Amanda Brock focused her attention. “How so,” she asked.
“I’m not sure it’s as important to find out what General Slaider is up to as it is to just nail him with anything substantive. Once we have him on something, anything, I’m convinced the whole mess will begin to unravel.”
“Do you have an idea where you want to go from here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
104
Teddy London was faced with a dilemma. He had at his disposal the most sophisticated locating and tracking equipment on earth. He could tie into virtually any piece of wire or fiber optic cable or electromagnetic wave that carried information—anywhere. Any form of information from any source. Telephone, radio, TV, internet, transmitters of any kind. He could tap it. He could use it. But one thing he couldn’t do was make sure no one else knew what he was doing. There was just no way he would be able to keep his activities secret from the people with top-secret clearance who babysat these information systems.
Talking to the system was like talking with God. It knew all, saw all, told all . . . if you asked it nicely. It was maddening that in this new environment he was thrust into, he could trust no one. That’s why Director Brock had him report directly to her. No one could be trusted. It might even not be an intentional attempt to stymie or stop him. All it would take is some dumb schmuck just doing his or her job, reporting his search activity and the flags would go up. He would be watched. And misdirected. Or . . . eliminated. He would have to proceed the old-fashioned way, with feet on the ground. Ironically, that very handicap would be his best asset because sophisticated spy assets tend to look for or protect against sophisticated spies. He would slip in under the radar, as they say in the military. He smiled thinking about all the training he had received in electronic surveillance. “Okay, live with it,” he told himself.
He would start again.
105
“Paul, time, I think, is running out,” General Stoner said. “We lost another five bases this week to army control. Thank god there were only twelve casualties in all. Accounts have been frozen. Almost every air base has been blockaded and unless I am going to order strafing and bombing the blockade forces, the remaining bases are cut off from supplies and money. The water and utilities are down and the bases are simply not functioning. I think it’s time to acknowledge that we lost.”
General Stoner took out a cigar from a desk drawer and offered it to Paul Latimer. Latimer waved it off. Stoner shrugged and after carefully cutting off the end of the cigar put his feet up on his desk and lit the cigar. A cloud of smoke quickly enveloped him.
Paul Latimer walked to a window and stared out vacantly. After a few moments he turned to the general and asked, “What are you planning to do, Warren?”
“Well, you know I’m a military man and I guess we work from facts about as diligently as any scientist might. And the facts tell me Iwehave lost the game. It would appear that this is the time either to retreat or lay down our arms and surrender. We can do both. That is, I can surrender and you can get the hell out of here. I’ve got enough resources left to fly you anywhere you want to go, if that’s your decision.”
Latimer studied Stoner carefully before asking him “Are you sure that’s it? Nothing else we can do? No one else we can try to convince?”
Stoner blew a thin stream of blue smoke into the air. “I don’t think so, Paul. And your decision to have Justice Stanforth swear you in was a good try, but Slaider’s impeachment charges seemed to trump that with the people and whatever is left of the government. So I just don’t see any more plays in this playbook.” He took his feet off the desk and looked at Latimer.
“Paul,” he said leaning forward, “this can’t continue for the most important reason of all. I am leaving the country’s defenses in a shambles with the Air Force not integrated into the umbrella. For the sake of the country’s security, it’s got to stop. I’m sorry. For you and for me.” He pushed his chair away from his desk and squared himself up in his chair. “Damn,” he said. “I hate being on the losing side. Never been there before and I don’t like it.”
“You know,” Stoner continued, “I never expected us to last this long. I’m convinced that Slaider is dragging this out as long as he can. I don’t know, but I think that I’m just creating his excuse for keeping his military grip on America.”
“Well, I’m not giving up.” Latimer stood up and placed his hands on the edge of Stoner’s desk. “You do what you have to do, and I understand your reasoning, Warren. I wish I could say I’m sorry I got you into this, but I’m not. I’m sure you understand why. I needed your help. It was your duty to help me and you did it willingly, knowing the risks. I salute you as a great American, no matter what happens.
“As for surrender or run, I will take run. Then I will be able to return and fight another day. I will take you up on your offer to fly me anywhere. Europe, I would say. Emerson had a lot of friends in Europe and I believe I still do. The Hague, I think, would be where your people can take me if you can arrange it.”
“Okay, The Hague it is. I’ll make arrangements for you to fly there and then I’ll call Slaider and tell him of my decision to relinquish my command and place myself at his disposal.”
The two men walked to the elevator and got off at the cafeteria floor. The smallest of the three private dining rooms had been set for just the two of them. An aide opened the door for them as they approached. Once inside, two waiters helped each man settle comfortably in his chair.
The men sat silently as the waiter poured a light sherry for each of them. When the waiter left the room, each man lifted his glass and clicked the other’s gently, producing a small bell-like sound. “To a new world,” General Stoner said. “May it bring peace and strength to our country.”
Latimer said nothing and quickly finished the glass.
106
Slaider sat silently, enjoying a glass of Metaxa, seven stars, a taste he acquired when he was first in Greece, following a seafood dinner he had just shared with Ranjit Lal. Sipping slowly, he waited for Lal to continue his assessment of current conditions.
“You know,” Lal said, “I believe now that those fine young soldiers did not die in vain in the Netherlands. I think their deaths shocked the world into reassessing assumptions and old methods. The horror of the deaths and destruction, the daily scenes ofof prolonged and painful dying, the rioting, the loss of five governments, the terrorism, the insanity—as you said, it may have been the shock the world needed.”
Slaider listened thoughtfully and could add nothing to Lal’s sentiment, it being largely his own as well. They remained silent until the hors d’oeuvres had been served.
“It is a great pity,” Lal said, “that Paul Latimer seems intent on remaining your unyielding adversary. Is there any hope of rapprochement?”
“I’m afraid not. And thankfully, things are going well for us, better and better each day. General Stoner’s influence over our air bases outside the US has shrunk considerably with the forceful measures taken by the host countries to isolate them. Within the US, Stoner’s control is a little better, but shrinking. The army is making slow but steady progress. Stoner lost another five bases last week.” Lal rocked his head from side to side in sympathy for America’s tribulations.
On Deception Watch Page 45