All The
Company
Men
BOOK 2 OF THE SECRET STATE series
by
C.j. Steinberg
© C.J. Steinberg, 2021
Pa’ mi hermanos Latinos
PROLOGUE
T he world had tumbled into chaos as a new series of lockdowns began taking place across the globe. More lenient they were, but no less strenuous than the measures from before. Was it all part of some great plan, the people wondered, was this Covid-19 some virus designed to steal their freedoms and strip them of their dignity? Their jobs became a distant memory and a large hope for the future, as their children cowered behind their legs, sharing their fears and worries, drowning in anxiety, managing to find the necessary strength to keep on trotting to school, masks and all.
Above all the darkness brought upon the people, a rising star shone bright above, proving that all of it was, indeed, part of a greater plan. What that plan was, the new hero could not say. He was some random blogger among many that were sharing their theories, exalting their own awkwardness and anxiety upon the world lest they drown in it. That hero stumbled onto some documents, partial but detailed enough to show that the virus was planned over a year prior to its destruction of all that felt real and meaningful.
That blogger became famous after a video of CIA agents barging into his apartment to eliminate him was leaked. They must have seen him as threat, the people concluded, so they learned to trust him. Almost instantly, his face became known all across the globe, part of every home, public discussion, and conversation. His name during protests was chanted with a religious vigor—Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!
London, New York, Hong Kong, Belgrade—each country had to face its own problems, those of racism, imperial ambitions, or downright corruption, all united by one name and one common goal—the end to all impositions upon their basic human rights, those set by the Geneva Convention, rules that were meant to transcend every government and organization.
The protestors appeared as ants in the wide streets of New York, a swarm of anger and passion, chanting for their rights, asking to be heard, as he watched them from the top of the building. He sipped his drink and let the whiskey sear through his throat. A part—a small part but a part nonetheless—admired those people. They had guts. To him however, they were also naive.
Seeing that there is a big picture is one thing; being able to turn it to your advantage and make great things happen was another. They, the working class, the meager working men and women, thought they were special, thought they deserved something for simply being alive, when the reality was opposite. Nothing in this world is deserved, it is earned.
Daniel Clarkson had to learn that the hard way. Restoring what was once great but now shattered was not an easy job. He had clenched his teeth and fought his way through the weeds and the swamp to restore his family’s good name and build an empire. When his father started the Dark Forrest Investment Fund, it was only one floor in a random Manhattan building; now it was the largest and most powerful corporation in America, and soon the whole world. It was because of this that the entitlement of those people outside disgusted him.
Somewhere in the distance, his name was being called, pronounced with awe by the stranger he knew not, just the way it was always meant to be, the way he had it made it to be. He sipped the whiskey again and turned to the room of his best and most loyal workers, the people that had served his purpose better than anyone else.
“No, we won’t be taking any public action,” he said to Brian, Head of Public Relations and a vicious little corporate animal. “That would only give credibility to the claims that we are this evil conglomerate that pulls all the strings. We don’t need that.”
“Well, Sir, what do you suggest? I mean, we can try to disprove it, but that won’t get us anywhere. This way, at least, the next person thinks twice before they react to an impulse to betray us—you, Sir,” Brian bowed his head for his slip of tongue.
Daniel chuckled at the youthful ignorance and naivety Brian demonstrated. Not because he loathed him or thought that he was lesser, but because he missed the good old days when his body obeyed and showed no sign of rebellion, when he was rash and his life one big joyride. Those days were long gone.
Still smiling, Daniel looked up from his drink to Brian. “I realize that it was before your time, Brian, but you should’ve picked up on it, as I thought that was your duty.” His eyes flashed toward Ellen McCain, and she understood what he had meant, smiling to herself. “Young Brian, you will pretend this is 9/11 and act accordingly.”
Jonathan Burr adjusted in his seat, looking at Daniel with some concern, before he turned to Brian with a half smile, realizing what the point was. Brian was in shock, frozen. The pen he always played with was dangling in free space. “Sir—I, uh—are you saying—that, uh—forgive me, but—are you saying that 9/11 was an inside job?”
The three eldest in the room burst into a tiny laughter.
“Kids these days,” Jonathan said, shaking his head.
“Brian, my boy, it doesn’t matter if it were an inside job or not. What matters is the fact that nineteen years on people still discuss it, as if it’s some great mystery. You will do the same to this Arthur and his wild claims.
“You will take our friends in the press and our friends in The Agency and we’ll tackle the issue with two conflicting reports coming from both those sides.”
Brian was still processing the 9/11 concern that popped into his mind, Daniel could see, now feeling angered by Brian and his lack of ability to see the bigger picture.
“Am I clear on this,” he asked.
“Sure thing, Sir, I’ll make it happen.”
“Excellent. Are there any other concerns?” No one said or asked anything. “In that case, meeting adjourned. Evelyn, dear,” he said as everyone gathered their things, “would you mind terribly waiting outside a moment?”
“No, Sir, not a problem,” Evelyn replied after a brief initial shock.
As everyone cleared, Jonathan and Ellen approached Daniel. “We’re almost at the finish line, my friend,” Jonathan said.
Daniel nodded, lost in the images of his future triumph. “Almost, my friend,” he grabbed his friend’s hand and placed his other palm on top of it. “A few bumps remain still.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said. “We’ll do what we’ve always done when America faced a problem—we spin both sides of the story through different sources—the American way.”
Though the issue at hand with Arthur was not the only one still to overcome in his path to world domination, Jonathan’s smile soothed him somewhat. He released his hand and averted his eyes to the aging but still gorgeous Ellen. “Ellen, my dear,” he said with some nostalgia in his voice. “Everything rests upon your shoulders now,” he said. “Everything that we have worked so, so hard to accomplish for decades.”
“Everything is under control,” she said reassuringly. “We are almost there, Daniel. This crisis of identity is more than natural. We’re here for you, and we’ll do this. For us. For the greater good. For all the pain and suffering we were all put through.”
Daniel nodded rapidly, as if falling into a fit, images of his success and failure flashing before his mind simultaneously. “Thank you, my friends. For the benefit of all human life..”
“For the benefit of all human life,” they replied in unison.
“Please tell Evelyn to come in,” he said as his friends departed. He went to the decanter to pour himself whiskey; one to soothe his nerves, and another to hold while he spoke to Evelyn who had just c
losed the door behind her.
“Sir,” she announced herself.
“Evelyn, darling, thank you for waiting. Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
Evelyn shook her head, “No, Sir, I’m alright. Thank you.”
“Have you any news on the extermination program?”
“None, Sir, I’m afraid. The footage of that evening has perished into thin air. The men working the cameras that evening said they went for a cup of coffee and then woke up in a haze with alarms ringing throughout the building. We can’t even prove that Marcus had done this deed.
“Nonetheless, the coffee problem and the missing Marcus footage has since been dealt with, and we now have evidence to prove he was behind the attack. We could perhaps run the footage to prove this terrorism story.”
Daniel gave it some thought. “No. That would raise too many questions, especially regarding the sudden disappearance of our company’s CEO, though Mr. Erickson enjoys adding gasoline to that particular fire. What else have you got for me?”
Evelyn sighed. “Nothing, really, Sir. No strange behavior on computers, no odd movement patterns, no suspicious behavior other than the usual spy stuff. I am, however, keeping a close eye on everyone, searching for any clues that might reveal the person or persons behind this. We also have no idea how Marcus escaped the basement cell. No one entered aside from Joe and the two guards—all of whom ended up dead.”
“He was our best agent, Evelyn,” Daniel swallowed hard, remembering. “And he was trained by the best.” His heart ached at the memories of Joseph and what had happened to his old partner and friend. “He has his ways.”
“I am still looking to see if there was something more sinister afoot here. I will have results for you soon, Sir. I promise.”
Daniel looked away from Evelyn and peered through the window, looking at the protestors below. “Look at them,” he said. “Chaos. That is all they are achieving. Anarchy and disorder. They think that this virus was planned and planted, yet they fail to ask why, fail to grasp the higher meaning. They want freedom and stability, unable to see, to understand that one cannot exist with the other. Either you have freedom and chaos or you have social order, there is no middle ground. How blind they are, lost in their inner squabble between a man and a child, the romantic who envisioned the world one way and the person who has to live in reality. Children. All of them.
“Listen, Evelyn, we are close to our goals by so much that I can feel my heart flutter. I need you to weed this problem out and I need you to prepare yourself for the burden you are bound to take upon your shoulders as the president of this company.”
Evelyn was taken aback by that statement. “What exactly do you mean, Sir,” she asked after a pause.
Daniel resisted the urge to sigh and show his weakness, thinking of Thoros, that bright young boy that was to be there and assume his burden. Is Evelyn strong enough to do his job? It didn’t matter. “I mean that things are about to change as my plans are coming to fruition, moving forward, inching toward our goal. I need you to be ready, Evelyn, when the elections come. I need to you to stay vigilant for the rat and still do your job of making sure that our friend gets his seat in the White House. Trump is done. So is his anti-corporate blockade. It’s time for Jim Morris to take the place at the pedestal and restore America to its old, tried and tested ways.”
Evelyn stared at him with great determination. “Sir, I will make that happen,” she said. “This is what I’ve always wanted. Rest assured that I will do what is required.”
Everything about Evelyn in that moment inspired confidence in her. Maybe he could learn to trust her, to rely upon her to do what needs to be done, to help steer the world in the right direction. He couldn’t really know that in advance, but he had to give her a chance. “Thank you, Miss Monroe. That will be all,” he said, seeing Evelyn out the door.
He went back to the window and peered over the little ants lost in their little world of fool-hearted endeavors. “Soon,” he said aloud. Soon became the only word in his mind, echoing against the walls of his skull, bouncing around his mind, stuck in loop, a whisper of a dream becoming reality.
* * *
When the day came to an end, Evelyn left the office building tired but motivated and went to the parking garage. Like it were any other working day, she sat in her car and drove onto the street, headed home. She drove to her house respective of all the laws, constantly bouncing between the rearview mirrors. Her disadvantage was that in case she was being followed, she still had to take the same, simple route back home she always took. It made it more difficult for her to spot a tail, but her trained eye gave her confidence enough to take the risk. Things have changed for her. And tonight she wasn’t headed home; tonight is perhaps the most important night for her.
When she parked the car in front of her house, she was unsure whether she was followed or not. No one can know what she was doing that evening. She went inside the house for a change of clothes, taking extra care in front of the mirror. She had to look her best for Johann. She took a deep breath and drove back into the streets, driving to the supermarket first, then another, keeping an open eye. Eventually, she entered a parking garage and changed her vehicle.
Her nerves were fried. The levels of anxiety she was experiencing unknown to her. It had been over a decade since she last saw Johann. When he recruited her and gave her the job, they lost all contact, confining Evelyn to her own world, to live her own life and fend for herself.
It was for this reason that she never betrayed him. Recruiting a double agent, a sleeper cell, was a risky strategy. Too many events occur, sometimes feelings develop, and because of it allegiances can change. Evelyn, however, hadn’t succumbed to the charms of either Thoros or Mr. Clarkson, staying focused and determined all these years. Johann was, in her eyes, a savior—the man who gave her answers to the question that haunted her the most and the man who gave her purpose. So she stayed loyal. The only man that once stood a chance of shaking her beliefs was Marcus; that seemed very long ago, however, and she couldn’t allow herself to think about what she had put him through.
Evelyn sat in the new set of wheels and waited. She wanted to see if any of the plates she had seen would pop up in the garage, all of them flashing before her eyes as she insured they remained in her memory palace. Identical or photographic memory was a myth, though getting very close to it was more than possible, with certain techniques known to intelligence agencies, mnemonic figures, and memory researchers. She didn’t have to be on such high alert in a long time, never this careful, even when she was planning her assault with Marcus. Tonight was different, though.
She took a deep breath.
She exhaled.
There was no time to be lost in memories, to scour the past for reasons and emotions; she had to stay cold, calculated, careful. This meet is what she had been working toward since the Academy, seeing all her important goals achieved; she was winning, her mission complete, and her true desire meted out.
Evelyn drove the car outside and cruised around New York City for a time, still paranoid and anxious. The night was setting in nicely, the lights on Wall Street, the street lamps, the lights in offices and apartments; it was all so amazing, like a little galaxy within the larger one in outer space, a world of its own—New York. She didn’t know if the magic of New York made the same lively impact on everyone who visited, but she believed that to be true. “If I make it there, I’ll make it anyway, New York, New York,” she hummed. On her drive, she made sure to avoid the protestor zones scattered about the city; she knew that they were watched, and not only by the police.
As midnight closed in, Evelyn drove to Grand Central Park. Johann had sent her the exact coordinates where to meet him when she reached out, and all that was left now was wait on the bench her GPS brought her to. There was a chance of a rapist or junkie trying to do something to her, though very slim due to the protests and the sanctions and restrictions resulting from the pandemic. Evelyn wasn’t
worried about any of it, especially not the law; she had a special permit to do whatever she wanted because she now ruled the world, all the power anyone could dream of in her hands, people under her spell. To the rich and mighty, different rules apply.
“Guten abend, Evelyn, it has been quite some time,” a familiar voice said. She turned her head toward the figure hidden in the shadows, seeing in the dim light that time had had its way with Johann as it does with everyone. He was still himself—slim, stern, with strong facial lines, though aged quite a bit. She stood up, only the man’s name escaping her trembling lips. She remembered the night he came for her, like a cloaked hero snatching her from a dark alley, extending his hand to pull her up, to help her escape from her cursed existence.
“You have not aged a day,” Johann said, his American accent perfect.
“Johann, it has been a long time,” she mustered, unable to think of her own words.
“Indeed, and you have completed your mission. You have done what we had asked of you all those years ago,” Johann said. “Please, have a seat. Quite a bit of drama brewing in The Company these past few days.”
“Yes. A lot of drama, a lot of death. My predecessor was shot by Marcus Grimshaw, if you recall the young man from the Academy days.”
Johann nodded.
“He cleared the path for me to get to where I needed to be. He had his own reasons, but the mission is complete.”
“And Clarkson, does he suspect anything?”
“Not a thing as far as I can tell. He is a hard man to read, so I can’t be sure, but he has relayed his plans to me just hours ago.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Yes, it is very good. However, his plans are scary. He intends to put his own pawn in the White House. Donald Trump is done for.”
Johann sighed. “Just as we feared.”
“What? You knew?”
“We didn’t know, but anyone with a pair of working eyes and some cerebral ownership could understand that Trump was on his way out. Trump was good for us, for our government. His stupidity and weakness brought us close to our goal of seceding from American influence almost entirely. Do you know what his plans are later, after Jim Morris takes the chair?”
All the Company Men: Marcus Grimshaw #2 (The Secret State) Page 1