The Land of the Free (21 page)

Bill Connolly left the Oval Office
and went straight to see Tyler Matheson, the Defense Secretary, who was in the
White House for a meeting with Torres.  Connolly waited patiently until he was
done.  “Hey Tyler, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“Sure thing, Bill.  What’s up?”

“Let’s go out for some lunch.  I
don’t want to talk here.”

The two men took a cab to a private
café in an upscale part of Georgetown that looked like any other mansion from
the outside.  Access was to members only, and while very expensive, cash never
changed hands on site.  They took a table off in the corner.

After the pleasantries, Connolly
began.  “I’m having difficulty with the Chief.  I can’t get him to appreciate
the importance of maintaining a dominant military position in the world. 
Morgensen and I were rebuked pretty strongly today.”

“I would’ve thought Morgensen the
root of the problem,” replied Matheson.  “She’s the one who pushed him to over
commit our troops in the first place.”

“She’s definitely in favor of
forward positioning,” said Connolly.  “But we were pushing for building up the
forces at home also,” said Connolly, misrepresenting their meeting with Torres.

“He did seem a little out of sorts
when I met with him after you were done.”

“Tyler, there’s no way to really
put this delicately, so I won’t try.  President Torres is out of his depth.  He
can’t cope with the demands of the job, he doesn’t understand what’s at stake,
and he knows he’s failing.  This can make him a little unstable at times.”

“I’ve suspected some of that
myself,” said Matheson empathetically.

“So while the ideal way to
accomplish the right thing is usually to convince the Chief of it, sometimes
you have to be a little manipulative, if you get my drift,” said Connolly.

“I understand.  Morgensen does it
all the time, in plain sight.”

“Right.  But she pushes her own
agenda.  If you want to build up the home defense, you’ve got to do your own
manipulation.”

“I’m not much good at that, Bill. 
It’s pretty much straight up with me.”

“You’re an honest man, Tyler,” said
Connolly.  I appreciate that about you.  But as I said, I’m on your side here,
and I have some skill in that department.”

“And what’s in it for you, Bill?”

“I owe some favors to the Defense
industry, and they can be generous after you retire.  They know this can’t
happen without your okay, so you won’t be left out either.”

“I’ve seen how generous they are to
my predecessor,” said Matheson.

“That’s done for you to see.  When
you retire, they’ll be generous to you, for your successor to see.”

“So what did you have in mind?”
asked Matheson, showing genuine interest for the first time.

“How would you like to help me
stage a little stunt that exposes our vulnerability?” asked Connolly.

“Am I going to take the heat?”

“No.  If there’s any heat, it’s my
fingerprints that’ll be all over it,” said Connolly.

“What do you have in mind?”

“There’s going to be a Hall of
Heroes ceremony at the Pentagon in a couple of days.  That means all eyes will
be on the place.  We want access to the sub-levels of the Pentagon that
previous night.  In the morning, we’ll stage a little drill simulating a
takeover.  There will be several such drills around the country, but it really
needs the high profile one at the Pentagon.  When it’s all done, we’ll tell the
press it was a test of preparedness, and the system was found wanting.”

“The shit’ll hit the fan,” said
Matheson.  “They’ll figure out they have no defense.”

“Precisely.  The administration
will have to pretend they were in on it all along, so they don’t look even
worse.  Then they’ll have to build up our forces at home.  How can we lose?”

“What do you need from me?”

“Nothing much,” said Connolly. 
“Just access codes for the Pentagon.”

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” said
Connolly, making it seem a trivial request.  “I’d really like to add some drama
to it, and make it seem like we got hold of the launch codes for our nuclear
weapons.  That would really get the press’ attention.”

“As long as you promise not to
actually launch our nukes, I guess that’s okay,” said Matheson.

Connolly laughed.  “Yeah, the
headline ‘CIA Director Blows Up the World’ would be a bummer for my career. 
Don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop, Tyler.  On the night it goes down,
you’ll hear some weird reports from all over the country.  Don’t panic.  Come
by my house that morning and I’ll give you a full briefing.”

The trip from Annapolis to the
Virginia suburbs of DC took Millie Howe, John Corson and Frank Goworski through
what might be the only corridor of economic boom left in America.  That it was
funded by new government debt was lost on nobody.  But most who lived in the
area believed this boom could avoid the bust that affected rest of America,
since most of the debt was held by the central bank and as a rule, never
repaid.  In this last bastion, the attitude remained that deficits simply don’t
matter.

They reached Langley and arrived at
the Jefferson Deli, just down the street from CIA headquarters.  There was a
buzz in the room, as though everyone were talking about an event just breaking
in the news, and they felt they were the only ones not in the loop.

Snyder walked in within a few
minutes, his head hung low as it always was, looking grumpy as he always did. 
He quickly acknowledged the wave from Millie, and walked to their table, where
Millie made the introductions.

“Where’s Stanley?” asked Snyder
with a distracted affect that showed he was not exactly thrilled to be there.

“Hiding out,” said Millie.  “With
the trouble we’re facing, we thought it best for him to keep a low profile.” 
She left out the news he was wounded, instinctively not divulging more than
necessary.

“We understand you’ve been put on a
treadmill of busy-work,” started John.  “I wonder if it might be intended to
keep you busy so you can’t pursue something we think you possibly know about,
something that’s of serious concern to us.”

John’s cryptic comment elicited the
first sign of a smile from Snyder.  “I wouldn’t put it past that bastard
Connolly,” he said.  “He had me on a project where I couldn’t talk to myself in
the shower.  But it’s done and I’m not touching it now.  There’s already been
one spook killed over it.”

“Stanley’s been shot over it too,”
interjected Millie, finally showing her cards.  “He’s recovering right now, but
I felt this important enough to leave him, to see to it that you help these
gentlemen.”

“What makes you think you’re onto
the same thing?” asked a now softened Snyder.

“Because nothing else could be
going on simultaneously with something this big,” said John.  “My friend Robbie
was murdered after he found something out.  Frank here was almost killed.  Both
were employees of Helsing-Tilbury shipping.”

The expression on Snyder’s face
changed instantaneously and dramatically at the mention of Tilbury.

John continued.  “What they
stumbled on were multiple irrational financial transactions that started in
earnest after the takeover.  The trail led directly to San Marcos, an island
off Panama that Tilbury’s new owners had bought outright.  Our colleagues checked
it out and found a compact city of cargo containers converted into troop
carriers, along with large caches of small arms.  The containers are probably
en
route
to US ports right now.  Those ports have security provided by a new
subsidiary of Morningstar Security Services.  We visited one in New Jersey and
found them to be rehearsing a quick unload of the containers, with more
security officers than union guys doing the work.  We think the Chinese are
behind this, and that this is the first phase of an invasion force to occupy
the United States.  The Chinese have a large military base in northern Mexico
where at least a segment of the supporting forces might originate.  There’s
probably more, but that’s what we’ve learned.”

Snyder started to turn red in the
face.  “That shit eating bastard, Connolly!  He’s in on it.  That’s why my
reports went straight to him, and only him.  And why I’ve been doing this crap
that nobody cares about.”

“I take it this all rings a bell,”
said Frank.

“Sure as hell does.  The Chief
himself told Connolly to get a report on Morningstar and Derek Ellis.”

“We’ve made his acquaintance,” said
John with a bitter expression.

“After the Chief banned them from
government contracts, they were as good as sunk,” said Snyder.  Then Ellis
loaned millions of his own money to Morningstar and kept it completely intact. 
No layoffs, nothing.  Nightwatch comes in soon after that, I think.  Tilbury
was the mystery to me.  We had a dossier on them, ordered up after the
takeover.  But when I saw it any mention of the takeover was gone.  Central
details, like who it was that took them over.  Not only that, but the Agent who
developed it was bumped off.  Have you heard about the DC area sniper?”

John nodded, and Snyder continued. 
“Well, our guy’s ballistics reports are sealed.  None of the other victims’
reports are sealed, only his.”

“Couldn’t that just be a CIA
thing?” asked Frank.

“If it was a low-level seal, say to
keep the report away from the media, yes,” said Snyder.  “But I can’t access
them, and it takes the permission of the FBI Director to see them.  That’s
extraordinary.”

“And it means the FBI Director may
be complicit,” said Millie.  “Gentlemen, be very careful.”

“Robbie Linssman went to the FBI
with his suspicions and he’s dead.  It fits with the evidence, that’s for
sure.”  Frank stopped himself before saying anything about the FBI’s interest
in them, deciding that this knowledge would only complicate matters with the
CIA Agent.

“Did your report reach the
President?” John asked of Snyder.

“Very improbable.  The Chief’s too
busy and too impatient to read our reports.  In any event, I keep my reports
dry.  I describe facts and avoid interpretation.  Connolly would have given the
Chief a short note in his regular briefing, but if that sniveling chickenshit
is what I think he is, he’d have given it a spin to make it seem like a dead
end.”

“So who can we tell what we know?”
asked Frank.  “Who’s in a position to do something with the info, and won’t
kill us for the effort?”

“Nobody,” said Snyder flatly, as he
poked the remnants of his sandwich.  “If you want to stay alive, you don’t tell
anybody.”

Snyder looked up at them and
noticed their astonished expressions.  “What?  Shit like this happens every
once in a while.  Most likely China’s trying to make some point to the
administration about the debt level, or their involvement in Taiwan, or
something equally boring.  They’ll show us we’re vulnerable and point made,
they’ll stand down.  But next time there are negotiations, we’ll have less to
say when it comes to making our declarations and expecting China to just take
whatever we dish out.  Half the cabinet can be involved in something like this,
so you’d be running into a machine gun nest if you tried to say something.”

“People have been killed here, Roger. 
Does that sound like a game to you?” asked Millie.

“They kill people all the time over
things that make you scratch your head,” answered Snyder.  “Yeah, sometimes it
is a game.”

“Don’t you have some sworn duty to
protect the country?” asked Frank.

“Nope, I’m not military.  My sworn
duty is to myself and my family.  I’m not dying now, not over some stupid
plot.”

“Could we go to the Washington
Post?” asked Millie.  “We could get some publicity, and then they’d have to
act.”

“Ha!” mocked Snyder.  “Connolly’s
on their speed-dial list.  Let me be perfectly clear.  We’ll all live longer
and happier lives if we just shut up.  When it goes down, you’ll know it after
the fact.  There will be a few headlines and then it’ll fade into the mists of
history.  Our attentions will turn to the next sex scandal quickly enough.”

There was an uncomfortable silence
for a while until John spoke up.  “Roger, I respect your reluctance here.  I
was with the SEC at one time and saw the corruption at work there.  I stayed
with it a lot less time than you did, but I came to hate what the institution
of the United States has become.  But I’ve also been away from it long enough
to realize that I still love America.  I can tell the two apart.  My closest
friend died because he thought the threat was real.  He loved America too.  So
I’m in a quandary here.  I’ve been sucked into this and I can’t get uninvolved
now.  I intend to report what I know.  I’d like to report it to someone
trustworthy, but failing that, I’ll go to the CIA and tell the story, all the
way up to Connolly.  His first instinct will probably be to dispose of me.  But
if I tell a lot of people along the way, maybe he can be convinced that he
can’t get away with it and shut the whole thing down.  I’ll probably fail.  But
I can’t live with myself if I do nothing.  I hope you can live with your
decisions.”

“Chief Torres is probably the one
guy in the administration who’s clueless about what’s happening,” said Snyder,
now engaged but still negative.  “But this America you love, the America of the
people?  It’s not his America.  He was put there by the elites because he’s one
of them.  His heart pumps elite blood; I think his farts even have an elite
smell.  The only commoners he even notices are those in their proper place of subservience.”

John nodded to acknowledge Snyder’s
point, and took a drink of his ice tea.  “I will make him care.  This is no
negotiating tactic.  President Torres’ only hope is the allegiance of the
people.  The elites will drop him like a hot potato once their plot hatches. 
His disconnect with the people makes him so vulnerable, it’s hard to imagine
the plotters didn’t factor that in as a major asset in their favor.  He has to
appeal to those people, and the people need him to lead them.  He may be regarded
by the people as a bad President, but he’s the only one we have right now.  And
they know it.  He has to get past his history and attitudes.  If he doesn’t,
Morningstar will make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

Snyder gave the appearance of being
even more irritated, if that were even possible.  “Fine,” he mumbled.  “I have
someone I could talk to who might have a way of getting you close.  But I’m
risking my neck here, and I don’t like it.”

“So are we,” said Millie.  “We all
have a chance, every so often, to do something extraordinary.  That’s where
small actions have outsized consequences.  It might only be once in your life. 
But that once will define you forever.”

John looked at Millie gratefully,
for putting his feelings into words.

“Let’s step out for some sun,” said
Snyder, having noticed everyone was done eating.

Once outside, Snyder motioned for
them to get into his car.  “Check out my new Lexus,” he said, louder than was
necessary.

They sat in his car and he
activated the built-in phone.  “It has this cool phone where you can all hear
me, and we don’t have to be in the freaking Deli or parking lot, where three
guys from the Agency glance over every now and then.”

Snyder made a call on the car’s
system.

“Hello.”

“Hi Helen.  It’s Roger Snyder.”

“Roger, it’s been a while,” came
the reply, in a delighted tone of voice.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. 
They’ve been keeping me busy lately.”

“I’m guessing you’re calling for
Matthew.  He’s on duty until late tonight, and as you know, they don’t allow
calls at the office.”

“I understand, Helen.  I’ll wait
until he’s home.  Please ask him to call me, even if it’s late.”

“Is it urgent?”

“We’re the government.  Everything
is urgent,” said Snyder with a chuckle.

“Got it.  I’ll tell Inspector
Clouseau to call Agent Smart,” she replied playfully.

Snyder disconnected the call and
then turned to the group.  “Matt Simpson is an old friend who’s on the Secret
Service White House detail.  I figure he’s worth a shot.  He’s the only person
I know who sees senior cabinet members regularly.”

As they got out of the car, Frank
shook the Agent’s hand and as an aside asked, “It seemed like everyone was
buzzing in there, talking about something that’s happened.  Do you know what it
is?”

“Some plane crashed this morning,
headed out of Costa Rica and into Miami,” said Snyder.  “We’re trying to sort
out a lot of details in a hurry in case there was an act of war or anything.”

“Oh God!” said John, his stomach
sinking in his abdomen.  “They were supposed to be on that flight.  Roger, can
you get the passenger manifesto?”

“Yeah, I probably have a copy in my
inbox.  You worried about anyone in particular?”

“Lyle Ferguson and Jessica
Linssman.  Please check for me.  She was like a daughter to me.”

“I’m sorry John.  I’ll check.”