National Burden (27 page)

The Russians were in a state of shock. Troops had to be called into Moscow to close down main thoroughfares. Thousands were making their way to the capital on foot as the Kremlin braced itself.

In one fell swoop, President Zimmer had exposed Russia’s plan and enraged the rest of the world to such a level that presidents, prime ministers, bankers, CEOs and world citizens were all looking to Russia for an explanation. As was their way, instead of responding immediately, Russia closed its gates, letting the mobs grow, becoming more mobilized by the minute.

By 7:30 a.m. the entire world had heard the details of Zimmer’s plan. The American government would tax all U.S. retirement plans at ninety-percent, giving them more than enough cash to recall all forms of investment, not only held in foreign hands, but also held within the United States. The next step would be to reissue higher interest bonds and treasury bills only to Americans, at a reduced rate, of course.

There was no telling how long markets would be shuttered. The impact of the news had been deafening, like a thousand explosions going off all over the world.

Through it all, President Zimmer stayed in the Oval Office, monitoring the news with his Chief of Staff and Vice President Southgate. Few words were said, and no advice was given. His men knew America’s card had been played and that it would only be a matter of time before they got an answer.

The helicopter landed softly on the rooftop pad, kicking up swirls of snow in the process and making Cal, Daniel and Trent shield their eyes. They hadn’t waited long, the pilot making good time despite the airspace traffic.

The side hatch eased open, the passenger careful not to let the draft slam it forward. After leaning over to say something to the pilot, the man closed the door and made his way to the waiting three.

Cal stuck out his hand as the helicopter pilot applied power and lifted the bird back into the sky, away in seconds.

“Mr. Layton, I’m Cal Stokes. These are my associates, Daniel Briggs and Willy Trent.”

Jonas Layton shook Cal’s hand. “Please, call me Jonas.”

Cal nodded. “How about we head over to the hotel.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ve had my fill of heights for the day.”

They’d talked briefly over the phone, Cal finally convincing the cautious Layton to meet him in New York. It was plain to see the man was on edge, his eyes darting as they drove the five blocks back to the Peninsula. Cal kept the conversation light, MSgt Trent providing the comic relief. Daniel drove in silence, alert as usual.

Once they’d stepped back into their palatial suite, Daniel taking Layton’s coat, they got down to business. Cal dove right in.

“Tell us about what happened in Paris.”

Layton told them about the attempted kidnapping, impressing Cal with his level of detail and detachment. Most non-military citizens froze or ran in life or death events. Layton then described who had helped him.

“It’s a good thing you knew that French guy,” said Cal.

“I’ve made it my business to foster a lot of mutually beneficial relationships over the years. I like to think my friends far outweigh my enemies.”

Cal didn’t say what he was thinking, that you could have all the friends in the world, but it only took one enemy to make your life miserable, or worse, end it.

“Neil told us what you do, and we’ve done a little research online, but I’m still confused. How did you get involved in this?”

Layton looked uncomfortable, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s a complicated question.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Again, Layton paused before answering. “I don’t know how comfortable I am telling you. The people that are after me…”

“Look. We do this for a living, Jonas. We’ve all been shot at more times than we can count. We don’t scare easily. Why don’t you just tell us?”

“I just have a feeling this goes much higher than you guys could imagine.”

“Let me guess, you think someone in the government is involved.”

Layton nodded. “I’m not sure yet, but it may have implications up to the president.”

Cal felt a jolt pass through his body. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“I can’t prove it yet, but I think the current administration may be behind this whole thing.”

+++

The White House staff was on high alert, running to and fro with phones glued to their ears or eyes fixed on tablets. So many calls were coming in that they’d had to stop answering the anonymous ones and solely focus on those they knew, or thought they knew, were important. Ellen Hanson, the President’s secretary, played gatekeeper almost as much as the augmented security staff. She had piles of messages for the President.

But the President didn’t want to be bothered; he hadn’t returned one phone call. Instead, he sat calmly in the Oval Office, watching the storm like a disinterested outsider, quickly glancing at each new message, sometimes frowning, sometimes with an amused look on his face.

Ellen couldn’t fathom what her boss was doing. Shouldn’t he be trying to fix the mess he’d made? Shouldn’t he have the courtesy to return at least a handful of the calls?

But that wasn’t her job. She did what she could, sifting through the growing weeds, sorting as she went. As the morning wore on, her mind quietly analyzed the situation, the determined look of the President, the way he kept saying, “It’s going to be fine, Ellen.”

Truth be told, she hadn’t known what to think of the President for months. He’d seemed nice enough, but somehow, not up to snuff. Now it was different. There was a certain air of confidence he hadn’t had in weeks past. This was a new man, a leader.

Ellen smiled at the thought, then pursed her lips and got back to the task at hand.

+++

“I assume you’ve seen what’s happening in Washington right now?” asked Cal.

“Of course. But I think the President’s speech has something to do with this.”

Cal almost laughed at Layton’s comment. How could the man they called The Fortuneteller be so wrong? Cal knew Zimmer, knew why he’d done what he had. How could Layton possibly think the President somehow had a hand in orchestrating the Russian offensive? “Look, I’m not sure how much you know about the President, but he happens to be--”

Cal’s phone buzzed on the table, everyone looking down as the caller ID popped up: Neil Patel. “Let me get that.”

Cal picked up the phone and stood. “What’s up?”

“Hey, are you watching the news?”

“It’s on mute.”

“Oh, okay. Hey, I’ve got something for you. I was finally able to find something that may be of value. You told me to track down the security chief’s movement over the past month. Well, Martindale’s head of security got a safety deposit box two weeks before he was murdered. It’s about a mile from where you’re staying. I’m not sure it’ll help, but it’s something.”

“You think you can get me access?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Send me the information. I feel worthless here. We’ll head out now.”

Cal ended the call and looked to his friends. “Well, fellas, looks like we don’t have to sit on our asses for the next hour. Let’s go rob a bank.”

+++

Ellen opened the door to the Oval Office cautiously, her heart thrumming, excited energy coursing through her fifty-year-old body. The President was still behind his desk, flipping through the last batch of messages she’d brought in minutes earlier. He looked up. “More messages?”

Ellen glanced at Mr. Haden and the Vice President. “Um, no, sir.”

Zimmer motioned her over, a warm smile to embolden her steps. She walked around the desk and handed him the blue sticky note, almost not letting go. Zimmer grabbed the note and read it, one eyebrow rising as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Ellen. I trust you’ll keep this to yourself?”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

Ellen Hanson turned and headed for the door, realizing suddenly that she’d just witnessed history being made. Even if she could tell her husband, he’d never believe her.

President Zimmer read the note again, shaking his head. Travis and Southgate looked on, waiting to hear what it said.

“Looks like we’ve got a live one, gentlemen.”

“Who is it?” asked Travis.

Zimmer held up a finger and picked up the desktop phone, referencing the sticky note and dialing a number. He waited for the pickup. “Yes, I got your message.”

Silence as the President nodded and listened to the other end.

“Yes, give me the address and I’ll have my people pick you up.”

Zimmer flipped the sticky note over and wrote something on the other side. “Got it. Yes, thank you. I look forward to seeing you.”

He hung up the phone and looked up at Travis. “Can you see if Brett’s outside?”

Travis nodded and walked to the door and opened it. He said something to the agent standing post and the man spoke into his lapel mic.

Two minutes later, Brett Stayer, the head of Zimmer’s security detail, marched in. “Yes, Mr. President?”

Zimmer waved the sticky note in the air and said, “There’s an address on here. I want you to send a small team, discretely, to go pick up the person at this house and bring him here. Oh, and if you could bring him in the back way, that would probably be best. I don’t want anyone else seeing him.”

Stayer walked over and grabbed the note. “Yes, sir. I’ll take them myself.”

“That would be best. Thank you, Brett.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stayer left and Travis spoke up first. “Now can you tell us what’s going on?”

Zimmer rubbed his hands together. “Things are about to get interesting.”

+++

New York City

Daniel let Cal off at the curb. He and Trent would swing back around when Cal was finished, or arrested. As they pulled back into traffic, Cal looked up at the door. It didn’t look like a bank. It looked more like a high end shoe store. He couldn’t see any teller counters inside, just modern desks with professionally, if not elegantly, attired workers.

He stepped in the door, the subtle smell of pomegranate and some flower he couldn’t place greeting him along with the long-legged blonde who stepped out from around her desk as soon as the door chimed.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

Having already hacked into the bank’s system, it was easy for Neil to replace the true owner’s pictures with one of Cal’s head shots. Luckily the state’s government services had yet to report the man’s death to the financial institution. The signature samples were also substituted with Cal’s handwriting. A paper copy of the deceased driver’s ID was now graced by Cal’s likeness thanks to Neil’s DMV back end intrusion, and he had all the codes needed for entrance. The customer service oriented bank manager happily gave Cal access to the deposit box.

Ten minutes later, Cal was saying his goodbyes and thank you’s, the twenty-some teller going so far as to give him her card should he need further assistance. He smiled and departed.

Daniel found a spot across the congested pavement and double-tapped the horn to get Cal’s attention. He caught his friend’s eye with a wave, and Cal headed over.

Once he was safely in the passenger seat, Daniel pulled out into traffic and headed toward the hotel.

“What did you get?” asked Daniel.

Cal stuck his hand in his pants pocket and held up a thumb drive with the Dale & Moon logo on it, a moon superimposed over a meadow. “This was it. I guess we’ll see when we get back.”

+++

The White House

Zimmer had instructed his security to not allow anyone to enter the Oval Office until he gave the word. Roughly thirty minutes after departing, Brett Stayer opened the side door and ushered the President’s guest in.

The President rose and walked to greet him. “Mr. Ambassador, how nice to see you again.”

Igor Bukov, the Russian Ambassador to the United States, had a fedora pulled low in an obvious attempt to conceal his face. He pulled it off and shook the President’s hand, a hand that Zimmer noticed trembled as he took it. “Thank you, Mr. President.” Zimmer could smell the vodka on the man’s breath.

“Why don’t we have a seat. Could I get you anything?” asked Zimmer.

Bukov glanced nervously at Travis and the Vice President, and said with a touch of embarrassment, “A glass of vodka would be very much appreciated, Mr. President.”