The CleanSweep Conspiracy (15 page)

“‘Today, everyone is confused about the difference between ethnic cleansing and genocide,’ he says. I once asked him to explain what he meant. He told me there was nothing inherently wrong with certain forms of ethnic cleansing
—
nothing wrong with cleansing certain groups of people. He called it ‘population relocation’ for some, ‘purging’ for others.

“A proper investigation could be conducted, and remaining workers with special skills could be diverted to jobs tailored to them. Those with general skills could be assigned menial labor, and the rest
…

“Once, he saw me frown at the idea. He said he was convinced it was humane, reassured me that people like to live among their own, after all.

“‘As for the others, killing for its own sake is wrong,’ Grandfather insisted. ‘It robs a nation of its noble soul. We should have continued to use people for labor and to provide other services.’ He told me he had calculated a diet that would keep people at healthy work capacity with a minimal caloric intake. If he’d had his way, the wasteful killings would not have occurred. He said it was a distraction, and he knew it would not be tolerated by the outside world.

“‘Killing,’ he told me, ‘should be targeted, applied only to those who could never be contributing members of society.’ We won’t make that mistake with CleanSweep. Any need we have for eliminations will be done in a way that is humane and discreet. We aren’t monsters, after all.

“My father tried to keep us apart. He told me to forget that Nazi stuff. He insisted on my becoming a good citizen.”

Charles smiled. “Ah, but
mein Grossvater
would always find a way to tell me stories,” he said, proudly using the German word for
grandfather
. “Did you know the history of ethnic cleansing goes back to the early Crusades?

“He said the Americans practiced it, actually, with the native population. Talk about population relocations. Just read about the Trail of Tears sometime. Then Mexicans who happened to get in the way of national expansion to the west became targets, too. Perhaps that explains why there is still a backlash against immigrants speaking Spanish to this day.”

Winston nodded and sipped cognac, listening intently.

“The United States may have even slipped over the line and practiced a bit of genocide
—
if some of the stories from the early days of US involvement in the Philippines are accurate. Not to mention Wounded Knee.”

“And then there was the practice of slavery,” Winston noted.

“I don’t even know how to fit
that
into a category,” Charles admitted. “I do know that we must learn not to give in to excess. We also need to find a way to disguise any missteps if we slip up every now and then.”

Charles did something highly uncharacteristic next. He loosened his tie, and as if to emphasize such behavior was unconventional for him, he removed his loafers, using the toe
-
to
-
heel method to ease them off. His frown conveyed annoyance as he noticed a small hole in the toe of his left sock.

“I’ve never seen you so relaxed,” Winston said.

“Thanks to you,” Charles said, holding up his glass in a faux salute. “Thanks to you, my dear friend, this weekend went exactly as we’d hoped. Maybe even better.”

“Spencer and Sir Waverly,” Winston said with a sneering stress on the word
sir
, “were already on board. You didn’t have to worry, Charles. Waverly simply had to play the role of a politician and go through the due diligence of seeing the proof. He and his kind never make a move without knowing they have a strong tailwind at their backs. When the outcome is favorable, he will claim it was because of his leadership.”

Charles sipped cognac, knowing Winston had more to say. He was comfortable letting him set a leisurely pace.

“If the outcome turned unpleasant, a man like Waverly would be the first one giving media interviews to show he was against it from the start,” Winston snorted.

“He’s behind CleanSweep completely, though, yes?”

“He was from the beginning. He only needed you to flesh out the details he could use to spin the facts. He is possibly the most powerful man in government. No, make that the most
formidable
. Let me tell you how that influence came about,” Winston said. He leaned back in his chair.

“Waverly never set out to be a public figure. He was comfortable letting the face of the government be the representatives people already saw in the news. His prize was the power of money. He knew if he controlled money it would yield the ultimate influence in power.”

“He turned down all the offers of a cabinet appointment, didn’t he?” Claussen said.

“And he knew exactly what he was doing,” Winston replied as he paused to refill their glasses. “His hands would have been tied if he had a cabinet position
—
by public scrutiny. His way allowed him to be the master puppeteer, pulling the strings, unseen by any audience.

“In that movie
The Wizard of Oz
, the great and mighty Oz was revealed to be a fake when Dorothy pulled back the curtain. Waverly
is
like that, as we joked earlier, but he’s no fake. He’s not just hiding behind a scrim. He’s cleverly created a bulletproof curtain that will shield him from any attacks.”

“And you’re sure he’s on board with CleanSweep?

“Let me show you something.” Winston stood and walked to a small table in the corner. He took a small key from his pocket and unlocked its single drawer. He pulled out an envelope affixed with a notarized seal that straddled the edges of the flap. “Take a look at this,” he said, motioning Charles over.

Winston turned on a lamp and placed the envelope in the cone of light. “There’s an opener in the drawer.”

Charles sliced open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. As he scanned the document, his eyes widened and a broad smile graced his face. He read the text aloud.

LION’S HEAD ACCORD

This accord serves to define the formal agreement between the federal government and CleanSweep Enterprises, Ltd., and contracts with CleanSweep, Ltd. to implement and manage a pilot project to ensure the security of citizens living in the area designated as the Greater Toronto Area (GTA).

By special order of the government, this confidential decree grants agents of CleanSweep emergency powers to conduct inquiries, make arrests, interrogate detainees, and keep in confinement persons found to be a danger to the public order.

Agents of CleanSweep will be armed and will carry warrants that establish their powers of arrest and detention. Persons detained by the officers will not be entitled to appeal, and the right to habeas corpus is hereby suspended for individuals identified by CleanSweep as enemies of good order.

Agents of CleanSweep are also authorized to operate proprietary surveillance systems, with the authority to analyze all information acquired thereby, as needed to meet the terms of this accord.

Further, agents of CleanSweep will have access to the databases and surveillance records compiled by any local, regional, and federal police agencies.

The agents are granted instant subpoena power to obtain any private surveillance records of any commercial establishments, bank ATMs, traffic cameras, and any other recording equipment used within the area.

This order is granted by emergency legislation, enacted in secret session, for the well-being of the people.

Signed and dated,

Richard Waverly, Special Government Counsel

“You’ve had this all along, damn you!” Claussen said. His smile contradicted his attempt to sound annoyed.

Winston knew his protégé was ecstatic. “That’s my copy,” he said. “Waverly and I prepared it this past Monday to have it ready for this meeting. The decree is ready for quick implementation, but let him have his moment tomorrow when he officially hands you your personal copy. Can you act surprised?”

“What? Surprised at what? I have no idea what you are talking about.” He grinned as he handed the paper back to Winston.

In the kitchen, in a locked drawer, Ulrich’s radio recorded the sound of the two men laughing and laughing as they put the accord back in the envelope, back under lock and key. Their voices soon began to reveal how stressful the meeting had been and how the long hours had affected them.

“I need my sleep,” Winston said.

The hole in his sock no longer bothered Charles.

He savored the rich Courvoisier and said to his friend, “This is the best night of my life.”

CHAPTER 19

Once in Motion

T
he following morning, Winston Overstreet stood alone, hands clasped tightly behind his back. From the back deck of the lodge, he watched his last guest leave
—
Charles Claussen. Winston heard the helicopter’s engine whine, and the rotors began a slow turn until they gradually picked up speed. Claussen sat in the pilot seat with his hand on the controls.

Charles knew the windshield’s reflection kept his face concealed, but he still worked to hide a grin from view.

When he returned to Billy Bishop Airport in Toronto, his corporate jet had been prepped and, engines running, made ready to go. As soon as he landed the helicopter, he would transfer to the plane and be on his way back to his home office. Toronto had been the perfect choice for a trial run.

The city had no idea what lay in store.

Once airborne in the helicopter and heading southeast toward Toronto, he pressed the microphone switch. When the flight
-
plan formalities had been approved by the air traffic controllers, he changed to a separate frequency.

“It’s a go. I want the compliance team at secret home
-
base airfield in”
—
he looked at his watch
—
“two hours and thirty
-
six minutes. I expect all implementation details by then.”

He didn’t wait for an answer; he simply closed the communication circuit.

Annoyed
didn’t begin to describe his reaction when the traffic coordinator came on again. Claussen was given instructions that would delay his arrival in Toronto by seventeen minutes. He was furious, especially when he learned the delay was due to a huge gathering for the annual gay pride parade
—
all the television helicopters were hovering over it.

Altering course out over Lake Ontario, a view of Niagara Falls over his shoulder, he turned back north for his approach to Billy Bishop Airport. After finally landing in the designated area, he had to force himself to remain seated until the rotating blades came to a complete stop. He unfastened his shoulder harness, picked up his leather case, and stepped onto the tarmac.

He leaned forward, head down, and raced sideways until he reached the ramp to his corporate jet. He was eager to get back to his nerve center. The door scissor
-
folded into the fuselage behind him. He strapped himself into his seat and waited for the plane to taxi to the runway. When they reached altitude, he unstrapped his seat belt and walked forward to tap the pilot on the shoulder.

“That damn parade had to be today, didn’t it? Can we make up the time?”

“Easily,” said the pilot as he began a quiet conversation with air traffic control.

Once the jet landed, the pilot taxied at maximum speed to the corporate hangar and a waiting limousine. Claussen ran down the stairs without even acknowledging the slight bow from the driver as the man held the door open for his boss.

Claussen looked at the two men squeezed into the jump seats, their muscled arms straining their suit fabric. Angela Vaughn was waiting for him in the backseat of the limo.

“Tell me,” he ordered and sat back, waiting for one of them to start.

Murray Stewart, his chief of team operations, started first. “We’re on target. The training is complete, and squad leaders are going over every detail to make sure their teams are prepared to hit the ground running.”

“Facilities?” Charles snapped.

“The signs are going up now,” Reid Harris said. “The substations are ready to go. The detention center on Spadina is already open for business.” He waited for a laugh. Nobody did, though
—
least of all Claussen. “Headquarters on Broad Street has drawn a lot of attention from the curious,” he added. “Now they will know what it is.”

“What about transportation?” Charles wanted to know.

“Everything has been tested, retested, and then tested again. The sweeper vans have all been inspected for any mechanical problems. Buses and streetcars are ready,” said his chief of operations.

“What about up north?”

“The Moon Lake facility is fully operational. All personnel, from the facility manager to the cook’s helper, have been trained
—
”

“Security?” Claussen broke in.

“Tight,” Harris said, sounding offended. “The Moon Lake perimeter is secure, and all surveillance countermeasures are in place. Thanks to the program you designed, the satellites overhead will only see an image of what the pine forest looked like before construction began.”

Angela Vaughn nodded, reinforcing that security measures were all in place.

“What have we done about the contractors?” Claussen continued firing questions at his team in a machine
-
gun staccato.

“They have all been relocated,” Stewart said. No one in the limo needed to ask for a definition of
relocated
.

Charles tried to hide his excitement behind his harsh questioning. Finally, he turned to Angela. “Is our ‘distraction’ ready?”

“The e
-
mail from Waverly’s staffer came in.” She clicked her smartphone and looked at the screen. “The global economic conference has been scheduled, with the headquarters at the Royal York Hotel and overflow at the Sheraton and Trump Tower. People attending will like the old
-
school feel of the historic hotel.

“We have arranged an outdoor ceremony to be held in the square in front of City Hall. That will funnel thousands of people into a contained area, as planned. It will be perfect.”

“It
has
to be,” Charles almost spat as he spoke.

“I have arranged for Brunner and his hoodlums to do their part. We are already flying some in. Others are coming by train, and the rest will arrive by cars or vans. At my command, they will move in and start creating chaos. After the riots in 2010, the police think they’ll be ready this time,” she sneered. “But Brunner has over nine thousand men and women coming, all trained to incite violence.”

Nobody spoke as Charles Claussen digested the information. “What about secondary targets?”

“We’re ready, sir. The Distillery District is targeted. We have arranged for them to take out two key subway stations,” she said, working hard to avoid looking smug. “A team is designated to place explosives and bring down the overhead expressway at the Spadina ramp.” She smiled. “That should mess things up for a long time.”

“Waverly has promised,” Claussen said, “that when we can demonstrate that the police have been totally overwhelmed, he will see to it that the federal government will implement the Emergency Powers Act and place the metro area under national control. CleanSweep will become a reality.”

He stopped when his personal phone beeped. He listened, his hand closing tight around the instrument. His face turned white. The others, fearing the worst, waited.

Finally, he spoke.
“Mein Grossvater ist tot!”

He stared at the phone for a moment, then looked up. “I dedicate CleanSweep to
SS
-
Gruppenführer
Otto Klausmann.” He choked back emotion.

The only sound after that was the hum of the tires as the suspension system of the limo smoothed the ride.