The Land of the Free (5 page)

Cam Burrows crawled back under the
fence surrounding the San Gustavo complex, again disturbing the trip wire on
his way out.  He began the return hike to his Tahoe across the ridge, now
during the hottest time of day.  His water was running out just when he needed
it most.  He was talking to himself out loud. 
The climb will be the worst
part, so I’ll make my water last to the top.  After that, I’ll make it on
momentum.
  Behind him, several helicopters took to the air and flew right
over him, continuing over the ridge.  They did not seem to notice him, or so he
thought.  He made it to the top of the ridge and drank the final few ounces
from his canteen.  He could now see the gully where he had left the Tahoe, and
there was more water in there.  He made it down the hill in short order and
walked the dry riverbed for a few hundred feet.  As he was about to enter the
gully where he was parked, three armed men emerged from the gully and shouted
something he couldn’t understand.  It was not Spanish, he was sure of that.  He
had learned some Spanish, to communicate with the poor migrants he had to
intercept for a living.  It sounded so different.

Burrows turned around and ran in
the opposite direction down the dry riverbed, not knowing where he would go now
that he had been discovered, but sure he did not want to be caught.  As he ran
past a cluster of bushes, two more armed men emerged and one took a shot,
hitting him in the leg.  Burrows fell to the ground in pain, clutching his
wound, and preparing for the worst.  The armed man said something into his
radio and walked up to Burrows with his partner, still pointing his assault
rifle.  Seeing no point in trying to fight further, Burrows raised his hands in
the air.  One of the men took Burrows’ sidearm, while the other pulled him up
to a sitting position.  He then got his first close look at the man who had
just shot him.  “You’re not Mexican,” he said to the man.  He looked at the
other man.  “You’re Chinese.”

The helicopter arrived within
minutes of being called, and they loaded Burrows, together with the men who had
captured him.  They applied a tourniquet to his leg.  He was in some pain, but
was confident that they had not hit an artery.  He would survive if he got
medical attention.

…

“Welcome to San Gustavo, Officer
Burrows,” said the Chinese man dressed in a military uniform.  Burrows sat in
the infirmary after being treated for his bullet wound.  “We paid the locals
very well to leave us alone, so we knew you weren’t some Mexican drug smuggler
or anyone from the area.  You’re a nosy Border Patrol Agent.  I’m confident
your government does not even know you’re here.  I could have you executed
right now and nobody would ever know what became of you.”

Burrows said nothing and did not
look at his interrogator.  The Chinese man continued.  “I’m also not worried
that you even understand what this operation is about.  I won’t kill you yet. 
Not until I get instructions to do so.  If you’re lucky, they might have other
plans for you.  How does that sound?”

“Your people never gave Jason
Gilbert that courtesy, so why should I expect it now?”

“Our patrols have instructions to
avoid capture at all costs, Mr. Burrows.  They were simply following orders. 
You, on the other hand, are not a threat to us as long as you aren’t allowed to
describe what you saw here.”

“Laughlin will see you here before
long.  You can’t keep something like this secret.”

“We’ll see about that.  In the
meantime, I’ll put you up in a reasonably comfortable room.  You’ll be locked
in, of course, but I see no harm in being civil.  I may be ordered to kill you
soon anyway.”

“In that case, thank you for your
hospitality, Mr. uh –”

“General Kim.  My name is General
Kim, Mr. Burrows.”

Torres would receive his next
visitor in the Oval Office.  The formality of the office was essential to get
across the message he intended to send.  The fallout from Zheng’s visit and the
attempt on his life had left Torres despondent over his inability to control
the agenda.  He was glad to finally be able to take an action he knew to be
moral.   His phone beeped and announced the arrival of his visitor.  Torres
barked back with, “Tell him to wait.”  He was too preoccupied with what was to
come to actually do anything else, but he felt it essential to do this on
his
timetable.

Torres opened a dossier on Derek
Ellis, the founder and CEO of Morningstar Security Services.  He saw the
picture of the tall man with slightly graying but perfectly styled hair, about
50 years old, with an athletic build.  He was handsome enough to be an actor. 
He reviewed the notes that read,
Ellis is extremely well groomed, always has
perfect hair and never goes a day without shaving.  Ellis is obsessive about
his personal hygiene, including the excessive use of strong perfumes
.

Torres raised his eyes from the
dossier and flipped his reading glasses up off his face by pinching the
bridge. 
A sweet smell to cover up dirty work,
he thought to himself. 
It
seems Mr. Ellis has a subconscious awareness that what he does is evil.  It’s
funny how some things show through
.

Torres had suspended Morningstar’s
contracts several months ago, but the measure was officially temporary, pending
a review of their case.  That review was now complete, and Torres was going to
announce the final decision in person.

Torres checked the news on his
computer, read a few stories and shut it down.  He then picked up the phone,
buzzed the outside office and said, “Tell him to come in.”  The door opened and
Ellis walked in along with his overpowering scent.  “Good morning, Mr.
President.  Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Sit down, Mr. Ellis,” said Torres
tersely, signaling that this was not to be a pleasant exchange.

Derek Ellis sat down.  He was
imposing in such close proximity, particularly with his overwhelming perfume.

After some nervous silence, Ellis
started off.  “Sir, I’d like to make my case for you to restore Morningstar’s
status as preferred contractor.  Your predecessor clearly understood the value
we brought to your operations in Afghanistan.”

“You had a cozy arrangement with my
predecessor, didn’t you, Mr. Ellis?”

Ellis just nodded in reply.

“I’ve reviewed the history of your
involvement in Afghanistan, the rationale for hiring you in the first place,
and the allegations against you, proven and unproven.  It’s obvious to me that
there’s a pattern at work.  Your organization is a brutal collection of
mercenaries, with the morals of gangsters.  You are a disgrace to the United
States, and you have tarnished our reputation in the international community
for generations to come.  Possibly beyond repair.  The number of young Afghans
willing to fight us to the death has proliferated beyond all count, inspired by
the desire to avenge your actions.  I’m sticking to my decision.  For as long
as the United States maintains a presence in those countries, it will be our
professional soldiers who do the job.”

“The conduct of war is not always a
tidy affair Mr. President.  What you so dislike is seen by other international
leaders as effectiveness.”

“I anticipated that comment, Mr.
Ellis.  So I looked up the records of our other military contractors and
compared them to Morningstar.  We have similar intelligence issues in Iraq.  In
fact they exist on a larger scale than Afghanistan, but the contractors have at
least avoided widespread accusations of war crimes.  It’s only Morningstar that
seems to have this pattern of abuses.  I next spoke with various heads of state
that had any interactions with your organization.  Not one was willing to vouch
for your integrity and to the last, all were supremely relieved to not have to
face you anymore.”

Ellis interrupted. “I should think
they would say that.  We were at some point trying to overthrow or assassinate
half the world leaders we’ve dealt with.  We provide that service to the US
government.  No other contractor has had such an aggressive mandate.  Mr.
President, the charges come with the territory.”

“Regardless if that’s the case, the
reputation of your organization has become an albatross I cannot carry any
longer.  You may have acted at the instruction of the government, but you chose
to be brutal far beyond what was necessary.  I’ve issued an executive order
barring any agency of the US government from entering into any agreements with
Morningstar Security Services or you personally, Mr. Ellis.  I’ve also called
for an investigation by the Attorney General of what appear to be well founded
allegations of war crimes.”

“That’s a mistake, Mr. President,”
replied Ellis.  “Morningstar has more options than you’re aware of.”

“If that’s a threat Mr. Ellis, it’s
ill advised.  You have no allies with any power, and no Warren Commission is
going to cover up anything stupid you may be considering.  Now, get out of my
office and out of the White House, or I’ll have you arrested right now.”

Ellis was nothing if not practical,
so he realized this approach was at a dead end.  He got up and left without
another word.  Torres looked down at his notes as he did this, not giving Ellis
another glance.

…

Once Ellis was out of the area of
the White House, he picked up a phone he carried that was not registered in his
name, and made a call.

“It’s Ellis.”

“His decision was irrevocable.”

“I’ve reached that conclusion too.”

“I had initially agreed only to
plan it out.”

“No, there’s nobody else who could
run it properly.”

“And my subsequent role?”

“That will work for me.  I still
have a few inquiries out there.  Give me 24 hours.  If nothing lands, I’m in.”

“I need to fax this memo to you,”
said Evan Bozak, on the phone with Robbie first thing that morning.  “I can’t
email it.  If my emails were ever read, I’d be dead meat.”

“What’s the fuss?”

“It’s about San Marcos.  The memo
speaks for itself, but there’s also this.  The place here is buzzing about a
special payment that’s just been okayed by the CFO.  They’re writing a check
for $20 million to Morningstar Security Services.  Have you heard of them?”

“Yeah, they’re a paramilitary
group.  They got kicked out of Afghanistan, if I’m not mistaken.  And we’re
paying them 20 million?  That’s a big chunk of change.”

“Rumor is there’s more to come.  I
heard they’ve signed on for three more payments of $10 million each.  And it’s
just booked as ‘services rendered.’”

“That’s nuts,” replied Robbie. 
“There’s no way to hide that in a financial statement.  The auditors will
flip.  Do you know what the payment is really for?”

“I don’t know, but I have a guess. 
Remember when we talked in Kingston and I said I thought what’s going down in
San Marcos is actually the only reason Smithfield bought out Tilbury?”

“Sure, that comment’s fresh in my
mind.”

“Well, I’m as sure of it as ever. 
The memo talks about modifying shipping containers for a specific operation
that’s supposed to go down this fall.”

“What sort of operation do you
think it is?”

“I’ve heard a rumor.  I don’t want
to say anything more right now.”

“How about you call me at home
tonight then?” asked Robbie.

“I’ll do that.  Meanwhile, you read
the memo and decide what you think it means.  We’ll talk about it tonight.”

“Okay, let me give you a different
fax number.  I don’t want this going to the common area where anyone could read
it as it’s printing out.”

Robbie Linssman moved hastily to
the fax machine, almost running.  The little used inkjet slowly printed his
message as he fidgeted impatiently.  As he read the memo, Robbie thought he
might know what the operation was.  Evan was right to hold off discussing it
until they were away from the office, because if this was real, their lives
would be in jeopardy if it was known they had this information.  Robbie was
unable to concentrate on his work for the remainder of the day, and had no
appetite for his dinner.  All he could think about now was the call to come
from Bozak, and what he thought his friend would say.

Time passed, and no call came. 
Finally late for bed and unable to bear the suspense any longer, Robbie called
Evan’s house to find out what had happened.

“Shirley, it’s Robbie Linssman.”

“Robbie, have you heard from Evan?”

“No, that’s why I’m calling.  I was
expecting a call from him tonight.”

“He hasn’t come home.  He almost
never stays out late, and he always tells me if he’s planning it.  But he
hasn’t said anything today.”

“I think you should call the police
right away.  I have a bad feeling about this.”

One week after Zheng’s visit to the
White House, a memo from the State Department arrived at the Chinese Embassy. 
The signature was that of an undersecretary of State, leaving an unmistakable
message.  The matter was not a priority for the US government.  Across the
Pacific, the USS Clinton carrier battle group was arriving in the Yellow Sea
for exercises with the South Korean navy.  What was not widely discussed was
that the extent of American deployment not only in Iraq and Afghanistan, but
even in stable regions of the world had stretched America’s forces too far. 
Following discussions between Defense Secretary Tyler Matheson and Hanna
Morgensen, who insisted that Matheson “simply find the troops somewhere,”
forces were sent to Taiwan, leaving America nearly undefended.  Even National
Guard troops were depleted to the point of irrelevance.

Torres’ Friday morning meeting was
with Morgensen, Tyler Matheson and Treasury Secretary Tom Gallant.  “It’s about
midnight in Beijing right now.  It’s probably a couple of hours since they
learned that we ignored their demands.  It’s also likely that they’ve been
briefed on our military moves.  Any thoughts on what to expect?”

“Much of their reaction will be
preplanned,” replied Morgensen without a hint of prickliness.  “Anything in the
financial markets could occur as early as today.  Any military action might
happen in the next day or two.  Perhaps Mr. Gallant can fill us in on moves
they might make and what countermeasures we intend to take.”

Gallant was doodling something on
his notepad and looked up, startled at being called upon to express an
opinion.  “What are you thinking they’ll do?”

Torres cringed momentarily then
stepped in to defend his Treasury Secretary.  “Tom, yields on 10-year
Treasuries and gold prices are of most interest.  Are you seeing any action
there?”

“Nothing,” said Gallant, quickly
scanning his laptop.  “It looks like the price hasn’t moved since last
evening.”

“The markets haven’t opened yet,
Tom,” said Morgensen with a wry smile at the obvious embarrassment he had
incurred.  “The Asian markets are closed for the weekend, so only London is
open.  And I’ll help you out here.  It’s been a relatively quiet day by recent
standards.  Gold looks like it’s down a little and yields on the T-bill are
down, but only a little.  This afternoon might look different.”

“Tyler, what about Defense?” asked
Torres.

Matheson had a folder open and was
ready for the question.  “Deployments are underway in Taiwan, and the Clinton
has inserted into Korea’s waters.  I haven’t heard of any reactions yet.”

Torres nodded to acknowledge
Matheson then added, “Let’s keep on top of the situation.  Hanna, Tyler, keep
me informed of any anomalous actions by the Chinese or North Koreans.  Tom,
convene the Working Group on Financial Markets.  Be ready to intervene in
suppressing gold and boosting Treasuries.  I don’t want any signs of a
financial panic spreading beyond your office.”

Gallant looked lost, and Morgensen
noticed this.  “Tom, it’s the Plunge Protection Team, and you’re the chairman,
remember?”

The Plunge Protection Team, as it
was called informally, was created by an executive order signed by Ronald
Reagan in response to the 1987 market crash known as “Black Monday.”  It
consisted of the Fed Chairman, the Treasury Secretary, and the heads of the SEC
and CFTC (commodity trading regulatory body).  The group existed officially to
give recommendations to keep markets functioning smoothly, but it was widely
believed that they regularly exceeded their mandate and purchased securities to
prop them up.  Critics argued that this amounted to a destabilizing influence,
since they never intervened to prevent markets from becoming overvalued, only
to prevent an overvalued state from correcting.

Gallant replied to Morgensen’s
taunt with a terse “of course I do,” and excused himself as the meeting
adjourned.

…

When the Plunge Protection Team
intervened in markets, the scope of the intervention was always limited by the
willingness of the Federal Reserve to create new dollars to purchase assets. 
But today, Torres’ instructions were that there could be no hesitation.  There
could be no losses in the major indices, in Treasury bonds, or any run on
gold.  If the Fed ran up big positions, it could unwind them in coming weeks.

Gallant raised his hand and asked
“How do we prevent gold from running up?  We don’t really have any unencumbered
inventory.”

Torres looked at Gallant, puzzled. 
“We have over 8,000 tons of gold according to my notes.”

“Yes Sir, we
technically
own
over 8,000 tons,” replied Gallant.  “But we don’t actually have possession of
it.  It’s been leased to banks who’ve sold it.  So while we own it, other
people also own it, and they have it in their possession.”

“Is anything in government
transparent?” asked Torres in obvious disgust.

Fed Chairman Rudolph Havenstein
answered him.  “That’s not too complicated.  We can sell short digital gold. 
There’s no real requirement for having unencumbered inventory.  And doing so
will help offset the expansion of our balance sheet in any case.”

Torres was still not convinced. 
“So what happens if everyone asks for their physical gold at once?”

Havenstein replied calmly, “It
won’t happen.  Everyone knows they’ll get the market value of their gold paid
out in cash.”

“But it’s happened recently, where
the futures contracts for gold failed to deliver, I think to the Chinese
specifically,” objected Torres.

CFTC chairman David Kone tried to
put Torres at ease. “Sir, the exchange is only obligated to pay the dollar
equivalent of the gold.  The Chinese knew they would get their money, and they
did.  They simply chose to demand physical gold to make a point.”

“They sure did,” said Torres, not
willing to give Kone all the details.  He was about to leave when Havenstein
stopped him.

“Mr. President, I need to see you
about certain fiscal matters once this issue is settled.”

“Of course.  Ask Gerry Levine to
set something up.”