American Emperor
A Novel by T. Emerson May
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 T. Emerson May
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Foreword
I was halfway through this novel when I decided I didn’t like the original title. So I removed the title and thought of a new one. I settled on the title the work now bears. I wanted to pay homage to a man whom few people know: General Smedley Butler.
Smedley Darlington Butler (July 30, 1881 – June 21, 1940) was a Major General in the U.S. Marine Corps, an outspoken critic of U.S. military adventurism, and at the time of his death the most decorated Marine in U.S. history.
During his 34-year career as a Marine, he participated in military actions in the Philippines, China, in Central America and the Caribbean during the Banana Wars, and France in World War I. By the end of his career, he had received 16 medals, five for heroism. He is one of 19 men to twice receive the Medal of Honor, one of three to be awarded both the Marine Corps Brevet Medal and the Medal of Honor, and the only man to be awarded the Brevet Medal and two Medals of Honor, all for separate actions. In the 1930s, following his retirement, he gave a speech in which he spoke out against American adventurism and empire building. This speech later was expanded into a book titled War is a Racket. In it he detailed the profits which certain companies made per year before and after World War I. He proclaimed that the only excuse that America should use for war is to retaliate against a foreign power that first attacked us. He also advocated removing all American forces from overseas bases.
It would be rare to even see this man’s name in print in modern America, since we seem to be engaged in a war somewhere all the time. It is unlikely that the powers behind our wars would want this man’s views before the American public. I believe that only a military man has the insight to condemn war. Only a man who has seen combat can know the awful toll it takes on those who are engaged in it and then must return to a semblance of normalcy after the war. Only a general can know the cost of caring for those who are wounded and disfigured by war.
If those few who might read this book bother to carry on the memory of General Butler, then my effort in writing it will be vindicated. This is not a story about General Butler, but rather about a general who subscribes to the views which defined Butler.
Chapter One
General Stanley Castle, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, had made up his mind. After thirty six years in the service of his country, he would hand in his papers. He would resign. He no longer believed in the policies that had defined the past two presidents, with respect to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He no longer believed in the war on terror, that nebulous policy that marked anyone as an enemy who was Muslim and who entertained hatred towards the United States. He wasn’t entirely certain what he believed in, but he had defined exactly what he did not believe in, and so it seemed clear to him that he could no longer support the government which he had come to mistrust and despise. He viewed the president and the Congress as a circus of clowns, inept and incompetent, obsessed with secrecy and intent on nothing more than re-election and the accumulation of wealth and privilege. He had watched the country he loved so much descend into a financial quagmire, beginning with an ill advised mortgage crisis and continuing with deficit spending that had ballooned the national debt to over fifteen trillion dollars. Though not an economist, he intuitively knew that the debt would never be paid down, not at that level or without inflating the currency to a level that would essentially make the national currency worthless.
In the beginning, as a young lieutenant fresh out of West Point, he saw himself as a righteous warrior, ready to go to war to defend his nation, his homeland. In fact in his first assignment after West Point, he had seen limited service in Viet Nam as a platoon leader as the war was winding down. He had won a Bronze Star for gallantry, had saved the lives of two of his men, had come home filled with pride. Assignments in the Balkans in the Nineties, three tours in Iraq in Desert Storm and the second Iraq war, and in Afghanistan had added to his legend among his peers and within government circles. Now he was a four-star general, as high a rank as any man could attain in the US army. He could look back with unmitigated pride at a career filled with achievement and bravery. His chest was covered with awards truly won in war and in peace, Silver Star, Bronze Star, Distinguished Service Medal, foreign commendations and awards, two Purple Hearts. But he had become cynical as the years had passed. He viewed with contempt those civilians who commanded him, his defense secretaries, Congress and the White House. Retirement was the only sensible alternative to a man of honor, a man who still loved his dysfunctional country.
The knock at the door of his Pentagon office snapped his reverie.
“Come.” His words were always concise and measured, never prolix, never abundant.
“General, your meeting with SecDef in twenty minutes.” His aide, Major Tom Watkins, a family friend and someone he trusted was at the door. Castle had picked him out of the crowd when he assumed his current post as Chairman, Joint Chiefs. Like himself, Watkins came from a long line of military men, and their two families had intertwined for over seventy years. Watkins’ father had been a personal friend of Castle until his death in Kosovo. Castle viewed Watkins as a son rather than a subordinate.
“Thanks, Tom. You have the briefing presentation ready?”
“Yes, sir. On your laptop.” He referred to the PowerPoint file, that methodology now de rigueur in the modern army. He knew his civilian superiors were visually inclined, and pretended to understand complex military data if presented on a slideshow, cast on a large screen in the briefing room. So he would take his laptop and click the PowerPoint presentation, as he had done for months, satisfying the inept secretary of defense and his coterie with visual gibberish.
“OK. Let’s go ahead and leave then. Bring my trusty laptop, Tom.” Castle rose from his chair, tall and thin, muscular and deliberate. He ate a single meal each day and his fat to muscle ratio was extremely low. His hair was close cropped and slightly receding, his facial features chiseled as from a single block of granite. Castle was the scholar-general, stoic and learned. He read Latin and classic Greek, not perfectly but well enough to appreciate Aurelius, Cicero, Caesar, Epictetus and others of the classic age. He was at home reading classics as he was preparing a major campaign in Iraq or Afghanistan. In his life there was nothing of excess. He was the classic minimalist, the reincarnation of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.
Watkins grabbed the laptop and followed Castle out the door, closing the outer door behind him as the two walked down the hallway of the Pentagon, towards the daily briefing with the Secretary of Defense. Another day, another briefing, thought Castle.
The briefing over, and with time to reflect on his decision to retire, he composed a simple letter of resignation, befitting a man of his nature and personality. It read simply,
“To whom it may concern:
I hereby submit my resignation, effective the 31st day of December, the present.
(Signed) Stanley R. Castle, General.”
Simple and direct, minimal and without fanfare or excess. His aide, Major Watkins delivered the letter to the secretary of defense without extensive conversation with Castle. He had suspected in recent months that Castle was struggling with his decision to resign from the army. Their many conversations, succinct as they were, revealed to Watkins a man whose love of country conflicted with his contempt for the administration. Although he was disappointed, he was not surprised at Castle’s decision and his manner of announcing that decision. It did come, however, as a complete surprise to the defense secretary and his underlings. Upon receipt of the letter, he was tempted to call Castle and protest his decision, but in the end he simply called the president and dropped the news on him. As a good obsequious subordinate, he opted to allow the president to digest the news instead.
Castle received the call from the president, a call he knew would come. He had steeled himself for the call, although he did not fear the inevitable and certainly did not fear talking to the president, a man he did not like nor respect.
“Stan, your letter of resignation came as a surprise. I suppose that would be an understatement,” began the president.
“Only to you, Mister President. I have rolled it around in my mind for some time now.” Castle furrowed his brow when thinking of the president’s question.
“It would have been nice if you had talked to me about it first. After all, I selected you for this job a year ago.” The president tapped a pencil on the desk as he talked.
“If I had talked to you about it, it would have changed nothing. I just wanted to do it, to get it out of the way.” Castle’s tone was even and without discernible emotion.
“You’re a very important part of this administration, Stan. You know that. What can I do to change your mind?” The president had few cards to play in this game. He knew that Castle was not fond of him; in fact it was obvious they did not see eye to eye on policy matters.
“I’m afraid there is nothing you can do. My mind was made up a month ago. Today just seemed like a good day to make it official. You know we have great differences in policy. You know I don’t agree with your stand on the Middle East issues. We have basic differences in many areas.” Castle was trying to contain his irritation.
“Stan, you’re a good soldier. You’ve served this county admirably. Surely another year on the job is doable, isn’t it? Can’t it wait until after the election?”
The one thing Castle did not want to hear was some pathetic reference to an election, and for a brief moment Castle became angry, an emotion he rarely exhibited. “Mister President, I don’t give a damn if you lose next year. Considering your record, I think there’s a pretty good chance you will lose, and keeping me around would have damn little effect on that.”
“There’s no call for that, General. No call at all. Have a good day.” The president slammed the phone in the receiver. “Arrogant bastard,” he muttered to himself.
“Incompetent buffoon,” whispered Castle to a now dead phone.
The report of his resignation hit the news within a day. Washington newspapers and television fed the national networks so that by the ten o’clock news all America knew that his resignation held a hidden meaning, that something was not quite right about the unexpected departure. There had been leaks that Castle had been highly critical of the current administration, and he had made speeches without tacit approval of his civilian bosses, speeches that suggested that things were not quite cordial between him and the administration. His decision had embarrassed the president, who had recently lauded Castle as a man of honor, service and bravery. Publicly the president had no choice but to honor Castle with a show of ceremony and an award for his long service. Privately he damned Castle for his abrupt departure and the implication that there was a rift between them. But then, the president was a politician who was, first and foremost, concerned with his own image and popularity. The president made no effort to understand why the general had announced his retirement; that would have shown empathy and concern, two qualities which most politicians held in contempt.
To add insult to injury, the president and the secretary of defense found it necessary to preside over a public ceremony, lauding the man they both detested, pinning a going-away medal on him in recognition of his long service. TV cameras could not detect a single utterance that would belie the enmity between the two men and Castle. They all played their roles perfectly.
Chapter Two
Stanley Castle and his wife spent a week planning the move away from Washington. The holidays were near and they had to decide where to move, to buy or lease a home or condo. His wife took charge, as she had done many times during Castle’s long career, having moved with every new assignment. His wife Cheryl, a lovely woman of quality from a modestly wealthy family of St. Louis had packed and unpacked their Spartan belongings from Germany to Japan to bleak outposts in Alaska and in Washington, DC. In the end they decided to remain in the capital area, where most of their friends now lived. Cheryl had met and had fallen in love with Stan Castle when he was posted to Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, following his tour in Viet Nam. Castle, a Missourian himself, had met Cheryl at a social function in St. Louis and their courtship was brief and passionate. Two months later they married, contrary to the wishes of her family who had wanted it to be a grand social event, befitting their status as one of the social elite of that grand old city. She was a young, headstrong woman who would waste no time on long engagements and social folderol. She wanted this handsome young lieutenant for herself before he was shipped out to God knows where.
Like all army wives, she endured years alone while her husband rose through the ranks with tours in the Balkans, in Iraq three times and in Afghanistan twice. At last she could have a home to settle in, to decorate, and to gather stuff which she had never been able to gather. No more base housing, even the more elegant homes reserved for generals.
In the end they selected a lovely home in Georgetown, modest as befits a man of Spartan needs, but socially acceptable as would satisfy a woman who was born to wealth and had waited over thirty five years for such a place to call home. Stanley Castle assigned the entire task of house selection, decoration, fitting to his wife, who was infinitely better qualified to make those decisions. For himself, he could have slept in a cubicle but he understood the needs of a wife who had foregone the pleasure of a home for three decades.
“Stan, I know we’re going to be happy here. You still have your friends in the DC area and I can entertain. I miss the balls and cotillions of Saint Louis.” She had been raised in wealth and was a part of the Saint Louis social circles, which included many events of black tie and gown nature.
“I know you do, Cheryl. You’ve put up with so many years of my life. Now it’s time for you. This is your time.” He emphasized your to let her know how much he cared for her, how much he appreciated the years of devotion and deprivation, the years alone. In fact he was still very much in love with his wife. He had seldom strayed in the years they had been married, though the opportunities were many and the temptations great. In that respect he was traditional and old-fashioned. He had made vows and he tried to abide by them. Castle had trained himself to accommodate the requirement of the social graces in his years in the army. As a four-star general, indeed as a captain and major, he was expected to conduct himself well in social gatherings, parties, ceremonies. His wife had certainly helped him with the subtleties of social graces….how to bow, how to kiss a lady’s hand, how to dance well and other such things. He found that he did rather well at these gatherings. His handsomeness helped of course. Ladies young and old found themselves attracted to him, and this helped in his acceptance as a social animal. Dressed in full regalia, medals arrayed, tall and slender, straight as a pole, he struck quite a handsome figure.
In the course of his tenure as Chairman, Joint Chiefs, politicians began to notice him also. Until that time he had never spent more than a few days or perhaps a week in Washington. As chairman, he came into everyday contact with senators, congressmen and women, party officials and powers in the capital. He soon learned that not all political power resided in the White House nor Congress. He discerned that the real power of the capital lay somewhere in a nebulous place he liked to call “The political subterranean,” composed of wealthy bankers, industrialists, old money. These were the men who went off to the Bilderberg meetings, the meeting at the Bohemian Grove in California, meetings at Jackson Hole and other such places. Castle knew this but said nothing. He was a loyal soldier and said nothing.
It was at a social gathering that Castle was approached soon after he had announced his retirement. At his home, hosting a Christmas gathering which Cheryl had prepared, Harold McKinley, long time member of the Council on Foreign Relations greeted Castle with a handshake and asked, “Stan, now that you’re almost a civilian, what are your plans? Have you thought about running for office?”
“I must confess, Hal, that I have never thought about politics, that is running for office.” Castle had known McKinley only since his own appointment to the CFR a year earlier and had found him to be an agreeable, if somewhat mysterious fellow. The CFR had accepted Castle’s nomination as a matter of course as soon as he was appointed to the chairman’s position. They always sought to keep higher military members in the fold.
“You ought to give it some thought, Stan. The Republicans are having a devil of a time finding someone to break out of the pack. I think you could be their White Knight.”
“You really think so?” Castle cocked his head to one side while saying it.
“I really do, yes. Give it some thought.” With that, McKinley turned and walked away to chat with another CFR member. Castle was left to ruminate on what had just transpired.
He thought to himself, “Run for president? Me? I wonder how Cheryl would react to that. Probably not well. Why would Hal McKinley even make that suggestion? Is he asking as a friend or as a CFR man? Hmmm. Food for thought.” Almost before he finished his rumination, McKinley came back to Castle with another man in tow.
“Stan, I wonder if you’ve met William Portman. He asked me to introduce him to you. Bill, I’d like you to meet General Stan Castle.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Castle responded.
“No, the pleasure is mine, sir. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Your retirement has sort of shaken things up in the administration.”
“It was not designed to do that. I just felt it was time to go.”
“Stan, Bill is a former Fed official and currently is on the board of several corporations. I failed to mention that, didn’t I?” said McKinley.
“Well, not several. Just three. It keeps me busy.” Portman kept his eyes on Castle to deduce any body language that would reveal his reaction to the moment. He saw none. Castle was not given to reveal his emotions, either by language spoken or non-spoken. Portman smiled at that. He thought to himself, “Ice water for blood. The man is so self-controlled. Everything they said about him is true.”
“Three corporate boards. Very impressive, sir. Any that I would be familiar with?”
“Call me Bill, Stan. Yes, two of them do a lot of business with the military. United Technology and Spartan Aircraft. Spartan perfected the modern drone aircraft.” He said that with obvious pride but not arrogance. Castle liked that.
“Ah, of course. We used those extensively in both Iraq and A’ Stan. Since I didn’t work in procurement, I never knew who supplied them.”
“But you were the first to understand their value. You testified in front of a senate committee, as I recall.”
“Yes, I did. Good of you to remember that. Were you at the committee meeting? As I recall it was a closed finding meeting.” Castle was fishing for how Portman would know that about him and how he knew about the committee meeting.
“Senator Fuller Albright is a good friend of mine. I contribute to his election fund. We shared a bottle of vodka one evening. He keeps me apprised.” Portman was now fishing. He wanted to sense Castle’s reaction to the fact that Albright would share privileged information with a contributor. Portman was pleased with Castle’s reply.
“Better that you heard it from him than from CNN. After all, your company made the craft.” Castle masked his inner displeasure at having a contributor gaining inside information about government contracts.
“Actually, we make the guidance and control systems and software. Another company of mine makes the airframe.”
Castle just smiled. He was not sure if he was being tested, to learn of such blatant corruption on the part of a senator and a corporate bigwig or whether Portman was leading up to something else. He did not have to wait long for the answer.
“Stan, Harold tells me he proposed the idea of your seeking the presidential nomination. Any thought you might consider that?”
“Way too early for me to consider that until I actually leave the army, Bill, but I have to admit it does interest me. I can’t see me spending my life fishing and playing golf.”
“Stan, the presidential race is already under way. I assume you are Republican considering your differences with the president. Would I be right? You could leave the army right now. I can see to that. You’ll have to make a move before Christmas. New Hampshire and Iowa are coming up fast.”
“I’ve never registered as either Dem or Repub, Bill. I tend to see the world as a moderate or conservative, so I guess that marks me as a Repub, since we only have two choices in the US system of politics.” As he said that, Portman detected some cynicism at the comment about the two-party system.
“You think there’s a place for a third party?” asked McKinley, who until now had stepped aside to allow Portman and Castle the floor.
“I have always thought that there are more than two points of view on our society, our politics, but I understand that it tends to eliminate gridlock with a two-party system, until now that is. Now we seem to be gridlocked, don’t we? Americans are comfortable with a winner and loser. We have that everywhere, in sports, in other competitions.”
“Very perceptive, Stan,” said Portman. “Especially about the gridlock we have now. How would you unlock it, if you were president?”
“Under our system, there isn’t much the president can do about it. Two houses of Congress, one red, the other blue. Either side can lock things up. All the president can do is veto and rant and rave. Vetoes just add to gridlock. There have always been two governments here, though. The elected ones and the civil servants. In spite of the idiocy of the elected ones, the civil servants keep things moving. They are the oil that lubricates the machine. In spite of some of the nonsense performed by elected officials, the other government keeps the machine greased. The Chinese understood that centuries ago, with their competitive civil service exam system. The emperors knew they had to rely on bureaucrats to accomplish the day to day things.”
Portman smiled as he listened to Castle speak. He liked the brevity, the succinctness, the clarity of his thoughts. Then he asked, “So do you think our civil servants measure up to the Chinese that you just described?”
“I think there are many excellent career people in our government in the technical and the military that I’m familiar with. I’m sure there are also thousands of good civil servants in other departments, in medical, parks, the treasury and so on.”
“So how do you think they feel when they see elected people make a mess of things, as they seem to be doing right now?”
“I know exactly how they feel. It galls them. From my own experience, I know it galls them. Not just me personally but many others that I’ve talked to, in and out of uniform.” Castle realized that he might be saying too much, so he took a deep breath and asked, “I assume this is all off the record, Bill and Hal?”
“Of course it is,” said McKinley with a sly smile and a quick wink of the eye.
“Certainly. We’re just exchanging views. Why don’t we meet later in the week and talk some more about your decision to look at running?”
“No need to wait. I’m in. I will need to pass this by Cheryl. If she says ‘Go’, I’m in. What’s our next step?”
“How do you think she will react to your decision?”
“She has followed me for thirty five years. No reason to think that has changed.”
“We need to form a committee, start filing papers with the various states. You need to get a campaign manager. The usual. Have anyone in mind as your campaign manager?”
“Actually, I do. My aide, Tom Watkins.”
“Does he have any political experience? Has he ever run a campaign?” asked McKinley with a quizzical look on his face.
“No, but he planned the capture of Al-Mawahi in A’ Stan. Pretty intricate campaign.”
Portman laughed and said, “Sounds like the right man. Outsider with brains. You understand that political campaigns are dirtier than combat. Your opponents will come after you with knives and guns.”
Castle smiled. “I’ve been attacked by worse. I know what I’m up against.”
“They will go after any peccadillo you might have hidden in your past. Is there anything we need to know now that might come up in the campaign?” asked McKinley. He emphasized “anything” in his question. “Any kids, any drunken orgies, anything?”
“No, no mistresses, no illegitimate kids. My life has been pretty dull.”
“All right. Let’s assume you’re a go, general. Have that talk with your wife soon. Time is not on our side,” added Portman as he shook Castle’s hand with a firm grasp.
Chapter Three
The next morning, at breakfast, Castle waited until his wife prepared her toast and jam and filled her cup with coffee. “Cheryl, I had an interesting chat with a couple of gentlemen last night at the party. Bill Portman and Hal McKinley. Do you remember those guys, or did you meet them?” The two were eating a late breakfast and Castle chose this time to broach the subject of running for president.
“I talked to both of them, actually. They want you to run for president. I told them that I thought it was a great idea.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You never cease to amaze me, hon. Did they talk to you first? Before they asked me?”
“No, I talked to Hal and he talked to Portman. Then they came over and approached you.” His wife said that with an air of casualness that made Castle smile.
“So it was sort of your idea?” Castle raised his eyebrows in mock disbelief.
“Umm, yes, as a matter of fact. I told Hal I thought you would be wasting a lot of good years in retirement if you sat around reading classics and teaching a course at Georgetown or some other school.”
“You did, eh? So you want me out of the house?”
“Exactly.” Then she leaned across the table and kissed him on the mouth. “Stan, I think you’d make the best damn president since Harry Truman. The country needs you right now. Besides we would get free rent in the White House. And imagine the galas I could throw there!” She made a mock gesture with her hands to illustrate her feigned exuberance.
“A woman’s take on it, eh? OK, I’m in for sure then. Last chance to say no.”
“I’d never say no to you, Stan. Go for it.”
“You know they will dissect our lives and try to smoke out anything that we did thirty years ago, don’t you?”
“I know. Our lives have been pretty dull, actually. What can they find?”
“Nothing that I know of. I never smoked pot. I never frequented whorehouses. I only got drunk twice in my life. How about you?”
“No lovers. No hidden bottles of gin. No bank robberies.” Now they were being frivolous and teasing. “Let them look.”
“Aside from that, they will attack my stance on many issues. You know how I feel about issues that America faces. We’ve talked about them for years, you and I.”
“Yes, and what you have to do is speak to those issues as eloquently as you do to me. The American people are tired of politicians. They’re tired of grubby people making a home in the senate and house, collecting fat pensions for doing nothing. They’re tired of kicking the can down the road. God, I hate that expression and I don’t know why I used it.” Then she laughed that lilting laugh that had captivated Stand Castle so long ago.
“How do you feel about campaigning with me, making speeches and all that?”
“Of course I will. As long as I get to pick my fights.”
“What fights are you willing to fight?” asked Castle.
“Women’s issues. Education, health, those issues. I won’t tackle foreign affairs, economics, military. Those are your bailiwicks.”
“How about women in the military?”
“Your bailiwick, sweetie.” She smiled that smile that spoke words of finality.
“You know, here we are talking as though I have this sewed up. I haven’t actually been endorsed by the big guns, McKinley, Portman, and others. I wonder when we make it official. All we have is a chat after two glasses of wine,” said Castle.
“They will. But if you’re worried, give one of them a call.”
Chapter Four
Hal McKinley, William Portman, Helen Sidion and Sylvester Krauss sat around a large table in a very large conference room in Krauss’ office in New York. Helen Sidion, the widow, inheritor and controller of her husband’s large corporate holdings and Krauss, banker, investor and corporate raider, represented over thirty billion dollars of wealth and influence. Sidion was a tall, distinguished woman in her late fifties, with slightly graying hair and a flinty set of eyes which had cowed many junior executives. Krauss was an unremarkable, unassuming man, wide at the girth, short and sixtyish. Together with McKinley and Portman the total wealth represented at the table approached seventy billion dollars. But it was not just money that they had accumulated over the years. It was much more than that. They were Ivy League insiders, New York bankers and corporate chiefs, political insiders. They were comfortable at a table with heads of state, foreign ministers, four-star generals, Arab sheiks. They understood power and they knew how to wield it. It was this power which they planned to use with General Stanley Castle, soon to be retired from the army, soon to announce for president of the country.
“Is Castle our man?” asked Krauss succinctly. His question was directed to the other three at the table, towards any who would respond.
“I believe he is,” answered Hal McKinley.
“I second that, Hal. He is exactly the right man at the right time.” Portman immediately seconded McKinley’s endorsement.
Helen Sidion then asked, “What did you see in him that convinced you of that?”
“He is creative and forceful. He is a great leader, but he’s used to taking orders and is loyal to the country,” said Portman. “I think he’ll do as he’s told without being a wimp.”
“Good point, Bill. We could get a trained monkey to do as we tell him. We need someone who can pull us out of this damned mess we’re in now. People are getting restless. I think a military man is just the right guy.” Helen Sidion was obviously impressed with the choice Hal and Bill had made. “We obviously made a poor judgment on our current president. I hope we do a bit better with Castle.”
“Restless is an understatement, Helen. Hell, we got people camped on Wall Street, defecating in the streets, throwing garbage all over. If old Mac was alive we could send him in there and arrest the whole bunch.” Portman was referring to General MacArthur’s ruthless treatment of the Bonus Marchers on Washington in the Nineteen-Thirties. Some of those veterans were killed; many were wounded in MacArthur’s action.
“Yep, people won’t stand for that nowadays. The country is too feel-good to pull something like off,” said McKinley. “We should have toughened the populace up instead of emphasizing liberal ideas over the past thirty years. That hasn’t worked. It’s our own damn fault.”
“What’s done is done, Hal,” said Sidion. “We thought we were dealing with a smarter population, but it turned out the people are just a group of dumb-ass children. As long as they have their TVs, cars, iPads and cell phones, they seem to be happy.” Helen Sidion’s sarcasm and cynicism was blatant but shared by the other three, who felt it was their responsibility to soothe the populace with watered down television, electronic toys, football and baseball. They accomplished this by buying presidents and congressmen, influencing them to pass laws that enabled their vision of what an American, indeed a world society should be. That vision included the amassing of money, controlling, influencing and imposing values and mores on the people. They all belonged to a larger group of “influencers”, the “committee” as it were. They met with the Bilderbergers in the summer and in California at the Bohemian Grove where they elected presidents of their choice. How they did this was a marvel of intrepidity. Through the television networks they produced shows incorporating ideas of social integration. The movies they produced always included themes of integration and social togetherness, because they felt it important to spread ideas of equality, ethnic integration and cooperation. The television shows always showed an African-American in charge, often a female. This was the committee’s idea of the new society, the new America.
Now another presidential election was on the horizon, and the committee needed to find someone to run against the incumbent, who clearly had not inspired the people of the United States. True, they had selected him to win, four years earlier. He had been seemingly the perfect choice, intelligent, calm, and charismatic. But the committee made mistakes. They were not perfect in their decisions. They had wagered on unlimited oil after World War Two and had encouraged every American to live the dream of a car, a house, two children and back yard barbecues. They had been shortsighted. The oil was running low worldwide and far too expensive to sustain a voracious world economy. So they promoted the idea of hybrid cars, battery powered vehicles relying on lithium. But lithium was in short supply except in Bolivia, which controlled almost all the world’s supply. China had risen from a peasant-based society, largely agricultural to a world power based on manufacturing for the entire world. They were consuming immeasurable amounts of petroleum, steel, copper and of course, lithium. And they were building a large army, air force and navy to challenge the United States in the Pacific.
Now the country was mired in a recession which threatened to be worse than the Great Depression of the Nineteen-Thirties. They had all lost billions in the stock market and in government bonds. They had to select just the right man. They had to recoup their losses. Castle seemed to them like the man who could accomplish what they wanted.
“I think we need to bring him in for a final interview, just so he knows what we expect from him. We don’t need to tell him everything, of course,” said Portman. “Then we can start this thing in motion.”
“I agree. We need to move this along.” McKinley nodded in agreement.
“Next week in Washington? Are we in agreement?” asked Helen Sidion.
Chapter Five
Stan Castle exited the car, walked briskly to the Four Seasons hotel entrance, located near Georgetown University and Foggy Bottom. The committee had thought about gathering at a less conspicuous hotel but in the end settled on the more opulent one. Castle entered the lobby, smiling at the doorman as he passed. He was here to meet with a group of people who, in all likelihood would organize the financing and prepare the necessary paperwork for his entrance into the presidential campaign. He only knew McKinley and Portman among those who were there, but at least recognized the names of the other two, Sidion and Krauss. He had never met either of the latter. He took an elevator to the fifth floor, looked for the sign indicating suite numbers and then turned left to suite 510. He knocked twice on the door, then stepped back to give those inside a chance to peer through the peephole at him.
Hal McKinley opened the door, smiled and greeted Castle. “I see you found us, Stan.”
“Yes, sir. Believe it not, I have never been inside this hotel. Very nice. I can see why you chose it.”
“It has its virtues, Stan.” McKinley then took Castle by the arm and led him into the attached suite room, a moderately large conference room with a large oak table dominating the center of the room, surrounded by ten leather chairs. Already present were the other three committee members, Krauss, Sidion and Portman. Castle decided to allow McKinley take the lead. “Stan, I’d like you meet Helen Sidion and Sylvester Krauss. Miz Sidion and Mister Krauss are joining this for this little meeting, just a get-acquainted meeting. Nothing intimidating.”
Castle walked to Helen Sidion first and took her outstretched hand, shaking it gently, saying, “Miz Sidion-------”
“No, call me Helen, please.”
“Helen, I’m very pleased to meet you. Are you a DC resident or did you travel in?”
“I live in New York, so I did fly in this morning.”
“I trust you had a pleasant flight.”
“Yes, I came in our corporate jet. Eliminates a lot of delay.”
Castle smiled and she returned his smile. She liked him already. She saw a pleasant, well-mannered, no-nonsense man with qualities that the military had cultivated for thirty years.
“Mister Krauss, glad to meet you.” Castle’s handshake with Krauss was firm and lasted a bit longer than with Helen Sidion.
“Call me Sly, as in Stallone. They stopped calling me Sylvester in high school. Good to meet you, Stan.”
“Well, let’s all take a seat and have some coffee,” offered McKinley. An older gentleman almost invisible in the corner took his cue and came to the table to pour coffee for the four. He was Sidion’s valet and traveled with her on all her trips. After a few minutes of social chatter, the four members got down to business. The valet retired to the outer room and closed the door behind him.
“Stan, we’re looking for a man that we think can bring some calm, order and sanity to this country. We don’t like what we see going on right now. You came across our radar and we all agreed that you just might the right man for the job…. as president.” Krauss began the serious conversation. “We’re going to ask you some questions today that will satisfy our curiosity about you. We know that Bill and Hal are fairly well acquainted with you but Helen and I are not. You can understand that if we intend to invest several million dollars in your campaign, we have to know your stance on several subjects.”
“Absolutely. I understand that. I would be doing the same thing, sir.”
Helen Sidion added, “We have vetted you, of course, some time ago. We understand you are a private person, love classics, can write and read Latin and Greek and hold Marcus Aurelius as your model. Is that a fair assessment?”
“I think that’s fair. I sometimes think I was born in the wrong century. The classical period of history has always fascinated me. I do hold Aurelius in high esteem mostly because of his writings, which give us insight into the man. We know he was emperor but his writings tell us about his inner thoughts.”
“Why Aurelius, Stan?” asked Portman.
“Because he comes as close to being the model for Plato’s philosopher-king as any man in history. He was emperor of the greatest empire in history, yet he revealed his philosophical side without shame. He was not afraid of his shortcomings, was not afraid to admit his imperfections, something most modern politicians can’t even understand, let alone do.”
“So you don’t see any current politicians who, how shall I say, inspire you, that you aspire to emulate?” asked Krauss.
“No, not really. There was a senator from Missouri that came close, but he finally gave up out of frustration. He said between campaigning and raising funds, Congress didn’t have any time for governing.”
“You’re speaking of Kenwood?”
“Yes, an ordained minister of his faith. An honest man. He rode coach to and from DC. I admired him.”
“You’re inclined to be somewhat sparse with your words, Stan. That may be a problem on the campaign trail. Can you deliver a rousing speech if need be? People have come to expect that, you know,” added Sidion.
“I’ve been known to deliver such addresses to my troops, when I am truly inspired to do so.”
“You still run a couple of miles every day and only eat one meal a day?” Krauss was curious to learn the reasons for that.
“I do. I try to stay fit. Running does it for me. As to eating one meal a day, I find that most of us eat too much and as long as I maintain my target weight, I see no reason to add any unneeded calories. It seems to work for me.”
“Let’s talk about your wife, Cheryl. How does she feel about your running for president? And she comes from a reasonably wealthy family. Is that right?”
“Cheryl is my rock. She’s put up with me for thirty five years. Moved all over the world. Packed and unpacked. We talked about this. She’s all for it. She’ll do whatever is required. As far as her wealth. That is between her and her family. It is not my money.”
“Nicely put, Stan,” said Helen Sidion. “Can she campaign with you?”
“She’s at ease in crowds, speaking before crowds. Yes, she can campaign. She already has many contacts among women’s groups that would be valuable in a campaign, and she knows some very wealthy people who could be called upon for contributions.” At that, Krauss and Sidion smiled at each other, as though their minds had contrived the same thought at the same time, “This man is more a politician than we imagined.”
“How do you feel about the current president? Be brutally honest in view of the rumors circulating about your differences,” asked Portman.
“I think if you had him as a neighbor, you could enjoy his wit and charm and share barbecues and soirees with him and his wife. He is a likeable enough guy. But as president, I think he is a failure. He does not grasp fundamental issues of national security, economics, and foreign affairs. I think he is in over his head.”
“You do realize he was our choice last election,” said Krauss, testing Castle’s reaction. “We felt it was time for a more liberal approach to national policy.”
“I would still stand by my assessment. All of us make mistakes. I have made them, as I’m sure you four have.”
Sidion and Krauss both smiled again, then Sidion said, “I think it would be understatement to say we overestimated his abilities, Stan. Live and learn.”
Krauss sensed it was time to broach a topic that he felt Castle might be curious about. “Stan, do you ever wonder exactly why we four are interested in your candidacy, why we want you to run for president in spite of the fact we backed someone else last time?”
“I have to admit I am curious. And I’m beginning to wonder if my suspicions about who actually runs the country are valid. Why are you backing me?” Castle’s directness was both a refreshing breeze but a subtle cause for alarm. The four simultaneously wondered if he was being too direct, but were pleased that it offered them a chance to reveal a bit more about themselves.
“Stan, do you actually believe that it matters who is president, who occupies the senate or the house? Does it matter if the president is Republican or Democrat? What’s your opinion on that?” Krauss leaned forward as he asked that, as though to improve his view of Castle’s eyes, to discern any discomfort or unease.
“For many years, decades actually, I have discerned no difference. It seems to me that the same mistakes follow, that we allow Israel to do mischief while harassing Iran, that we ignore South America while concerning ourselves with China and North Korea. Doesn’t seem to matter who occupies the White House. I do some efforts by Demos to concentrate of social issues, but nothing ever seems to work out. Repubs talk about conservatism while spending more than we take in. So, I suppose the answer is no, it doesn’t matter.”
“Why do you suppose that is, Stan?” Krauss continued the line of thought.
“I have to assume that someone else is pulling the strings, influencing the president.”
“And do you wonder who that someone, or those someones, are? Do you have any ideas?”
“I think four of them are sitting here now. I think they meet with the Bilderbergers. I think they gather at Bohemian Grove in California each year. I think they are bankers, industrialists, media people, investors, speculators.”
“What do you know of Bohemian Grove and how did you learn of it?”
“My wife knows people that I don’t know. They talk. They know what rich and influential people do.”
The four looked at each other, somewhat surprised at Castle’s forthrightness and honesty. After a moment Krauss said, “Very perceptive. And does that bother you?”
“No. Throughout history the few have always led the many. I see no reason why it should be any different now. However, I do not agree that the president can make no difference. I think he can make a difference. I believe FDR made a difference and to some extent so did Truman.”
“So you are not bothered that a select group of people, not just in the USA, but in Europe and Asia influence what appear to be political actions? It doesn’t bother you that we here are part of that group?”
“No, not at all.”
“So, if we back you for president, and you are elected, would you be comfortable listening to our suggestions, our ideas, take advice from us? That wouldn’t bother you?”
“Of course not. I would value your guidance in matters that I am deficient in. No one man could know everything about every issue. It just isn’t possible.”
“But you do have some strong ideas on many issues? You have said as much.”
“Yes, on military matters certainly. On many foreign affairs issues. On some social issues here in the US.”
“What social issues, specifically?” Asked Sidion.
“I’ve watched as people seem to believe the government can solve all their problems, at least some people. I don’t believe government should be in the social problem-solving business. People have lost their sense of dignity and honor. They want but they don’t want to give. Too many people on welfare. Too many crippling our healthcare systems. Perhaps we need another WPA, NRA, or CCC camps to take some of the young bucks off the streets. Perhaps we need a draft too, to cultivate the idea of honor again. I don’t like that the media portrays a society that does not exist, by casting Blacks as doctors and lawyers, as police chiefs in charge, when in fact I see none of that in the real world. What is gained by that?”
“Many critics would call that heresy, Stan. Do you think you could force those ideas on the American public?” Helen Sidion nudged Krauss under the table, but Castle detected that motion and smiled inwardly. He now knew he was in their grace and intended to capitalize on it.
“I don’t think I would have to force it on the American people. I think the majority are ready for some drastic changes. The minority would whine until they realize the free lunch is over and either go find some kind of work or wither on the vine.”
“By wither you mean die?” Asked McKinley.
“Probably. All of us die eventually. It’s a given.”
“Why don’t we take a break and come back in fifteen or twenty minutes. Frankly, I could use a cigar and a stiff drink,” Portman said. The others concurred and rose from their chairs. Castle rose in respect and waited for the others to leave, poured himself some coffee and stood looking out the window of the hotel. Below he could see hundreds of people walking aimlessly, or so he thought. “What do they expect out of this life? Are they really ready for change, change that just might save this nation? I wonder. I just wonder.” He stayed by the window, alone, to give the four a chance to compare notes in private, to judge him as a group, something they could not do around the table in his presence.
After the break, the four members and Castle gathered but did not take their seats. Helen Sidion said, “I think we’re ready to endorse you, Stan. Your answers and comments are exactly what we expected. The four of us are very pleased with your character, your resume, and your ideas on what we need in this country. Now all we have to do is win the nomination and election.”
“Hear, hear,” said Portman and McKinley in unison.
The five remained in the suite for another thirty minutes in idle chatter, designed to take the edge off the more serious discussion just concluded. Stan then bade his farewell, walked to the elevator and used his cell phone to call his driver, who pulled up to the entrance as Castle walked out of the hotel. Castle entered the car and it sped away.
Chapter Six
In the car, with nothing to distract him on the long drive back to the Pentagon, Castle began to formulate some thoughts on what had just transpired. He had confirmed that a group of powerful and rich men and women were behind the election of the president. He had met four of them, so that was no longer an issue in doubt. They represented diverse areas of the American economy, banking, investment, industry, and media. They had hinted, but had not confirmed with precision, that they were merely four of many more committee members. How many he could only guess. The legends of the Bilderbergers which conspiracy theorists had tossed around for years seemed to be upheld. “Would he some day attend such a meeting? He could only guess. What exactly was their agenda and why did they seem to be making imperfect decisions? Why elect a man like the incumbent president, and then cast him aside after only one term? Clearly their decision making skills were not perfect. If they have such a bad batting average, perhaps it is time for someone to become president with some real power, not just a ‘Yes man” who had no agenda himself. Perhaps I am that man,” thought Stan Castle. Suddenly the thought of being president of the greatest country on Earth had a powerful impact on Castle. He began to imagine being in control of the military and the civilian sectors, directing people toward his model of a society, rather than the spoiled, “me first” society he saw before him. His driver stirred him out of his reverie by announcing, “Sir, the Pentagon ahead.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. I was deep in thought.”
Castle reached for his ID at the gate, but the MP waved him on through on sight of the four star flag and Castle himself peering through an open rear seat window. His face was known to every guard on duty and few challenged his entrance. Had the MP challenged him with a call for identification, Castle would probably have smiled and complimented the young soldier on taking precautions. Such was the character of the man, the humility and sense of honor he had. The fact that he wore four stars on his shoulder meant little to him. He was more concerned with how many lives he might have saved that day, how many of his men died that day, how good the food they ate, how warm their clothing. The stars were just baubles, ornaments for the vain.
Castle’s driver pulled up in the parking area reserved for higher officials and walked around to open the door for Castle, but the general had already opened his own door and walked briskly to the entrance. He waved at his driver as he walked, telling him to have a good day. Castle then walked the long walk to his office, entered it, greeted his aide Watkins and entered his office. Watkins followed him into the office and asked, “Well, how did it go, Sir?” Watkins knew that the general had met with his potential backers in the Washington hotel.
“It went well. They had already vetted me, which I had supposed they did. They asked my opinions on a variety of topics. They seemed satisfied and it looks like I’m in.”
“Outstanding, Sir. I knew they would be impressed.”
“How would you feel about being my campaign manager, Tom? I put your name in already.”
“Wow, Sir, I don’t know anything about politics or campaigning. But if you think I could help, of course I will.”
“You’ll have to put in your papers soon. I know you have your twenty in so you won’t cut your retirement. I need your organizational skills, Tom. I need you to keep me grounded as you have here in this job. OK?” Castle was referring to his retirement papers, necessary for application for retirement from the services.
“Sir, I don’t know if I can live on my retirement pay. That might be a problem.”
“No, it won’t. You’ll draw a handsome salary. I’ll see to that. Would a hundred K sound about right?”
“Yes, Sir! I think I could do with that.”
“So, it’s settled. Have personnel send the papers over today. Sooner the better.”
“Hell, I’ll walk down and get ‘em myself.” Castle broke out in a big smile. Watkins was out the door and gone before the smile waned. Castle heard the buzzer on his intercom and poked the flashing button.
“Castle here. They what? The sons of bitches! Call the chiefs to the situation room.” Castle had just been advised that North Korea had detonated a large nuclear device above ground in a test site in a mountainous region of their north. He rose from his chair, ran his hands through his close cropped hair and exited his office to the outer office. “Find Major Watkins. He may be in personnel. Advise him to meet me in the situation room,” he said to the secretary.
She immediately began punching numbers into her phone as she answered, “Yes, Sir.” She suspected something big was up. She could tell from the general’s eyes, his tone, his stance.
Satisfied that he had done all that was possible in his office he sprinted down the hallway to wind his way to the situation room, buried deep beneath the above-ground structure. He found the other military chiefs already there, standing around the conference table. Their aides stood behind them with briefing folders. On the wall were massive screens displaying situation data, maps, and satellite views. Watkins entered the room and took his place behind Castle.
“Gentlemen, what do we know?” asked Castle simply.
“North Korea just detonated a fifty KT atomic device up north in their test range,” answered Air Force. “Our satellites picked up the visible and infrared data. Ground sensors got the shake readings.”