THE NECON CONSPIRACY
by
Maud Muller
Copyright 2006 by Maud Muller
Smashwords Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the fictional characters and organizations portrayed in this novel and actual persons and entities is entirely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
April 1965
British Columbia, Canada
Joseph Kurtz, Roger Wittenberg, Giles Morgan, Thomas Houston, and United States Senator Richard Sedgeman, had come to the lodge hidden deep in the Canadian Rockies to lick their wounds in privacy and comfort. As they watched the flames dancing in the stacked stone fireplace, they struggled to come to grips with the reality of what had occurred. This was not their first visit to the lodge and hanging from the hand-hewn log walls were the mounted heads of elk, moose, bison, big horn sheep and a cougar—its mouth set in an endless silent roar.
Their disappointment over the results of the recent presidential election had prompted them to seek the solace a hunting trip in the mountains could provide. Goldwater’s defeat meant there would be no relief from the oppressive taxation required to fund the continually expanding federal entitlement programs and the daily carnage in Viet Nam. Carnage that could have been ended by a President with the guts to authorize the military to do what was necessary to win the damned war.
The five men had been friends for many years and trusted each other completely. Although all were white, rich and Christian, it was not race, wealth or religion that had forged the bond existing among them. It was a shared commitment to the principles of political conservatism in a nation dominated by liberal thinking.
Richard Sedgeman studied the cognac in his glass thoughtfully. “I’m sixty-one years old. What are the chances I’ll live to see the country return to the principles upon which it was founded?”
“I agree these are dark days for our beloved country,” Kurtz said. “The challenge we face is what to do about it.” Joseph Kurtz had inherited the family business, a small chain of Ohio department stores at the age of twenty-eight and transformed it into the largest retail empire in the country. After thirty years at its helm, Kurtz turned responsibility for day-to-day operations over to his eldest son. He now devoted the majority of his time to serving on corporate boards and promoting the spread of political conservatism in its most extreme form.
Kurtz rose and began to pace up and down in front of the fireplace. “What could have possessed the American people to keep a fool like Lyndon Johnson in the White House? Even Jack Kennedy didn’t respect him.”
“God only knows,” Roger Wittenberg said with a shrug. “But I invested a small fortune in Goldwater’s campaign and pressured everyone on the AFS management team to kick in as well. It wouldn’t be so bad if Barry had made a decent showing, but he got his clock cleaned.” Wittenberg, the fifty-two year CEO of American Financial Services, firmly believed that every investment should provide an acceptable rate of return. He was deeply annoyed there would be no return on his investment in Barry Goldwater.
“If the environmentalists get their way,” Houston said, “we will all be installing solar panels on our roofs, building windmills in our yards and driving electric cars that have to be recharged every five miles. These people have their heads so far up their asses they can’t see that our economy is dependent on cheap sources of power if it’s going to continue to grow.” CEO of International Petroleum Corporation, Houston was convinced federal regulators were out to destroy the oil and coal industries.
“Barry never had a chance with half the Republican Party against him and the media portraying him as a right wing crackpot. Then along came that Daisy Girl.” Giles Morgan chuckled. “I have to admit it was a stroke of advertising genius. Morgan Media did the best it good but we don’t have much of a presence in the mainstream markets.”
“There’s an important lesson to be learned from this fiasco, my friends,” Kurtz said.
“Don’t pour money into losing political campaigns?” Wittenberg suggested.
Sedgeman smiled. “No, I suspect the lesson Joe is referring to is never underestimate the influence of the media in shaping public opinion.”
Kurtz shook his head. “Actually the lesson I’m talking about has nothing to do with the media or money—as important as both are. The reason we’re sitting here with egg on our faces is because we didn’t understand what our primary objective should be.”
“For Christ sake, Joe, what are you talking about?” Houston said testily. “Our objective was to have Goldwater win the election and send that fool LBJ and his Lady Bird back to Texas.”
“It’s true Barry would have kept the regulators at bay and refused to play patty-cake with the Soviets,” Kurtz agreed, “but in four years there would be another election.”
“It seems to me that you’re making a strong case for not pouring money into losing political campaigns,” Wittenberg said.
“The point I’m making,” Kurtz said, “is that we should have set our sights higher than getting Goldwater elected president. It’s time to face reality. The political system in this country is so obsolete and corrupt it needs to be scrapped entirely.”
Sedgeman sat back and crossed his legs. “Is this your way of telling me that you won’t be contributing to my campaign or are you actually suggesting that we bring down the federal government? If it’s the latter, what do you suggest we replace it with? I’m not a fan of anarchy.”
“We five could do a hell of a lot better job running this country than the fools who are running it now,” Kurtz said.
“Maybe, but I doubt anyone will be knocking on our doors asking us to take over—or are you proposing we enter into a conspiracy to seize control without bothering to obtain a mandate from the electorate,” Wittenberg asked.
“The country is in serious trouble,” Kurtz said. “Since it’s unlikely it can heal itself, why shouldn’t we step up and take charge? How different is running a country than running a business? It will take time and plenty of money, but we can either choose to explore the possibilities or sit around whining because we don’t like the man in the White House.”
“I don’t like the part about plenty of money,” Wittenberg said, tapping his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair.
“The kind of money I’m talking about far exceeds what we could contribute personally, notwithstanding our considerable collective net worth,” Kurtz said.
“Remember you four are captains of industry; I’m just a humble civil servant,” Sedgeman said, sensing whatever scheme Kurtz was hatching would come with a very high price tag.
Wittenberg shot Sedgeman a withering look. “Who do you think you’re kidding, Senator? We all know how much you’re worth—and that was before you married money.”
Kurtz refused to allow the exchange between Sedgeman and Wittenberg to distract him. “I believe the power to take this country in a new direction is within our grasp. And the way to accomplish it is to convince the majority of Americans that conservatism is the one true religion. They need to understand that big government is a threat that must be contained.”
Houston shook his head. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon. The Founding Fathers didn’t intend for the federal government to become the monster that it has, but the American people are addicted to big government. They’re under the illusion that it’s the government’s responsibility to take care of people too lazy or stupid to take care of themselves. They think paying taxes is their patriotic duty. How are we going to get them to see the light?”
“I can answer the question about how you get people to see the light,” Morgan said. “It’s no different than selling soap. You just keep hammering them with the same message over and over and eventually they buy the product.”
“Exactly, Giles,” Kurtz agreed. “It’s time to face the fact that democracy isn’t working. You can’t run a major corporation as a democracy and you can’t run a superpower as a democracy either. If the Soviets start firing nukes in our direction, there won’t be time to take a vote on whether we should fire back. Free elections are a colossal waste of time and money. Half the time neither candidate has the brains God gave an idiot and Joe Public doesn’t have a clue which one to vote for anyway. America desperately needs men of vision and courage to step up and take charge. Why shouldn’t we be the ones to do it?”
“What do you mean take charge?” Wittenberg asked. “Are you proposing that we seize control of the country from its elected leaders, as pathetic and inept as most of them are? If it is, please share your thoughts on how we’re going to accomplish this. Do you envision a bloodless coup or shall we hire mercenaries to assassinate the country’s leaders? For heaven’s sake, this conversation borders on the absurd. We share your disappointment over the election, but let’s not allow it to drive us over the edge—and for God’s sake, Joe, stop that damn pacing and sit down.”
Kurtz walked over and sat down beside Wittenberg. “It’s the country that’s in danger of going over the edge, Roger. It’s poised on a precipice created by the communists, socialists, civil rights activists, liberals, unionists, feminists, homosexuals and environmentalists who have infiltrated the government, academia and the media. What I’m proposing is we take it back. Don’t we owe this great nation that much?”
The room fell silent as the others contemplated the answer to Kurtz’s question. It was Morgan who finally spoke. “We love this country as much as you do, Joe. But if you’re proposing that we conspire to seize control of the government of the United States of America, please explain how five men are going to accomplish a task of this magnitude.”
Kurtz shook his head. “You misunderstand. I’m not suggesting that we take control of the government. I’m proposing the federal government be dismantled and power placed in the hands of the private sector. Once this is accomplished, a few carefully chosen men must serve as guardians to ensure the nation remains on the proper path. Our role is to orchestrate that transference of power.”
“What you’re describing would mean the end of democracy in America,” Sedgeman said.”
“In my view, the disadvantages of democracy far outweigh its benefits in a modern society,” Kurtz said.
“I must be crazy, but what you’re proposing is beginning to sound plausible,” Wittenberg said. “God knows the private sector can do a better job running the country than government bureaucrats and politicians—no offense intended, Senator.”
“None taken, Roger,” Sedgeman replied graciously. “And I’ll admit I’m intrigued by what you’re proposing, but let’s not move too quickly. I want to serve one more term in the Senate before we dismantle the government.”
“Dear God!” Houston exclaimed. “Oil men free to run the oil business without government interference. What a novel idea.”
“There is just one small detail that needs to be worked out,” Wittenberg reminded them. “I have yet to hear how five men are going to accomplish what Joe is proposing.”
“That’s easy,” Kurtz said, smiling broadly. “We just have to come up with a damn good plan.”
CHAPTER ONE
November 2030
Custer, South Dakota
“More coffee, Aaron?”
Aaron Matthews nodded and held out his cup. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ruthie.”
The gray-haired woman refilled the cup with a practiced hand and returned the decanter to the hot plate behind the counter. “How come a good-looking young man like you can’t find himself a wife to cook his breakfast? I swear, Aaron, if I was single and twenty years younger, I’d marry you myself.”
Matthews smiled. “What woman in her right mind would marry a guy who lives in a two room cabin and doesn’t have a job?”
“If that book you’re writing becomes a best seller, the women will be falling all over you.”
The man sitting on the next stool looked up from his bacon and eggs. “What’s your book about?”
“It’s the story of a handicapped boy who refuses to give up on his dream of becoming an astronaut.”
The stranger’s eyebrows arched in distain. A few minutes later, he paid his check and left.
“I’m guessing he won’t be buying my book,” Matthews said. “Who is he?”
“Never seen him before. Probably a tourist come to see Mount Rushmore.”
“Doesn’t look much like a tourist. My guess would be a hunter.” He drained the last of his coffee and got up.
“There’s a storm coming, Aaron. They’re predicting a foot or more. Make sure you’ve got some food in that cabin. I don’t make house calls.”
“I’ll stop at Mac’s on my way out of town.”
The icy wind hit him as soon as he stepped outside. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and zipped his down vest. He made the promised stop for groceries, then headed west on Highway 16. The first snowflakes were swirling in the wind when he turned onto the dirt road leading to the cabin. He steered around the worst of the teeth-jarring ruts and breathed a silent prayer that the fifteen-year-old Jeep would hold up a while longer.
When he reached the cabin, the snow was coming down in quarter-sized clusters. He unloaded the groceries and brought in enough logs from the massive pile stacked beside the shed to fill the woodbin. He lit a fire in the fireplace and hung his vest on a hook by the door.
When Matthews moved into his father’s hunting cabin that summer, he was a cocky bastard with a severely damaged ego. He could still see the surprise and disapproval on his father’s face when he told him that he had been fired from his job as a reporter for the Tampa Bay Sentinel and, instead of looking for a real job, he was going to write a book.
Matthews had anticipated it would take only a couple of months to kick out the novel that would launch his career as an author. Six months later, he was still in South Dakota, grinding away on a story that still didn’t have a title or a plausible ending.
The warm glow and crackling of the fire lifted his spirits. He turned on his computer and brought up the latest version of his manuscript. It was after ten when he finally decided to call it a night. He went into the bedroom, tossed his jeans and sweatshirt on the floor and crawled into bed. Within minutes, he was asleep.
* * * *
The man from the diner had been watching the cabin from a Humvee hidden among the pines. When the lights went out, he waited exactly fifteen minutes before putting on a pair of night-vision goggles and getting out of his vehicle. He trudged through the blowing snow towards the cabin. When he reached the porch, he unsheathed his knife and ran the blade up between the edge of the door and the jam. He slowly lifted the latch and pushed the door open. When it’s this fucking easy, it takes all the fun out of it.
He followed the sound of snoring into the bedroom and put his hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder, shaking him gently. When Matthews opened his eyes, he deftly ran the knife across his throat with a sweeping motion, severing the carotid artery and jugular. Death was almost instantaneous.
The assassin whistled as he moved about the cabin dumping the contents of drawers on the floor, knocking over chairs and smashing dishes. When he was finished, he surveyed his work with satisfaction. Still whistling, he picked up Matthew’s computer, tucked it under his arm and walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
December 2031
Ann Arbor Michigan
It was almost six o’clock and Joshua Freeman had been hunched over the computer in his bedroom since noon. He saved his work and got up from his desk. He had no intention of spending Friday night working on his thesis. Six feet tall with hazel eyes and wavy light brown hair, Josh had the kind of looks girls usually referred to as cute rather than handsome. He showered, changed into a pair of fresh jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, and called Leah, the nurse he had been dating for almost two years, to tell her he was on his way.
The temperature had dropped below freezing and it was starting to snow when he knocked on the door of Leah’s apartment. He could tell the pretty brunet was in one of her moods as soon as she opened the door. “Sorry, Josh,” she said, without bothering to invite him inside. “I’m not going out with you tonight.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you just say that when I called and save me the trip over here?”
“Because there’s something I need to tell you and I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”
Josh sensed he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “If you’re going to break up with me, either do it quick or invite me in. I’m freezing my butt off out here.”
“I’m not sure ‘breaking up’ is the right word. This relationship has run its course. It’s time for us both to move on.”
“I assume you’ve already found someone you want to ‘move on’ with?”
“What difference does it make?”
Josh shrugged. “I’m just curious why all of the sudden you decided to dump me two weeks before Christmas.”
“If you’d been paying the slightest attention, you’d have seen this coming.”
“So who’s the lucky guy?”
“He’s older and has a great job. I kept telling myself someday you were going to have a great job, but I’m tired of waiting for you to grow up.” The tension left her face and she smiled for the first time. “Do you want to come in for a few minutes?”
Josh shook his head. “No, I think I’ll get out of here while the heater in my car is still warm.” He stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jeans, took one last look at her and walked away.
Although he wasn’t crazy in love with Leah, the sex had been good and getting dumped is never a pleasant experience—especially when you’re twenty-three years old and the girl tells you that you need to grow up. Josh stopped at a bar a few blocks away for a beer and a bit of soul searching. The conclusion he came to was Leah was right. He needed to finish the thesis so he could stop sponging off his parents and get a job. He drained the last of the beer and went home.
* * * *
When Joshua Freeman graduated from the University of Michigan with dual degrees in political science and computer technology, he asked his parents, both tenured professors at the University, if they would mind supporting him a while longer so he could work on his Masters degree. Samuel and Phyllis Freeman had responded by presenting him with a new computer to aid in his research. Josh had nicknamed the computer Buddy. He took the summer off and began working on the thesis in September. Fifteen months later, he was still bogged down in the research phase.
His parents had expressed reservations when he told them he had chosen America’s Fifty-Year March to the Political Right as the subject for his thesis. “That topic is far too broad,” his father had warned. “And your mother and I would prefer to see you select something less controversial. You have a bright future ahead of you. It would be a shame to jeopardize it by publishing a thesis that could be interpreted as critical of conservative ideology.
“Who knows,” Josh had said with a grin. “After I complete my research, I may decide that liberals are the problem.”
His father wasn’t amused. “Son, this isn’t a joke. We have friends who have lost their jobs at the University after being branded as liberals. What you put in that thesis can come back to haunt you someday.”
Josh admired his parents, but suspected their fear of political persecution bordered on paranoia. They never discussed politics with anyone other than trusted friends, although they had been sharing their liberal views with him since he was a child. He remembered the conversation they had on the eve of his graduation from high school.
“Americans have been going like lambs to the slaughter, Josh,” his father had said. “The rich keep getting richer and the middle class has been decimated. Everything suggests the country should be turning to the left, but instead the people keep electing conservatives who answer only to the wealthy and big business.”
“The Clinton impeachment should have served as a warning that something was amiss,” his mother had insisted. “The seemingly unlimited financial resources available to those determined to destroy him and the role the media played in the entire affair; it was the closest thing to a political coup d’état this country has ever experienced.”
His father had nodded in agreement. “It was the struggle between the ideologies of the left and right that resulted in the country seeking safe harbor in the political center. I don’t know how they did it, but somehow conservatives managed to build a power base so strong and well financed it neutralized all opposition. Then Thornbury became President and privatized the federal government away. Corporate executives are running this country now and they don’t give a damn what the people want. Mark my words, son. Someday they will start hunting down liberals just as they did communists in the 1950’s. Then Homeland Security agents will show up at our door and take your mother and me away.”
Josh had a hard time understanding why his parents were so pessimistic when they had good jobs, a nice house, and money in the bank. He knew there were some who weren’t doing as well as his family, but there were plenty of others doing a whole lot better. The way he saw it, that sort of evened things out.
When he began working on the thesis, he quickly recognized the value of the computer his parents had selected for him. A new age expert supercomputer, Buddy was equipped with the most advanced artificial intelligence capabilities available. This was important since Josh’s research methodology required the computer to scan the Internet in search of data supporting the thesis hypothesis—a finite number of contributory factors can be isolated to explain America’s acceptance of conservative political ideology.
Since it was impossible for Josh to review all of the data Buddy was mining, he had created a folder called the Hydra File. This is where Buddy stored data deemed to have significant social, economic, and political impact. Items in the Hydra File were ranked according to their importance. At the top of the list was the Privatization Doctrine followed by the creation of the Homeland Security Force. The Religious Tolerance Amendment was third.
Both the Privatization Doctrine and creation of the Homeland Security Force occurred during Jerome Thornbury’s Presidency. Thornbury ran on a platform calling for a smaller, less intrusive federal government and low taxes. Once elected, he began slashing away at the budgets of federal agencies. It was late in Thornbury’s second term that responsibility for formulating tax and trade policies, regulating business and the financial markets, and protecting the environment was transferred to a non-profit entity called the Coalition for Responsible Government. The nation’s health, education, and welfare programs, including Social Security and the National Healthcare Program, were placed under the control of the Christian Confederation of America.
In spite of Thornbury’ success in reducing the size and scope of the federal government, few believed his proposal to merge the National Guard, FBI, state, and local police units into a single federal law enforcement agency would succeed. But the Republican controlled Congress, unwilling to oppose their Party’s immensely popular President, passed the required legislation after several particularly brutal attacks by domestic terrorists. In order to convince an anxious public that the federal government would not engage in spying on the American people, the Homeland Security Force was placed under the control of the Coalition for Responsible Government.
When the states voted to ratify the Religious Tolerance Amendment, Josh’s parents were devastated. Although the Amendment reaffirmed the right of the individual to worship without interference from the government, it proclaimed that the United States was first and foremost a Christian nation. Josh’s mother had wept on the day the Amendment became part of the Constitution. “Now this country is officially a theocracy,” she had said. “The secular nation established by the Founding Fathers is gone forever.”
Josh spent most of his time analyzing the contents of the Hydra File in the hope that eventually the big picture would begin to emerge. He had developed a skeletal outline of what he believed needed to be included in the thesis, but so far, his efforts to put flesh on the bones had failed.
Leah dumping him and telling him to grow up had been a wakeup call. He decided the time had come to write a boilerplate thesis that, although unremarkable, would be good enough to earn him a Masters degree. Then he would go out and find a job.
He knew that Buddy had mined enough data to support a dozen theses, so he decided to let the computer pick the talking points for his. He issued the following command:
Search data stored in all project files and display in chronological order primary contributing factors that support the hypotheses
Command cannot be executed
Explain rationale for response to previous command
Hypothesis improperly constructed
Identify fault in hypothesis
Hypothesis contains incorrect assumption
Correct erroneous assumption and restate hypothesis
American acceptance of conservative political ideology resulted from successful execution of multi-faceted long-range plan
Josh sat back and contemplated the significance of Buddy’s response. When he began working on the thesis, he had never asked Buddy to evaluate the hypothesis, only to seek data in support of it. For months, the computer had apparently been testing data against a flawed hypothesis. Now it was presenting a hypothesis of its own that attributed the nation’s acceptance of conservatism to the presence of a master plan. But whose plan? He entered another command.
Identify plan creator
Identity of plan creator is unknown
Cite evidence supporting existence of stated plan
Plan’s existence supported by continuity of change process and volume of events not found to be random
Display non-random events
Josh sat transfixed as row after row of data moved across the screen.
* * * *
Over the next several weeks, Josh poured over the data searching for causal relationships among what, at least on the surface, appeared to be thousands of unrelated events. The amount of data Buddy had provided was extensive and Josh suspected that even if he were able to connect the dots, the images produced would be too complex to be understood. What bothered him the most was that although most of the occurrences Buddy classified as non-random events were clearly related to the revised hypothesis, he could not understand why the computer had included news items about terrorist attacks, automobile accidents, plane crashes, and suicides.
The activities of two organizations, the Coalition for Responsible Government and the Christian Confederation of America, appeared with the highest frequency. The Coalition was a private organization founded by a small group of politically conservative business men in the late 1960’s that eventually mushroomed into the most powerful non-governmental entity in the country. The Christian Confederation was the nation’s largest and most influential faith-based organization.
It took a month for Josh to decide that Buddy’s conspiracy theory was not simply some sort of sensory miscue. The computer had discovered the hand of an ominous presence. It was to this presence that Buddy attributed the country’s slow but steady journey to the far right of the political spectrum.
Josh realized that as highly developed as Buddy’s artificial IQ was, it could not tell him what to do with the information it had provided. Super computers might be smarter than people in a lot of ways, but they lacked a moral compass. Attempts by computers to discern right from wrong were simply extensions of the consciences of their programmers.
Josh briefly weighed the wisdom of changing the topic of his thesis to A Conspiracy from the Right, but quickly rejected the idea. According to his father, a thesis hypothesizing about a great right-wing conspiracy would not only keep him from finding a job, it could cost his parents their positions at the University. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself, you don’t even know who the conspirators are, and even if you did, who’s going to believe a grad student?
The next week was one of the worst in Josh’s life as the debate over what to do with the information Buddy had provided dominated his thoughts during the day and crept into his dreams at night. He could not see himself as a crusader or political activist. He was the guy who walked around with a grin on his face talking football and listening to rock music. He was smart, but not the in your face kind of smart. His friends had no idea how high he had scored on the Christian Confederation’s National Student Assessment tests and believed the only reason he had gotten into U of M was because his parents worked there.
Josh rested his elbows on his desk and ran his fingers through his hair. All his life he had turned to his mother and father for advice when he had a problem. That isn’t going to work this time. If I try to talk to Dad about this, he’s going to tell me to keep quiet. That’s what he and Mom have always done. They knew the country was fucked up, but instead of trying to do something about it, they just kept banking their paychecks.
Finally, Josh came to a decision. He completed his thesis, Fifty Years of American Politics: A Nation’s Journey Down the Right Road. He wrote several articles arguing for a literal interpretation of the Bible and traditional family values which he posted on conservative blogs. He transmitted his resume containing links to the articles and his thesis, to the Coalition for Responsible Government and the Christian Confederation of America. The Coalition did not respond, but the Christian Confederation offered him a position in their Public Relations Department. Two weeks after receiving the job offer, he moved to Tampa, Florida.
* * * *
Congress, in response to the September 11, 2001 attack by Islamic extremists, passed a series of antiterrorism legislation called the Patriot Acts. The second of these was the Patriot Identity Protection Act. The Identity Protection Act greatly expanded the amount of information the federal government was permitted to collect on United States citizens. The Social Security File was expanded to accommodate this information, which included biometric profiles, academic transcripts, employment histories and religious affiliation. The Act required all Americans over the age of fifteen to carry a national identify card and access the Internet using an email address and password linked to their social security number. When the country converted to Internet voting, the passwords, known as IPACs, were used to establish voter eligibility. It was a federal crime to access the Internet using an Internet address or IPAC other than the one assigned by the Department of Homeland Security.
Although not publicized, IPAC’s were also the key that determined the Internet sites an individual was permitted to enter and provided an audit trail of sites visited. The high volume and nature of the searches performed by Josh’s computer resulted in his IPAC appearing on a report generated by Technology Solutions Worldwide, the corporation responsible for monitoring the nation’s use of the Internet. The agent assigned to the case performed a preliminary investigation and requested that the University of Michigan provide a copy of the Freeman thesis as soon as it was completed. After reading it, the agent closed the file.
CHAPTER THREE
February 2036
Christian Confederation of America Headquarters
Tampa, Florida
Joshua Freeman strolled into his boss’s office and plopped down in a chair in front of her desk. He was dressed casually in khaki pants and a navy polo with the Christian Confederation logo embroidered on the pocket. “The National Conference starts tomorrow, Margaret. All we can do now is keep our fingers crossed and hope nothing goes wrong.”
Margaret Lambert, the Confederation’s Director of Public Relations, smiled wearily. In her late fifties, Lambert’s short, black hair framed a face that was still attractive—although a bit too much blush and the colorful print scarves she artfully arranged around her neck sometimes gave her a clown-like appearance. She had hired Josh as a Senior Public Relations Specialist fresh out of graduate school. Although the affable young man with the slightly lopsided grin wasn’t the most qualified candidate, she had trusted her instincts and hired him anyway. She had never regretted that decision.
“Have all the press releases gone out, Josh?”
“They went out yesterday.”
“I assume you ran them by the folks in PR at the Coalition.”
“When I sent over the agenda for the Inspirational Program a couple of months ago, they said it wasn’t necessary for me to run the final press releases for the Conference by them.”
“That’s quite a complement. They never let anything your predecessor prepared go out without their approval.”
“Maybe after four years they’ve come to the conclusion that I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s possible. But since the Coalition controls the Confederation’s purse strings, I decided long ago that it’s not smart to cross them. When they said they wanted to look over the information about the Conference before it went out, I wasn’t about to say no.”
“Makes sense to me,” Josh said. “What doesn’t make sense is why Senator Cummings agreed to give that speech about healthcare at the Inspirational Program.
“When he first found out about it, he told me there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to tell millions of Americans they weren’t entitled to receive medical services under the National Healthcare Program because they were fat. Then out of the blue one of his staffers called and said he’d decided to give the speech.”
“Why the change of heart? Did he talk to Gables?”
“I don’t know who he talked to, but the bottom line is he’s going to give the speech Gables wants him to give.”
“Considering how unhappy people are with the Confederation’s administration of the NHCP, Gables may intend to use Cumming’s speech to deflect some of the heat. I’ll bet you twenty bucks Cummings has been told to lay the blame on all those irresponsible people who keep getting sick.”
“I don’t have a problem encouraging people to take responsibility for their health. What I can’t understand is how John Gables always manages to get people to do exactly what he wants them to.”
“Maybe he has a little black book filled with dirty secrets that he uses to force people to do his bidding.”
Lambert shrugged. “Maybe—or maybe it’s just the tremendous clout that comes with his job. There’s only one time I can remember in the fifteen years he’s been High Minister that someone actually stood up to him.”
“It must have been someone either very important or very stupid,” Josh said.
“Neither, actually. A young reporter named Aaron Mathews did a story on Gables and apparently uncovered something in his past. When he sent over an advance copy, Gables went ballistic and had him fired. I knew Aaron pretty well and felt bad about what happened. The last time I talked to him, he was in South Dakota working on a novel. A few weeks later, someone broke into his cabin, trashed the place and slit his throat.”
“Did they catch his killer?”
“No. Homeland Security believes it was a clan of transients.”
“What was in Matthew’s article that sent Gables over the edge?”
“Matthews never said and I didn’t ask. Although sometimes, I wish that I’d stolen a peek. I’ve often wondered what skeletons the High Minister has hiding in his closet.”
“Good thing you didn’t or you might have ended up dead too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a fan of Gables, but there’s no way he’d have somebody killed for writing an article he didn’t like.”
“If you say so, Margaret. By the way, you do remember that I’m taking the day off tomorrow. It’s my reward for agreeing to facilitate one of the Great Gray Witch’s seminars at the Conference this week.
Lambert smiled. Constance Jones, the Christian Confederation’s Director of Educational Services, had earned the moniker of Great Gray Witch as a result of her vicious temper and penchant for wearing gray. “It won’t be that bad, Josh. A facilitator doesn’t need to know anything about the subject. Just keep things moving and don’t let the discussion go down the wrong road.”
“By the wrong road, you mean no criticism of the Confederation’s administration of the National Healthcare Program, right?”
“Exactly. And if you’ll promise to stop whining about facilitating that seminar, I’ll treat you to lunch. We can take the monorail over to the Bayside Bistro.”
“If you’re buying, I won’t say another word,” he promised, flashing the grin that reminded Lambert of a boy she had a terrible crush on in the eighth grade. “At least not during lunch.”
* * * *
When he got back from lunch, Josh went to his office, closed the door and switched the portal strapped to this wrist to network mode. Portals were multifunctional electronic devices that functioned as a person’s window on the world. A wide variety of subscription services were available via portal—some legal, some not.
Josh established a link with the mobile computer sitting on the desk in his den. Although more advanced models had come on the market in the past few years, Josh had chosen to upgrade Buddy rather than purchase a new computer. He quickly entered the story Margaret Lambert had told him about Aaron Matthews. As an afterthought, he added a note about Senator Cummings agreeing to give the speech on healthcare. Then he signed off and closed the link.
Sometimes Josh found it hard to believe he had been working at the Confederation for over four years. He had arrived in Tampa convinced that America was in the grip of conspirators guilty of horrendous crimes. He was still committed to exposing them, but as time went by, he became comfortable working for Margaret Lambert. He liked living on Florida’s Suncoast where the temperature rarely dropped below sixty degrees and the independence having a good job provided. Although he dated occasionally, he avoided becoming entangled in a serious relationship. There would be plenty of time for that after he found the conspirators—or when he decided that he was on a fool’s errand and gave up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elizabeth Ann Whalen stepped out onto the balcony of her hotel room and smiled when she felt the sun’s warmth on her face. She gazed in wonder at the blue-green water, white sandy beach, and the palm trees swaying gently in the breeze blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico. It had been cold and snowing when Elizabeth and Ron Michaels, the pastor of Come to Jesus Christian Church, boarded their flight at Kalamazoo airport. They changed planes in Detroit and when the wheels of the Christian Airways jet touched down in Tampa, the temperature was eighty-one degrees under sunny skies.
When Elizabeth walked into the atrium lobby of the hotel with its cascading fountain and wall of windows overlooking Tampa Bay, she had been speechless. The Conference didn’t officially start until tomorrow, so she had the entire afternoon free. She told Michaels that she had a headache and was going to her room to lie down. Since he had repeatedly warned her about the dangers of the Florida sun, she figured there was little chance of running into him on the beach. She rifled through her suitcase and pulled out the bathing suit she had purchased at the only store in Kalamazoo that carried swimwear out of season. Black, the suit was cut in a modest V in front and almost to the waist in back. The saleswoman was telling the truth when she surveyed Elizabeth’s trim figure, clear blue eyes and blond ponytail and gushed that she had never seen anyone look so lovely in that particular suit—a favorite of elderly matrons with spreading bottoms, cottage cheese thighs and bulging purple veins.
Elizabeth pulled a brown T-shirt with Western Michigan University written in gold over the bathing suit and slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops. She dumped the contents of the souvenir tote bag stuffed with information about the Conference on the bed and put in a bottle of sunscreen, the access card to her room, her portal and a towel. After pausing to thank the Lord for making it possible for her to come to Tampa, she put on her new sunglasses and headed for the beach.
* * * *
When Elizabeth Whalen was six years old, something truly remarkable happened. She was looking at a book of children’s bible stories when a picture of the baby Jesus suddenly came alive and smiled at her. Although he didn’t speak to her, she could tell from his smile that Jesus loved her and understood how lonely and unhappy she was.
If her mother and father had lived, Elizabeth believed they would have loved her in the same way Jesus loves his children. But her parents, along with fifty-seven others, nineteen of them children, had died when a terrorist bomb exploded in a crowded shopping mall a week before Christmas. Elizabeth would have been one of those dead children, but they had left her in the care of a neighbor to shop for her presents.
Rita Wilkerson, her mother’s older sister and only living relative, and her husband George had been appointed her guardians. Childless, the Wilkerson’s did the best they could, but as she grew older, Elizabeth frequently wished they were not quite so strict. They refused to allow her to go on dates in high school and limited her extracurricular activities to church functions.
They were pleased when she told them she wanted to become a teacher. “You can go to Western Michigan and drive our car to school since we ain’t using it much anyway,” Rita said. “It’s old but it still runs good.”
George nodded. “And we’ve got a little money saved, so we can help out some. Maybe you can get one of those loans they give college students and find a part time job.”
Elizabeth majored in elementary education and after graduation took a job working as a third grade teacher in the Delton Public School system. Although she loved teaching, it troubled her that by the age of seven or eight, some of the children underwent a transformation. They began breaking into small groups and excluding other children from their activities. Others became bullies.
One evening during quarterly student assessment conferences, Elizabeth brought up the subject of bullying with the parents of one of her students. “Jeffery is extremely bright and never forgets to turn in his homework.” She paused long enough to allow them to enjoy the praise before hitting them with the bad news. “What concerns me is he sometimes ridicules classmates who have difficulty responding to questions and shouts out answers without waiting to be called on. Jeffery is big for his age and sometimes uses his size to intimidate—“
Roberta Engler interrupted Elizabeth mid-sentence. “Do you actually expect a boy Jeff’s age to have the patience to sit quietly while other children waste precious class time? What you should be concerned about is that Jeff’s education is suffering because you’re teaching to the lowest common denominator. The parents of most of these kids don’t care whether their children learn or not. The public school system has been going downhill for years. If my husband could find a decent job, we’d enroll Jeff in a private school where he’d have a chance of getting a good education. The Christian Confederation keeps talking about separating children by ability instead of age, but if they don’t hurry, it’s going to be too late to help Jeffery.”
Elizabeth shifted her gaze from Roberta Engler to her husband, who appeared to be preoccupied with the study of his left shoe. “All of the children in my class are eager to learn and behave well most of the time. All I‘m asking is that you speak to Jeff about the things I’ve mentioned this evening.”
Roberta Engler shot Elizabeth a contemptuous look and stormed out of the room. As soon as she was out of earshot, Martin Engler spoke for the first time. “Please forgive my wife’s behavior, Miss Whalen. I’ll have a talk with Jeffery.”
Although Elizabeth adhered to the lesson plans disseminated by the Christian Confederation, she felt there was room for considerable improvement. One of the reasons she wanted to attend the National Conference was to find out if there were plans in the works to correct the deficiencies.
There was considerable excitement in Delton when the Christian Confederation invited Come to Jesus to send two delegates to the Conference at its expense. The reason this great honor was bestowed on the congregation was because the members had tithed an average of twenty-five percent of their pre-tax income—fifty percent of which was assessed as dues by the Confederation. Fortunately, the evaluation criteria did not stipulate that every family must tithe twenty-five percent, only that the total amount contributed average twenty-five percent per household. This was important since Agnes Wilson, a widow with no living relatives, had made Come to Jesus her sole heir. When the amount of Wilson’s bequest was added to member donations, it raised the average annual contribution per family from nine percent to twenty-five percent.
When the invitation to the Conference arrived, Michaels had stood in the pulpit waving it wildly in the air and shouting, “Well done, my fellow Christians! Well done!” Elizabeth thought his behavior was a bit over the top considering the circumstances.
Elizabeth’s reasons for wanting to attend were not entirely altruistic. In her entire life, she had never been further from Delton than Kalamazoo, eleven miles away. Her excitement over the prospect of flying in an airplane, staying in a hotel and swimming in the Gulf of Mexico was almost more than she could bear. Her only concern was the amount of time she would be required to spend in the company of Ron Michaels.
Although Elizabeth believed hate was a sin, she definitely did not like Ron Michaels. She didn’t like his round pink face, thin pale blond hair, watery blue fish eyes or the paunch around his middle. He was at least an inch shorter than she was and walked with his feet pointed outward like a duck. Still, she might have been able to overlook his decidedly unappealing physical appearance if he possessed a kind and generous spirit. But he didn’t. Virtually everything he said annoyed her. Conversations with him were one-sided affairs in which he talked incessantly about himself and made one droll sanctimonious pronouncement after another. She considered his sermons tedious and uninspiring.
When Michaels informed the church council that he had asked her to accompany him to Tampa, the eyebrows of the elders had shot up in disapproval over the prospect of their unmarried pastor and a single young woman traveling together. But Michaels stood his ground insisting that Elizabeth had earned the right to attend by filling in as church secretary after Agnes Wilson’s death. “Besides,” he told them, “sending a teacher makes perfect sense since there are several seminars dealing with educational matters.” Elizabeth suspected that Michaels was going to expect something from her in return, but she wanted to go too badly to refuse.
* * * *
When Elizabeth arrived at the beach, there were only a few sunbathers and no one was in the water. She spread her towel on the sand, removed her T-shirt and kicked off her flip-flops. The breeze had stiffened and the tide was coming in. The air was heavy with the smell of the sea and she could feel the sand shifting between her toes as she walked down to the water. She waded in up to her waist; it was colder than she had expected. A voice was calling to her from the shore. She turned and saw a woman sitting in a beach chair waving at her. Smiling, she waved back. Suddenly, a wave knocked her off her feet. Swept under, she swallowed seawater and came up coughing and gagging. She staggered to shore clutching her throat.
Josh Freeman was jogging on the beach when he saw Elizabeth come out of the water and drop to her knees on the sand. He ran to her, opened his water bottle and held it out to her. ”Don’t swallow! Take a mouthful, swish it around, gargle and spit it out.”
Elizabeth raised the bottle to her lips, rinsed her mouth, spit the water onto the sand and repeated the process.
“What the hell were you doing in the water? Didn’t you see the No Swimming signs?”
“No,” Elizabeth croaked. “What signs?”
When she looked up, Josh was stunned. The matronly bathing suit suggested the face would be that of a much older woman. The blue eyes now fixed on him belonged to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Elizabeth returned the water bottle, picked up her T-shirt and pulled it on. “What is this stuff?” she asked, brushing at the white powder clinging to her arms, legs and face.
“Salt. The desalination plant dumps so much brine back into the bay, nothing can live in it. If you want to swim in the Gulf, you have to go down to Naples.”
“Didn’t they know this would happen when they built the plant?”
“They predicted a slight increase in the salt content and temperature of the water, but once the plant came on line, they discovered the projections were flawed. Over the years, the salt content and water temperature has continued to rise. Occasionally, a dolphin wanders into the bay and washes up on the beach. Wasn’t there a pamphlet in your room warning about the danger of swimming in the Gulf?”
“I was in such a hurry to get to the beach, I didn’t bother to read it,” Elizabeth admitted. “We flew in from Michigan this morning. We’re here for the Christian Confederation Conference.”
“When I saw you in the water, I figured you were either a tourist or suicidal. Where in Michigan are you from?”
“Delton. It’s a small town on the west side of the state near Battle Creek,”
“I grew up in Ann Arbor. My parents are professors at U of M.”
“Are you here for the Conference, too?”
“No, I moved down here four years ago. I work at the Confederation. By the way, I’m Josh Freeman.”
Suddenly, the realization that she was standing on a beach in her bathing suit talking to a strange man hit Elizabeth hard. Flustered, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You mentioned that dolphins sometimes wash up on the beach. I’ve always wondered what the difference is between a dolphin and a porpoise.”
Josh was hoping to find out her name. The comment about dolphins and porpoises caught him off guard. “I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with the shape of their noses.”
Elizabeth, red with embarrassment, picked up the towel and shook it out, showering them both with sand. “Thanks for the water. I have to go.”
“Glad to help,” he said, brushing the sand off his jogging shorts. When he looked up, Elizabeth was heading at top speed toward the hotel. That’s right you idiot. Meet the girl of your dreams and don’t even find out her name. He took a sip from the water bottle, tucked it into the carrier in his belt and jogged off down the beach.
* * * *
John Gables was sitting at a table in the bar sipping a scotch, when he saw the attractive blonde walk down onto the beach. He was surprised when she ignored the signs and went into the water. Then Josh Freeman came to her rescue with the water bottle.
“Find out who the blonde in the black bathing suit is,” he said as Elizabeth hurried past the window.
The man sitting beside him nodded. “No problem, John.”
Gables drained the last of the scotch and set the empty glass on the table. “Let’s go, Ménage. The show’s over.”
* * * *
Once safely back in her hotel room, Elizabeth pulled off her T-shirt, threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She sat up when the room’s voice-activated multimedia unit began emitting a low beeping sound.
“Answer Call,” she said more deliberately and considerably louder than required.
Ron Michaels’ face appeared on the screen. His eyes went wide when he saw her sitting on the bed in her bathing suit. “Elizabeth, why aren’t you dressed?”
“I went to the beach.”
“I thought you said you had a headache. What were you doing at the beach?”
“I wanted to go for a swim.”
“You can’t swim in Tampa Bay. Didn’t you read the information they gave us when we checked in?”
“No.”
“Did you go in the water?”
“Yes”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. But I need to take a shower. I’m covered with salt.”
“The salt is the reason they said to stay out of the Bay.”
“I know that, now.”
“Get cleaned up and meet me in the lobby at five-thirty. We’ll go to dinner.”
When Elizabeth arrived in lobby, Michaels was waiting. As they walked out of the hotel, they passed two uniformed guards conducting identity checks on the people coming in. “They weren’t doing that when we arrived,” Elizabeth said. “What’s going on?”
“The Christian Confederation’s High Minister is hosting a dinner for VIP’s at the hotel tonight. Homeland Security set the terrorism alert level for the Tampa area to red until the end of the Conference. The rooms in the hotel are under random surveillance for the next few days, and guards will be posted at the monorail stations.”
“What’s random surveillance?” Elizabeth asked.
“They’ve installed sound-sensitive, miniaturized cameras in the guest rooms, restaurants, elevators and the restrooms in the lobby area,” Michaels said. “
Disbelief flashed in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Are you telling me that there’s a camera hidden in my room?”
“For heaven’s sake, Elizabeth. If you’d bothered to read the information they gave us when we checked in, you’d know all about this. And, you wouldn’t have gone for that swim this afternoon.”
“I’ll read it as soon as we get back from dinner, but it makes me uncomfortable knowing someone may be watching me.”
“After what happened to your parents, I would think you’d be grateful knowing Homeland Security is looking out for our safety.”
Pain flashed in Elizabeth’s eyes, and she turned away. “Where are we going for dinner, Reverend Michaels?”
“There’s a McDonald’s within walking distance of the hotel,” he said. “In order to convince the church council to let you come along, I had to promise I’d keep our expenses as low as possible.” He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “And while we’re here, I think it will be okay if you call me Ron.”
Elizabeth sighed and pulled away. “Let’s hurry. I’m starving.”
CHAPTER FIVE
John Gables sat back in his chair and spun around so he could look out across Tampa Bay. The water was calm; its surface glistening in the sun. He had been enjoying the view from his office on the top floor of Christian Confederation Headquarters for fifteen years and he still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that millions of Americans viewed him, a man who was neither a minister nor religious, as their spiritual leader.
In his mid-fifties, Gables was tall, almost six-three, with a lean, muscular build unusual for a man his age. His eyes were either green or gray, depending on his mood, and his almost black hair was short and fashionably spiked.
An attorney by trade, he grew up in Darien, Connecticut where the smallest home in the neighborhood was the size of a football field. Carolyn and Richard Gables, preoccupied with their own lives, entrusted the care of their only child to au pairs and servants. Some were kind, others apathetic. Young Gables worshiped his parents from afar and did everything he could to prove himself worthy of their love and attention.
When he was seventeen, he drank too much at a high school graduation party. Ignoring repeated requests from his friends to surrender his keys, he staggered to his car. He drove three miles before crossing the centerline on a winding, two-lane road and crashing head-on into a car coming from the other direction. Miraculously, he only suffered a broken nose and a few cuts and bruises. The driver of the other car died at the scene. Hector Rodriquez, married and the father of five children, had been on his way home from the hospital where he was employed as a physical therapist.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Richard Gables demanded angrily when he walked into the ER to collect his injured son. “I don’t give a damn if you drink yourself stupid, but for God’s sake, go crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep it off. Do you have any idea how damaging something like this can be for me if the press picks up the story?”
Carolyn Gables nodded emphatically in agreement. “What am I supposed to say when my friends find out my drunken son killed some damn Mexican in the car we bought him as a graduation present?”
When they finally tired of berating their bruised and battered son, their focus shifted to damage control. They hired an outrageously expensive attorney with an uncanny ability for getting his wealthy clients off with no more than a slap on the wrist. He worked his magic and won an acquittal by convincing the jury that Rodriquez was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his death, although unfortunate, should not jeopardize the future of a fine young man like John Gables. He moved to have the record of the case sealed. Left destitute, Mrs. Rodriquez had accepted a small cash settlement contingent upon signing an agreement not to file a wrongful death suit.