Текст книги "Hidden Order: A Thriller"

Автор книги: Brad Thor

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 18

BETHESDA

MARYLAND

General George Johnson, Director of National Intelligence, lived in a modest colonial house near D.C. with his wife, an around-the-clock protective detail, and a French bulldog named Martin. Despite nearly two years of the detail that changed shifts every eight hours, the dog still went berserk every time someone showed up at the house.

For the security-minded, this might have been viewed as a positive. General Johnson, though, saw his wife’s dog as a colossal pain in the ass. Even before they had rung the bell, Lydia Ryan and Bob McGee could hear both the dog and the DNI barking from inside the house.

“Damn it, Marty! Quiet!” Johnson shouted at the bulldog. “Carol! Come get this damn dog!”

A solidly built man in a dark suit opened the door. Behind him, the DNI was trying to corral the little bulldog with his foot in order to prevent him from charging the visitors. “Sorry about this,” Johnson said as he beckoned his guests. “Please come on in.”

“I told you, you should have gotten a Rottweiler,” McGee said as he stepped inside.

“I’ve got several already,” he replied, gesturing at his security men standing in the foyer. “And I haven’t caught them once going on the rug,” he cracked before yelling for his wife again, “Carol!”

The DNI’s assistant stepped out of the living room. “I’ll take him upstairs, sir,” he offered, bending down and scooping up the dog. Instantly, Marty’s bark turned into a growl.

“Be careful, Stu.”

“It’ll be okay, sir.”

“Sure it will,” Johnson said with a smirk as his assistant began climbing the stairs. “I’ve got a hundred bucks that says he bites you.”

“He’s not going—” the assistant began just as the dog nipped him in the hand.

“Told ya,” the DNI said with a laugh as he walked over to shake hands with his guests.

McGee introduced Ryan and then General Johnson invited them to follow him to his den.

“Can I offer either of you anything?” he asked, “Coffee? Soft drink?”

“Coffee would be good,” said Ryan, still feeling jet-lagged from her trip. “Thank you.”

“Got any bourbon?” replied McGee.

“I’ve got plenty. Up or neat?”

“Neat, please.”

“They say consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds, Bob.”

“Actually,” McGee corrected, “they say foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds. There’s nothing foolish about a man loving bourbon. Unless, of course, that man starts including ice cubes in his glass. Ice is a crutch.”

The DNI was a short, broad-chested fireplug of a man in his early sixties, with a bit of a paunch and thinning gray hair. It was after-hours, and he wore khakis and an oxford shirt. He laughed good-naturedly at McGee’s joke as he busied himself at his wet bar pouring a cup of coffee for Ryan and a drink for himself and McGee.

By the time he was done, his assistant, Stuart, had finished taking the dog upstairs and had joined them in the den, along with a laptop, two legal pads, and a file folder. The DNI asked the security men to wait outside and had Stuart close the door behind them.

As the DNI handed his guests their drinks, he introduced them to his assistant, assured them that they could speak freely in front of him, and then asked everyone to sit down.

The den was tastefully decorated with hunting prints and wood paneling. There were brown leather couches with plaid accent pillows, two green club chairs, skirted end tables, a brass coffee table, and a large wooden desk.

Accepting a pad and pen from his assistant, the DNI took his seat and stated, “Stu needs to be home in time to watch the Dog Whisperer, so let’s discuss why we’re here.”

General George Johnson had served in the United States Army with considerable distinction. His outstanding career had begun in Vietnam, where he had received multiple commendations for bravery and gallantry. He went on to lead the First Infantry Division through several conflicts, and was transferred to head the Army’s Intelligence Support Activity. His pragmatic understanding of not only warfare and tactics, but also espionage and diplomatic relations, eventually secured him a spot on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, where he helped advise the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Council, and the President on all matters military. Based on his performance there, he was chosen to run the National Security Agency, before being tapped for his current position as Director of National Intelligence.

McGee had given Ryan the man’s entire background on the drive from Camp Peary. He and Johnson had worked together many times in the Army and had developed a good friendship. When Ryan asked her mentor what favor the DNI owed him, McGee only said, “We both owe each other a few debts that neither of us will ever be able to repay.”

The solemnity with which he spoke told her the debts very likely involved tremendous sacrifice and possibly, human life. She didn’t push for more information.

“As this is Lydia’s baby, so to speak, I think she is the best person to lay it all out,” McGee said, leaning back and giving his protégé the floor.

Ryan gave a brief history of her background. As she did, Johnson’s assistant handed him a copy of her file. But unlike most she had met in the intelligence world, the DNI didn’t attempt to multitask. He set her jacket aside and gave her his undivided attention. That impressed her.

When she was done explaining everything that had happened, she handed him the file Nafi Nasiri had given her. General Johnson didn’t bother to open it. There was no reason to believe it didn’t contain everything the CIA operative had told him it did.

Lydia Ryan had delivered a purely clinical recitation of the facts as they were believed to be known. Now the DNI wanted to know what she thought. What was her gut, her experience, telling her?

“I know Nasiri. I don’t think he or the Jordanians are bluffing.”

“What about this former supervisor of yours back at Langley?” the DNI asked, glancing at his notes. “This Phil Durkin. Could he be bluffing?”

“Absolutely,” McGee interjected. “The guy is a frickin’ weasel.”

The DNI held up his hand and turned his attention to Ryan. “What do you think?”

“Did Durkin shut down the program like he said he did? Maybe. But if he fired everyone else, why keep me? I didn’t screw up as bad as the rest of them, but I certainly made my share of mistakes. They could have easily built a case against me, too,” she stated. “But they didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe because Durkin was interested in me. But if that’s true, why didn’t he try to use it to his advantage? Why not offer to save my career in exchange for sleeping with him? I wouldn’t have done it, of course.”

“Of course not. But it’s still a good question.”

“Which doesn’t have an easy answer.”

The DNI looked at her. “If you had to come up with some sort of explanation for all of this, what would it be?”

“Easy. He never shut that program down. He simply moved it off the books and into the shadows. I got to keep my career with the CIA, just in a different capacity. The other members of my team got to keep their careers, too, but for that to happen, the program had to go full black.”

“But why compartmentalize you off? Why not send you into the shadows with them?”

Ryan shrugged. “I’ve run that through my mind a thousand times. The only thing I can come up with is that it was a pride thing with Durkin. He’d been tasked with bringing the team to heel. As a last-ditch effort, he assigned me to them as the Girl Scout who would get them in line. If I had been fired, it would have been yet another example of his bad judgment.”

The DNI nodded. “Agreed. What bothers me the most, though, is Durkin’s apparent lack of interest in the plot the Jordanians claim to have uncovered. While I don’t like the fact that they’re trying to horse-trade with us intelligence-wise, I understand it. Durkin should, too.”

“Well, sir, if he did in fact shut the team down as he claims and now they have popped back up, it could be a real source of professional embarrassment for him,” Ryan stated, more in an attempt to figure out Durkin’s motivations than to defend him.

“You know what’s even more embarrassing?” the DNI retorted. “Allowing a terrorist attack to happen on American soil because you’re too proud to admit that you screwed up.”

The man was right. Ryan didn’t try to offer any more insights on Durkin.

The DNI tapped his pen against his legal pad. “We have a public trust to live up to. We’re accountable to the American people. It’s our job to keep them and the country safe. We don’t have the luxury of playing chicken in our line of work, not when the stakes are as high as they are. This guy Durkin is either unqualified for his position, or he’s hiding something. Both of which greatly concern me.”

Ryan and McGee knew they shouldn’t speak. The direction the DNI planned to take was already forming in the man’s mind. At this point, he was simply trying to figure out the best way to get where he wanted to go.

“If word gets back to the CIA director about this, he’s going to want both of your heads on a pike. He’s a real stickler for chain of command. And I don’t blame him,” said the DNI, “but I understand why you wanted to bring it to me. There may, though, be a way around this.”

Turning to his assistant, he then said, “What kind of channels do we have open with the Jordanians?”

“What are you thinking?” the assistant replied.

“I’m thinking if we can plug into Nasiri’s boss, or even better the King himself, we’ll not only be able to smoke out whether or not Nasiri is telling us the truth, but we’ll convey back to them how seriously the United States is taking this matter.”

The assistant nodded. “It would also provide you an opportunity to lean on them for more information than what Mr. Nasiri has already provided Ms. Ryan.”

“Agreed,” the DNI said. “Which brings us to the other issue we need to deal with.”

“The destabilization team,” Ryan offered.

General Johnson nodded. “Agree or disagree with the politics, the President has been abundantly clear that he supports the Arab Spring. He has also been adamant that we not influence the outcome. He sees this as an organic, democratic process that must be allowed to ‘bloom,’ as he says.”

McGee shook his head.

“Like I said,” the DNI repeated, “agree or disagree with the President’s position, this is his call. That said, there appear to be two potential things happening here. Either Durkin’s old team has reconstituted and is operating on behalf of someone else, or Durkin and others at the CIA are running the team in direct contradiction of the President’s orders. Whatever the answer is, I want to know. And I want to know as soon as possible.”

Ryan looked at him. “How do we make that happen?”

General Johnson turned back to his assistant. “Can we come up with a way to requisition Ms. Ryan away from the CIA for a little bit?”

“Probably. What do you have in mind?”

“I want her to have top cover. I don’t want it to look like this has anything to do with the Jordanians. We need to tie it in with something else she is already working on and peel off some other CIA people to hide her in with. You and Ms. Ryan figure it out and get back to me.”

“Won’t Durkin be suspicious?” Ryan asked.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to run. You and Stu pull something together and I’ll make it happen. Unless there’s somebody else who knows about this team and their inner workings, you’re the best person to move the ball forward. Now, what about extra manpower? What do you think you’ll need?”

Ryan’s eyes drifted to McGee, who put his palms out and said, “Don’t look at me. I’m just some dumb Agency instructor. We don’t get requisitioned by the DNI.”

“No,” Ryan replied, “but guys your age do have health issues—”

“Or marital problems,” the DNI suggested.

“Or an ethics inquiry,” the assistant stated.

McGee realized he was getting roped into this whether he liked it or not. “I guess I’d rather take a hit to my corpus than my character,” he said. “I think I’ll go with health issues.”

“Good,” replied General Johnson. “You two work everything out with Stu and I’ll sign off on it. The tricky part will be getting you funding. We can move a little bit of money around, but we’ll have to be careful.”

“Thank you, sir. The fewer people who know about any of this the better.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

Four sets of eyes took turns looking at each other and when no one had anything else to add, the DNI closed the meeting. “I want this kept absolutely quiet,” he said. “If and when this needs to go to the President, I’ll do it. Until then, we keep this locked down tight. We don’t mention a word of this to anyone.”

 • • •

As McGee’s 4Runner pulled out of General Johnson’s driveway, two men in a Ford Explorer waited for him to turn right at the end of the road and begin heading toward the highway before falling in behind.

The man in the passenger seat dialed a phone number back in Virginia. “They just left,” he said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Kill them.”

“You want it to look like an accident?”

He had thought about this long and hard since meeting with Lydia Ryan. “No,” replied Phil Durkin. “We need this to look intentional. Absolutely intentional.”

CHAPTER 19

WASHINGTON

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

The Old Man had taken Harvath to task over his limited knowledge of the Federal Reserve and how it operated. Though he’d tried to hide it, Harvath knew his ignorance had also been on display for Monroe Lewis during their meeting at the Fed’s headquarters. He didn’t like feeling stupid and out of his depth, but he had. Talking with Bill Wise, though, was different.

“They don’t want you to understand anything about what they’re doing,” he said. “It’s purposeful obfuscation and it’s brilliant. They weave a tapestry of BS meant to intimidate people, and it works. Very few Americans have ever really dug into what they are up to.”

Wise was a polymath and Harvath was beginning to understand why the Old Man had set up their meeting. “Why do so many people not like the Federal Reserve?”

Wise took a sip of his drink, deciding where to begin. “First of all, they’re not federal and they don’t have any reserves whatsoever. The Federal Reserve is about as federal as Federal Express. They’re a group of powerful bankers who orchestrated a phony crisis in the early 1900s to convince the American people that the country needed a strong central bank to help regulate the economy and bring Wall Street fat cats to heel. It’s one of the most successful con jobs in history.”

“Apparently, you’re not a fan.”

“I go where the facts take me,” said Wise. “They took the name Federal Reserve for the sole purpose of scamming the American people and making it look like they were part of the government. They’re not only not part of the American government; they aren’t even accountable to the American people. We as citizens can’t toss any of them out or tell any of them what to do. They operate in total secrecy and have never undergone a thorough audit.

“What’s astounding is that since the Fed was created back in 1913, the dollar has lost ninety-six percent of its purchasing power. Because the Fed sets interest rates, we have seen massive bubbles inflated under their policies only to eventually pop and create massive downturns in the economy. In fact, America’s downturns have become longer and much more severe under the Fed.”

“So why do we keep the Fed? Can’t we get rid of it?” Harvath asked.

“America has killed two prior central banks; it could kill this one, too, if it wanted.”

“That’s the key, though, Americans would have to want to. Right?”

“Exactly, and most people have no idea what it is. In fact, let me ask you something. How well do you know your American flag etiquette?”

“Very well,” Harvath replied.

“Are you allowed to fly another flag above the American flag?”

“Of course not. Never.”

“Do you have any cash on you?”

Harvath nodded.

“Do you have any idea what it says on top of our money? Above the words The United States of America?”

Harvath shook his head.

“Take your money out and look. Read to me what it says.”

He removed the cash from his pocket and studied a one-dollar, five-dollar, twenty-dollar, and even one-hundred-dollar bill. “They all say Federal Reserve Note on top.”

“Some say that’s a perfect example of how the Fed sees itself, as being above the United States government. Those notes aren’t even issued by the Treasury Department. They may be printed in the building, but the Treasury has absolutely no say in when they get printed or how many of them get printed. But to keep the charade going those Federal Reserve notes include both the signature of the Treasurer of the United States as well as the signature of the United States Secretary of the Treasury.

“Through its control of our currency, this unelected group of private bankers has driven the United States to the brink of bankruptcy. They’re not only digitizing into existence more than one hundred fifteen million dollars an hour to cover risky loans and trades made by their pals at banks deemed too big to fail, they’re—”

“Wait,” said Harvath. “One hundred and fifteen million? They’re printing that much money every hour?”

“Not printing, digitizing and then depositing that digitized money into the accounts of banks who turn right around and keep making the same risky loans and investments, because no matter how badly they screw up, there’s no downside, no consequences. That’s why the Fed was set up.”

“But if there’s that much more money being created, doesn’t that mean that the existing money supply, the money in my bank account, is increasingly worth less?”

“Give yourself a gold star,” said Wise. “Like I said, the dollar has lost ninety-six percent of its purchasing power since the Fed was initiated. They levy the heaviest and most corrosive taxes of all through their control of the money system, and it’s all about covering the bad bets of their colleagues at the taxpayer’s expense. After all, who do you think ends up with the bill?”

“We do.”

“That’s right. What’s more, the Fed controls what the interest rate will be on your bank accounts, how much interest you’ll pay on your home loan, as well as your car loan and your student loans. They use their digitized money to buy U.S. government bonds so that our government can keep spending and spending and spending, which drives us deeper and deeper into debt. And does the Fed buy those bonds directly from the U.S. government? No, of course not. It uses brokerage firms it’s friendly with in New York, so that those firms get huge commissions.”

“Those firms being the same Wall Street ‘fat cats’ the Fed had promised to rein in, correct?” asked Harvath.

Wise nodded. “It’s an incredible shell game. But what may be of particular interest for your case is that Britain wanted to place the colonies under the influence of the Bank of England. That act was considered so beyond the pale that it is said to have been the final straw that led to the Revolutionary War.”

Despite Harvath’s knowledge of American history, he had never heard that before. It was an amazing revelation.

“While some of the founders like Jefferson were against a central bank,” said Wise, “there were others, like Alexander Hamilton, who were not only for it, but pushed hard to make it happen. In fact, to get southern lawmakers on board, Hamilton agreed to make sure America’s capitol would be moved out of New York City and further south.”

“Which is how we wound up with Washington, D.C?”

“Bingo,” said Wise. “All that over a central bank.”

“You said two previous central banks had been killed. How did we wind up with our current central bank, the Fed?”

“Despite Jefferson’s bitter opposition to central banks as being engines of speculation, manipulation, and financial corruption, President George Washington had signed the first bank’s charter. But when it expired twenty years later, so many people hated it, Congress refused to renew it.

“President James Madison signed the Second Bank of the United States into existence, but when Andrew Jackson took office, he refused to renew its charter. He was a lot like Thomas Jefferson and saw the central bank as an engine for corruption. When the economy got rocky, Jackson wisely pushed for all federal land sales to be transacted in gold or silver. Many banks adopted a similar modus operandi and it started to catch on.

“Some banks, though, were so leveraged, they couldn’t pay their customers when they came looking for their money. This led to waves of bank runs, some of which actually created serious imbalances in the economy. One of the worst ‘bank runs’ led to the creation of the Federal Reserve.”

Harvath noted Wise’s derogatory tone when he used the term bank run. “This is the phony crisis you mentioned?”

He nodded. “Are you familiar with something called the Hegelian dialectic?”

“I am. It’s where a group or an individual creates a problem, knowing full well in advance how people are going to react to it. They then begin agitating for something to be done about the problem, for things to change. Once the masses are then worked up enough and desperate enough for something to be done, the party behind the problem unveils their solution. The people are thrilled to have a plan, any plan, and so demand that it be implemented. They never seem to realize that they’ve been manipulated and that they haven’t really ushered in change, but actually a much worse version of what they had previously, only now in brand-new packaging.”

“That’s exactly what happened with the Fed. A problem was manufactured by a powerful group of people who sat on the sidelines waiting for a panicked citizenry to beg for a solution. Once people started begging loud enough, all this group had to do was set the wheels in motion and make it look like everything was unfolding naturally.

“In this case, it was a group of New York bankers colluding to set up a third central bank that would give them a monopoly over the banking system. Shortly after the New Year in 1907, an article appeared in the New York Times by investment banker Paul Warburg, who cautioned that Americans needed to reinstate a central bank if they wanted to avoid any more terrible bank runs.

“One of Warburg’s banking partners then gave a speech to the New York Chamber of Commerce warning that if the United States didn’t set up a central bank, the country was going to undergo the most severe and far-reaching crash in its history. The sky is falling. The sky is falling. All they needed then was to be proven right. Enter their pal, banker J. P. Morgan.

“Once a slew of side bets were placed that the stock market was going to fall, a run was launched on the stock of a company called United Copper—one of J. P. Morgan’s biggest competitors. Panic took over the market. It was like all of the water being sucked out to sea before a giant tsunami comes ashore. Suddenly, everyone wanted out.

“New York banks friendly to Morgan and Warburg yanked their money, the stock market dropped nearly fifty percent, and New York’s third-largest trust collapsed. From there, the panic spread across the country as citizens rushed to their own banks to pull out all of their money.

“It was an all-out panic and people were screaming for something to be done. Enter once again J. P. Morgan, who pledged his own funds to help stabilize the banking system.

“Rallying other New York bankers to join him, several of whom had helped to exacerbate the panic, Morgan magically stemmed the bleeding and the panic began to subside. But as it did, panic was replaced by a nationwide outcry that something be done so that this kind of thing never happened again.”

“Never let a good crisis go to waste, right?” said Harvath.

Wise smiled. “Precisely. The people blamed the bankers, but the bankers masterfully blamed ‘the system,’ which led to everyone clamoring for the system to be reformed. Congress instantly responded by setting up a special commission. Magically chosen to head the commission was a profiteering, multimillionaire Rhode Island senator who was friends with Morgan and Warburg, as well as being deep in the pockets of the rubber and tobacco industries. His name was Nelson Aldrich.

“As the United States was one of the last major nations without a central bank, Aldrich decided his National Monetary Commission should study the central banks of Europe—and that’s exactly what he and his entourage did, spending almost two years touring Europe, wining and dining at an expense of more than three hundred thousand dollars to the American taxpayers.”

Harvath shook his head. “The politicians were crooks even back then.”

“It gets worse,” said Wise. “After nearly two years of ‘study’ and over three hundred thousand dollars spent, Senator Aldrich hadn’t filed a single report on what he had learned, nor had he offered any solutions for ‘reforming’ America’s banking system.”

“The guy really was a crook.”

Wise held up his hand. “We haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.”

“It gets worse?” said Harvath.

“Much. And I think it will give you an idea of why someone might be angry enough to want to target and kill people at the Federal Reserve.”