The Buck Passes Flynn (22 page)

“Money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Money and a lie. They were paid in advance. Oh, they didn’t know they were going to drop currency. They were given bags—which I designed and had manufactured—that would remain sealed until after they left the plane and hit the wind.”

“What did you tell the pilots was in the bags?”

“Political pamphlets.” Sankey smiled. “In a way, it was no lie at all.”

Flynn said, “Do you know you’re insane?”

“I know the world’s insane.”

“Same difference.” Flynn took his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. “Your wife and daughters were killed near National Airport by a three-axled army truck speedin’ to deliver twelve dozen fresh flowers to a cocktail party at the Pentagon. Have I got it right?”

“That,” said Sankey, “is only one incident of government waste. Excessive government spending, you might say, for less than desirable results.”

Across the room, filling his pipe, staring at Sankey, Flynn said, “I’m sorry for you, man. But you have tried to create one hell of a mess.”

“Is that all, Flynn?” Sankey stuck his right hand between the upholstered seat cushion and the chair arm. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

“Yes,” Flynn said. “I think you’ve failed.”

Curiosity in Sankey’s eyes was only momentary.

He nodded agreeably.

Smiling, he drew a revolver out of the chair, placed the muzzle against his temple, and squeezed the trigger.

“YOU beat me, Flynn. You got here first.”

Flynn was leaning over Paul Sankey.

“He’s as dead as a greenback.” Flynn straightened up and turned around, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Ducey Webb, hands in the deep pockets of her overcoat, was standing just this side of the living room-workroom door. Behind her, the front door of Sankey’s house was still open.

“What good did it do to kill him?”

“He did that himself,” said Flynn. “A very self-directed man, he was. A poor little schnook with a grievance, as a friend of mine would say.”

“Oh. Coming up the alley, I heard the shot …”

She did not appear disturbed by the sight of the suicide in the chair.

“Ducey Webb,” Flynn said.

She looked blankly at him.

“You’re a gorgeous lass.”

“Thank you.”

“Beguilin’.”

Her expression did not change.

“Bright enough too, I hear. Tops in your class. Brilliance. Beauty. Craftiness. Uncanny ability to manipulate people. In eleven languages, each spoken perfectly. Demolition ability, of course. Also heavy knowledge of fashion, design, art, and literature. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Her expression still did not change.

“The faculty at K. campus are proud of you, lass. Tell me, were you American originally?”

“You’ve heard a lot, Flynn.”

“I get around, I do. Somewhat. Deuce-Ace. Ducey Webb. The devil herself, spinnin’ her web. Lookin’ forward to a limited career, I suspect, due to two outstanding physical distinctions: rare beauty, and eyes that don’t match, however entrancin’ each of them is on its own.”

“You never accepted my act, did you?”

“I did not. Your disappearin’ off the road for half an hour that day you were following me in Texas had to mean somethin’, I still don’t know what. Then, you must realize by now, gel, a note of introduction in the President’s own hand was a bit much to believe, although providin’ no signature was a nice, convincin’ touch. A simple, ‘Hallo, Mister Flynn, what-are-you-doin’-with-yourself-this-fine-day?’ might have sufficed.”

Her eyes were equally smoky.

“That’s all right, lass. It was a young person’s mistake. Using an atomic cannon to kill a gnat is the common expression for it.”

“Thanks for the lesson in Introductory Skullduggery,” she said.

“That’s all right, lass. You’re only four years away from the old campus. There are lessons yet to be learned. But how did you match up all this currency floatin’ through the air with the peaceful man reclinin’ behind me with parts of his head missin’?”

“I knew you had visited Paul Sankey before—here at his house. So I found out who he was. When the money began falling out of the sky all over the country
this afternoon I knew there could be only one source of so much money.”

“The Federal Reserve Bank itself.”

“Yes.”

“ ‘So much money,’ ” repeated Flynn. “So very much money. But, tell me, lassie: if you’re so brilliant, why have you connected up with the K. bunch, I want to know? Are you that set against peace and prosperity?”

“You and I don’t happen to believe the same things, Flynn.”

“Ah, lassie: I don’t believe anything at all. Well, I believe in breakfast and the occasional cup of tea.”

“Bullshit.”

“Instead of believin’,” said Flynn, “I’m a great one for tryin’ to understand.”

“Then you should be able to understand me… and K.”

“I understand,” said Flynn. “A bit. But I don’t accept. You know, most of the people in the world want to make their way forward slowly, through education, enjoyin’ what health and peace and prosperity they can. Bombs goin’ off all sides of them have a way of bein’ distractin’. Certain things can be accomplished by war and violence, for sure. Even certain good things. But K. violates all sides of the world at once, to bang it into some shape thought desirable by only those few who run K.”

“You have no idea who runs K.”

“But I know your organization is as old as the hills, and, historically, it has devoted all its energies to diminishing the world and all the people in it as much as possible.”

“It’s really very simple, in concept,” said Ducey Webb. “Hungry people are easier to govern.”

“I know. Oh, Lord, I know. You might say K. has manifested itself to me more than once in my short years.”

“I know all about that,” said Ducey Webb.

“Do you?”

“I know all about you.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

“You know, Flynn, K. had no hand in this.”

“In what?”

“In all this. The United States being flooded with its own currency.”

“I know.”

“We knew it was going on. I guess we knew about the incidents in East Frampton and Ada before you did.”

“And you rushed right in to investigate?”

“We didn’t understand it. Not at all.”

“Neither did we,” said Flynn. “As is clear.”

“It looked so much like something we at K. might be doing. We’ve tried something like this before, in Israel, in Chile … K. figured the quickest way to find out what was going on was to get someone to cover you.”

“You wanted to have a good look at it to see if it was something you might want to take credit for?”

Ducey Webb smiled. “We might yet.”

“Do,” said Flynn. “Be my guest.”

“It seems to have worked out The American dollar is ruined.”

“Down, but not out,” said Flynn.

“The capitalist system got so overblown it burst.”

“Lots of people like it,” said Flynn. “The words
free enterprise
still have a nice ring to ’em.”

“You’re overblown, too,” she said.

“Without doubt. But was your education at K. campus good enough to answer me one small thing?”

“Try me.”

“Eighteen years ago at The Hague the American Ambassador gave a speech. Someone slipped two sentences into that speech. Apparently the speech, and those two sentences in particular, set the tenor of the Free World’s economy ever since. At least our silent friend, Paul Sankey, thought so. Do you know what those two sentences were?”

Ducey Webb said, “‘The European Common Market will never attain an economic force equal to that of the United States of America. It is in full cognizance of this that the United States of America assures European Common Market nations of the full support of the United States of America.’ ”

“You got it right the first time,” Flynn said. “Those two sentences were planted by an agent of K?”

“Sure.”

“Nice piece of work.”

“I think so. Those sentences did more than anything else to put the Free World on the dollar standard. If nothing else, it caused the oil-producing nations to reject the concept of Special Drawing Rights and demand payment for oil in American dollars only.”

Flynn looked at Paul Sankey in the chair, the front of his head shot away.

“As the supply of oil went down,” Ducey Webb said, “the supply of dollars went up. In a way, I guess, what happened today—money all over the streets—was inevitable.”

Flynn thought of Marge and Sandy Fraiman, Joe Barker, Helen and Parnell Spaulding, Gabriel and Alida Sims, Ronald and Barbara Ellyn, Milton and Jackie Schlanger, Cindy Lownsberry, Major William Calder, General Seiler, Colonel Perham, Colonel Seely, Major Rosenstone, Lieutenant DuPont, Adele Hughes, Hulett Weed—all the ruined lives and careers:
inevitable
?

“So K. can take credit for this anyway,” said Flynn. “Every logical system must have its axiom, true or false.”

“What?”

“Just rattlin’ on,” said Flynn. “Just rattlin’ on.”

With no change in facial expression, Ducey Webb drew a .45-caliber automatic from the pocket of her overcoat and aimed it at Flynn.

“There you go again, lass,” chided Flynn. “Usin’ an
atomic cannon to kill a gnat. That’s a hell of a big gun for a wee slip of a girl.”

“Chauvinist.”

“Somehow I don’t think that point is worth debatin’ at this particular moment, I don’t.”

“My training says to kill you. You know who I am.”

“On the other hand, lass, the door behind you is open.”

“Why wouldn’t I shoot you?”

“Well, it’s a short life, at best….”

Ducey Webb said, “Somehow I get the feeling I’m making a mistake.”

“I have a riddle for you, lass. How can a man shoot himself in the head without a gun?”

Her eyes flickered around the room.

“Where is it?”

“In my pocket, pointed between your matchless eyes.”

Deuce-Ace said, “Oh.”

N.N. 13 said, “Oh.”

“All right.” She put the handgun back in her pocket. “There’s not much you can do about money falling from the sky at this point anyway.”

“Go tell K. the sky is falling. Make sure you people take credit for it.”

Ducey Webb said, “This time it’s a draw. Right?”

Flynn said, “Somethin’ like that.”

Keeping her eyes locked on Flynn’s, Ducey Webb backed slowly out of the room and out of the house.

After she left, it took Flynn a moment to find Paul Sankey’s gun. It had fallen to the floor the other side of his chair.

“No one believes a lie as well as a liar,” Flynn muttered to himself. “Isn’t that the truth?”

SITTING at his desk in the Oval Office, the President of the United States put down the telephone when Flynn entered. Through the windows behind him were the lights of Washington.

He stood up and shook hands with Flynn.

“It’s a great pleasure, seeing you come through that door, Mister Flynn … instead of coming at me, gun in hand, through a wall!”

“Would you mind closing the drapes behind you, Mister President? It’s a simple precaution, you know, doesn’t cost a farthing….”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” The President pulled the drawstrings. “Funny no one has ever thought of that. Sit down, Mister Flynn, sit down. Did you ever see anything like this? Money falling from the sky—all over America.” The President laughed. “And who says I don’t keep my campaign promises?”

Flynn laughed with the President.

“Would you believe, Mister President, that drivin’ over here just now I saw money lying in the streets? Nobody’s even bothering to pick it up anymore.”

“Too much of a good thing,” smiled the President. “Coals to Newcastle; greenbacks to Washington.” He
sat down again at his desk. “I’m sure the street sweepers will have it cleared up before dawn.”

“Will they?”

“Sure. The street sweepers of Washington, D.C., are more sophisticated than nine-tenths of the Congress. At least they know shit when they see it.”

“You seem in a rollicking mood, Mister President.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I wish all crises were as happily resolved as this can be. So the country went on a binge for the weekend. They’re entitled. Now that I’ve got you here, tell me who, what is the source of all this money?”

“A poor little schnook with a grievance. A disgruntled clerk at the Federal Reserve. An economist willing to destroy the economy to make his own predictions some true. An insanely grief-stricken man whose wife and daughters were killed in a tragic accident a few years ago.”

“All one in the same?”

“All one in the same.”

“Has someone put him in a straitjacket?”

“He gave himself an inexpensive lobotomy,” Flynn said. “With a handgun. A little more than an hour ago.”

“Oh. I see.”

“He was the man in charge of incinerating the used money at the Federal Reserve. He built a false bottom in the incinerator.”

“Oh. I’m surprised no one ever thought of that before.”

“It’s not quite as simple as all that. All the devices set up to guarantee that the used money was being destroyed properly he also had to circumvent. I’d guess he’d been given too much of the new system to design himself.”

“He must have been a clever person.”

“Just got mixed up between his enemies and his friends,” said Flynn. “I’ve known it to happen before.”

“Is that the whole story?” asked the President. “Is that all there is to it?”

Flynn hesitated. “Yes.” He would make his full report to N.N. Zero later. It was difficult enough, traditionally, getting presidents of the United States to grasp the concept of N.N. Getting them to understand K. would be impossible. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, I consider it a great stroke of good luck.”

“You do?”

“Indeed I do.” The President was doodling on his desk pad. “I’ve been being told now for a long time, by my advisers, that we have to devaluate. In fact, the dollar is worth only ten or twenty cents now, and the whole world knows it. However, it’s an admission we’ve been unwilling to make. This gives us the perfect excuse. We have an awful lot of dollars out there in the world beyond our borders.”