The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (11 page)

On the three morning network shows, stock pundits both roiled and
calmed the emotions of viewers, but all of them agreed that the tax
preparation services should be sold and that any pullbacks in the
near future should be thought of as buying opportunities, but only in
American-based companies. None of them were convincing in their
forex predictions, some claiming the euro would go up versus the
dollar, others taking the opposite view. Those who had been long
oil, betting its price would go up, universally criticized Donne's
putting the dollar on the oil standard; the shorts, who'd bet that
oil would go down, cheered, but internally raged at the loss of that
very profitable trading market.

On the investment shows on cable, all of the talking heads tried
valiantly to sound reasonable, logical and rational in their analysis
of Donne's policies' effects on the markets as they interviewed
traders and brokers, all of whom were “talking their book,”
meaning what they said was driven in good part by the positions they
held at the time.

When the market opened at 9:30 EST, all three of the major indices
immediately fell between seven and nine percent, the tax preparation
companies between 65 and 80 percent, oil companies between 11 and 14
percent and the euro fell nearly 16 percent versus the dollar. But
since oil was down nearly 35 percent in dollar terms, it was actually
down in euros, as well. And since speculators could no longer trade
oil futures in dollar terms, the euro's fluctuations versus the
dollar would be affected in good part by supply and demand in the oil
market. The same would prove to be true with the other currencies
that traded against the dollar in the forex market.

On the positive side, airlines, railroads, trucking and utility
companies saw significant bounces, as did restaurant and many retail
stocks, as well as the stocks of other companies whose input costs
were significantly oil-related.

By late morning, it looked like the markets were bottoming, as the
shorts started covering, and the indices began moving up. By noon,
they had all regained about a third of the morning's losses, and the
sense of relief continued for the rest of the day, but the markets
still closed down. At least the indices were only down between one
and three percent, and the volatility index, which had spiked up in
the morning, was only up a couple of points at the close.

After the close, all three rating agencies announced that, although
they were affirming the United States' current credit rating, they
each anticipated that as Donne's policies took effect, they would all
be inclined to raise the rating back to the highest level, where it
was prior to the downgrade after the debt ceiling debacle last
August.

In after-market trading, all three indices regained all their losses,
and by eight p.m., when after-market trading ended, they were
actually positive, and the futures showed a decent upward bias for
Tuesday.

On the first of the two fake news shows on cable that night, the host
began the show with his typically sophomoric trivialization of the
weekends' events, with an overly caricatured cartoon of Donne,
emphasizing his large ears and short stature, wearing a Napoleonic
uniform, in the typical Napoleonic stance, but holding a pistol to a
much taller cartooned Uncle Sam, cowering in fear. His satirical
correspondents “reported” from a green-screened Capitol,
White House and Supreme Court building, suggesting that Donne planned
to lease those out to an entertainment company which would install
animatronic robots and turn all three into tourist attractions with
historical nostalgia.

His guest, a left-leaning professor of constitutional law at a noted
university in Cambridge, Massachusetts, was treated with the host's
typical highly intelligent second-half style, and argued with all his
proud, pedantic and patronizing bluster that Donne's takeover of the
government was absolutely, clearly and positively unconstitutional.

The show after that followed a similar theme, with the
tongue-in-cheek conservative host satirizing Donne's tax policies
with fake interviews with greedy billionaires flaunting their
newfound wealth and buying ostentatious yachts, limousines, watches
and wines.

But then he went into a raving rant against Donne's confiscation of
his SuperPAC, which he'd planned to use in satiric fake ads in the
Republican primary and in the general election.

His guest was a noted conservative political columnist, who barely
managed to get three words in edgewise due to the host's usual
raised-eyebrow interruptive style. The point he was trying to make
was to object to Donne's social policies on individual choice, but
that was overpowered by the host's continuing rant against the
confiscation of his SuperPAC.

Overnight, the Asian and European markets stayed relatively stable,
fluctuating a few points above and below unchanged.

Everyone was awaiting Donne's press conference at one p.m. on
Tuesday.

-16-

Six Months Earlier

Sunday, June 12, 2011

2:37 p.m. EDT

Bonita Springs, Florida

When Jake got home from the beach after an early afternoon rainstorm,
he found an email from Pamela93 in his inbox: "Sorry about the
chaos this a.m. I need to see you as soon as you get this.
URGENT!!!!! Let me know where and when and I'll be there. Pam."

Jake debated for a while, but finally responded. "Seabreeze
Cafe, off Forester, in the tiki hut, five o'clock. JD" Then he
went in to take a shower. When he came out, he found a reply from
Pamela93. "See you then. Be careful and watch your six. Pam."

Jake made a couple of phone calls, reviewed some emails, then got to
the Seabreeze Cafe an hour early, drove around checking all the cars
in the front and back lots and finding them all empty of passengers.
Only then did he park his car and duck quickly through the drizzle
into the restaurant, noticing two older couples sitting at the
counter, six booths full of retirees and families, and as he headed
out into the tiki hut area, he noticed the Mimosa twins, now wearing
coverups over their bikinis, sitting at one of the tables in the
back. He took a chair at a table where he could keep an eye on both
entrances, the door from the restaurant and the steps from the back
parking lot, the two choke points, staying alert to all the comings
and goings. He saw nothing that aroused his suspicions, so he pulled
his notebook out and started outlining Donne's press conference,
glancing up frequently to check the doors.

Chelsea, the only waitress on duty, came out of the restaurant and
said, "Hi, Jake, the usual?"

"Nah, Chel, just ice water for now. Thanks."

"Okay," she said, "one draft ice water coming up.
Want some lemon in that?”

“That would be great, Chel.”

A few minutes later, when she set the glass in front of him, she
said, "Did you hear about the excitement at the beach today? “

"Oh, yeah; I was there, and I'm still shaking from it all.
Never had bullets flying so close to me before."

"You were there? Holy crap! What happened?"

"I'm still not sure, but it was scary as hell. The cops asked
me not to talk about it; I guess I'm a witness. But I can tell you
that they evacuated the beach and brought in the bomb squad,
interrogated everybody they could before the rain came and cut it all
short. There musta been fifty or sixty deputies and thirty or forty
cop cars. It was a madhouse, even more of a mess than when the
Marines were firing at the … oops; probably said too much
already. Sorry. Keep that just between us, okay, Chel?"

"Sure, Jake.”

"But if you search for 'gorilla head Bonita,' you'll probably
find a video that got uploaded.”

"I'll do that; thanks. Are you gonna be okay?"

"I think so. But I'm still shaking."

Chelsea patted him on the shoulder and said, "Good luck with
that. And I'll leave you alone; I see you're writing."

"Just making some notes; it helps, keeps my brain occupied and
my body a little less shaky."

“So how's the book coming?”

“Kinda slow, but I'm still hoping to finish it by December;
I've got his first speech set for then. But I get stuck a lot.”

"How about a quick joke? Think that'd help?”

Jake perked up and said, “Go ahead; try it.”

"Did you hear about the two Irish guys who walked out of a pub?”

Jake rolled his eyes around, but came up with nothing, “Nope.”

"It could happen.”

Jake chuckled. "Not bad, Chel, not bad at all; I'll add that to
the repertoire. And thanks; that did help.”

"It's the beta-endorphins. Hang in there, Jake."

"Will do. Thanks again, Chel." Jake went back to his
notebook, but kept checking the door and the steps.

At about 4:30, Jake saw a tall woman coming through the indoor
restaurant, in loose khaki bermuda shorts, a baggy shortsleeved
sweatshirt and a large black hat covering all of her hair, carrying a
big beach bag. She was shambling along and wearing those big
wraparound sunglasses people get after cataract surgery, and it took
Jake a moment to see through her disguise and recognize Pam. He
could also tell she was exercising good tradecraft, unobtrusively
alert to her surroundings. When she came through the door out to the
tiki hut and looked his way, he waved and she came over and sat in
the chair beside him, setting her sunglasses on the table.

"Okay, Secret Service lady, what the hell is going on?"

"Shh, Jake; keep your voice down. I'll tell you everything I
know. But not here; we're being watched."

"No, we're not; I checked."

"Not well enough. See those two girls at that table over there?
They were on the beach this morning."

"Yeah, they were. But I know them; they're regulars. I think
their names are, uh, Carie and … um … Jill, I think.
They're okay."

"Are you sure? They look like pros to me."

"Pros? Nah, just some cutesy young kids; been on the beach for
three or four months. And I'm sure they saw you talking with me and
heard you tell the sergeant you were Secret Service. And Sergeant
Dooley interviewed them as witnesses, I'm pretty sure."

Pam paused, then said, "Okay, but I'm gonna keep an eye on 'em."

"Fine. Now, lady, what the hell is going on? Why all the
Marines this morning? And what was with that gorilla head?"

"The gorilla head, I have no idea. But I was totally against
having the Marines along. That was all my boss's idea."

"So are you really Secret Service?"

"This morning, yes, but as of this afternoon, I'm on suspension.
He's just CYAing."

"Who is?"

"My boss, Chaney."

"Dick Cheney, the ex-VP?"

"No, Randy Chaney, who set up that whole op this morning."

"Wait a minute; let's back up. Just start at the beginning and
tell me what happened this morning and what's so urgent now."

"Okay."

"And what was that about some national security issue?"

"Okay. I don't know for sure how it happened, but your name
came up as a possible security risk, and my boss tasked me with
checking you out. But I'd already been looking at your website and
the speech you had up there, and I was intrigued, and I made those
suggestions and then you and I got into that first email exchange.
And that was long before I got tasked."

"Yup; I looked back at those first emails this afternoon. And
the second round, too; but there the tone had changed a bit."

"That was after I got tasked -- you know, I think that was
probably after you put up the first bit about the assassin, and maybe
the NSA computers flagged it then."

"NSA? Seriously?"

"Well, I'd guess that word would trigger something. In fact,
I'm sure it did."

"Maybe because it was near the President's name?"

"Maybe -- no, I'd say probably."

"Hmm."

"Now, I don't know exactly where the order came from, but it got
to me from my boss, Chaney, so that's all I have. But he's a lot
more political than I am, kind of a suck-up, so it may have come from
the political people in the White House.”

“Geez. Because of an innocuous, stupid little novel?”

"Well, you gotta admit that some of the stuff you have Donne
proposing could be pretty controversial.”

"Well, yeah, but that's mostly for the assassination plots.”

Just then, Chelsea came over and asked Pam, “Can I get you
something, hon?”

Pam smiled up at her and said, “Just some ice water, please.”

“Lemon in it?”

“Sure; thanks.”

"Coming right up. Anything else, Jake?”

"Sure, I'll have another, Chel.”

"Be right back.”

"You come here a lot?” Pam asked.

"Yeah, I guess so.” Jake paused a moment, looked closely
at Pam and said, “Is your name really Pamela?"

"Yes, it is. Really."

"Last name?"

"Robertson-Brooks. But I just go by Brooks usually.”

"Robertson-Brooks? Married?"

"Widowed. Want to see ID? I don't have my badge anymore."

"Sure."

"Okay." Pam dug into her bag, pulled out a wallet,
extracted a Virginia driver's license and showed it to Jake.

"Satisfied?"

"Okay -- wait a minute. You were born in '61?"

"Yup, July 29th."

"You really do not look that old. But go on. You were saying
your boss is political and he ordered you to --”

"Tasked me to check you out."

"Tasked you; okay.”

"Well, that whole email exchange of ours led me to the
conclusion that you were no security risk, but Chaney insisted that I
meet you face to face and ... well, he wanted me to interrogate you.
And then he insisted that the Marines go with me. Like I said,
overkill. And I objected, told him I could do it alone. But he
overruled me and ordered them along; he even drew a diagram of where
he wanted them in the sand."