The Plot (18 page)

She laid the pizza back in the box, reached for the thick journal, and unclasped its brass buckle. It felt cold. Like fear. With a deep breath, she opened it and exhaled quickly as she read the name stenciled in gold leaf inside the cover.
J. Harold Otis.
She shivered. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she murmured. “This must be
it."

Willing herself to be calm, she turned to the first page. The handwriting looked neither young nor old. As timeless as evil, Cassie thought, as she began reading the private thoughts of one of the world's wealthiest and most reclusive of men.

May 4, 1972

It is settled. We have all agreed. The youngsters from Yale are just what we've been waiting for. We will harness their youth and idealism. We will place them in positions of power, money, and influence so they can carry on after we are gone. We will teach them patience and encourage them along the path. They will come to understand that tomorrow is built upon all of our todays, and it is a better tomorrow that we strive toward.

Dread warred with curiosity as Cassie trudged through the twisting, turning details of elections and assassinations. The World Bank. World Trade Organization. The giveaway of the Panama Canal. The secret pact with China. Campaign finance restrictions. It was all here-and more. She pictured the writer, smiling smugly or frowning flinty-eyed as he methodically recorded every event, personality, and, of course, his own influence. Turning to the last page, a slip of paper fell onto her lap. Joshua's now familiar greeting was scribbled across it. She laid it aside and read the final journal entry. It had been written shortly after the Vice President's visit to Firethorne in May.

I am growing old but feel stronger than ever as I see it falling into place. Who could have known that the discontent of the Sixties Generation could be so effectively harnessed? Or have dreamed that the ashes of those years would prove such fertile ground? From the ‘modernization’ of the public schools and liberalization of the universities, to the division of Americans into warring interest groups, the subversion of the Bill of Rights, and the consolidation of the energy supplies, all has gone more smoothly than we dared hope.

Of course, we have had strong allies-naiveté, idealism, human nature itself. The ‘million moms’ who believed our anti-gun propaganda. The environmentalists who helped cripple American industrial might. And, of course, petty despots like Saddam, whose territorial ambitions enabled the concept of a new world order to gain credibility, and Milosevic, whose lust for power allowed us to convert NATO into an offensive force.

Just a few details now remain before ultimate control becomes ours. I am reassured by all I see and read and all that my colleagues tell me that the day is close at hand when I can at last visit my brother's grave, knowing that I kept the promise I made to him as he lay in that wretched V.A. hospital-'No more war.'

Yeah. And the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Cassie thought as she closed the journal, buckled the clasp, and slid it beneath the mattress. Of course, it could be just the ravings of a lunatic, she consoled herself, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach didn't go away. She imagined how Otis must have felt when he discovered the journal was missing. But how did Joshua get it? And who is this Joshua who has that kind of access to the old man's belongings?

The shrill ring of the telephone startled her from her thoughts. “Hello?” Her voice sounded shrill, too.

"Cassie, darling. It's me.” The familiar throatiness of Selena's voice threaded its way through the phone line. “I see you made it okay. Are you having a nice, eh, vacation?"

"Yes, but there are still some things I hope to see,” Cassie answered, conscious of the danger Selena was in-or might pose. She pushed the thought away.

"I expected as much. In fact, that is why I have arranged a tour for you tomorrow if you don't have other plans?"

"Not really. I'm free to do whatever."

"Good. There's an historic town named Quincy just about thirty minutes west of Tallahassee that you must see while you're in the area. A friend of mine volunteered to show you around. Can you meet him in the morning?"

"Sure. What time and where?” Cassie jotted down the directions, promised to be there, and hung up reluctantly. The silence left in the wake of Selena's phone call made the sparsely furnished room seem even less friendly. Sighing, she forced her attention back to the items remaining on the bedspread-the computer disk, the DVD, and the other news clippings. “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe,” she said aloud.

The shiny, silver DVD won, and Cassie carried it to the desk across the room. Sliding it into her computer, she caught her breath as she found herself looking down through a camera lens at a gathering of some of the world's most influential people. The date in the lower right-hand corner showed that it had been recorded a few weeks before the Vice President's visit to Firethorne in May. She turned up the volume on the computer as the First Lady began speaking.

"Martin will be on the golf course for the rest of the day, so we don't have to worry about him barging in. He thinks there's nothing going on today until the exhibition by the Chinese Ballet at 9:00 tonight, so he'll play all eighteen holes."
She grinned broadly.

The British Prime Minister's wife turned toward the head of the table and addressed herself to someone hidden from the camera's eye.
"It was really quite clever of you, J. Harold, to arrange the golf game. With Martin and Samuel out of the way, we can speak freely."
The tall, dark-haired woman held her nose in the air like the aristocrat she had always aspired to be, but her accent betrayed her working-class background.

Max had said that cameras were concealed throughout the big house, and she wondered if the P.M.'s wife knew she was being recorded. Considering the positioning of this one to hide old man Otis from view, he obviously believed in no one's privacy but his own. Come to think of it, he hadn't been seen in public for a long time-ever since he'd left the United Nations. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of his hands appearing on the table, palms flat, fingers outstretched. His talon-like fingernails looked like they hadn't been clipped in months. He cleared his throat several times before responding.

"Yes. Then, let's proceed."
His voice was almost as high as a woman's. His words carried just the barest hint of his southern upbringing.
"Ambassador, what do you have to report?"

A heavy-set man with a face as round as a basketball responded. His speech carried a heavy Italian accent. “
The new Secretary-General and Commission on World Governance have approved the final draft of the Constitution. Your suggestion that it specify the elimination of all national borders has been included. The Commission agreed-as does the Secretary-General-that this will go a long way toward eliminating any remaining vestiges of ‘national sovereignty.’ In addition, they have finally agreed upon a formula for internationalizing the production and control of armaments-everything from handguns to nuclear missiles. Once the Vice President assumes office and the United States finally acquiesces, other nations will follow-like dominoes."

The French Minister of Defense, a petite blonde whose pacifist views were well documented, spoke up.
"We are quite pleased to have reached an accord that will place all armaments under United Nations control. The Russians and Chinese were most helpful in gaining the cooperation of the developing nations, such as India, Pakistan, and Turkey. With the total disarmament of individual nations, we will have removed all possibility of nationally initiated wars, including the border skirmishes that still occur. And after the citizens are disarmed, there can be no threat of a popular uprising to challenge our authority."

Otis’ taloned fingers curled in upon themselves ever so slightly.
"There is still the question of ancient animosities."

A short, bearded man with eyes as black as coal and a distinctly Middle Eastern accent responded.
"It is believed that the elimination of national boundaries coupled with a new ability to trade and travel freely will be a giant step in resolving those problems. Of course, some hatreds go so deep that such interaction can only breed trouble-such as exists between the Jews and the Muslims.

"Once America signs on and the United World Constitution is implemented, we will revoke the Israeli charter and internationalize Palestine. In exchange for being out from under the Jews, the Palestinians are willing to yield control of their homeland to the United Nations with Jerusalem as the capitol of the new world government. Although the Jews will be welcome to stay and work, their presence is sure to be a constant reminder of the ... earlier strife, and their activities will have to be closely monitored to avoid any outbreaks of violence. Jews who do not wish to remain will be free to return to the countries from which their ancestors emigrated after World War II."

Cassie listened with her eyes closed, picturing the bloody, shattered bodies of Israelis and Palestinians that continued to fill the news. Peace would be a welcome change. But was another diaspora the answer? She thought of the pogroms in which European Jews had been terrorized and murdered down through the centuries. And the Holocaust. Skeletal bodies trapped behind barbed wire; infants thrown like so much garbage onto the corpses of their parents. She opened her eyes at the sound of Otis’ voice. He sounded irritated.

"Have you given any thought to anything other than Israel? Ireland, for example? Africa?"

The color rose in the Middle Easterner's face as he floundered for an answer. He was saved by an all-too-familiar voice that made Cassie sit bolt upright. It was Uncle Hamilton. How she had failed to notice his finely-chiseled features before, she'd couldn't imagine.

"There will always be challenges for us to face, J. Harold."
His voice was even smoother than usual, and he looked more relaxed than she'd seen him in a long time.
"The point is that, in a united world, solutions will exist where none exist now. Once we limit religious observances to the home and eliminate the influence of religious leaders, we will be able to effectively re-educate the populace to understand the, ah, truth about religion, and problems such as exist in Ireland and the Middle East will die a natural death. And, as for the Africans ... “
He allowed himself a small chuckle,
"with the World Bank controlling the money supply and the WTO controlling trade, why, they will find themselves with such an abundance of food and resources from the coffers of the former Western nations that they won't have anything left to fight about."

From the silence that followed, it was clear that no one could find any flaw in his logic. Cassie couldn't either, although his words sent a chill through her and stirred a shadowy memory of a long ago argument. Try as she might, she couldn't quite grasp it.

Otis’ voice broke into her thoughts.
"Well, then, let's proceed to the situation right here in the United States. Hamilton?"

Uncle Hamilton smiled and leaned back against his chair.
"We're on the verge of putting the last piece of the puzzle into place. We have the mainstream media where we want them. Between what we learned from their FBI files and all the ‘public’ pressure about their, ah, ‘irresponsible’ reporting, they're terrified that we will either expose their dirty little secrets or return to the McCarthy days of blacklists. Our ‘investigative reports’ about the underground militia have created an effective smokescreen for our operatives, so law enforcement has yet to tie one incident to any of them. Also, the ‘exposes’ of ‘extreme right wing’ groups, portraying them as zealots who want to impose their own ideas and agenda on the American people in the name of God and the Constitution, are having the desired impact."
He paused and leaned forward.
"In other words, when the time comes, we'll have the public well-prepared to accept our message, and the Conservatives’ own words will work against them."

Cassie thought about the ever-present spin in the news. Even her own article-which she'd abandoned in favor of fulfilling her father's quest-had been “edited for content,” eliminating the out-going House Speaker's comments about his resignation. “I can no longer effectively represent either my District or the people of the United States in an atmosphere so poisoned by misinformation.” She shook her head. Sue had said that quoting the former Speaker was a waste of valuable space.
And I believed her.

The Japanese man seated beside Uncle Hamilton joined the discussion. His English was flawless.
"For our part, we have focused most of our attention on flooding the market with our video games. Those who oppose world unity are the villains. Those who support our agenda are the heroes. With the new graphics, our most recent releases are the most effective yet. They are selling as fast as they reach the stores. Even adults are buying them-"

"We, too, have been flooding the market with propaganda,"
interrupted a balding man with thick glasses and a nose that reminded Cassie of a hawk's beak.
"We have three new movies being released for television and two that will hit the theaters in August."

"Excellent."
It was J. Harold Otis again.
"Yes, Pamela?"

The P.M.'s wife had been trying for several minutes to get the old man's attention. She sat up straight when he finally recognized her.
"I just want to report that all is in order on our side of the Channel. We have the media in our pocket. Parliament is so concerned about the increasing popularity of the Conservative message that they are willing to do anything to preserve their power. Samuel, of course, doesn't know the whole plan, but he's solidly behind anything that will keep him-us-at 10 Downing Street."

"What about the Royal Family?"
It was the diminutive man across from the First Lady. Until now, he'd been silent.