Evil Riches
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Author’s COMMENTS
EVIL RICHES
A ZACH TAYLOR ADVENTURE
BRIAN C. ANDERSON
Copyright © 2019 Brian C. Anderson
brianandersonbooks.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7976-5956-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Illinois 2003 CE
In a clearing surrounded by towering hundred-year-old oak trees that reached for the stars, sat a massive Tudor mansion. Ivy bonded with the white stucco exterior, meticulously groomed to emphasize jet black beams jutting outward from the surface. Wisps of stucco still visible where the ivy had not taken hold. The scene immediately conjured up images of England during the Middle Ages.
Inside, Thomas sat in an overstuffed chair made from the finest fabric adorned with decorative golden buttons. Burning wood crackled in the mammoth fireplace, light from the fire dancing across his face like moonbeams on the ocean. Still early in the day, natural light from the windows had not filled the cathedral ceilinged library with adequate illumination for reading.
Thomas slid a pair of glasses, equipped with LED beams that rivaled the sun’s brightness, onto his face. He read the fifty-page paper his older brother Johnathan handed him. As he read, an occasional, “Hum..., interesting..., I like it…,” were the only sounds to compete with the fire’s crackle.
Johnathan, in a matching chair, stared fixated on every reaction his brother conveyed. Besides the routine turn of a page and the dancing firelight, no motion took place, it was as if studying a painting without the existence of time. Finally, the younger brother set the document down on the polished oak table. On the cover, in large boldface type were the words:
MIDDLE-AMERICA
A NEW BEGINNING
By
Johnathan Kramer
With an expression somewhere between disbelief and admiration, Thomas said, “So this is what you have planned?”
“Yes. I can’t believe after all our talks you’re surprised,” replied Johnathan.
“I thought it was just talk, I never expected you to plan something so extreme.”
“Well, now you know, Thomas. Why else would I have spent the last several years turning our land into a self-sufficient property?”
The rhetorical question caught him off guard. Despite having a sharp mind, Thomas paid little attention to events outside his personal universe. You would find him either on the front deck, reading in the library, enjoying classic movies in the multi-media room, or relaxing behind the mansion in the pristine English garden. That and great food kept him content.
“Self-sufficient property? What have you done besides the land purchases?”
“A tremendous amount. One of these days I should take you on a tour of our land, so you can see for yourself.”
“Yes. You should.”
Whether it was his upbringing or Johnathan’s imposing nature, Thomas always deferred final decisions to his older brother, who spent a considerable amount of money building a foundation for the future. He bought up all adjoining properties in an ever-expanding ring, with each parcel having a different owner on paper. While Johnathan told Thomas about every purchase, he did not keep a running total. Subsequently, he was unaware the brothers had amassed four hundred square miles of land in Illinois and Missouri, intersected by the Mississippi River.
Until then, Johnathan hadn’t told him of his efforts to create an entirely self-sufficient township. Designed for upwards of fifty thousand people, he had addressed everything from food, to power, to sanitation.
On a knoll, over five-miles from the mansion were what looked like miniature children’s pinwheels spinning in the wind. Under the right conditions they could hear a barely audible whoosh. Upon approach the toys turned into one-hundred-twenty-foot poles with three fifty-foot blades slowly rotating in the wind. A forty turbine wind farm that produced over thirty megawatts of power was fully operational.
Grazing under the towers, indiscernible from the mansion, and part of a fifty thousand acres fenced pasture, were thousands of farm animals. As part of Johnathan’s plan, they raised a variety of livestock; from traditional cows and sheep, to more exotic; bison, llamas and ostriches.
Adjacent to the pasture the nose welcomed, or more accurately warned of the lands use. For many people the gag reflex took hold as ammonia and rotten eggs attacked the olfactory system. Any doubts of its purpose were cast aside once the eyes confirmed the source of the putrid odor. A series of large pens were home to countless pigs.
A half-mile from the pig pens stood two, three-hundred-foot long buildings whose residents were as obvious as the pigs. The constant ear numbing cackle of tens of thousands of chickens dominated other sounds.
He divided the opposite side of the property into three sections. First, was a thirty-thousand acre kaleidoscope of colors. The result of growing almost every type of vegetable, fruit, and nut imaginable. Second, was another thirty-thousand acres divided between; single-family homes on one-acre lots, military barracks for Johnathan’s army, bunkhouses for the farm hands, and a multi-story office building. Some homes were still vacant, but Johnathan knew they would all be occupied once they executed his plan. Finally, an industrial area provided facilities to can, dehydrate, and freeze the abundant food supply. The industrial area also housed a dual purpose water treatment plant. They drew potable water from the Mississippi River, which the plant sterilized to provide pure water for the entire township. The other part of the treatment plant handled waste-water processing.
◆◆◆
Thomas and Johnathan Kramer had accomplished something unheard of in modern times by affluent people. They were billionaire brothers who didn’t exist, at least not as far as the world was concerned.
As young men they were well known, being the heirs of a moneyed father. They detested the spotlight and watched with dismay the constant intrusion other wealthy individuals endured. After their father’s death, the brothers devised a plan to remove themselves from public view. For years they quietly
moved the majority of their wealth into shell companies. Those companies changed ownership so many time it was impossible to trace them back to the brothers. An unfortunate plane crash supposedly killed both men. The small remnant, two hundred and forty million, of their known wealth was distributed among various charities.
Obviously, the brothers didn’t die in a plane crash; they were still very much alive and lived a luxurious lifestyle hidden from prying eyes. To ensure their anonymity, everything they did required a convoluted course of action that never pointed to them.
In their early adult lives they embraced the concepts of capitalism to leverage their millions into billions. This allowed them to use unrevealed financial influence to shift the policies of a democratic society towards their ideologies. The results from an economic perspective exceeded their expectations, but they suffered occasional setbacks over the years on the political front.
However, as their wealth increased their disdain for a democratic society grew. While the two men had been willing to give democracy a chance they came to view it as a failed experiment. For over thirty years they had tried to fill government offices with people that would transform the country to their liking.
They also tried to dissuade interest in a liberal arts education. To them, that area of study created too many free-thinkers. While a modest shift towards their goals had occurred the efforts had fallen far short of their plans. From the brothers perspective, there were too many politicians still representing the ‘second-tier’.
The two men considered the vast majority of citizens as nothing more than second-tier individuals. A term that evolved from the notion of nobles and serfs. Their sense of noble stature came from their fascination with King Henry the VIII of England. Because of their perceived decay of American society, the brothers thought it would better serve the United States if a King Henry type ruler straightened the country out.
While they recognized the need for a second-tier, they found it laughable those people believed they should have a say in new legislation. After all, who would make their meals, do their laundry or transport them wherever they needed to go if there wasn’t a second-tier. In addition, they knew people who designed products, built products and grew food were necessary, but again none of them had any business voting.
◆◆◆
The brothers were both eccentric and extreme in their views. In fact, the two men detested the diminutives, Tom and John, as they felt those sounded too common and considered themselves far too superior for such. If you worked for the brothers, it would be grounds for immediate dismissal if they heard you refer to them as anything other than Thomas and Johnathan. Their obsession went so far that to be part of their inner circle your name had to sound regal. You couldn’t be Fred even if that was your given name; instead you would be Frederick.
Johnathan expected his proclivity for formal names to see a resurgence amongst the masses once his ‘America’ emerged, and that day was fast approaching.
Chapter 2
Virginia 2003 CE
Late in the day, Zach’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the news. With winter releasing its grip on the road he could safely make the journey to his most treasured place on earth. His mountain retreat involved a three-mile drive on a road with hairpin turns, never plowed in the winter. At the cabin’s elevation, snow triumphed over access and limited when he could enjoy his sanctuary. With the road open, he hastily threw together his belongings for the short trip ahead.
While access alone was reason to be excited, it also meant he could invite Linda to come visit. Despite a lack of commitment Zach was sure he could convince her to join him.
He had arrived late the night before but was up early, ready to spend the day engaged in his favorite pastime, fishing. With no outside influence on the fish population, he was always sure to catch several large fish. Most he would return to the water, but would keep one or two for a tasty meal. To Zach there was nothing better than a fresh-caught trout, dusted in cornmeal and fried in a black cast-iron-skillet full of melted lard.
With Linda on the West Coast, he had several hours to enjoy the meditative state fishing evoked before calling her.
In the process of landing what would easily be a three-plus pound trout his phone rang. Keeping tension on the line he pulled the phone from his pocket to see Jake was calling. This was a call he wouldn’t be able to ignore. His boss, Jake, was the director of FAPS.
Since FAPS didn’t exist, officially, the agents created their own acronym, which stood for: Federal Agency Producing Solutions. Something most agents thought the government couldn’t accomplish. FAPS was in the business of solving ‘problems’ that went beyond what the general population, or other intelligence agencies needed to know. Only the president and secretary of state knew of their existence. The president would call on Jake’s agency when an action required complete secrecy, deniability, and could never be dragged in front of congress.
He reluctantly answered the phone, “I sure hope this is a social call and you want to see how I’m enjoying my free time.”
Jake’s response was not what he wanted to hear, “Afraid not. I have a new assignment for your team. I’ve sent several reports over for your review. One of our planes will be at the Asheville Airport.”
“Give me a couple hours and I’ll be on my way.”
In an instant, his tranquil, relaxed mindset turned into a resentment for his on-call status as an agent. Before joining the agency he was the master of his time and traveled to tape adventure shows when his cabin was inaccessible. No longer his own boss changed that, and he had not yet adjusted to the new paradigm.
As he rode to the airport, in his self-driving car, he reviewed the reports, but found it difficult to concentrate. Besides being taken from his retreat too soon, the call dashed all hopes of Linda joining him. By the time he arrived at the airport his mood had grown increasingly foul.
Zach boarded one of the agency’s Bombardier Global 6000 jets. At the front of the plane’s cabin was a small galley stocked with meals selected to delight a trip’s passengers. Beyond the galley were six lambskin upholstered recliners that pampered an occupants body much like the softest blanket comforts a sleepy baby. In the rear was a private bedroom which saw little use, because of the recliners smooth, cool embrace that encouraged a restful trip.
While Zach had every intention of reviewing the reports, the chair had accomplished its designed purpose and he woke only upon hearing the announcement they would land shortly.
The driver assigned to retrieve Zach, from Reagan National Airport, greeted him with a jovial welcome, however, the expletive laced response caught him off guard. Not knowing his passenger, he dismissed the exchange as nothing more than an attitude problem with this agent. He drove to the office without engaging in the usual banter most agents enjoyed.
When Zach exited the vehicle, the driver’s expression smacked of detest. A moment’s reflection alerted him to the mood he hadn’t acknowledged. He said, “I’m sorry I acted like a jerk, I’ve got a lot on my mind. Thank you for picking me up.”
The driver’s response was a slight tip of his hat, a half nod, and a forced smile. Accepting the response as well deserved, Zach decided he wasn’t ready to see Jake until he vanquished the gloom he projected.
Despite summer’s fast approach, teeth chattering chill filled the air. Zach pulled his collar up around his neck and plunged his hands inside the coat pockets. He walked past the building’s entrance moving aimlessly down the sidewalk. Deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed the sidewalk gave way to a cross street. Suddenly a car’s horn blared, tires screeched, and a middle finger salute greeted his stunned gaze.
The driver’s quick reactions averted a disastrous beginning to Zach’s trip. Regaining his composure, he shrugged, mouthed, “Sorry,” and returned to the safety of the sidewalk.
A quick check of his watch showed over an hour had gone by since he arrived at the airport. With an about-face he hastened his pace for a
brisk walk back to the office building, determined to portray a more upbeat attitude.
Finally back at headquarters, he paused for a moment. The last time Zach was here he knew nothing of FAPS existence and thought, what a difference a year makes. He entered the building, waved a badge at the receptionist, got in the elevator and headed for the tenth floor.
When he exited the elevator, Sandy looked up. Smiled, then assumed the scolding air of a parent whose child comes in after curfew, “Where have you been? Your plane landed over an hour ago!”
“It’s good seeing you too, Sandy. You’re looking beautiful and lovely as ever.”
Her gatekeeper persona melted away with Zach’s words, “Oh stop, you know I’m a sucker for sweet talk.”
“Well, Jake put the kibosh on that a year ago didn’t he.”
“Unfortunately, but I enjoyed getting to know you a little better over that drink but...”
“No need to say anything else.”
"You better get in there, you know how Jake hates to be kept waiting."
Jake greeted Zach with a tone reminiscent of a concerned father, “What took you so long?”
“I went for a walk, I needed to sort things out.”
“According to Sandy, the driver said you were a real jerk, but she said he used a much more colorful description. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s not important. Can we talk about the mission?”
“Absolutely, but first let me start by saying, what you accomplished in Venezuela was fantastic. We have already reverse engineered the laser weapon you retrieved and the results will just appear on a defense department desk, with no questions asked.”
“Thanks, Jake. I feel bad that Barry got shot, but at least we got out of there with no one on the team getting killed”
“One more thing, take a look at this.”
Jake handed him a colorful over-sized coffee-table book with his image on the front and a title that read ‘Zach Taylor Adventures’.