Terminal Compromise by Winn Schwartau (my reading book .txt) 📖

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doubt prompt an investigation into this and other of your deal-

ings. Don’t you think?”

Blackmail was anathema to Robert Henson, although he should have

felt quite comfortable in its milieu. It was effectively the

same stunt he performed on many of his investors. Nobody treats

Robert Henson this way, nobody. He needed time to think. The

last time Fullmaster called it was a bluff, obviously, but then

there were no demands. This time, he wanted something. But, how

did he know? The FDA reports were still confidential, and he

hoped to have completed raising the funds before the reports

became public, another few weeks at most. He counted on ineffi-

cient government bureaucracy and indifference to delay any an-

nouncement. Meanwhile though, he would pocket several millions

in banking fees.

“You got me. I’ll do it. 235. Right?”

“Very good, Mr. Henson. I’m glad you see it my way. It has been

a pleasure doing business with you.” Sir George sounded like a

used car salesman. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Please, Mr. Hen-

son, no police. In that case, our deal is off.”

“Of course, no police. No problem. Thanks for the call.”

Henson hung up. Fuck him. No money, no way.

*

“Mr. Faulkner, this is John Fullmaster.” Sir George was sicken-

ingly sweet. “Do you recall our last conversation?”

How couldn’t he? This was the only call he had received on his

private line since that maniac had last called. Faulkner had had

the number changed at least a half a dozen times since, as a

matter of course, but still, Fullmaster, if that was his real

name, reached him with apparent ease.

“Yes, I remember,” he said tersely. “What do you want now?”

“Just a piece of the action, Mr. Faulkner.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, according to my records, you have lost quite a sum of

money since our last conversation, and it would be such a shame,

don’t you agree, if California National Bank found out they lost

another $2 million to your bad habits?” Sir George instinctively

thought Faulkner was a California slime ball, never mind his own

actions, and he briefly thought that he might actually be work-

ing for the side of good after all.

“You have a real doctor’s bedside manner. What do you want?”

Faulkner conveyed extreme nervousness.

“I think, under the circumstances that, shall we say, oh, one

million would do it. Yes, that sounds fair.”

“One million? One million dollars?” Faulkner shrieked from his

pool side lounge chair.

“Yessir, that sounds just about right.” Sir George paused for

effect. “Now here is what I want you to do. Go to Las Vegas,

and have your credit extended, and acquire small bills. Then,

place the money in a silver Samsonite case at Union Station.

Locker number 12. Is that simple enough?” British humor at its

best.

“Simple, yes. Possible, no,” Faulkner whispered in terror.

“Oh, yes, it is possible, as you well know. You cleared up the

$2.4 Million you owed Caesar’s only last week. Your credit is

excellent.”

“There’s no way you can know that . . .” Then it occurred to

him. The mob. He wasn’t losing enough at the tables, they

wanted more. Losing money was one thing, his way, but a sore

winner is the worst possible enemy. He had no choice. There was

only one way out.

“All right, all right. What locker number?”

“Twelve. Within 48 hours. And, I probably needn’t mention it,

but no police.”

“Of course,” Faulkner smiled to himself. At last the nightmare

would be over.

“Thank you so very much. Have a nice day.”

*

“Merrill! It’s the blackmailer again. Merrill, do you hear me?”

Ken Boyers tried to get Senator Rickfield out from the centerfold

of the newest Playboy. “Merrill!”

“Oh sorry, Ken. Just reading the articles. Now what is it?”

Rickfield put the magazine down, slowly, for one last lustful

gaze.

“Merrill, that Fullmaster fellow, the one who called about the

Credite Suisse arrangements . . .”

“Shut up! We don’t talk about that in this office, you know

that!” Rickfield admonished Ken.

“I know, but he doesn’t,” he said, pointing at the blinking light

on the Senator’s desk phone.

“I thought he went away. Nothing ever came of it, did it?”

“No, nothing, after we got General Young onto it,” Boyers ex-

plained. “I thought he took care of it, in his own way. The

problem just disappeared like it was supposed to.”

“Well,” Rickfield said scornfully, “obviously it didn’t. Give me

the goddamned phone.” He picked it up and pressed the lighted

button. His senatorial dignity was absent as he spoke.

“This is Rickfield. Who is this?”

“Ah, thank you for taking my call. Yes, thank you.” Sir George

spoke slowly, more slowly than necessary. This call was marked

critical. That meant, don’t screw it up. “My name is John

Fullmaster and I believe we spoke about some arrangements you

made with General Young and Credite Suisse.”

“I remember. So what? That has nothing to do with me,” Rick-

field retorted. He grabbed a pen and wrote down the name, John

Fullmaster. Ken looked at the scribbled writing and shrugged his

shoulders.

“Ah, but I’m afraid it does. I see here that Allied Dynamics

recently made a significant contribution to a certain account in

Credite Suisse. There are only two signators on the passbook.

It also says here that they will be building two new factories in

your state. Quite an accomplishment. I am sure your constitu-

ents would be proud.”

The color drained from Rickfield’s face. He put his hand over

the mouthpiece to speak privately to Ken. “Who else knows?

Don’t bullshit me, boy. Who else have you told?”

“No one!” Boyers said in genuine shock. “I want to enjoy the

money, not pay attorney’s fees.”

Rickfield waved Boyers away. He appeared satisfied with the

response. “This is speculation. You can’t prove a thing.”

Rickfield took a shot to gauge his opponent.

“Believe that if you wish, Senator, but I don’t think it is in

either of our best interests to play the other for the fool.”

Sir George saw that Rickfield did not attain his position as

Chairman of the Senate Committee on Space, Transportation and

Technology by caving in to idle demands or threats. In fact, in

34 years of Senate service, Senator Merrill Rickfield had sur-

vived 8 presidents, counseling most of them to varying degrees

depending upon the partisan attitude of the White House.

At 65, much of the private sector would have forced him into

retirement, but elected Government service permitted him the

tenure to continue as long as his constituents allowed. Claude

Pepper held the record and Merrill Rickfield’s ego wanted to

establish new definitions of tenure.

His involvement with General Chester Oliver Young was recent, in

political terms; less than a decade. During the Reagan military

buildup, nearly 3 trillion dollars worth, defense contractors

expanded with the economy, to unprecedented levels and profits.

Congress was convinced that $300 Billion per year was about right

to defend against a Cold War enemy that couldn’t feed its own

people. The overestimates of the CIA, with selective and often

speculative information provided by the country’s intelligence

gatherer, the NSA, helped define a decade of political and tech-

nological achievements: Star Wars, Stealth, MX, B1, B2 and other

assorted toys that had no practical use save all out war.

With that kind of spending occurring freely, and the Senate Over-

sight Committee in a perpetual state of the doldrums, there was

money to be made for anyone part of Washington’s good ol’ boy

network. General Young was one such an opportunistic militarist.

Promoted to one star general in 1978, after two lackluster but

politically well connected tours in Vietnam, it was deemed pru-

dent by the power brokers of that war to bring Young into the

inner rings of the Pentagon with the corresponding perks such a

position brought. But Young had bigger and better ideas.

He saw countless ways to spend taxpayers money protecting them

from the Communist threat of the Evil Empire, but had difficulty

getting support from his two and three star superiors. It didn’t

take him long to realize that he had been token promoted to keep

his mouth shut about certain prominent people’s roles in the

Vietnam era. Events that were better left to a few trusted

memories than to the history books.

So Young decided to go out on his own and find support from the

legislative branch; find an influential proponent for a few

specific defense programs by which he could profit. Over the

course of a few years, he and Senator Rickfield became