American Fascist Page 6

  Now it haunted Eli as his car moved through heavy traffic. He had seen first hand evidence that her claims might be real. If so, what about the girl Franks warned her had disappeared? His nerves were rattled as he looked out the window, the White House in the distance but fast approaching. Was the man inside that building, now the most powerful man in the world, not only a child predator, but perhaps even a child murderer?

  He had no idea what to do, other than to play it cool for the moment. Go through the motions. Make no sudden moves, until he had sorted this all out in his mind. The car pulled over at the corner of H and 17th near the Eisenhower Building, he jumped out, and walked in to work.

  ***

  Eli spent the day pretending to be focused on gathering data for the Commission on Election Fraud. He made small talk with Mike Garner and Lindsey Bennett in the office. Walter stopped by to commend him on his private session with “the boss.” Eli shrugged it off like it was no big deal, preferring to focus Walter’s attention on the various sources of data he thought might help arm the president’s new commission with the facts it needed to tackle the problem. Less than one minute into that topic, Walter was distracted by his phone, and had to run.

  All the while, the parallel reality of what he knew was turning over and over in his mind. He tried to think through the ramifications, and focus less on Franks as a detestable human being, and more on who was behind it, and what they might be trying to achieve. As many times as he gamed out the scenarios, he could not come to any conclusion other than something much greater than mere sexual blackmail was at stake.

  The president was worth billions of dollars, how many no one exactly knew because he refused to release his tax returns, but whether it was one billion or twenty, no one disputed he was probably a billionaire. If this was just your garden-variety sexual blackmail, whoever had the tape could be made supremely rich, and no one would ever need to know. The girl, the woman in the background, whoever sent the text; Franks could easily pay them all off, in amounts beyond what any run-of-the-mill criminal or victim would hope to get. This would have all gone away, long before the inauguration. And yet it hadn’t. So what could Franks give them as president, that he could not give them as a mere billionaire?

  The dossier claimed that Russia’s primary purpose for assisting Franks in the election was to achieve the lifting of the devastating financial sanctions that the U.S. had enacted to punish Russia for its illegal invasion of Ukraine and annexation of Crimea. The sanctions were costing the Russian government and its kleptocratic oligarchs hundreds of billions of dollars per year.

  Now that was the kind of money that even a mere billionaire couldn’t pay; the kind of money worth risking punishment and international condemnation and possibly even war, to install your own puppet president that you could control. But was the intel in the dossier true?

  Given its claims about Russia having compromising material on Franks — “kompromat” as the KGB had called it during the Cold War — which supposedly included video of Franks in a Russian hotel room participating in lewd acts with Russian hookers — and comparing that to what Eli personally saw, he could only conclude that the dossier was likely accurate. In fact, he knew there was more “kompromat” on Franks than even the authors of the dossier might be aware of.

  So that became his working theory: the Russians had assisted Franks in the election to get him into office, and were simultaneously blackmailing him with this horrible kompromat, to ensure they got their payback: the lifting of the crippling sanctions.

  Each piece was dependent on the other. If they had no kompromat and they helped him into office, they could not be assured of him lifting the sanctions once he got in. And the kompromat itself wasn’t worth a fraction as much if he wasn’t president. But now they had both. It all added up to a criminal conspiracy that seemed beyond anything in fiction. And this was before the idea of Franks proactively colluding with the Russians was even added to the conspiracy.

  ***

  That night, Eli went for a long run along the National Mall. There was a light dusting of snow that glowed in the fluorescent street lamps, but didn’t stick to the ground. As he jogged the two miles of pathway from Capitol Hill to the Washington Monument, his mind raced along with his feet, going over and over the strange circumstances in which he now found himself — the sudden dichotomy between the unexpected good fortune of his new job in the White House, and the evidence of terrible corruption, moral and otherwise, that he had been inadvertently exposed to.

  He paused as he reached the Lincoln Memorial, bending over to stretch his back, his breath clouding the air as he buckled over for a moment, then stood back up, turning to see the White House in the distance, obscured by the light snow falling, but still easily identifiable, glowing white against the black drop of night, a few lights on in the upper windows of the Residence.

  He looked at his watch, and thought about what Franks might be up to at this late hour — yelling at the television in his robe?

  Eli turned and began running back toward home. It was getting colder, and he suddenly felt tired. Too much obsessive thinking was draining him.

  He decided to call his father when he got home. He had already sworn himself to secrecy for the moment; what he knew was far too sensitive to share with anyone until he had a plan and a purpose. That, plus speaking on the phone, or any other normal mode of communication, was totally off the table if he was ever going to discuss what he had stumbled on.

  But he needed that grounded feeling that few people gave him like his father. Eli hoped talking to him could steady him somehow, as it had so many times in the past, and probably without his father even knowing it.

  ***

  When he got home, Eli dialed Ben as he paced on his balcony overlooking the dark street.

  “Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. How are you?” Ben asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “You guess? What’s up?”

  “I didn’t like the way our call ended, so I wanted to call back.”

  “I didn’t like the way it ended either,” Ben said.

  Eli wasn’t sure what to say next, he hadn’t really thought it out. “We don’t have to agree on everything, right?” he began.

  “I don’t expect us to. And you don’t expect me not to tell you what I think, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t want that. I was just surprised that you weren’t more… supportive.”

  Leaning back in his easy chair with his favorite travel show down low in the background, Ben chose his words carefully.

  “I’m sorry about that. Getting a job at the White House is a huge deal. It’s just hard for me to separate it from everything else. You know how I feel about that man as our president. Well, he’s not my president, but he’s the president. I voted for Marty Sampson as a write-in, but I guess you know that, too.”

  “Yes, I know. And Marty would have beaten Franks, if the Democratic nomination hadn’t been stacked in favor of Eleanor,” Eli replied. They had been over it a hundred times.

  “Yep, Marty would have beaten him like a dirty rug,” Ben added. There was a long pause between them, pondering the possibilities of what could have been.

  “I appreciate that I always know where you stand. Really. I’m glad you were honest with me about your disappointment.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. Maybe more like surprise,” Ben said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I think you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “I made a mistake, taking the job.”

  “Just because I don’t like him? Don’t listen to me, this is your life, the White House is a huge deal and you have to do what your heart says, I’ve always told you that.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure my heart is in it anymore.”

  “It’s only been a few days. What changed?”

  Eli looked over the balcony at an elderly woman on the sidewalk, holding the leash of
her white Pekingese while it crapped next to the lamp post in front of his building. He thought for a moment, unable to say what he knew, and trying to find some other way.

  “I don’t know exactly. It was one thing, during the campaign. It was like a game, exciting. The stuff we pulled off was pretty unreal. But now that Franks is actually in office? I don’t know… I expected him to shake things up, but some of the bullshit I hear coming from the podium, and Steven Stevens, they basically say whatever they want, and then accuse the media of lying when they question it. It’s kind of unbelievable.”

  “It’s ‘The Big Lie’ technique. Nazi propaganda. That’s what they do.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, I figured there would be some kind of pivot when he got in, but it’s more of the same. They’ve got me working on voter fraud, and I can’t even find any. I don’t know why I am there. It’s surreal.”

  “So quit. It’s probably not a ton of money anyway.”

  “You think I should?”

  “If you’re not happy, yeah. But not because of me. And not because of money. It has to be because of you.”

  Eli thought about it for a long, quiet moment. Hearing his father say it so bluntly, it sounded so easy, so clean. And why not? Would anyone even know he was gone? He could be in California in a few days, and leave this whole thing behind.

  “We go through our whole lives being told not to be quitters, never give up, keep fighting, on and on. But sometimes walking away from a bad situation is the best thing to do. It’s not quitting, it’s self-preservation,” Ben said.

  Eli thought about that, and was suddenly grateful in a strange way, that he had stumbled on the video. It was as if blinders had been removed, and the bright light of truth burned into his mind.

  He decided right then and there to resign, and get as far away as possible from the Franks Administration, lest he be taken down with it when the inevitable reckoning came.

  7

  All About The Money

  Eli entered the Eisenhower building the next morning with the swing of certainty in his step, knowing what he had to do. He had dreamed of the girl again, with her bleeding eyes. He requested, and received, a 9 a.m. meeting with Walter. He told Walter’s secretary it was urgent, and got lucky due to a sudden cancellation on his calendar.

  He couldn’t tell Walter what he knew, so he had formulated a plan. He would be direct and honest about what he had found on the voter fraud issue, which was nothing; he would also be honest that he was disappointed in some of the actions the president had taken, and the direction of the press team; and then he would state that he would resign his post and head back to California where he belonged.

  He would be polite and appreciative of the opportunity, so as to not burn any bridges, but he would also be determined and unwavering that it just wasn’t a good fit. He knew Walter would find it odd that he had suddenly cared about the veracity of the president or his team, or expressed sudden concern about actual issues. It wouldn’t jive with Eli’s attitude during the campaign. When Walter dug deeper, he would then, only reluctantly, play the money card, as if he had been embarrassed to tell the truth, but in the end, it was all about the money. He could make five times as much in Silicon Valley, and while he preferred not to get into details, his parents really could use his help, especially his mother. He would admit he had said the other things because he wanted to appear to be principled, but in the end, like most things, it simply came down to the money.

  He had taken the job out of excitement and a sense of patriotism, and with no other options lined up. But now he had received an offer, and it was too good to turn down. He had signed an NDA and was under strict confidentiality about the offer, but it was in tech and had nothing to do with politics. Eli felt this would resonate with a man like Walter, which was what he wanted. More than anything he wanted to throw Walter off the scent, so that whatever happened later, there wouldn’t be one of those head-scratching moments where Walter said to himself “it never really made sense when he left so suddenly, and right after he helped the president with his phone.”

  He was killing time until the meeting, catching up on the news of the day. The night before, the president had fired the acting Attorney General Monica Davies for refusing to enforce his travel ban. It wasn’t a huge surprise as she was a holdover from the prior administration, until Franks’ nominee for Attorney General, former Louisiana Senator Shelby Butler, could be confirmed by the Senate. But the press found out two minutes before she did that she was being fired, and instead of receiving a call from the president, the termination letter had been hand-delivered by Ken Miller, which was a very mafioso touch.

  At ten minutes to 9 a.m., Eli tightened his tie, shut down his work PC and threw on his coat. He headed downstairs and across the street, back through security, and was then escorted to the outer seating area of Walter’s office. Just as he was about to take a seat, Walter came through his door and shook Eli’s hand. “Come on, get in here, your timing is perfect.”

  ***

  “It doesn’t matter why, you can’t quit. Not right now, anyway. We’re promoting you.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Eli asked as he shifted forward to the edge of his chair. He hadn’t gamed this out.

  “No more policy analytics. You’re now our chief data scientist, reporting directly to Mack Martins. You’re our main man now. The president has already approved it.”

  Eli sucked in his breath, then let it out slow. “Why? Who suggested it?”

  “Actually, the president. He trusts you. And he loves his new phone, by the way.”

  Eli rubbed his eyes. “But what about Carey? I thought he was the head guy?”

  Walter sat straighter and placed both hands on his desk for emphasis. “He’s been reassigned, but that’s not the point. The President of The United States trusts you. You.”

  The whole thing didn’t make sense. But Walter couldn’t be making this up on the fly, just because he was quitting. Walter didn’t play games. He had no need to. So when was the other shoe going to drop?

  “You can’t say that money isn’t relevant,” Eli replied, trying to get back on script.

  “We’ll take care of it. We have plenty of ways. Lowest risk is on the back-end, after you leave government. You go back to Paragon, and remote in from Phuket for all anyone cares. Five hundred thousand a year for five years, guaranteed. David already agreed. He’ll get his cut, of course, from one of the Super PACs.”

  Holy shit. Eli didn’t know what to say. With that kind of money he could take care of his mom, and set himself up with his own analytics firm after he got tired of traveling the world for a few years.

  “So, are you a patient man, Eli? Or are you still in a rush to get back to Cali?” Walter stared straight into him.

  “I don’t get it. What do you want me to do for that much money?” Eli answered, staring straight back at Walter without blinking.

  “We want you to set up a taping system in the Oval Office.”

  ***

  Over the next hour, Walter walked him through it all. Eli was concerned about the legality of the taping system, but Walter assured him all modern presidents did it. And it was not illegal.

  The purpose was more about capturing history, and for the archives, than any kind of nefarious “gotcha” that one might associate with, say, Watergate. After all, if you had anything to hide, why would you want to tape it?

  The difference was, as usual, Franks didn’t trust the White House IT guys, or the Secret Service, or anyone in the intel community to set it up; it had to be his own private, non-government system, and the fewer people that knew about it the better. Eli had performed on the campaign, was cleared on the security front, and the president trusted him enough to let him migrate his personal phone. It didn’t matter that Eli wasn’t a surveillance guy, he was a computer guy, and he would figure it out, and make sure everything was secure, and keep an eye on the system from a data
perspective. It was the “McDonald’s argument” all over again.

  Eli asked for an hour to think it over. Walter said take two, but no more; he wanted to tell the president and Mack Martins right away.

  Eli took a walk to clear his head. The morning sun was poking through a layer of clouds over the city, and even though it was a chilly day, it was nice enough that Eli took his jacket off. He exited the West Wing and walked south along Executive Avenue, staying inside the White House complex. He talked himself through the pros and cons of the offer as he walked.

  Point number one: the money. He could make that kind of money someday, maybe, if he hit the right startup, but this was guaranteed. Walter said he would get the first year’s salary in advance, within a few months of leaving the White House, provided he stayed on board for at least one year. He had no reason to believe they wouldn’t pay him. As absurd as it might sound to an outsider, especially for what he was being asked to do, he had seen far crazier. The Franks Campaign had burned through at least four hundred and fifty million dollars, not counting what the RNC and all the dark-money and super PACs had spent to get Franks elected. It had to be a billion, all said and done. But just in that four hundred and fifty million, there were multi-million dollar contracts for advisors who came to a few meetings, turned in a paper, then consulted remotely, never to reappear. Millions and millions on travel, events, printing, security, catering, advertising, each supplier and vendor and consultant taking their cut of the money machine known as the democratic process. Accounting was poor. Much of the money that came in donations, which Franks started the race by saying he would not accept from any special interests, actually was used to pay Franks-owned businesses that were supplying the campaign, such as his private air charter service. So while he did cut a check once to his own campaign for fifty million, it quickly came right back. He was already in the black, just by running for office. No one would look twice at a $2.5 million consulting contract for a critical data specialist who had done tours at the White House and the winning presidential campaign.