eighteen months ago, when I first proposed consideration of California becoming a sovereign nation. To me, it seems like only yesterday. .”
Chapter 6
Sea Ranch
Ninety-five miles north of San Francisco, California
January, 2010
It was election year, and Senator Malcolm Turner had put out the call for campaign contributions as he began his run for a fourth term in the U.S. Senate. The invitation to meet with John Henry Franklin at his palatial estate three hours’ drive north of San Francisco had been a welcome surprise. Their meeting changed Turner’s campaign rhetoric from politics-as-usual hyperbole to a more deadly indictment of federal intervention into state’s rights. Franklin’s retreat, called Sea Ranch Estate, sprawled over an area of about twelve miles, north to south, and running east from the coast nearly nine miles, well into the coastal mountain range. With its proximity to the route followed by California gray whales heading north to Alaska from Baja, the northern California coastline was a favorite gathering place for whale watchers, Greenpeace supporters, rabid environmentalists, and assorted tourists. Providing public access to the beaches across his land and a healthy contribution to ocean environmentalist causes was a concession Franklin made to placate those who might otherwise resent the size of his holdings. Access to the developed area of Franklin’s retreat and to his elaborate estate, however, was electronically restricted.
Launching his campaign for reelection, Senator Turner had put out the word, and the usual corporate sponsors had responded. But in his three previous senatorial election campaigns, he had not been contacted by John Henry Franklin, nor, to his knowledge, had he received any contributions from the Franklin Foundation. So, this unexpected invitation to Sea Ranch was as intriguing as the messenger was beautiful and alluring. Delivered at that time and in that manner made it an invitation Turner could hardly decline.
Amelia Erickson, Franklin’s personal assistant and the woman who had visited the Senator’s office to extend the invitation, came out of the mansion as Turner’s limousine came to a stop.
She extended her hand. “Senator Turner, how kind of you to come.”
“Thank you, Ms. Erickson,” Turner replied, flashing his warmest campaign smile.
She linked her arm in his and turned toward the monstrous stone house. “Let me introduce you to the other guests.”
Three men stood near the veranda railing where they had been watching the sunset gather over the ocean. As Amelia and Turner approached, the younger of the men stepped forward to greet him.
“Welcome, Senator Turner. Please, join us.”
Turner recognized him as Paul Spackman, the evening news anchor for CBS Television’s San Francisco affiliate. He didn’t recognize the other two men, both Hispanic. Spackman made the introductions.
“General Emiliano Estaban Valdez, deputy chief of staff of the Mexican Armed Forces, and General Rodrigo Cordoba, retired. General Cordoba now serves as the Chief of Federal Police in Mexico.”
Turner shook hands then accepted a drink brought to him by a uniformed servant. “Gentlemen.” He raised his glass. “To your health.”
“
“The pleasure is mine, General.”
“I’ve just spoken with Mr. Franklin,” Amelia said, once introductions had been accomplished. “His helicopter is about ten minutes out. Please, make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll alert the staff to prepare for his arrival.”
The massive stone fireplace was fully ablaze, and the liquor sideboard in use as John Henry Franklin entered the room. Muscular, about five-feet-ten, Franklin exuded power as much from his physical presence as from his well-earned reputation for being able to resuscitate a business deal others had written off as moribund. While his outward presentation was always pleasant and courteous, Franklin had found it useful to carefully cultivate a questionable business reputation that his friends and enemies had come to call “Frankevelian.”
Though he never had been formally charged, a feeling prevailed that those who stood in the way of his interests frequently met with misfortune. On the other hand, his business interests seemed always to be blessed by the fortunate oversight of Providence.
Over the years, Franklin had acquired controlling interests in many companies, but it wasn’t until he cornered the market in communications-specifically cable TV and telecommunications systems-that he really became a major player, elevating himself to a position of near absolute power. By linking home shopping networks and cable television systems, he had gained direct-dial accessibility to millions of homes across the nation. Through these, he had garnered credit card information, personal data, and by means of extensive surveys, a sophisticated demographic data base that he used to market to a wide assortment of family needs-and in fact, to create those needs.
His most ambitious endeavor had been launched several years earlier. He had convinced election officials in the state of Missouri-a persuasive effort among four key politicians that had cost over six million and the life of a young attorney general who opposed the measure-to test a new voting procedure that allowed voters to cast their ballots by telephone from the comfort of their homes. As the program moved to California, he even sided with environmentalists who sought to eliminate the “paper trail” that had been required of election stations. Dual electronic copies of each vote were ostensibly maintained off-site as a back-up.
Used at first merely for generating public opinion data, the concept had attracted attention from those who wished to promote greater voter participation. It seemed a natural extension of available technology, and, like many revolutionary ideas, was so obviously beneficial to everyone that it was a wonder it hadn’t been implemented sooner.
As an ambitious and progressive businessman, John Henry had envisioned a grander use of his system-a use that would serve his other aims. The technology could be applied to secretly manipulate polling results. He could see how such an ability could be put to a myriad of uses, all to the benefit of himself and selected clients.
The final piece fell into place when several of Franklin’s subsidiary companies acquired a majority interest in three of the foremost nationally recognized polling companies. Once election results could be shown to match polling predictions-both of which he planned to manipulate-he felt confident he would be able to manufacture the political results that would best serve his interests. The actual scope of his newfound power was unlimited, and his ambition had grown accordingly.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Franklin offered warmly. “General Valdez, how good to see you again. How are you today, my old friend?”
“
“Couldn’t be better.” Moving to Turner, Franklin grasped his hand firmly. “Senator, it is a great honor to meet you, sir. Thank you for responding to our invitation. You’ve been introduced to my other guests?”
“I have, indeed. I’m pleased to make their acquaintance, Mr. Franklin, and yours.”
“Good. Very good. But, please, my close associates call me John Henry, and I’m hoping you will consider yourself a close friend from this moment on. “And how are you, Paul?” he asked, turning to Spackman. “Who’s reporting the news in the Bay Area tonight?”
“Thought we’d give the new gal, Sandy, a ‘look in.’”
“Better watch her, Paul. She’s nearly as good-looking as you,” Franklin winked. “She’ll get her foot in the door, and you’ll be doing the weekend weather in Eureka.” Everyone laughed appropriately.
“And Chief Cordoba-Rigo, my dear friend, who’s guarding your northern borders tonight?”
“We left them open, just so the appropriate quota of illegals could slip across,” he laughed.
Stealing a quick look at Valdez, Franklin responded to Cordoba’s humor. “Excellent. Just excellent. Well, I see we’re all in fine fettle. And Amelia has taken care of you, Malcolm?”
