“The sarin has been distributed to our scientists and laboratories around the globe. Some has been stored within Castle Bariloche. We have hoped for this moment for decades, and our personnel will begin to implement the first stages of pinpoint attacks on our adversaries in the coming days.”
Derek turned to General Holzcraft. “Lukas, have you heard anything regarding the discovery of the sarin through your official channels?”
Derek nodded and sat as the general took the floor. “Washington is in the early stages of their investigation, utilizing special operatives out of Fort Belvoir to investigate U-1226 at the bottom of the ocean while bringing in their top scientists out of DARPA to study the dead aboard the Woods Hole ship. At this time, they are trying to keep the details under wraps. That won’t last long.”
Henry picked up on his last statement. “Does it behoove us to create a leak of this information?”
Derek stood and answered the question. “Not at this time. The media will create hype, and the result will be tens of thousands of eyes scanning their surroundings for signs of an attack. After we have achieved a couple of successful operations, the element of surprise will no longer be in our favor.”
Henry continued with the questioning and addressed General Holzcraft. “Won’t the United States government immediately become concerned about the sarin falling into terrorists’ hands?”
“At some point,” he replied. “For now, they see this as an unfortunate stroke of bad luck for the crew of the Woods Hole ship. It appears they know nothing of our successful salvage operation of the containers from U-1226.”
“Wasn’t our submersible vessel engaged by their people?”
Derek took the question. “At this point, they suspect our submersible may have been manned by fortune hunters. We lost one of our divers in the process. His tracking device is still operating.”
“Where is he?” asked Henry.
“The Gulf Stream carried his body a thousand miles away,” replied Derek without emotion.
Henry furrowed his brow. “Derek, what is the next step?”
Derek turned to his cousin, Friedrich Bauer, the president of Unibanco Group, the second-largest bank in Latin America with over four hundred billion dollars in assets. Unibanco had branches in twenty-two countries worldwide. Formed by Inge Jorgensen in 1945, it was privately owned by the members of die Zwölf.
Bauer, the youngest son of Inge Jorgensen, survived his brother, who died in a fatal crash years ago. His primary residence was in Belize, but he maintained homes in Berlin and New York.
“Fred, have you arranged the funding?”
“With the push of a button,” he replied with a smile. Fred and Derek, who were born at virtually the same time in Norway, were best friends. “All payments to operatives and expenses associated with the first two phases of the operation will be made by cash. We have our most trusted people handling the transactions.”
“Good,” said Derek. He turned to his brother. “We are on an approximately seven-day clock now for phase one, with phase two set for just a few days thereafter.”
“Why so quickly?”
“We will use our media sources to point fingers of blame at Tehran. They will never suspect the next target will be in the States.”
Henry leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers on his slight belly. He made eye contact with each of the men and women of die Zwölf.
“This is only the beginning. The catalyst, if you will, for all of the other plans we’ve laid the groundwork for. We will use the arrogance of politicians and their people’s innate fears to cause both the collapse of their societies and their economies. They will be looking for an alternative, and we will be there for them. Just like we were there in 1933.”
Chapter Five
Castle Bariloche
Bariloche, Argentina
After another thirty minutes in which the group discussed their overall goals for these initial strikes against their enemies, everyone expressed their condolences to the Jorgensen sons. The twelve leaders of Odessa returned to the Grand Hall and enjoyed a nightcap with their families before retiring to the numerous guest suites located in Castle Bariloche. When everyone had left, Henry; his son, Henry Jorgensen Gruber Jr., who went by Jorge; Derek; and Inge’s oldest granddaughter, Sophia Weber, remained seated by the fire in the eight-foot-by-eight-foot opening of the towering stone fireplace. They sipped Asbach brandy as they discussed the death of Brit and the days to come.
“We’re glad you could make it, Sophia,” began Jorge. “I would’ve liked to have spoken with Remy as well.”
Remy Weber, Sophia’s husband, had been a respected U.S. congressman from New York before being called upon to become President Jon Taylor’s chief of staff. Remy was the highest-placed Odessa figure ever in the American government.
“Trust me, he would’ve loved to get out of Washington. The midterms are coming, and the president’s party is going to take a shellacking. People are not happy with the way he is handling the economy. Americans tend to vote with their wallets.”
Henry shook his head and took another sip of brandy. “It’s the curse of the Western world, but one we use to our advantage. Everything we will be doing over the coming months is designed to upset markets. Destabilizing the American economy causes societal unrest. As history has proven in the States, anger and resentment is easily fomented through our media resources.”
“It causes the people to distrust the institutions associated with government,” added Jorge. “When that happens, a void is created that allows in an alternative form of government.”
His father agreed. “Marxism is one option. European-style socialism is another.”
“Remy says the president is prepared to lead the nation in that direction with a little prodding,” said Sophia. “He’s a politician and has some misgivings about fundamental change to the American form of government.”
Henry laughed and raised his glass. “When everything begins to come crashing down around him, he’ll see there is no other way. I trust Remy is prepared to steer him as we need it.”
“Yes, he
