“This is outrageous,” Blunt said.
“Before too long, the U.S. will be the only one left,” Samuels said.
“That’s exactly what Petrov wants to happen,” Blunt said. “She’s hell bent on forcing the hand of the U.S. government—and we’re not going to let that happen.”
Hawk picked up a copy of the Lisbon newspaper Expresso and tapped the headline of a front-page article. Hawk translated from Spanish to English as he read: “The End of Poverty? One-world currency will reduce poverty, experts say.”
“It’s already begun,” Blunt said. “The endless propaganda designed to render the opinions and even the studies from those who reach contrary conclusions. And in the end, it’ll make the wealthy feel better about themselves, while the poor get no relief—and Petrov and The Chamber will ascend to an untold position of power.”
“So you still think we need to get to Michaels first?” Hawk asked.
Blunt sighed and stared out across the water. A barge loaded with shipping containers pulled away from a dock, where another boat was waiting to take its place.
“We’ve become so consumed with stuff that the whole world has lost its soul,” Blunt said.
“I didn’t mean for this to turn into a philosophical discussion,” Hawk said. “I was just wanting to know if we should—”
“Ultimately, what we do in this world today has a profound impact on future generations. It doesn’t matter what the nature of your work is, it all adds up. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to ignore the fact that the greatest nation on planet earth is getting destroyed from the inside out, its power likely to be stripped by the very man the American people voted to uphold the most ingenious document ever written solely by man, the U.S. Constitution. Michaels will spit on it and mute America’s standing and influence globally just to enjoy a more prominent status, personally. If the rest of the world goes to hell in a hand basket, so be it. But if we’re not careful, our once-proud nation will be reduced to a footnote in the annals of history by an arrogant self-righteous bastard.”
“So, Michaels it is,” Hawk said with a grin.
“If we take him down, we might be able to stem the tide of all these nations foolishly ditching their currencies.”
Before another word was said, a bullet tore through Blunt’s chest. He collapsed to the ground, his face pressed against it. While Blunt struggled to breathe, he watched as Hawk sprang into action. It was the last thing he remembered before everything went dark.
CHAPTER 4
Camp David
Catoctin Mountain Park, Maryland
PRESIDENT CONRAD MICHAELS STRETCHED out on a chair near the pool and read through a recent education bill the Senate had hammered out and was about to put to a vote. The Senate speaker wanted to know if they could count on the president’s support before they introduced it. But Michaels was smart enough to avoid walking into a trap, especially so close to the election cycle. Even if the bill looked great on the surface, if it proved to be a dismal failure, Michaels knew his primary opponents would seize on it and use it to challenge his competency in office. However, Michaels never liked reading legislation. He tossed it aside after several minutes of perusing it and then got up to get a refill of bourbon.
As Michaels finished topping off his glass, one of the Secret Service agents approached him with a letter in his hand.
“Sir,” the agent said, “this came for you.”
Michaels scowled. “So, now you’re a mailman? You just hand me random notes without any context or clue of who it came from?”
“One of the kitchen hands asked me to pass it along to you, sir.”
“Well, why don’t you open it then?” Michaels asked, gesturing toward the letter. “I believe your job is to keep me safe, is it not?”
“I just thought—”
“Open the damn letter,” Michaels growled.
The agent complied and handed the handwritten note to Michaels. Almost immediately, Michaels’ face fell.
“Is everything all right, Mr. President?” the agent asked.
“Who’d you say gave this to you?”
“One of the kitchen hands, sir.”
Michaels wadded up the piece of paper and threw it in the trash. Without hesitating, he stormed into the kitchen.
“Who sent that note to me?” Michaels demanded as he pushed through the swinging door.
However, instead of finding a staff busily preparing food for the next meal, Michaels noticed just one lone chef whacking off the fat from a large steak with a butcher’s knife.
“I take it you received my note,” the man said in a thick Russian accent.
“Who are you? And how’d you get in here?” Michaels demanded.
“My name isn’t all that important, though if it makes you feel better, you can call me Ivan or Boris or whatever you wish.”
“This is one of the most secure locations in the world. How’d you get in here?”
The man laughed before chopping off another strip of fat and tossing it to the side.
“You act surprised, Mr. President. Were you under the impression that being here makes you safe?”
“What do you want?”
“I’m not here to hurt you, but I am here to deliver a message from a mutual friend of ours—Ms. Katarina Petrov.”
“I’m not really inclined to hearing anything she has to say.”
“Mr. President, did you know that there are almost 19 billion chickens on earth? That’s nearly three times as many chickens as people. You would think the chickens would revolt when they realize what is happening to them. They’re simply being raised to fill the bellies of man and women, boys and girls. If the chickens are well fed and modestly cared for, the chickens remain happy even as they’re led to slaughter.”
“Your point, Boris?”
“There’s only a handful of government bureaucrats able to control the American people. And as long as you keep the people rich and well fed, you can control them. But what happens when they wake up and
