Hostile Takeover

Prologue

The boy and the girl ran out of the village and started up the ravine leading to the hunting grounds. As soon as they entered the darkness of the forest they stopped talking. They didn’t want to scare away the deer. As they climbed, the boy, Alex Lucas, kept his eyes peeled for sticks. They had to be just right or they wouldn’t work. He only needed two of them, but they had to be curved just right and most importantly, long enough. Hunting deer was serious business.

He heard a bird whistle and looked around for Kirsten – that was her signal – then joined her in the clearing. She held a stick in each hand – both of them perfect to use as imaginary bows – and held out the longer one to him. He smiled, shook his head, and took the shorter one. She should have the best weapon; she was a better shot

Weapons in hand they crept silently through the trees, their handmade leather Indian moccasins touching softly on the forest floor. For the next two hours they hiked toward their favorite hunting place; a grove of pinion pines around a spring of crystal clear water. The deer favored this spot, especially early in the morning. As they approached the large granite rock, the one shaped like a bear, they crawled the final few yards. Kirsten raised up just enough to see the watering hole, then slowly sunk back down and held up three fingers. Lucas nodded, looked her in the eyes, and mouthed the word Now!

They both sprang up, bows ready to shoot and release their imaginary arrows. The three deer instantly raised their heads from the water and froze – but only for an instant. Then they plunged into the forest, their white tails bobbing as they disappeared into the trees.

They smiled and gave each other a high five. I got mine, how about you?

Alex shook his head. Mine jumped sideways just as I let the arrow fly.

My kill should be enough to feed the village for a day or two. We’ll come back tomorrow.

Kirsten issued a challenge. Race you to the Glen! and took off up the side of the mountain with Alex on her heels. By the time they were both at the top of the ridge, they had to stop to catch their breath. The altitude this far up in the Rockies was close to ten thousand feet and, even though they both were born here, they couldn’t keep up the pace for long. When their breathing slowed down to near normal they looked at each other and jumped onto the downhill side of the ridge, sliding side-by-side on a bed of leaves down to the place they called ‘the Glen.’ It was a small mountain meadow where the grade leveled off to a very shallow slope, allowing the creek that ran through it to slow down to a murmur rather that the roar produced by most mountain creeks.

They had stumbled on the place two years ago when they first discovered their passion for hunting deer without killing them. One of the bucks led them on a chase up over the ridge and down to this idyllic vale, shaded by trees and surrounded by rocks that had rolled down from the high peaks above. Since then, they always ended the deer hunts at the Glen. It was so beautiful that they couldn’t come up with a name for it, until Alex remembered stories of old Ireland his grandmother told him on her knee. She talked of a Glen where peace ruled and faeries lived; a magical place she herself discovered as a young girl. The description seemed to fit this place perfectly, so they named it the Glen. They even thought they felt the presence of faeries now and then.

Kirsten pulled her backpack off and laid lunch out on a rock – two sandwiches she made herself before dawn, some shortbread cookies her mother baked, and a thermos of iced tea, sweetened like they do in the south. That’s how Alex liked it. They both leaned against a rock and enjoyed the peacefulness while they ate. When they were finished, Kirsten put the plastic bags and paper cups into the backpack and buckled it shut.

They sat for a few minutes before Kirsten asked, What do you want to do when you grow up?

You asked me that a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been thinking it over. I’m pretty sure I want to be a spy.

A spy? Why?

I don’t know . . . The excitement and action I guess. The opportunity to protect my country against terrorists and people who want to destroy our Government. . . . How about you? What do you want to be?

After a long pause, Kirsten asked, "Do you remember the last scene from The Princess Bride movie – a final kiss with the two of them sitting on their horses?"

Yeah, I think I do.

What did you think of it?

It seemed a little sloppy to me. When they opened their mouths it was kind of gross.

Kirsten paused again, trying to get up the nerve to ask him.

Would you like to do that with me?

Uh . . . I Guess. But where are the horses?

We can sit on that log and pretend we’re in the saddle.

They settled into position astride the log and looked at each other.

Are you ready? she asked.

Okay. What do I do.

Just lean toward me and close your eyes.

Kirsten kept her eyes open as she put her hand behind his neck, pulled him to her, and touched her lips to his.

Chapter 1 – Shocker!

Monday, 7 November 2016

Alex Lucas drove up the steep winding road to his home west of Golden, Colorado and parked his Ford Raptor pickup in front of the garage. The four-wheel drive vehicle was a necessity in the winter – it was the only way he could get up to his house in the snow, and it was also great for taking him off-road to high mountain trout fishing streams. He got out, briefcase in hand, and climbed the steps to the front deck of his small, mountain-style house. He usually paused on the deck to look back at the Rocky Mountains. His most important house-hunting criteria when he moved to Denver was a view of the magnificent mountains. After growing up in the ski village of Crested Butte, Colorado he felt incomplete when he wasn’t near mountains. During his last assignment in Washington, D.C. he sometimes hiked into the nearby Appalachians, but those were just hills. They couldn’t quench his longing to be back in Colorado mountain country.

He sent up a silent prayer to God, thanking Him again for the surrounding beauty, and unlocked the front door. As usual it was late when he returned from his job at the Financial Crimes Investigation Division of the U.S. Secret Service Agency in Denver. It wasn’t the 45 minute drive that made him late, it was his work. He got so focused on solving the latest case of computer fraud or overseas money laundering that he couldn’t break away from it until well after quitting time. He enjoyed the satisfaction of unraveling the twisted routes people created to hide their illegal financial activities – shell companies, multiple transfers through several offshore banks, encrypted financial records, false identities. And they came up with new approaches all the time. Those were the most challenging cases; the ones that Alex loved to work on.

After changing into casual clothes he took a Coors from the refrigerator and sat down at his computer – the latest, state-of-the-art laptop model. He often got hit with an idea about an investigation while he was at home and wanted to jump online to chase it while it was still fresh in his mind. The powerful computer was also necessary to support one of Alex’s tools of the trade – surreptitiously entering other computers to access, or change, files and software – a practice commonly known as hacking. Alex discovered in high school that he had a gift for getting computers to do his bidding, often writing his own operating software that worked better and faster than anything available on the market. He pursued it further in college with a degree in computer science and electrical engineering.

This evening he wasn’t doing anything more challenging than reading his email. The first email he opened was from his mom with a reminder that his father’s birthday was coming up on November 24th – the day after Thanksgiving this year – and asking him to come back to Crested Butte for it if he could get away. He didn’t often take time off because his mind kept working on cases no matter where he was, so a relaxing vacation was out of the question. But this was family, and family was more important than just about anything else. He quickly typed an answer that he would be there unless his work took him on a trip somewhere to solve a case.

The next email was from Kirsten Hanssen. He smiled as he opened it. They had remained best friends continuously since their childhood days roaming the mountains. Her message was simple.

What’s up boyfriend? You going back home for your dad’s birthday? Maybe I can make it too.

He typed the same answer he gave his mother, then added a second paragraph.

I’m having a party Tuesday night to watch the presidential election returns. Just you and me. Wanna come?

Her answer came back a few minutes later.

Whoopee, that sounds like a thrilling evening . . . not really. Everyone knows who’s going to win. There’s no way a candidate without any political experience is going to beat the well-funded lying bunch of thieves running on the liberal ticket. It looks like America will continue its inexorable march toward socialism. But the election isn’t the main attraction at your party – you are. Of course I’ll be there. And I’ll bring dinner. See you around seven?

He answered that seven o’clock was fine and made a mental note not to get so engrossed in his work that he would be late getting home. Then he realized that he seldom recalled the dozens of ‘mental notes’ he made, so he sent himself an email with a reminder.

In spite of the email, he didn’t remember to leave on time Tuesday afternoon. But the mental note popped up in his head thirty minutes later. If I don’t get stuck in traffic I can just make it home in time to shower and dress before Kirsten gets there, he thought as he crossed the South Platte River on the way out of Denver. But just as he had that thought the traffic started to slow down. Damn!

As he rounded the last curve and his house came into view he saw Kirsten’s car already in the driveway. He looked at his watch and saw that he was only ten minutes late, so he didn’t feel too badly about it. It looks like she already let herself in with her key, so at least she didn’t have to sit out here in the car. He started to grab his briefcase to go up the steps and stopped. Tonight’s not about work. I’ll leave it in the car.

As he closed the door behind him she called from the kitchen, It’s about time you got here. I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.

He went into the kitchen and saw her standing at the stove with her back to him, humming as she worked. He paused to look at her and thought, She’s a classic Norwegian beauty. Just under six feet tall, long blonde hair, blue eyes, slim build – shapely but not skinny. And she takes good care of herself with daily workouts and jogging, to stay in condition for winter skiing

That brought back thoughts of the two of them racing down the ski slopes of Crested Butte mountain when they were teenagers. She usually won, which didn’t bother him. Besides, watching her from behind as she twisted through the moguls was enjoyable.

Sorry I’m late. I’m going to grab a quick shower before dinner.

Okay. But don’t take too long or dinner will get cold.

When he stepped into the dining room ten minutes later she had dinner laid out on the table, ready to eat. Just like she used to lay out our lunches in the Glen, he remembered.

Don’t just stand there. Have a seat.

What are we having?

Slices of deer tenderloin fried in bacon grease, fresh green beans from my garden, and a tossed salad.

Mmm. I love deer backstrap, especially the way you fix it. Did you shoot this one yourself?

No, I couldn’t find a long enough stick for a pretend bow. I bought this from the wild game processor the last time I was home. They both smiled at the joke . . . and at the shared memories.

I wonder if this was one of the deer we hunted down as kids?

It could be. They can live up to 25 years. Those were fun times, weren’t they.

Yes they were. Do you ever wish we could go back and be kids together again?

Kirsten though for a minute. Not really. But I relive those days often in my memories and dreams. . . . Remember our first kiss?

Yeah, but it didn’t do much for either of us.

Well, we were only ten at the time and the hormones hadn’t started flowing yet. But I’m glad. I wanted to stay your friend and not ruin it later with pretend love and fumbling sex.

That worked out well for us. We’ve been closest friends ever since; we’ve shared everything with each other. We’re soul mates, but not the lover kind.

That almost happened right after college, remember Alex? We were camping along the San Juan river. We’d gone there to catch some trout but got caught in the rain instead. You had hung your sleeping bag over a branch to air out and it got soaked. But mine was still in the tent, dry. We ended up sleeping together in one bag and almost gave in to passion. But you stopped it before it got out of hand.

I didn’t want to ruin a great friendship.

I still remember how you felt against me.

Fortunately we both found others to share that experience with. . . . How come you never got married? With me it’s always been my job – on the road for weeks at a time, working late at night, immersed in solving financial crimes even when I’m at home. It wouldn’t have been fair for a wife to have such a small piece of me.

I’ve had a few relationships that got serious, but I was looking for a life partner to be my friend, and none of them could compete with you in that department.

Alex thought it was time to change the subject. Well the election results should be coming in by now. Let’s clean up the kitchen and go see how much the bad guys are winning by.

Later, as they watched the number of electoral votes climb toward a winning total for Judge Elizabeth Goldsmith they didn’t pay much attention. The first results were coming in from the large east and west coast cities where she had the strongest following. Her past career as one of the most liberal judges in the federal court system made her very popular in those citadels of leftist thinking. Even though her Republican opponent, retired Admiral Martin Matheson, had a core of support throughout mid-America, none of the political analysts expected him to come close to defeating the judge.

They talked, laughed, and psychoanalyzed their acquaintances while waiting for the final tally. When they took a break to get a piece of the pecan pie Alex had baked the night before they noticed the judge’s lead was fading. They sat back down side-by-side on the couch to watch what was happening.

Maybe Matheson’s message about restoring the U.S. to the old values like nationalism and constitutional supremacy took hold with everyday people. Maybe they finally had enough of more and more Government control over their lives and property.

"I think you’re right Kirsten. The country is headed toward pure socialism under the present regime, and Judge Goldsmith will take us there even sooner.

It would be nice to see some of the changes Matheson wants to make, but a few of his plans go a little too far toward the right, just like some of Goldsmith’s ideas go way too far to the left. I suppose the best answer is regulated capitalism where the Government makes rules to control run-away greed. The key is how much regulation to allow without standing in the way of innovation and economic growth. It would be nice to return to earlier times when there was a reasonable balance.

Alex shook his head. "It doesn’t look like that will happen any time soon. Judge Goldsmith and the liberal Congressional candidates get huge amounts of money from Rex Sorensson, the socialist billionaire. He has a dozen organizations passing out money so it can’t be traced back to him.

He’s a real bad character. He manipulates the stock market by spreading rumors to raise stock and mutual fund prices, then short-sells all his shares at once, causing the stock price to plunge. Then he buys it back for pennies on the dollar. He does the same thing with the economies of entire countries. He single-handedly almost broke the Bank of Italy a few years ago by dumping millions of lira in a single day.

What happens to the retirement savings of the mutual fund owners?

I saw a TV interviewer ask him that question a couple of years ago. His answer was, ‘That’s not my concern. I’m only interested in making money.’ He also said that the American capitalist economy was based on greed and must be demolished. He thinks it should be replaced by what he calls utopian socialism.

What? His entire fortune was built on pure greed! Sorensson must be a lunatic.

I won’t argue with you on that, Kirsten. But he’s a lunatic with the power to buy the presidency and all the congressional seats he needs to essentially rule the country from his estate outside Atlanta.

Why can’t the Government stop him? We have laws against manipulating investments.

Two reasons. First, all his investment companies operate outside the U.S., so the Security and Exchange Commission regulations can’t be enforced.

What’s the other reason?

Our president for the past eight years, Dante Barnett, was bought and paid for by Sorensson to start the process of dismantling capitalism and the free market economy. Barnett put Sorensson’s hand-picked people in charge of all the key Government agencies. They make up their own laws without any say-so from Congress.

"Maybe we should move back to Colorado. It will take longer for this shit to reach us there. Besides, all the people out there have guns. . . . Maybe we could create a hidden village in a remote mountain valley as a sanctuary for real Americans. . . . Kind of like John Galt did in Atlas Shrugged."

An hour and a half later they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Gen. Matheson had overtaken the Judge and gotten all the electoral votes he needed. He won!

Kirsten laughed. What a shocker! Rex Sorensson is gonna be really pissed.

Alex added, And that will make him really dangerous.

Chapter 2 – The Council

Wednesday morning, 9 November 2017, RexSorCorp Headquarters, Atlanta, Georgia

Rex Sorensson was on an encrypted video link to Elizabeth Goldsmith’s Manhattan town house. I don’t give a rat’s ass if she was up all night, wake her up! . . . She should be sober enough by now. Fix her some coffee and tell her I want to talk to her. NOW! . . . . . "

Sorensson’s patience was about to snap when she came on the screen. He looked disgustedly at her disheveled hair, smeared makeup, and dull eyes. H . . . hello, Rex. I was expecting your call.

I’ll bet you were! How in the hell could you lose the election? I had everything set up for you. All you had to do was keep out of trouble and smile a lot. But no, you had to get caught lying to the Senate Judicial Committee. I had to buy off several newspapers, magazines, and television networks, and pay an army of internet fake news sources to get that issue buried. . . . . . No, you were not defeated by the TNC news network. The people who watch that wouldn’t have voted for you anyway. . . . . Stop your sniveling.

But what do I do now? No one listens to a loser.

Don’t worry about that. I’ll have the news networks believing you were raped by Admiral Matheson when you worked for him at the Pentagon.

But I never worked for him, or anyone else, at the Pentagon.

"That doesn’t matter. My people will spin a tale that anyone would believe. So pull yourself together; I still have plans for you – and they don’t include public drunkenness. You and ex-President Barnett will lead the attack on the Admiral’s plans and his character. We will have him impeached before his first year is up.

The next morning Sorensson walked into the large conference room on the top floor of the RexSorCorp headquarters building in Atlanta. He dropped several thick file folders onto the conference table with a loud smack that startled the six people sitting at the table.

He looked each one in the eye and held the gaze for a second or two. The last person he looked at was Howard Sinett, and he didn’t break that gaze. Howard squirmed in he seat until Sorensson broke the silence.

You were in charge of keeping the media in line, Howard. You failed. You’re fired. Get out!

As Howard left the room with his head hung down another person entered and took his seat at the table. Sorensson locked eyes with her and held it – not because he was trying to intimidate her, but because she had such lovely eyes.

You all know Gloria Ziegler, President Barnett’s Communications Director. She is now the head of our Media Control Department. The other’s smiled and nodded to acknowledge her. Her selection wasn’t a surprise to them. She was very close to Rex.

Sorensson looked up to address the Socialist Utopia Council – his personal cabinet of subordinates charged with turning twenty-first century America into a purely socialist entity. Last night’s election results were a surprise to us all. Not only did Matheson win the presidency, but his party won a sizable majority of congressional seats. This will not keep us from our goal, but the delay is unacceptable. We must turn things back around – quickly. My plans include impeaching Matheson as soon as possible and getting rid of his supporters in Congress. I have put together a folder of immediate action items for each of you. I want daily progress reports. Any questions?

Most of the group knew this was Sorensson’s way of saying the meeting was over, but Gloria needed to get up to speed. What will we impeach the Admiral for? It has to be serious enough to get him removed.

Sorensson showed some patience with her. We’ll make something up, then sell it to the American people and Congress. And we’ll create irrefutable proof that he’s guilty.

What about his cronies in Congress? How will we get them ousted?

By creating scandals; scandals so terrible that no one will want them to stay in office. Several of them have past activities they’re hiding. We’ll blackmail them. We may have to resort to more extreme measures for the stubborn ones.

Couldn’t we wait until the med-term election to replace his supporters politically?

Last night proved that a political approach won’t work. It’s time for a hostile takeover.

Rex Sorensson was the fourth wealthiest man in the world. Starting with an investment company when he was just out of college he bought and sold stocks, learned how to threaten or bribe to get ahead and, by the age of fifty two, was buying and selling entire companies. He was what many called a corporate raider – buying companies, breaking them up to sell the profitable divisions and close those that weren’t. When he wanted to acquire a privately owned company and the family didn’t want to sell, he would find away to threaten them or, occasionally, make sure the CEO met with a terrible accident. Now, at age 72 his target was the biggest company in existence. The United States Government.

Chapter 3 – Powder

Alex had a bag packed for the weekend back in Crested Butte. Kirsten drove up just as he was putting it in the back seat of the Raptor. She pulled her Miata up next to him, set her three bags on the driveway, and locked the car.

You’re just in time. And I see you’re traveling light, as usual. Why do women take so much luggage with them? It’s only four days – two outfits, a change of underwear, an extra pair of shoes max – what else could you need?

I added some ski clothes. Mom said the slopes opened today and I thought we might get a chance to ski.

Good idea. Give me a minute to pack another bag and throw my skis and boots in the back.

It didn’t take long to leave Golden behind for some beautiful fall mountain driving. The forest was mostly evergreens, but now and then they saw a valley of golden aspens, made all the more beautiful by the surrounding dark green ponderosa pines. They were quiet for most of the first hour, enjoying their return to mountain country. As the silence drew on Kirsten looked over at Alex behind the wheel. You’re quiet today. Deep in thought?

Sorry. . . . Yeah, I started a new case last week that has me stumped.

Well . . . Don’t leave me in suspense.

You know I can’t reveal the details of my investigations.

So, change the names to protect the innocent. . . . and the guilty.

"Okay. You’re good at seeing through the fog to find a solution. . . . A very rich man, let’s call him Jones, makes a lot of money bringing in drugs – serious stuff – from Mexico, and distributing it throughout the U.S. He has a series of distributors who pass it on to more distributors, who shuffle it on to suppliers, who deliver it to dealers. The dealers are easy to catch using undercover agents, but Mr. Jones has a staff of high-priced lawyers – all with untraceable connections to Jones – who get the dealers off with minimal time in jail. And many of his dealers are teenagers who can’t be charged as an adult and are back on the street in a couple of days. Hell, we can’t even spank them first.

"The key here is that Mr. Jones has so many layers of separation between him and the street handlers that the law can’t touch him. But he’s vulnerable in one area – getting rid of the huge profits without paying taxes. If he files tax returns his accountants have to show where it came from – create a legal source for the income. When you’re talking a billion dollars or two a year, that’s almost impossible