Stealth Insurgence, page 11
Our presentation being both clear and comprehensive, we did not apprehend how “sleeping on it” would improve or disprove the veracity of our proposal. However, they insisted.
In my mind’s eye, I watched a nearly apoplectic Axel Kennedy cautioning the President in the strongest terms. I also envisioned President Jackson, laser-focused on a possible avenue for identifying shifty, long-time federal employees, those partisan bureaucrats who were skilled at undermining elected officials and their administrations but who were nigh unto impossible to fire. Jackson would jump at the chance to identify and weed them out.
Plus, with a general election looming in less than fourteen months? A significant curbing of government waste and fraud would be solid, vote-getting gold.
“Uh, Nano, FYI? Agent Kennedy requires a little more time to perform his own, er, risk assessment than the President does. It’s merely a little quirk of his. Don’t take it personally.”
Very well, Jayda Cruz. We won’t. In any event, President Jackson did revisit our proposal, and he wishes us to undertake a comprehensive audit of his cabinet, department by department, beginning with National Intelligence and the Office of Management and Budget.
We countered with the suggestion that, for best immediate results, we audit the Medicare and Medicaid programs. We had built one hundred seventeen cases of Medicare provider fraud as a demonstration, and we presented those findings. The President seemed quite pleased that we could give him what he called “a quick win.”
However, long-term, he wishes us to focus on the two aforementioned departments. We are to present only findings of gross malfeasance—cases for which we can identify the culprits and supply ample, solid evidence of the flagrant embezzlement of high-dollar figures. We are also to provide recommendations and strategies to correct the issues detected, particularly fixes to systems and processes.
He did have one curious request, that we take into account the level of organizational resistance his administration might encounter and whether or not the Justice Department possessed the will to prosecute those found to have deliberately siphoned off federal dollars for personal or political gain.
A comprehensive audit of the Director of National Intelligence? The umbrella under which the CIA, FBI, NSA, and a dozen and a half other entities operated?
“Holy cow! R&A, my left foot. More like jamming a stick right up a hornet’s nest,” I muttered. I was certain President Jackson was fully aware of what organizational defenses he would be stirring up by commissioning such an audit. On the other hand, when financial transgressions could be plainly and incontrovertibly documented, they became one of the only surefire means of rooting out corruption.
In point of fact? Al Capone went to prison, not for murder or his criminal enterprises, but for tax evasion.
Jayda Cruz, we believe the President was impressed with our presentation, as he is quite keen for us to get started.
“I’ll bet he is.” Particularly since the campaign for next year’s general election was starting to spin up.
I found myself snickering up my sleeve, so to speak, when I caught Zander’s eye. He had listened in and was laughing, too.
Gamble, on the other hand, had been shut out of the conversation. He sipped his coffee and, with a droll, longsuffering expression stamped on his face, waited for us to “come back” to him. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d been boxed out while we communed with the nanomites.
I stifled my amusement. “Ahem. It appears, Gamble, that the nanomites are the true architects of my job offer. They were exploring a variety of home-based businesses for me so I wouldn’t need to go out to a job when the baby is born but could contribute to our income. They decided that a position via Malware provided great camouflage.”
“You’d be doing the work, though, right?”
“Surely you jest! I’ll ‘supervise’ the nanomites as we go along, but the truth is, I’ll be lucky if I comprehend half of what they find—or how they found it. I’m no accountant, forensic or otherwise.”
Gamble frowned. “Should I be worried?”
“I see those squishy lines between your eyes. You’re worried now.”
“Yeah, but should I be?”
“I’ll keep my eyes on their output, and I’ll dial into their meetings with the President.”
“Glad to hear it. The human factor . . .”
“Yeah. Necessary.”
Gamble took his leave and left us to think over his visit and what it would mean to us.
“Sooo . . . a job for me, but not for you,” I muttered to Zander.
“Did you take a look at what they’re offering you?”
I opened the envelope, unfolded the single sheet, scanned through it. “The salary is quite generous. Enough to cover our living expenses and then some. All I need do is sign it and have the nanomites copy and email it back to Malware.”
I handed it to Zander and he read it over.
“Nice health insurance plan,” he said, “not that we’ll ever use it.”
He passed the offer back to me. Took my hand in his and squeezed gently.
My hand automatically squeezed back, but I was distracted. “Zander . . . suppose I take this job. The nanomites will be doing the actual work. My time overseeing them will be minimal, yet we can live comfortably on what I’m paid. It means I can help you with Emilio’s house. Patch and paint, wash windows, hang curtains, and so on. Same if we buy the Flores’ house. I could help you and then prepare Baby Cruz’s nursery. You wouldn’t need to get a job, per se.”
“Because I would have two houses to rehab and I wouldn’t get them done any time soon if I were also working a full-time job?”
“Yeah . . . and didn’t you tell me you felt the Lord calling you to a teaching ministry? I know you’re not DCC’s young adult pastor any longer, but your lesson last Friday with the young adults was, well . . . it was outstanding. And it felt . . . different to me. I don’t know how to put it. Stronger. More mature, perhaps. Powerful.”
Zander rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. “Thank you. May the Lord receive all the glory.”
I reread Malware’s job offer. “Babe, this job offer feels like the Lord’s provision for us while you explore that teaching ministry. What do you think?”
“I think we should pray.”
We joined hands and did so. “Lord,” Zander prayed. “All these pieces fit together somehow and form your plan for us. We ask you to speak clearly to us concerning Jayda’s job offer. We also ask you to give us guidance concerning the responsibilities you wish to place on me. We surrender our lives to your will, Lord, and we ask that you guide us into your plan for this next stage of our lives. We love you, and we ask all these things in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
“Yes, amen.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY AT 2:00 p.m., the nanomites connected my phone’s video call to the phone with the number listed on the slip of paper Gamble had given me. I had dressed for the occasion as I would if I would be sitting down in the President’s personal dining room in the Residence. Moments later, my phone’s screen lit and the face of Axel Kennedy appeared.
“Ms. Cruz.”
“Mr. Kennedy. How are you?”
“Fine, Ms. Cruz. Thank you for asking. Everything clear on your end?”
“All clear, Mr. Kennedy.”
He moved away and President Jackson’s face appeared. “Jayda. Good to see you.”
We walked through the pleasantries (I was relieved that I had sent out thank you notes for the baby gifts we received at the shower), then we got down to business.
“Do you have a picture of what we’re looking for in this assignment, Jayda?”
“Yes, sir. Undeniable, evidence-based, and actionable findings of malfeasance, by either government employees or recipients of taxpayer funds. The commission of fraud.”
“That about nails it. It would be great to clear large numbers of Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, and VA scams. But you must know how important it would be to identify schemes inside the government that are siphoning off far larger pots of money for illegitimate activities.”
He was alluding to residual elements of the organization that had tried, twice, to assassinate him, individuals and factions embedded in the government.
“I do, sir. Our, er, little friends are able to sift data and make connections that human eyes and human minds cannot.”
“So, you are willing to take on this project?”
“Zander and I prayed over it yesterday, sir. We’ll need a little time to wait on an answer.”
He nodded. “I appreciate your spiritual due diligence. You know the kind of pushback I’ll likely encounter when the nanomites find real dirt? If God isn’t in this, we’ll be beaten regardless of the evidence.”
“Yes, sir, but even if the Lord helps us? It will get nasty nonetheless.”
The worn expression hanging on the President’s mouth turned his lips down further. “A good observation, Ms. Cruz.” He glanced away, then back. “Same war. Different battle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you decide to accept, how will we know you’ve begun?”
“I’ll have the nanomites email my acceptance to you.”
“And what would be a reasonable reporting timeframe, do you think?”
I considered his question. “Perhaps a month to assemble the first cases and their evidence. Then proceed from there after you have reviewed what they have found?”
“I’m amenable to that first step, Jayda. How shall we schedule meetings?”
“Simply text the date and time of a meeting to this number, sir. The nanomites will connect us and maintain security.”
“Understood. Well, before we let you go, how are things with you and Zander?”
I smiled. “All good, sir. Baby Cruz is growing.”
“Baby Cruz. I like sound of that—rolls off the lips, it does. Until next time, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 9
Zander Cruz, Jayda Cruz. Wake up. We have important information for you.
Zander Cruz, Jayda Cruz. Wake up. We have important information for you.
“Wake up? It’s dead dark outside!” I turned over and nudged Zander. “Hey. Wake up.”
He groaned. “Nope. Too early.”
The nanomites, however, interpreted “Nope. Too early” as “Sure. Go right ahead.”
Jayda Cruz, Zander Cruz, the MLS website updated overnight. The price of the Flores’ house has decreased by five thousand dollars.
I slid out from under the covers and perched on the edge of the bed. “Huh? Let’s see it, Nano.”
I studied the information they placed before me. “They’re right. The price has dropped. Nice!”
Zander cracked one eye and grumbled, “Yeah? Well, I just dropped an hour of sleep—an hour I sure could have used.”
It was unusual for either of us to complain about not enough sleep. However, we’d spent the previous evening at a bowling alley with a dozen young adults plus Emilio. We’d reserved four lanes and had played nonstop for four hours—until the place shut down at eleven o’clock.
The competition between our loosely formed teams had been fierce but filled with fun and friendly rivalry, and Emilio had enjoyed his status as the group’s unofficial mascot. They had included him in their banter, cheered him as he bowled, groaned when he threw a gutter ball, loved on him, and generally made him feel a welcome part of the group.
Of course, he’d been disappointed when, after we finished at the bowling alley, Zander and I took him home. Everyone else had piled into their cars and headed for an all-night restaurant. We were going to join them after we’d delivered Emilio back to Abe.
“Please don’ take me home. Why can’t I go, too?” he pleaded with us—totally missing the irony when his petition ended in a huge yawn.
“We need to follow Abe’s rules,” Zander told him. “Count your blessings, kiddo. You got to hang out with the young adults all evening, and I know for a fact you had a great time. You even got to stay up later than your customary Friday bedtime.”
Zander caught Emilio’s attention in the rearview mirror. “And I had better not see any sulking, right?”
I turned my head in time to observe Emilio snap out of the bad habit he had of folding his arms, bunching up his lips and eyebrows, and staring daggers at whomever dared offend him. He sighed and slouched down in his seat.
“Right?” Zander repeated.
“Yeah—I mean, yes, sir.”
“Good choice, bud,” Zander replied. “We sure do love you.”
Emilio’s mouth twitched into a soft smile, which produced a smile of my own.
After Emilio hugged us goodnight and raced up the porch steps and through Abe’s front door, we headed off to rejoin the young adults. We found them in fine form, feasting on fries and burgers or midnight breakfasts. Some of them had fat slices of pie waiting for them after they finished their meals.
“Oooooh, I want pie,” I muttered to Zander. “And pancakes. And fries. And a milkshake.”
“You’re killin’ me,” Zander mouthed back. “I’m starving.”
We restrained ourselves and only ordered enough for three people.
We spent the next thirty minutes eating and the hour after that listening to the young adults cut up and generally enjoy themselves. By the time the group had worn themselves out and began heading home, the time was nearing two in the morning.
Hence Zander’s reluctance to get up at half past five o’clock on this fine Saturday morning—even if the Flores’ house had been marked down.
“That house won’t stay long on the market at that price,” I mused aloud.
Zander yawned. “We should call Ms. Donovan right away and put in our offer.”
I was a little surprised. “You’re ready to do this?”
“Yes. I’ve looked at it from all angles—and prayed over it from all angles, too. It is the only house we’ve looked at that meets our list of requirements—and it more than fits our budget. Also . . . your idea of building a larger garage to house the nanomites’ 3D printer? I think we should expand on it. I’ve sketched a preliminary design.”
“Oh? Show me.”
“Sure. Look here.”
Within the warehouse, the outline of a double-car garage appeared. The garage was quite long, long enough to house two full-sized cars and enough space at its back for a roomy workshop. Off to the side, he had added the outline of another room, and I recalled the nanomites pulling up a similar diagram a while back—that of Dr. Bickel’s secret room below a bedroom in his safe house.
“This room here is below the garage?”
“Yes. Accessed by a set of steps behind the door that faces the house’s kitchen doorway.”
Zander Cruz, we like your idea, but we can improve upon your design.
“Sure, Nano. Go ahead. You know how much space is required to house both the printer and the materials you use to fabricate new nanomites.”
Zander got up. He pulled on jeans and a shirt, then padded to the kitchen and flipped the switch to start the coffee. Although we sat down together at the table, our “heads” stayed in the warehouse, watching the nanomites build a much more elaborate diagram.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing.
An underground corridor from the house’s main bedroom to the garage basement, Jayda Cruz.
“What, like a secret passage?”
That is an adequate descriptor, Jayda Cruz.
“Why? No one is looking for us or you.”
A prudent contingency, Jayda Cruz. If our existence ever became known, wicked people would come for you and Zander Cruz . . . for us. We wish to prepare for any eventuality. In our design, the garage basement doubles as a short-term panic room—fully reinforced and secure. The tunnel would provide access to the basement without exposing you by going out the kitchen door.
I opened my eyes and stared across the table at Zander, but he was deep in his own thoughts, his face creased with concern.
Was he wondering what I was wondering? Did the nanomites sound paranoid?
Okay, maybe not.
Memories of what we had suffered at the hands of General Cushing and Winnie Delancey dragged their sharp claws through my mind: The safe house blowing up behind me, the nanomites sacrificing large numbers from their tribes to throw me to the ground and shield me from the blast. Cushing detonating her suicide vest inside my house—killing herself, Genie, and Jake, maiming Zander. Millions of nanomites sacrificing themselves to save Zander and me.
A sharp, stabbing pain embedded itself in my chest—the Taser fired by Colonel Greaves. I shuddered as I relived the death of the nanocloud, their screams and cries as billions of them died . . . and continued to die until the nanocloud stuttered and faded.
A prudent contingency, Jayda Cruz. If our existence ever became known, wicked people would come for you and Zander Cruz . . . for us. We wish to prepare for any eventuality.
I dragged the hem of my sleeve across my eyes. Maybe the nanomites weren’t acting paranoid at all. Maybe they were being cautious—and understandably so.
Zander spoke. “Nano, the ground beneath these lots is dense. It’s a composite of compressed sand, clay, and hardpan, all of it chock full of rocks from the eroding foothills to the east. Who’s gonna dig this secret tunnel under the house and keep it secret?”
Leave that to us, Zander Cruz. It may not happen overnight, but we will manage what is necessary. The required initial step, however, is to secure both the Flores’ house and the empty lot that belonged to Gemma Keyes.
Hearing the nanomites utter my former name with such indifference sent another lurch through my twitchy nerves.
We are sorry to have caused you distress, Jayda Cruz.
I shook my head. “It’s okay, Nano. Took me by surprise is all.”
The city of Albuquerque has put the lot up for sale, Jayda Cruz. We can facilitate its purchase as well as the purchase of the house if you wish.
“Then you think buying the Flores’ house is a good move, Nano?”
If it is what Jesus wants, it will be adequate for our needs.
