ANATOLIA, TURKEY - The Russian-built Antonov-26 appeared on the horizon flying low above the arid, mountain landscape to avoid detection. As it approached the small airfield, it climbed briefly and began lowering its landing gear.
Victor understood nothing of Director Mitchum’s current situation only that he insisted that if they were to meet it had to be in this remote region of the Middle East. Victor knew he was involved in a new and dangerous game, one he did not understand, one that operated beyond the boundaries of ordinary business...and politics. People he knew, those close to him, were being murdered and it did not take a genius to size up he would be next.
The CEO turned to his bodyguard seated across the aisle from him, a former FBI Agent dressed in business casual attire.
"John, I will need some privacy, can you see what the pilots are up to?"
The bodyguard rose from his seat replying, "Okay, Dr. Magnason, you’re sure?"
"Yes, I will be fine."
The bodyguard departed through the open cabin door, his light footwear resonating slightly off the aluminum stairs as he descended. Victor briefly looked through the Plexiglas porthole watching him walk to the small, airport terminal where he knew his two pilots were probably drinking the strong Turkish coffee.
Victor was not often caught off balance by events. The armed bodyguard, the security measures the CEO would have to take in an attempt to prolong his life. Victor would become a prisoner of his own fears, all in view of the fact he could not expose the corruption, all because of the news monopoly. Without the media, the miscarriages of justice being carried out by this tainted political party could never exist.
Victor’s thoughts moved to the police reports his lawyer provided him, a single nine-millimeter caliber bullet through the right temporal bone had instantly killed his Senior Editor. Eyewitnesses heard no gunshot, a silencer was used, the trademark of a professional assassin.
The body of the young reporter, Shirley Winters, was found floating in the Brooklyn River. The forensics report showed disturbing evidence the young woman was tortured before her death. Death was caused by a small caliber gunshot to the back of the neck, ballistics showed it was from the same gun. The comments section stated the position of the gunshot was something of clue in itself, the Russian Mafia were know for this type of execution.
The MENN reporter, Telly Abernathy, died in a fiery explosion on the Washington beltway. Investigators found evidence of the explosive and was one more clue. The C-4 had been a military-grade compound, something that could not be obtained on the open market. Now, Senator Burton and his wife had been found murdered in their Washington home and the Department of Justice was snooping around.
Those assholes!
Victor heard the high-pitched whine of turboprop engines grow in intensity as the military transport drew closer. He heard the power to the twin turboprop engines cut and the noise of the turbines replaced by the sound of large-bladed propellers slicing through the dry, arid air. It soon became quiet as the rotating blades came to a sudden halt. There was a period of silence replaced a minute later by the approach of a pair of quickstepping, hard-sole boots. The executive heard the metallic note of each heavy step as two men made their way up the metal stairs.
Victor was convinced the Director might have a solution, it was either that or... He pulled the small audio-player from his coat and placed it on the table in front of him.
The executive looked up to see Derrick, sunburned, dressed in desert camouflage with little happiness etched on his face. Mitchum appeared to be someone who was also struggling with big problems, the look of a man also carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. One more soldier wearing desert camouflage entered the doorway following Mitchum (Allen Sinatra); young, probably in his early thirties and a half-foot taller. Victor noticed he also carried a holstered pistol on his right hip and was wearing a Navy baseball cap.
"No need to get up Dr. Magnason, this is Allen Sinatra, he’s one of my men."
Allen removed his sunglasses and gave the executive a nod. "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Magnason."
The CEO replied as he shook the SAD officer’s extended hand, “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Sinatra."
“Allen is fine.”
Victor nodded he understood, turned eyes to the Director and was just about to ask if the two of them could talk alone when his bodyguard stuck his head through the doorway.
"Is everything..."
Before the man could finish his question Allen in a flash had swung around into a stooping position with an upholstered Baretta pointed in the direction of where the former FBI Agent’s head had been.
Victor, too surprised to say anything only responded when he heard the bodyguard shout from outside,
"Is everything all right, Dr. Magnason?"
“Yes, John, everything is fine. Allen, he’s part of my security team."
Derrick looked at Allen, then smiled, "Stand at ease soldier."
Sinatra stood and holstered his pistol. "Sorry about that, a bad habit of mine."
“Expecting someone?” the executive casually asked.
Neither Derrick nor Allen responded which was enough to answer his question, they too were on the run.
The former FBI Agent stepped through the doorway to see that the CEO was truly okay.
"John, everything is fine."
"Okay, just checking, Dr. Magnason."
“Derrick, we need to talk alone. Would you mind if Allen joins John for a cup of coffee?”
Derrick looked at Sinatra’s who responded, “As a matter of fact, I would love a cup of Java.”
With a nod, Sinatra joined the bodyguard as Derrick took a seat across from Victor.
Derrick saw the telltale signs that the executive had not been getting much sleep, but that did nothing to diminish the fire he had seen in the executive's eyes. A brief moment of silence descended between the two men as they waited to be alone. The less anyone else knew, the better.
Much like the curtains being lowered on the First Act of a Greek Tragedy, the Second Act was at that moment about to begin.
"Derrick, may I call you Derrick?”
The Director nodded.
Victor’s eyes flickered momentarily with anger. “Derrick, the evidence I’m about to give you has cost the lives of five of my people, and friends.”
“What’s on the recordings, Dr. Magnason?”
“Proof of the conspiracy between this new President, his Administration and the heads of the media industry.” He choked out a laugh. “It should give you some idea of how deep in shit you and President McKinley are.”
Derrick remained quiet for a moment, recalling how his own world was falling apart around him. Several thoughts raced through his mind: the verbal order to pursue al-Zarqawi, the question of how his team’s presence in Iran was compromised, the copies of mission orders WNN possessed, the Justice Department’s recent actions, the conversation with Nelson Frank and the Russian mercenaries…“Deliver the Black Angel team into the hands of the Iranians alive...or dead, it did not matter.”
Derrick managed a smile, “Yes, I do have some idea how bad things are.” His face became graver, “What is it that you have?”
“Something I hope you can use to stop the crap that’s going to be happening.”
“I think its time I heard what is on those recordings."
The executive pressed play.
Derrick listened and soon recognized the voice of Martinez’s Chief of Staff, Nelson Frank; the Senate Leader, Jim Rooney and House Leader, Patricia Bocchino. An unfamiliar name referenced by the Chief of Staff as "Donald" caused Victor to pause the recording.
"The man you will hear being referred to as 'Donald' is Donald Abraham the Publisher and owner of World News Network. The man referred to as 'Shmuel' is Shmuel Weisser, the CEO and Publisher of World Tribune; and the one called 'Jason' is Jason Simon, Publisher of American News."
Derrick nodded he understood.
The executive pressed play again and the two men kept on listening. For Derrick, it was an eye opening experience. He knew, but could never prove this kind of collusion existed between the heads of the news industry and the Democrat leadership. It was chilling to listen to the two parties casually discussing plans, plans that were in clear in conflict with at least a half-dozen Federal Laws.
One recording in particular shed light on the role Derrick’s group would play in their plans. It was clear the legal actions being discussed were centered on Derrick being used as the centerpiece for a trial, a trial that was meant to entangle not only McKinley, but the Republican Party. Just as telling, the confederates all expected Derrick to "Plead the Fifth," they were not looking for the outcome, they were simply looking for a way to create headlines for the publishers!
Derrick at that moment heard a voice he thought he recognized. "Please, replay that last thirty-seconds again."
Derrick listened carefully to two, yet, unidentified men in the last portion of one of the recordings.
"Do you know who they are?” asked Victor with penetrating, angry eyes.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes," answered the executive with a slight grimace.
"One of those men is the Attorney General, Antonio Drexel."
"What about the other?" Victor asked already suspecting he knew the answer.
Derrick paused before answering. No reason to play coy with this man. "That was Nathan Martinez, the President of the United States."
“Can you do anything with these recordings? Can you put a stop to this madness?”
“Yes,” replied Derrick, “I can try, but our real problem is going to be the publishers and their news machines. The pressure they can apply makes it nearly impossible to get the truth out to the public, without that the Republicans aren’t likely to do anything.”
“RHO and my company aren’t big enough to have any meaningful affect?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Could your connections dump the recordings on the internet, get them to go viral?”
“No, the technology the White House controls will make sure the evidence will never be seen. Dr. Magnason, I suspected you had this kind of evidence, listening to the clips only confirmed my suspicions.”
Derrick continued, “Here is my take on all this?”
"We've got four years before the next election, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"We have four years to change the paradigm."
"Go ahead, Director, you're way ahead of me."
"My team and I killed a team of men sent to assassinate us, the one survivor openly admitted he was serving under orders from someone in Washington, inside the administration. My team and I have already made a decision to take action. Let's play one scenario out, shall we."
"It's your show, Director."
"As long as Martinez and his Administration are in the White House the three news publishers will be in control. You and I would both probably agree, there is nothing we can do to change the political angle, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"The other way would involve leveling the playing field before the next election, taking the supports out from under Martinez and the Democrats."
"How would you propose that be done?"
"By breaking up the cartel."
Victor's interest was by now peaked, Director Mitchum was hinting to the possibility his stillborn news company might still succeed.
"I'm listening, Director."
"What I'm about to propose is something the American intelligence services have been doing for some time, only the targets were the propaganda ministries of third-world dictators."
The CEO listened in stunned silence.
"Let me ask you this first. What do imagine will happen if the current crop of Democrats maintains control over Washington for a second term?"
"All is lost."
"This plan we just heard the publishers and Heads of State discussing is really intended to prevent Republican Party from retaking control of any of the three seats of power, right?"
"That was my conclusion."
"We have but one chance to reverse the course the country is taking, what I'm proposing Dr. Magnason, is to neutralize one, two or all three of the news publishers. I'm talking about getting rid of their means of production, their brain trust…
The executive completed Mitchum's statement. "...and them."
----------
WASHINGTON, D.C. - The Chief of Staff had still not received word from the Russians, a noticeable frown descended upon his face as he waited to enter the Oval Office. Nelson looked at his watch.
Goddamn it! He thought angrily. Just one thought kept turning around in his head. I told that cocky Russian he needed to send more men!
The problem for Nelson’s private, little army were there were two loose ends to take care of at that moment, one in Iraq, the other in the Cayman Islands. His orders to the Colonel had been simple: find the recordings, uncover anyone with knowledge of their existence and get rid of them.
Nelson was brought from his thoughts by Martinez’s Secretary. “Mr. Frank, the President is ready to see you.”
The Chief of Staff picked up his leather valise and entered the through the door without saying a word.
BREAKING SCANDAL