Doomsday Anarchy Page 4

  The CFTC, the United States Commodity Futures Trading Commission, had been established during Schwartz’s early days as a hedge fund trader to regulate options and futures markets. He’d been navigating through their regulations for decades, which was ironic because his trading activities were responsible for quite a few of them.

  “I’m aware, but Washington is in chaos. The president is hiding. With the help of your friends, the regulatory apparatus will be focused on things other than their jobs.”

  Jonathan continued to study the currency transactions. The size of these trades would rival those that triggered the Asian financial crisis in 1997 and the collapse of the British pound sterling in 1992. The process of short-selling and long-selling had been used by traders for decades to manipulate markets in their favor.

  “There is more, son,” Schwarz continued. “The U.S. markets will be closed indefinitely, but their equities will be sold internationally, nonetheless. I want to put pressure on corporate America to force Washington to intervene abroad. I want you to systematically dump our positions in American equities too.”

  “Father, we stand to lose a considerable amount of earned profits gained.”

  Schwartz sighed and managed a sigh. He pulled his maroon-colored silk housecoat closed and stuck his hands in his pockets. Looking at the winter wonderland outside, the thought of his goals being realized warmed his heart.

  “It’s all for the greater good, son.”

  Chapter 3

  Haven House

  The Haven

  Ryan Smart sat in a comfortable, rolled-arm chair in the corner of their master bedroom, sipping his morning drink concoction, a fifty-fifty blend of Couple’s Coffee and Fairlife two percent chocolate milk. His daily routine, when he didn’t have to hit the ground running, began with perusing the day’s news headlines on his iPad and waiting for his lovely wife to wake up. Blair started to stir on her own, and Ryan paused to admire her beauty.

  “I’m so lucky to wake up next to someone so beautiful every day,” he said in a soft tone as she sat upright in bed. His compliment was corny, yet sincere. He loved her more than life.

  Blair’s long blond hair covered half her face, and the half that was visible revealed an eye that was barely open. She slowly shook her head from side to side in disagreement.

  “You can save that one for the Thanksgiving prayer, buddy.” Blair immediately fell backwards onto her pillow and pulled the covers over her head. Then she added, her voice muffled by the covers, “It’s too early. Go away.”

  Ryan laughed and took another sip of his coffee drink. He considered teasing Blair and even ripping all the covers off her to get her good and riled up, but he resisted his devious urges. They had a long day ahead, one of many to come, he presumed. He would need his wife and partner well rested.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asked sheepishly.

  Blair slowly removed the blankets covering her head. Her hair was now completely over her face, making her the perfect vision of Cousin Itt from the classic Addams Family shows. “Go ahead. I may or may not be listening.” She covered back up and got settled in to catch a few more winks.

  Ryan ignored her efforts to hide. “Things are escalating. Overnight, riots broke out in cities across the country. I’m starting to see a pattern here. The locations aren’t the usual high-profile targets to garner media attention. Instead I’m seeing places like Nashville, Phoenix, and Richmond. Even Charlotte.”

  Blair started to come to life, as Ryan knew she would. “What pattern?”

  “In all the reports I could find, there’s a noticeable effort to target the suburbs. Especially wealthy and middle-class neighborhoods. I’ve been looking at images of families driven out of their homes by fires. You know, mom, dad, and two small children holding nothing but their freakin’ teddy bears.”

  Blair sat up and propped herself against several pillows. She reached for her bkr water bottle. The iconic glass-and-silicone bottle was a constant companion to Blair, as she’d vowed to stay hydrated. “We’ve talked about these rabble-rousers before. They always seek media attention. What’s the point in going into the burbs?”

  “I don’t know, but it can’t be coincidental. The national media hasn’t mentioned it, really. They’ve shifted their focus back to what the president is going to do, and how all of this relates to the Supreme Court.”

  “Have they identified any specific groups who are behind the riots?” asked Blair, now fully awake and reaching for her own iPad.

  “No, but there are some images that have emerged on Twitter. You know, thugs dressed in head-to-toe black outfits. Leather boots, faces covered in black bandanas and topped off with a black hat or mask. It’s all intended to intimidate anyone who dares to stand in their way.”

  “They have their uniforms and we have ours—camo.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Just like the blues and the grays of the Civil War. Every army has their own colors.”

  “Well, there’s also this,” added Blair as she held up her iPad. She routinely checked news from Florida. She pointed to an image from the front page of the Gainesville Sun newspaper’s website. It depicted a group of armed men patrolling the streets of an affluent neighborhood. All were carrying AR-15s and dressed in camouflage clothing.

  “Exactly,” said Ryan. “That’s what I’m talking about. Newton’s laws of quantum physics.”

  “Huh?” Blair wasn’t that awake yet.

  “You know, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” Ryan explained. “On New Year’s Eve, somebody, and I have no idea who, fired the first shots.”

  “Big ones,” interjected Blair.

  “Oh yeah. But now the ground war has begun. It’s almost like a civil war between left and right. The Antifa bunch do what they do best—create a lawless environment. You know, anarchy. The guys on the opposite end of the spectrum bow up and show they’re tough by walking down the street carrying their guns. In the past, everyone mouthed off at each other and then went home. Not now.”

  Blair continued to read through the article from Gainesville. “The good old boys from Ocala who came to join their friends in Gainesville shot and killed three UF students who were part of the Antifa protestors.”

  “Were they protesting or setting fires like in these other cities?” asked Ryan.

  Blair scrolled further down the article. “Apparently, the students, dressed in black like the others, were carrying lit torches toward a gated community near Gainesville Country Club. Fires had already been set around town. Before they could scale the gates, the good old boys opened fire. Three were killed, and half a dozen were wounded.”

  “How would the guys from Ocala even know to be there?” asked Ryan.

  Blair shrugged. “Beats me.”

  The two continued reading their respective news articles before Ryan went to the kitchen and prepared Blair’s coffee. When he returned, he got down to business before he left for the morning briefing at the Haven Barn.

  “I had a text from Alpha. We’ve had a few new arrivals, and I suspect more will be coming throughout the day. I wanna get jobs assigned to everyone so we can be ready for anything that comes our way.”

  Blair sipped her coffee. “Sounds good. I’ll check the roster and try to make a few more calls, but, Ryan, I can’t chase these people down. Either they’re gonna take advantage of what we have here, or they’re not.”

  “I totally agree. Do you need me to assign anyone to you? You know, admin, security, anything?”

  “Nope,” she replied with confidence. “Today, I’ll do an orientation for some of the new peeps. My focus is going to be on establishing routines and a sense of normalcy. Idle time creates idle minds, and idle minds concoct drama that we don’t need. This is not a time for sitting around commiserating or hand-wringing.”

  Ryan laughed at the tough nature of his wife. She was sweet and adorable on the exterior, but on the inside, she had a resolve that nobody should underestimate. He approached Blair
and gave her a kiss, something he’d never failed to do in all of their years together.

  “We know what to expect,” he began. “Now we need to make sure everyone is on the same page. I love you.”

  They kissed again and the two embarked on the second day of the apocalypse, fully expecting more surprises to be thrown their way.

  Chapter 4

  CNN Center

  Atlanta, Georgia

  At This Hour host, Kate Bolduan, sat upright in her chair and addressed the camera. “As we continue to keep our viewers abreast of the situation with foreign exchange markets via the chyron on the screen, I’d like to move to another topic that has been heavily on the minds of legal analysts. I’m referring to the president’s use of executive orders following a contentious election.”

  CNN had maintained its regular programming lineup as it continuously broadcast scenes from areas around the country that were directly impacted by the attacks of New Year’s Eve. Bolduan was joined on the news set by two attorneys.

  One was Jeannie Ray, a former attorney for the Clinton Foundation and a member of the now disbanded special prosecutor’s team headed by Robert Mueller. The other, a longtime Washington insider, Rachel Black, had been the United States associate attorney general but was best known for her legal representation of President George W. Bush during the 2000 presidential election recount in Florida.

  Bolduan began the conversation with a pointed question directed at Rachel Black. “Rachel, you’ve been down this road before, in a way. You have a contested election, the electorate is angry at the result, and political animus rules the day. What advice do you give the president?”

  “Kate, today is a deeply divided time. There is an anger out there, a rage, that isn’t healthy. In the lead-up to this election, the acrimony that we were seeing, um, we also saw in the 2016 election, and we saw it again this year. It is a bitterness, to the point of being apoplectic, that is tearing us apart. In my opinion, it’s corroding the very fabric of our democracy.”

  Bolduan pressed further. “Rachel, isn’t the president partly to blame for this hostility? I mean, take his use of executive orders and the recent firing of his cabinet. Why wouldn’t that justify the anger and rage you referenced?”

  “First of all, Kate, as I argued in 2000, just because one side doesn’t like the results doesn’t mean you can overturn the outcome afterwards. Bush versus Gore was the first attempt I’ve seen to delegitimize an election, and it happened again in 2004, 2016, and now in 2020. It’s sour grapes from a bunch of sore losers, in my opinion.”

  Bolduan held up her hand and tried to tone her guest down, but before she could speak, Jeannie Ray, the other panelist, fired back, “I think Rachel is missing the point here. Or avoiding it, whichever. The matter before the Supreme Court has nothing to do with the allegations of election fraud and ballot manipulation. We’re talking about the president’s own cabinet speaking out to protect the nation from someone who is clearly mentally unstable. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment was put in place for a reason, and we were seeing it properly implemented until the bloodletting.”

  Black chuckled and shook her head condescendingly. “The bloodletting, a term coined by this network, is a farce. The cabinet serves at the pleasure of the president. He can fire any of them, or all of them, as he deems fit. Just because it doesn’t suit your political agenda doesn’t make it illegal.”

  “Politics has nothing to do with this,” Ray shot back. “We’re talking about a mentally unstable president who needs to be removed from office. The people who know him best—his cabinet, his co-workers, if you will—agreed. The law was followed, and he should’ve stepped aside in the best interests of the country.”

  “That’s a load of crap, and you know it,” countered Black. “The president has undergone more scrutiny from the media than any in history. He has submitted himself to frequent physicals and mental-acuity tests since the issue regarding his mental competence was raised on day one of his presidency. Besides, where was the vice president and the cabinet before the election? Hmm? They rode his coattails back into office, and lo and behold, the traitors to the nation tried to remove him in order to take over.”

  “Traitors is a pretty strong word, don’t you think?” Bolduan interjected a question in an effort to take back control of the interview.

  The two female panelists were having none of it. This was their stage now.

  Ray ignored her question and was now glaring at Black. “Traitor? The vice president is a good man, widely respected on both sides of the aisle.”

  Black laughed at the statement. “Yeah, sure, when he’s a convenient stooge for the left. Do I need to remind you of the names he’s been called? The accusations made about his religious beliefs? The way he’s been treated—”

  “He is just one of the cabinet members. Look at all of the others, Rachel. Besides, none of that is relevant. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment was designed to create a process, and your president decided to shun the Constitution, a document that he tries to wrap himself in most times, or at least when it suits him. He fired his detractors, all good people, in order to save his presidency.”

  “That’s his prerogative.” Black shouted her response. “I’m sorry that the political lynching didn’t work out for you.”

  “What? Lynching?” Ray was incredulous. “How dare you hearken back to the dark times in this nation when race relations were at their worst. That’s a word that should never be used in the public discourse.”

  “Good grief! It’s just a word. Would you rather me call it mob justice? Vigilantism?”

  Bolduan interrupted. “Rachel, two members of the president’s cabinet are African-American. One might construe your use of the—”

  “Well, well, nice of you to notice, Kate,” snarled Black. “How many times has this network referred to the president as being racist? Yet he has diversity in cabinet. I stand by my statement.”

  Ray had a stack of notes in front of her on the table. She picked them up and slammed them on the desk in front of her. An awkward silence ensued until Bolduan touched her hand to her earpiece.

  “It’s time for a hard commercial break, but when we return, we’ll look at the president’s options in times like these, including the use of martial law.”

  Into her open microphone, Ray mumbled, “Every tyrant’s favorite weapon.”

  Black and Ray were glaring at each other when one of the CNN producers, speaking into Bolduan’s earpiece, instructed her to step away from the host’s chair. She quietly excused herself although the two women seated across from her hardly noticed her departure.

  She walked around the back of the rolling cameras and the bright lights that illuminated the set. She accepted a glass of water and a touch-up of her makeup as two of the show’s producers approached her.

  Bolduan spoke first. “These two don’t like one another very much.”

  “Ray is seething. Look at her,” said one of the producers, who nodded in the direction of the two panelists. The two women were not speaking, but their body language spoke volumes.

  “Well, Black instigated the whole thing with her attitude,” the other producer chimed in. “I thought Jeannie held her tongue pretty well.”

  Bolduan shook her head and laughed. “I thought they were going to come to blows.”

  “Good, let ’em,” said the first producer. “It’ll be ratings gold.”

  The group observed the two women, who sat with their arms folded in front of them, staring in different directions. Bolduan asked, “Did you guys catch what Ray said after I signed off? Did that come through the mic?”

  “Oh yeah,” said the second producer, “and guess what? It hit the airwaves too.”

  “You guys didn’t cut it? You had seven seconds.”

  The first producer pointed her thumb over her shoulder. The big guys made a snap decision and said to run with it. The press will talk about it for a day or two.”

  “Publicity,” muttered Bolduan.


  “Name of the game, Kate,” said the second producer. “You need to get back in the chair. This segment should be fun.”

  Chapter 5

  Congress Heights

  Washington, DC

  Hayden Blount’s mind was focused on the uncertainty of the upcoming Supreme Court hearing when she awoke that morning. As a single woman, her life didn’t involve a partner or getting kids ready for their day. Her career was everything and garnered a hundred percent of her attention. From her early days as a clerk for Justice Samuel Alito until the present, a junior partner with the prestigious firm of Stein Mitchell, her employer was provided a dedicated lawyer who spent every waking hour thinking about the cases she was assigned.

  Today was no different. To be sure, most people would be consumed by the signs of collapse occurring around them. The power grid had failed in large parts of New Jersey, Eastern Pennsylvania, and Northern Maryland. Curfews had been established from Baltimore to Trenton, but that didn’t stop people from taking to the streets. Looting was rampant, and law enforcement was overwhelmed.

  Similar unrest was being experienced closer to home as Washington, DC, was still attempting to restart its public transportation system in the aftermath of the cyber attacks. The mayor had commissioned an emergency advisory council that worked in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security to conduct a cyber forensic investigation to determine the cause and the culprit.

  However, the task of fixing the problem was almost insurmountable. The malware inserted into the systems couldn’t be easily removed, and therefore the computers themselves had to be replaced and the new ones programmed. The internet technology specialists were estimating this to take weeks, not days.

  Hayden, however, was not consumed by the drama associated with the New Year’s Eve attacks. Nor was she overly concerned about the status of Friday’s hearing by the justices on the fate of the president’s objection to the Twenty-Fifth Amendment removal from office. She was confident in her brief and the legal position she argued. Whether the hearing occurred on Friday would be determined in short order by the president’s potential use of his martial law powers.