Brad Thor - Full Black

“So that’s Standing’s goal,” said Ralston. “But how does he intend to get there? How the hell could he force America to collapse?”

“That’s the tricky part,” Salomon replied. “Historically, when democracies have collapsed it’s because they were already unstable to begin with, like us. Then, some sort of crisis, or a group of crises come together in such a way that they push the democracy over the brink. They can come in any form. Often, it’s some sort of black swan event.”

“Like the earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan,” stated Ralston.

“That’s a perfect example. The 9/11 attacks were another. Basically, a black swan is something that no one would have ever expected to materialize, which ends up causing massive unforeseen consequences, and after the fact is rationalized as something everyone should have seen coming.”

“So Green Ramp is about choreographing a black swan event?”

“That’s what we think,” Salomon replied.

Ralston shook his head. “Standing manipulates America right up onto the ledge and then shoves. He ought to be tried for treason.”

“Now you know why I wanted to make this film. He needs to be exposed.”

“What he needs is to be swinging from the end of a rope. That’s the price you pay for treason.”

“Not anymore,” Salomon said. “Not in today’s America. We don’t try people for treason, much less put them to death for it. It’s looked upon as an archaic reaction to what should be handled, if at all, as a criminal matter. If we began hanging traitors, we’d lose a good many of our politicians, business and union leaders, even teachers.”

Considering some of the crimes that had been committed in the past twenty years in America, Ralston didn’t exactly think that would be a bad thing. “Do you have any idea what kind of black swan event they were looking at creating?”

“Unfortunately, no. It’s not the kind of thing they put on their website. And it might not be just one black swan, it could be a whole wedge of them.”

“But it’ll probably have something to do with the economy, right? Some sort of new financial crisis?”

The film producer shrugged. “Considering his expertise, that makes sense, but there are other possibilities. He’s stirred revolutions in other countries by creating crises of confidence in government. He’ll rig an election and then leak that the election was rigged. But even that might be too pedestrian when it comes to what he has planned for the United States. With his money and demented worldview, anything is possible.

“Remember, no matter what, James Standing feels that the ends justify the means.”

“Do you have any idea exactly what his ends are? What is it he has in mind? Some sort of global governance?” asked Ralston.

“Standing is a globalist, all right,” replied Salomon. “And he definitely believes he can help usher in some sort of utopia, but there’s one final step that would have to be undertaken, and that’s the most frightening thing of all about him.”

“What is it?”

“Remember what I said about him being worse than Hitler, Stalin, Mao, or Pol Pot if left unchecked?”

Ralston nodded.

“We found an interview he gave on the sidelines of the economic forum in Davos, Switzerland. It was some small European paper and maybe he didn’t think it would get any pickup, but he allowed his proverbial mask to slip. In the twentieth century, he said, the world saw the loss of about 225 million people due to war, genocide, and disaster. According to him, the only way mankind can survive the twenty-first century is if the world population is cut by at least five billion. And that will only happen if every industrialized nation is forced into collapse, starting with the United States.”

J ulia Winston crossed her legs in just such a way that James Standing couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it purposely for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time a female reporter had done that. It didn’t make any difference that he was old enough to be her grandfather. Henry Kissinger had been wrong. Power wasn’t the ultimate aphrodisiac, money and power were and Standing had more than most could even imagine.

Winston was wearing an A-line skirt, the kind that clung tightly to her upper thighs and showed off her tiny waist. She wore an inexpensive yet chic collared shirt, probably from Brooks Brothers or, God forbid, Banana Republic. Her jewelry consisted of what appeared to be a small pair of diamond stud earrings, but that might have been fake. The only place she seemed to have spent any real money was on her shoes.

Smart girl, thought Standing. While most men wouldn’t have made it past her tits, any of the women in the field she was competing with would have checked out her shoes. The difference between bitch and classy bitch with women always came down to the shoes.

Standing did in fact judge women on their looks and how they dressed, but the make-or-break for him was in the brains department. He didn’t have time for unintelligent people. He was too busy and life was too short. Though New York City was filled with gorgeous women, there were few who could keep up with him intellectually. After his penis, there was no greater erogenous zone than his brain. If a woman couldn’t stimulate both, he wasn’t interested.

The attractive Financial Times journalist sitting across from him, though, seemed more than capable of doing both, so he decided to take the provocative way in which she had crossed her legs as just that.

“Let’s talk currencies,” Winston said as she chewed the top of her pencil and flipped through the pages of the steno pad balanced expertly atop her stockinged knee.

They were seated on low-slung couches in the plush sitting area of his office in Midtown Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dramatic view of the Empire State Building, and the sheets of polished marble that covered the floors, as well as the walls, gave one the feeling that they had stepped inside some sort of modern Pantheon. It was an aura of grandeur, and it had been created entirely on purpose.

Standing studied the woman. Who used pencils anymore? he wondered. He liked it. It was a nice touch that made her stand out, made her different. He liked different.

He also liked how she chewed on the eraser. He was beginning to wonder more and more if she was entertaining the thought of going to bed with him.

While men’s sexual energy seemed to ebb as they got older, at seventy-eight, Standing’s had increased. He had no idea what those overpriced doctors and high-end nutritionists were crushing up into his so-called vitamin shakes, but he didn’t care. Hell, he had half a mind to reverse-engineer the recipe and put it on the market himself. It’d be like fusing Red Bull and Viagra, both multibillion-dollar products.

Julia Winston raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said Standing. His mind had drifted. Only making money could have taken his mind off the prospect of bedding such an incredibly attractive woman. “What was it you were asking?”

The woman repeated herself. “Picking up on your remarks about social justice and social responsibility, we talked about your efforts to get affordable medications to AIDS patients in Africa. We also discussed your belief that America should be just as diligent in providing medical care for everyone in this nation, regardless of immigration status. You have described housing, health care, employment, and fair wages as basic human rights.”

“Exactly,” said Standing, more focused now.

“Which brings me to currencies; particularly the U.S. dollar. Recently you said you wanted to see a ‘managed decline’ of the dollar. Can you expound upon that remark?”