Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

“And what was the flaw in his plan?”

“Well, you could say it was Pussy Galore. She fell in love with Bond and switched sides. Which is how I would have done it in Bond’s place. Used my legendary powers of seduction to save the free world. You know, if I was one of the good guys. Which I am not. I’m too much of a free agent.”

Edwin rubs his temples.

“So the problem wasn’t the hot broad. The problem was too many people. And the more people you involve, the more likely it is that somebody screws it up.” Edwin freezes. Wisdom? From Topper? Could it be?

“So what would you do?” asks Edwin.

“So, you take this guy, Barry or whatever, strap a dirty bomb to him — some Polonius, Plutarchium, whatever. You wind him up. Tell him to go for the gold. He smashes through the wall, wham bam, and then when he gets to the gold – BEEP BEEP, ‘Hey what’s that funny noise?’ And KaBLOOEY! That’s it for Barry.”

“Leaving no link to me.”

“Exactly. And if you really want to make it good, all you have to do is put him in a turban. Everybody will think he’s part of some jihad against the denser elements or something equally incomprehensible. Who knows what those Korons are thinking anyway?”

“Korons?”

“Morons with Koran’s. Korons. Towel-heads, Camel Jockeys. Taxi drivers. Assholes! You know who I’m talking about.”

Explosions, senseless killing, widespread destruction, vile prejudice, it certainly is Topper’s kind of plan. But Edwin is impressed to find a hint of subtlety in operation. Subtlety is not something Edwin has thought Topper was capable of. He makes a note to consider Topper more carefully in the future.

“So, before you do any of this, you buy a shitload of gold. Then, when the dollar and the entire financial system collapses, the value of your gold skyrockets. Then you sell and buy up half the country for like $20 bucks. It’s genius. It just needed me to inject a little realism. Y’know, versmillitude.”

“Hmm.”

“C’mon, you’ve got to admit, I’ve taken a good idea and made it better. And it’s ambitious. It’s audacious. Make a fortune by destroying the United States Dollar.”

“I will grant you, that it’s not entirely a bad idea.” Topper beams with pride. Finally Edwin has approved of one of his schemes. Topper feels like he’s getting somewhere with the big egghead. At this rate, he might even be able to get Edwin to loosen up and have a good time. “But Topper,” Edwin says, “it’s already been done.”

“WHAT? Nah. No way. I would have read about it.”

“So, how much do you think this scheme of yours would devalue the dollar?”

“Oh, at least by half.”

“Half?” Edwin snorts. “Half? That would scarcely get you on the board. Since its creation, the U.S. Dollar has lost 98% of its value. Its worth 2% of what it was. Sorry Topper, someone beat you to it.”

“But how? Why didn’t it make the news? When was the explosion?”

“There was no explosion, just a slow leak.”

“So irradiating Fort Knox wouldn’t throw the United States into turmoil?”

“Other than the fact that people might be disturbed by glowing racehorses, business would continue as usual.”

“But the gold standard!”

“Oh Topper,” Edwin laughs, “The dollar isn’t backed by gold.”

“What? Then these things are just pieces of paper,” he cries, brandishing a fistful of notes.

“Yes.”

“They’re worthless?”

“Not exactly. You can exchange them for things like food and drink. So they are worth something.”

“But what keeps people from realizing they’re worthless? That you can’t get anything for them unless the next guy takes it from you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oooooh, that’s evil.”

“Yes, it is. One has to admire the ruthless professionalism of it. Only if you control a government can you get away with this magnitude of a crime. For the rest of us, we will simply have to content ourselves with lesser ambitions.”

“This is all very complicated. I had better stock up on a few things in case money doesn’t work tomorrow. Wait. Wait. Gold. Gold will still be worth something. We should STILL knock over Fort Knox!”

“Ah, yes. But if you are going to steal gold, why go all the way to Kentucky? There’s over 10,000 tons of the stuff right down the street.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“And even if it wasn’t very, very secure, there is always the problem of how you move it.”

“I’d carry it in my greedy little paws.”

“I’m sure you would try Topper. But each bar of gold weighs 27 pounds. Which makes moving gold a slow proposition. Especially when you consider that the vault is constructed in such a way that it is very time consuming to get gold in or out. It requires, at this point, rather a lot of people. And as you pointed out, the more people, the more problem.”

“But if you had a guy with superpowers. A really strong guy.”

Edwin looks directly into Topper’s greedy little soul, “That thought never leaves my mind. For a client of mine to gain control of 40% of the world’s gold—”

“A CLIENT! Edwin, when are you going to start thinking about yourself? Lookin’ after #1 like any good, red-blooded American should.”

“Topper, I am not a criminal.”

“You’re a friggin’ mastermind, that’s what you are. All those facts crammed in that pointy head of yours.”

Edwin sighs. This conversation is pointless. “Just accept that I do not break the law. I don’t break the social contract. I do not break contracts of any kind. It’s bad for business. But I advise those who choose to do so.”

“You are a very, very strange man.”

“Perhaps. But please, help me with this small thing. Help me with Barry. And we’ll work up to currency manipulation eventually.”

“Can we steal gold? Can we?”

“When the right set of powers come along, I will advise someone to steal the gold.”

“Okay then. I’ll help you,” Topper downs the rest of his drink. “Now I got to go see a man about blowing up a building.” Topper waddles out the door, sticking Edwin with the check.

Topper sets up a meeting for Edwin with R. Earl Lemahi. He is a half-Texan, half-Pakistani real estate magnate who has developed a number of sites around the city. But none bigger or more impressive than the Spackster project.

The Spackster building is one of the city’s original skyscrapers. Only 20 stories tall, in its day it had been a marvel of engineering, but now its glory has faded. It’s just another pile of dirty bricks with a cleverly disguised water tower on the roof.

Lemahi has surrounded the Spackster building on three sides with featureless boxes of expensive per-square-foot office space. These buildings are state of the art, and remarkable only in their soullessness. Edwin meets with Lemahi at the top of one of his prized buildings.

“Windsor,” Lemahi says as he gestures towards the Spackster building, “I need this old pile of bricks building taken down carefully and well. But I ain’t never heard of you. Which makes me a mite nervous.”

“And the fact that I’m offering to demolish the building for half the cost of anyone else? What does that do to your nerves?” Edwin says, cool as can be. It’s not like this is his first negotiation.

“Makes them a damn sight steadier. I just wanted to come down here and look in your eye boy. Make sure you were a serious man.”

Edwin meets his gaze without flinching. These silly “men-of-business” games mean nothing to him. “And now that you have looked in my eyes?”

“Oh you’re serious a’right. But I don’t see no bond. And if you ain’t bonded, you ain’t doing this job.” R Earl leans back in his chair, pleased to think that he has put this smug bastard back on his heels.