FLASH MESSAGE

TOP SECRET ULTRA

DEPUTY DIRECTOR GRU TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

8. OLGA ROMANCHANKO – KIEV –

TERMINATED

END OF MESSAGE

Chapter Thirty-Two

Willard Stone and Monte Banks were natural enemies. They were both ruthless predators, and the jungle they prowled was the stone canyons of Wall Street, with its high-powered takeovers, leveraged buy-outs and stock deals.

The first time the two men clashed was during the attempted takeover of a huge utility company. Willard Stone made the first bid, and anticipated no problem. He was so powerful, and his reputation so fearsome, that very few people dared challenge him. It was a great surprise then when he learned that a young upstart named Monte Banks was contesting his bid. Stone was forced to raise his own bid, and the ante kept going up. Willard Stone finally acquired control of the company, but at a much higher price than he had anticipated paying.

Six months later, in a takeover bid for a large electronics firm, Stone was confronted again by Monte Banks. The bidding kept escalating, and this time, Banks won.

When Willard Stone learned that Monte Banks intended to compete with him for control of a computer company, he decided it was time to meet with his competitor. The two men met on neutral ground in Paradise Island, in the Bahamas. Willard Stone had had a thorough investigation made of his competitor and had learned that Monte Banks came from a wealthy oil family, and had brilliantly managed to parlay his inheritance into an international conglomerate.

The two men sat down to lunch. Willard Stone, old and wise, Monte Banks, young and eager.

Willard Stone opened the conversation. “You’re becoming a pain in the ass.”

Monte Banks grinned. “Coming from you, that’s a big compliment.”

“What is it you want?” Stone asked.

“The same as you. I want to own the world.”

Willard Stone said thoughtfully, “Well, it’s a big enough world.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s room enough for both of us.”

That was the day they became partners. Each ran his own business separately but when it came to new projects – timber and oil and real estate – they went into deals together, instead of competing with each other. Several times the Anti-Trust Division of the Justice Department tried to stop their deals, but Willard Stone’s connections always prevailed. Monte Banks owned chemical companies responsible for massive pollution of lakes and rivers, but when he was indicted, the indictment was mysteriously dropped.

The two men had a perfect symbiotic relationship.

Operation Doomsday was a natural for them, and they were heavily involved in it. They were on the verge of closing a deal to purchase ten million acres of lush, tree-rich land in the Amazon. It was going to be one of the most profitable deals they had ever gone into.

They could not afford to let anything stand in their way.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Day Thirteen

Washington, DC

The Senate of the United States was in plenary session. The junior senator from Utah had the floor.

“… and what is happening to our ecology is a national disgrace. It is time that this great body realized that it is its sworn duty to preserve the precious heritage that our forefathers entrusted to us. It is not only our sworn duty but our privilege to protect the land, the air and the seas against those vested interests that are selfishly destroying it. And are we doing this? Are we in all conscience doing our best? Or are we allowing the voice of Mammon to influence us …?”

Kevin Parker, seated in the visitors’ gallery, glanced at his watch for the third time in the past five minutes. He wondered how much longer the speech was going to last. He was sitting through this only because he was having lunch with the senator, and he needed a favour from him, Kevin Parker enjoyed walking through the corridors of power, hobnobbing with congressmen and senators, dispensing largesse in return for political favours.

He had grown up poor in Eugene, Oregon. His father was an alcoholic who had owned a small lumber yard. An inept businessman, he had turned what should have been a thriving business into a disastrous failure. The young boy had to work from the age of fourteen, and because his mother had run away with another man years earlier, he had no home life at all. He could easily have become a drifter and ended up like his father, but his saving grace was that he was extraordinarily handsome and personable. He had wavy blond hair and fine aristocratic features that he must have inherited from some long-forgotten ancestor. A few affluent townspeople took pity on the boy, giving him jobs, encouragement, and going out of their way to assist him. The wealthiest man in town, Jeb Goodspell, was particularly eager to help Kevin, and gave him a part-time job with one of his companies. A bachelor, Goodspell often invited young Parker to join him for dinner at his home.

“You can be somebody in this life,” Goodspell told him, “but you can’t make it without friends.”

“I know that, sir. And I certainly appreciate your friendship. Working for you is a real life saver.”

“I could do a lot more for you,” Goodspell said. They were seated on the couch in the living room, after dinner. He put his arm around the young boy. “A lot more.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You have a good body, do you know that?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you ever get lonely?”

He was lonely all the time. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, you don’t have to be lonely anymore.” He stroked the boy’s arm. “I get lonely, too, you know. You need someone to hold you close and comfort you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever had any girls?”

“Well, I went with Sue Ellen for a while.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

The boy blushed. “No, sir.”

“How old are you, Kevin?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“It’s a great age. It’s an age when you should be beginning to start a career.” He studied the boy a moment. “I’ll bet you’d be darn good in politics.”

“Politics? I don’t know anything about that, sir.”

“That’s why you’re going to school, to learn things. And I’m going to help you.”

“Thank you.”

“There are plenty of ways of thanking people,” Goodspell said. He rubbed his hand along the boy’s thigh. “Many ways.” He looked into Parker’s eyes. “You know what I mean?”

“Yes, Jeb.”

That was the beginning.

When Kevin Parker was graduated from Churchill High School, Goodspell sent him to the University of Oregon. The boy studied political science, and Goodspell saw to it that his protege met everybody. They were all impressed with the attractive young man. With his connections, Parker found that he was able to do favours for important people, and to bring people together. Becoming a lobbyist in Washington was a natural step, and Parker was good at the job.

Goodspell had died two years earlier, but Parker had by then acquired a talent and a taste for what his mentor had taught him. He liked to pick up young boys and take them to out-of-the-way hotels where he would not be recognized.

The senator from Utah was finally finishing. “… and I say to you now that we must pass this bill if we want to save what is left of our ecology. At this time, I would like to ask for a roll call vote.”

Thank God, the endless session was almost over. Kevin Parker thought about the evening that lay ahead of him, and he began to get an erection. The night before, he had met a young man at Danny’s “P” Street Station, a well-known gay bar. Unfortunately, the young man had been with a companion. But they had eyed each other during the evening, and before he left, Parker had written a note and slipped it into the young man’s hand. It said simply, “Tomorrow night.” The young man had smiled and nodded.