On Monday, September 28th, I was looking through my luggage at a hotel near Chicago. I was looking at my official ID card and my work ID from the dismantling center. I was staring at the ID cards. There was some thought that was hanging around my brain, but it had not burst to the surface yet. Finally, I lured out the thought. “Perhaps there was a real reason why the Police (PP's) in Des Moines were ignoring my identification. What if they knew about a weakness in the process of identity and identification? I think we rushed to judgment when we dismissed the Police as being totally incompetent.”
I confided in Mary. We decided to go back to Des Moines and try to get some of the Police we had met to talk about their thinking process. We consulted with Jane. Jane said, “There is a gap in the schedule this week. You can go by fast train from Chicago to Des Moines on Wednesday afternoon. You can have a full day there, and then take the night train back to Chicago.” My mothers agreed that I should travel with Mary and a security worker they had recently hired.
I made an appointment have a long lunch with the five Police Officers that were the primary investigators of the assassination attempt. It was a fun session; some alcohol was involved. I went through the timeline several times. Then I threw in my big question, “Why didn't you trust my identification card? Why did you think it was faked?” The officers looked at each other and then turned to an officer named Perry. Perry said quietly, “My uncle is in the military. He warned me that some military operations used faked identification. I learned from him not to make any big decisions based on a single ID card. So I found the alleged assassin of Jane fucking Foreman carrying the identification of her own daughter. I just said, arrest her. If I am wrong, I get reprimanded. If I am right, I don't get fired. I had no idea that I would get a free lunch from you for locking you up and throwing away the key.” All the officers laughed, as did I. I quickly switched topics to avoid showing my hand. I did say, “Better safe than sorry. I hope my family did not give you too much shit for how I was treated.” I knew that my family had decided to pretend that two assassins had been arrested that day. At no point did anyone give any negative feedback to the Police.
I left the meeting with a better appreciation of the Police. I could tell that they did not want rich people pushing their way around in an investigation. I could tell that there were ruffled feathers. They did not like it that our family had started our own investigation without coordinating with the Police. I told them we had identified the friend of Mike who dropped the noisemaker. Of course, they were aware that Mike was refusing to talk. I told them that we had a detailed file on Mike's life and his associates. I didn't say anything about the disappearing Ukrainians. I made arrangements to send an electronic file about Mike Sarno to the PP's.
I met up with Mary and Jian (our bodyguard) and walked to the train station. Mary was skeptical that there was a military link to our disappearing men. Jian was more positive than Mary. He said, “I have heard there is a new unit that is gearing up to spy on other people. It is called Unit 17, and I heard they were messing around with banking, computer, and identification networks. There were trying to recruit some of my co-workers. If you are interested, I can get some more details for you.” Mary looked surprised. I just replied, “And additional details would be valuable. I would love to learn their command structure, where they are located, and what they are actually doing. My mother always talks about how the spy agencies messed up America a hundred years ago. She would be furious that this kind of shit is starting up again.”
Our trip back to Chicago was unusual. Once we settled down in our car, we headed down to the dining car. We noticed that the prices were higher than on our trip to Iowa yesterday. We found out that the rail company had increased prices of tickets and food by 20% while I was in the meeting with the Police Officers. Of course, we ordered a meal anyway; we were all hungry. Two young women came in who were shocked by the new signboard. Mom called them over and asked if they were having any problems. They said, “We are going to Chicago for our mother's funeral. Our church paid our train tickets, but we have no way of paying these prices for food.” At this, a man yelled out, “Hey, you can work for us!” By his voice tone, his dress, and his expression, I could tell that he and his companion were clearly in the business of recruiting prostitutes.
Mary exclaimed, to the women “Show me your ID cards so I can move $100 into your accounts. All I ask in return is that you never listen to these men or anyone else in the same line of work. I am very sorry for your loss.” I should mention that our party of three was not dressed fancy in any way. We did not look like the kind of group who could be offering that kind of money (remember that in those days, $100 was two weeks of salary). I did not help the situation when I said, “Mom, be careful. This can all go south in a second” in a sharp tone of voice.
Sure enough, one of the men walked over and said, “Did I hear you call this fine black woman ‘Mom,’ you white bitch.” I answered, “You heard what I said. You have no idea of who I am or who my mother is. She is the wife of the head of the Constitutional Bank of New York. She is traveling with her daughter and her bodyguard. If you do not behave yourself, you might be politely asked to step off a moving train.” Mary said soothingly, “There is no need to sound angry. We have a bit of a misunderstanding. I see seven people eating in this dining car. Why don't we all share one table and enjoy our trip to Chicago? I know these nice ladies are going to a funeral for their mother. Let's help them have a good memory of how decent people can help them in their time of need.”
I realized that I was the only white person in the room. I told them stories of being a wealthy girl who had a hobby of dressing up like an X-minus and hanging out with them. Mom told the story of how she was at a restaurant with Jane and Amir when I was two years old. In a total surprise, they both got down on their knee, presented her with a large, beautiful emerald ring, and asked her to be their wife. She showed a picture from a business magazine that showed the entire family: Amir with two wives, plus three children. Mom made a point of saying that “I have a full say on the decisions that concern the single largest personal fortune in America. No black person in American history has had that much wealth. And yes, this is my daughter Rose. If you feel disappointed in me and who I am, and want to find someone else in this country that has more money than I have, well you are shit out of luck.” Mom was very accommodating people when she was in unusual situations. She did have her humorous ways of saying, “Do not imagine you can take advantage of me other than accepting my hospitality.”
Mary did try to draw out the two young men at our table. They said their names were Mike and Joe. Mary asked what skills they used in their job. Mike said, “It is persuasion. I need to persuade women to join the industry, to persuade them to join my group of workers, and to persuade people to part with their money.” Mary paused, and said, “That seems like a lot of work. Do you realize that bond sellers and stock market staff use persuasion as well, but they earn over a hundred thousand dollars a year in a totally legal occupation?” Joe was shocked, “I have never heard of someone earning that much money. Are you shitting me?” Mary laughed and said, “No, I am not. I know it took you years to learn your job. You would need to spend additional years learning this new profession. Based on your sales experience, I would expect you to near the top of the income distribution if you work hard enough. Let's exchange contact information so you can get the training you need to improve your standing in life.”
We talked and drank for several hours. Mom paid the bill and left a massive tip to the staff. We knew we would be in Chicago soon, so we had a quick nap. The train stopped short of Chicago. We were told, “There is rioting in downtown Chicago. This is as far as we can take you.” Mom gathered about 30 people from the train and hired a bus to get us to a safe location in Chicago. She made sure to include all of our dining companions. Mom made sure that the first stop was at the funeral parlor so the two sisters could attend the funeral. We arranged a few more stops that met everyone's needs. The final stop was at the hotel where we were staying until our little side trip.
I was overjoyed to see them come into the hotel room in the early morning of Friday, The first of October. We quickly exchanged stories. I have to say that my mind was so focused on the incredible events in Chicago yesterday, that I was not able to hear what Rose and Mary were trying to tell me.
Around 1 pm, while Rose was meeting with the Police Officers, there was the first hint of trouble. There was an Octoberfest beer event in a large Chicago park. At one moment, about 200 people in a beer tent threw their beer mugs at to the other side of the tent. They slipped away as fast as they could. As the Police and Emergency Workers converged on the scene, all of the perpetrators had quietly melted away. Meanwhile, thousands of X-minus men and women started vicious riots near the famous Chicago Loop. There was no attempt to issue a list of demands. There were hardly any flyers or signs. The riot consisted of thousands of people who showed up without warning doing violent actions. I was shocked that this was happening so close to where I was staying. I was worried sick about my beloved Mary and Rose. I wished I had set them off with a dozen bodyguards.
As everyone knows by now, the body count was high. Five people died in the hail of beer steins. One hundred and eighty-three more died in the street fighting. The rioters killed just about anyone they could get their hands on. The Public Authorities responded by shooting the rioters on sight. Late at night, about the same time that the train from Des Moines was expected, the last of the rioters were disbursed.
My usual approach to civic issues is to try to start a constructive dialogue. Whatever happened on the streets of Chicago was not civic engagement. There were no organizations, no leaders, no announcements, no agenda, no anything. It was just open insurrection. I have to admit that I wanted to pick up a phone and talk to someone, anyone, who might give me a clue.
At one point, I organized a breakfast. I sat down with my family and a few staff members for breakfast. I was still entirely focused on the bloodbath in Chicago. Rose had enough. She raised her voice, “Mom, listen to me. Do you remember what I said about the military unit called, Unit 17 that is now operational? You give long lectures about the evils of the old spy agencies. They are being formed again, like Sauron in the Lord of the Rings. This is an entity of pure evil. You cannot fight it with women's teas and civic organizations.” Rose turned to our bodyguard and said, “Jian, tell Jane what we know so far.” Jian was very convincing since he had additional information from his co-workers at his security firm.
I said, “My dear daughter, you have my full attention. What do you suggest we do?” Rose made me proud for thinking ahead. She said, “This is going to be a long struggle. I recommend we cancel the rest of the tour. Perhaps we keep a few dates, but we bring this to an end. We need information. Have Deb and Cathy call Senate hearings and investigate Unit 17. We need to learn as much as we can about this organization. At minimum find out if Unit 17 provided the false identities of the people known and unknown who were part of the assassination plot. Mom, you are part of a generation that used technical subversion to overthrow an evil regime. Call a meeting of the clans. Bring the five couples. Bring the entire Chris Ritter extended family. Bring the historians from the Liberation University; bring the crazy ladies from Blue Flame. Just make sure that all the people we invite are loyal and not about to rat us out. From watching a bit of TV, I found out that close to 200 people were killed yesterday. I fear that they can keep doing that as long as none of us have any idea of what is going on. We need to be on a war footing, just like you did in 2055 when you got your big project rolling.”
I nodded and told Rose, “OK, I am with you on this.” I looked right at Mary and said, “You have an amazing daughter. I like the idea of the Senate hearings. I think Deb will love digging through all of this. Well done. Let's be careful with a general meeting of the clans. Why don't we start out with a subcommittee of the cleverest? I can think of about five or six people that I would like to sit down with. I think Deb and Zach Perez from our gang; Samantha, Bobbie, and Mary from Chris' family, and two historians from the University. Ok, that is seven. I was close. We can meet in Portland Oregon without attracting too much attention. Rose, you are right about a lot of things. As of now, we are all on a war footing. I just wish we knew who the enemy is.”
I did call up Mary Ritter-Lo on the phone. She suggested that I ask her mother, Faith Ritter, about the use of food service to motivate the poor of Portland Oregon. I had only met Faith Ritter in some formal settings. Mary gave me her mother's private phone number. Faith was very helpful. She did say, “Most of what you are asking me is discussed in my husband's book. Please read it carefully.”
I promised to read the book as soon as possible. She came to her main insight, “I suspect that this is an entity build on supplies, not money. If you investigate money, you find it goes into a single corporate entity. The money is spent on supplies, especially hot, nutritious food. We focused on how to cut our costs on food preparation to the bone. We paid for most of the labor with food. Since a lot of the costs were labor, paying for labor with food doubled our advantage. If you have a population close to starvation, access to one massive meal every four days is powerfully motivating. In our situation, we made sure that our workers and their families were well fed all the time. But if you wanted an army of fanatics, just offer free food every four days and threaten to cut back to every ten days or be cut off altogether. I would say that some organization that offers cafeteria food for schools, hotels, or institutions might be operating additional eating locations to motivate a hidden army. Technically, what we did was a violation of labor laws. Look for a similar pattern of cut-rate food operations in Chicago.”
I thanked Faith for her observation. I shuddered with the thought that the best way to learn who was feeding the army of X-minus rioters was to send Rose into the most dangerous neighborhoods of Chicago.
My investigation into Unit 17 became unglued almost immediately. I gathered the basic information that I could. The official name of this organization was the Threat Evaluation and Assessment or TEA. This struck me as odd since evaluation and assessment seemed to be the same thing. This unit was located at the Carlisle Barracks, next to the Army War College near Harrisburg PA. It was headed by Lloyd Warren, an eccentric general with quite a reputation. I was unable to learn anything about this military unit from official sources. That immediately aroused my suspicion. Why work so hard to cloak a benign entity. It had to be up to no good.
I decided against gathering additional bits of information that would prove that this entity was up to no good. Instead, I chose the “good government” route. I wrote a memo saying that I had learned of a military unit which appeared to hide its existence. My memo barely had more than the name of the entity, where it was located, and which branch of the military it was part of (The Domestic Army). I made sure not to call this Unit 17.
I sent my memo by e-mail to my fellow Senators. To my amazement, I got five vetoes within minutes. I had never had such a negative reaction to an investigation. You would have thought I was trying to bring back starvation, slavery, and mass death. I was stumped as to what was going on. Of course, it was clear that this mysterious Unit 17 was well protected.
It was against Senate Protocol to ask directly what the issues were. I did send some staffers over to other Senate offices to pick up gossip. This was easy to do. They brought over large baskets with wine, baked goods, and cheese. My staffers then asked other staffers about a long list of pending legislation. We had a military officer show up in uniform during the visit to ask a routine question. My staff would ask, “Have you noticed a lot of military officers visiting your Senator?”
My staff was able to find three Senators who were visited by a trio of military officers who seemed to be offering a route to guarantee re-election. In each instance, campaign staffers were called into the meeting. Not surprisingly, all three Senators we identified were on the list of five Senators who vetoed the investigation. I had to assume that my cover was blown. Someone knew I wanted an investigation. But they did not know why or what I knew.
I called an all hands on deck with the whole staff. I brought in my wife, which I rarely do. We discussed the bare facts: I had asked for an investigation. It was vetoed. We suspected that outsiders would ask questions about what we knew. I asked that everyone stick to the same script and that everyone record all information about anyone asking questions.
The first and only inquiry came from another Senator. A Senator that I will not identify asked me about the investigation. He or she had been on vacation when other Senators were approached by the mystery military officers. My caller said, “I did overhear some conversations at the Senate dining hall that did not sound Kosher. I wish you well. What are you going to do?”
I was a taken aback a bit. I was so much in a defensive mode; I was not sure how to react. Was I talking to a friend or a foe? At a certain point, it did not matter. I replied, “I am not sure what is going on. I cannot tell if this issue is worth pursuing. I have so many other issues to pursue. I am going to sit on my rear end until such time I learn something new. What do you think?” The caller quickly changed the subject.