Fixing the Problem
It had been a long month. Made even longer by people who couldn’t—or didn’t want to—do their jobs.
August Kaminski stared at the report he’d been given.
None of it made any sense. The entire purpose of his existence was to keep a low profile and invade from within. He’d already amassed a fortune. He had people in the right pockets in all the right places.
No one made a move without him knowing about it or approving it. At least in his territory of the Pacific Northwest. And after months and years of hard work, he was closer to dismantling everything he loathed about this country.
A false sense of democracy. The notion that capitalism somehow leveled the playing field for all, when the system had been rigged from its inception.
Like so many other nations across the globe, power and money went hand in hand. Now he had it, and he intended to do the right thing.
His way.
And if he made a fortune while doing it, who cared? He’d earned a reward for tolerating the evil for so long.
Casimir Bednarek had turned into a problem. Casimir’s troublesome cousin, that psychotic monstrosity passing for a human, was as bad.
August made the call he’d been putting off, knowing what to expect.
“I don’t know what to do,” the man who answered cried. “They’ve got him. I know they do.”
“Relax. You know nothing yet.”
“But when he turns up dead, then what? He’ll have told them everything.”
And you’re concerned for his well-being, are you? August didn’t say what he felt, that the hypocrisy in a man elected by the people to serve the people didn’t seem to care about his own people.
“He didn’t know enough to hurt us.”
“Maybe not about you, but he knows plenty about me.” The agitated voice continued. “I don’t understand. We’ve done everything you wanted. But now he isn’t happy about that? Did you two argue about something we don’t know about? This isn’t my mess, August. I shouldn’t have to clean it up.”
In a way, the man’s spiral into frantic anxiety and terror pleased him. August had been doing favors, acting as no more than a lapdog for entitled Americans, for years. But now he had the power he needed to get things done.
Lionel Gambol would pay for dismissing him so easily. As would all those who thought they had the right to tell him what to do. Like Senator Ronald Scott.
“Relax, Ronald. I have it all under control. Yes, your aide is gone. But none of this will blow back on you. Play the grieving employer and friend. Use it to your benefit. I’ll handle Rook.”
“I hope to God you do.” The senator let out a heavy breath. “I’ve got to console Belinda. She thought of Louis as a brother, you know. Her father introduced him to us.”
Louis wasn’t just a brother to your wife, you stupid man. A lover, confidant, and intimate friend. “Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ve got it handled. Use the grief to bolster public support. And strengthen your stand on battling domestic crime.”
“Good points. I will.” There was always the next election to worry about.
August hung up and turned to the man sitting in front of his desk.
“What a putz.” Nelson Rupert shook his head and sipped his Scotch with patience. “But he looks good on paper and on camera. A fitting husband for my daughter, I suppose. Matthew’s quite bright. I suppose Ronald did something right.”
August grunted.
“You’re sure you don’t need any help with Rook?”
“I’m fine. But thank you.”
Nelson Rupert commanded his respect. The man played politics on a global scale, with ties August still dreamed about cementing with some friends in Asia. All those manufacturing plants assembling components and devices so Americans could have the latest phones and laptops.
The wealthy tycoon had shown faith in August by sharing a few supply chains that were more lucrative than anything August currently had through Europe. For that assistance, August owed Nelson more than he could at present repay.
“Rook will not be a concern for much longer,” August promised. “You have my word on that.”
Nelson harrumphed. “I trust it. Your word means something. Unlike the businessmen today, who don’t know the meaning of the word ‘loyalty.’” Nelson sighed. “Let me know how things progress. And August, you do what you have to do.” The implication behind that veiled blessing wasn’t lost on August.
“You’re sure?”
“I am. It might hurt, but it’ll make us stronger in the long run. Just…as long as it’s quick. No needless suffering.”
“No, sir.”
Nelson rose, tossed back the last of his drink, then gently placed the crystal glass on the table beside him.
One of August’s men escorted him out and would see that Nelson arrived safely back to his home.
August pondered Nelson’s words.
He made another call. “It’s not too late to stop this.”
Casimir Bednarek growled, “I could say the same to you. This is not what we agreed upon. August, this isn’t who you are.”
“This is exactly who I am. I think you forget that because I’ve always had a soft spot for you. I respect your intelligence, your dedication. But you forget why we’re here. The goal has always been a systematic collapse, Casimir.”
“To make the world better. But you’re listening to the wrong people. We are not here to enhance the current oligarchy. To line our own pockets. This is wrong. You are wrong.”
August didn’t tolerate dissention. Not when he’d made up his mind. “You are sure this is the direction you’re going to follow?”
“No. But I’ll give you the war you want. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” Casimir disconnected.
August stared at the phone, knowing there was no going back. He’d lost a vital part of his army, the brains behind much of their decisions.
But August never relied on only one piece.
He left his office and called to his nearest man. “Find Bishop for me.”
The man nodded and raced away.
Moments later, Bishop exited the hallway leading from the war room. “You called, August?”
He studied his new number one, a man with the body of an enforcer and the mind of a grandmaster. So many saw Bishop’s granite exterior and underestimated his intelligence. To their peril.
August smiled. “He finally made his move.”
“Then it’s time we countered,” Bishop replied, his voice even, low, determined. “It’s going to be ugly, sir.”
“Whatever it takes. We have the go-ahead.”
Bishop nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I know you will.”