The Competitive Edge Playing The Game IIIChapter 2 Weston West Westy
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53 Miles West Of VenusChapter 5 free porn video
After one last look into the gloom of the cavern lake I declared the official tour to be ‘done’ ... unless of course the EPA Bitch (or anyone else for that matter) wanted to turn over a few more rocks someplace else. It was already getting late but I could keep walking around for the rest of the evening and all night as well. I gave everyone a big cheesy grin and even began to quietly hum “I could walk five hundred miles...” Well, perhaps not quite all that quietly. Inside, I could tell that Her Imperial Highness The EPA Bitch was still absolutely fuming with frustration and pent-up rage but also it was obvious that she was exhausted ... more like absolutely knackered. For her it was going to be an internal contest of wills between her fury and her foot blisters.
“We’re done,” she muttered, “I’ve seen enough. We can go now.” It didn’t sound like a concession of defeat but the quiet smiles on the faces of her companions as she hobbled back to the elevator more than suggested otherwise. Oh, the spirit was still more than willing, but the flesh was indeed weak! For her, this was just a temporary retreat and not a surrender by any means.
That pretty much concluded the tour and without other detours along the way we took the series of elevators upstairs to the crater surface and to the outside world. It was now dark, well after dinner even, much to my stomach’s displeasure. Friday night grub in our dining hall is usually Tex-Mex, and usually pretty good too. It’s normally my favorite chow down night but I wasn’t going to get fed quite yet. Our pernicious EPA adversary still wanted somehow, and without a bit of tangible evidence, to file a Class A violation on us anyway ... by any means necessary. Fortunately, she had utterly no support whatsoever from the rest of her ‘independent’ teammates who were now just as hungry, tired and footsore and clearly wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of here.
Returning upstairs to Operations a very quiet half hour later, the unhappy inspection team gathered themselves off into a corner of the dining room area for a quick final review that quickly descended into chaos. While I shuffled over to the buffet table to scramble together a plate of leftovers, I could listen in with amusement at the increasingly bitter and loud arguments with seemingly casual disinterest. They yelled and ranted at each other for the better part of a full hour before the lovely Miss Jackson left the meeting in furious disgust and came over to commiserate with me at my table with a plate of the last leftovers. Even half starving, she looked ravishing to my eyes.
“The crazy bitch still wants to go Class A ... but she doesn’t have even a ghost of a case for filing it, at least not with a straight face. She keeps trying to dredge up some invented violation that she swears she saw, trying to get one of us at least to agree with her. Even poor John knows better, and he’s dying to get his ass out of here and have a smoke. Are you sure he can’t smoke anywhere up here?” Nope, that was against Littlejohn mining regs, and that was Bryce’s territory. As a former smoker, Bryce was an anti-nicotine zealot always on the search for an illicitly smoked cigarette and ready to give the poor caught bastard hell. Besides, the poor bureaucrat was darn near insane with fury at the EPA Bitch’s connivances and I didn’t want anything to calm him down, at least right now.
I don’t think the crazy cunt would have ever admitted defeat at all, until my reinforcements finally arrived at a bit past 10 pm in the form of our corporate mouthpiece, my legal friend Ted Brooks. I almost pitied the poor corrupt environmentalist loon! Ted is a genius and with twisted legalistic logic and just by using his soft very reasonable sounding voice he can make you believe that the grass is blue and the sky is green until inevitably your entire argument collapses and you give up entirely. His opponent was very determined but she was outclassed right from the very start. I stopped worrying and escorted the lovely geologist and the Bureau of Mines guy back into the kitchen so that we could all scrounge for more leftovers and even take the time to thoroughly enjoy them.
I’m not usually prone to enjoying the misery, misfortune and suffering of others (the Germans have a word for it – Schadenfreude), but in the EPA Bitch’s case I was willing to make an exception.
The lamb didn’t bare her throat and lie down meekly for the slaughter though. It took him another hour but the bitch finally admitted defeat and even reluctantly signed several legal forms that Ted had previously prepared stating categorically that no violations (Class A or otherwise) were discovered during this EPA investigation. That would put one serious monkey wrench into anything she might try to fictitiously claim later on.
Unfortunately, her departure also meant that Miss Jackson would be leaving with her as well. The pit of my stomach ached as I watched their car leave and I tried, rather unconvincingly to pretend that I was just still a bit hungry ... and I was. I hate missing lunch and then having a very late dinner. The feeling didn’t leave though even after I’d enjoyed a few final leftover scraps while I updated Ted on everything that had occurred. That really didn’t take that long, especially since Fredericka hadn’t taken that graphite sample and discovered it to be abnormally graphene rich and with rare purity. That led me to a final side issue.
“Ted, we all know that the EPA Bitch is going to be a little bit of trouble still, but you getting her to sign those waivers really pulls out all of her teeth. The law is clear that she has to declare a Class A violation on the spot at the time of the inspection, so there is no way that she can call in the federal marshals later and padlock the gate after throwing us all out! That really passes the issue back to her paymaster at AIS ... and we’ve heard that they have an alternate plan for us already in the works involving contractors ... that probably means mercs.”
“No probably at all...” Ted growled, “AIS has their own internal crew for the usual domestic black bag jobs. Quiet intrusion affairs usually, but they’ve got a few military contractors on retainer too and keep them busy overseas handling the more ‘unfriendly’ corporate takeovers. Not so often used domestically, here ... but our site here is remote and relatively close to the Mexican border, so that offers them some extra deniability. The political situation is changing too ... enough so that they can almost be open about it. After all, you ... we, are technically a foreign owned company, so if AIS were to indulge in a very hostile takeover, who back in Washington would even care?”
That’s my thoughts too. We’re looking at a very hostile takeover attempt in the next month or so. I think they’ll wait for her to file her motions, which you’ll immediately quash. Then they’ll finalize their Plan B and unleash the hounds of corporate war.”
“Precisely. Your security’s already keeping an eye on this and thinks they can identify the intrusion assets involved and provide us with at least a twenty-four warning. More if we’re fortunate. Wheels and his team in New York are monitoring things too, closely.”
“We’ll be ready for them in a week, ten days tops. Littlejohn’s already done most of the work and the specialist team from Roberts will be here next week to finish it all. After that? Heck, just give me ten minutes warning ... fifteen if you’re feeling cautious. We’ll be ready. But while all that is happening, I want to know what their so-called ‘independent’ geologist does from the moment she drove out of our gate. Get corporate security to Yankee Search the fuck out of her, find out everything they can, who she calls and more importantly who’s calling her over the next week or two when her own report findings get delivered. I’m suspicious as fuck over any stranger in this situation suddenly wanting to be of help to us at the risk of their own pocketbook! Maybe she’s just an abnormally nice and honest person, or else AIS is working some deeper sort of game. I want to know which.”
“Dave, you’re suspicious of your own shadow.” Ted snorted, but he nodded with agreement and took down a few relevant notes about the pretty geologist.
“And with good reason. Have you ever wondered what they do when you’re in the dark and they’re free to go anywhere. Plotting against us all ... scheming for the day of their shadow rebellion! You’d better keep a close eye on yours; you’re already twisted enough being a shyster lawyer!”
Ted didn’t laugh or even make his usual token protest. In fact, now that I could see his face clearly I could tell that he wasn’t in a particularly good mood and that something was obviously troubling him. He didn’t really want to talk about it so I got up from the table and wandered over toward the kitchen to get my friend a glass of wine. Peggy likes the red grape stuff and always keeps a few decent bottles of red plonk about. I can’t stand the swill myself and stick to beer, even at formal functions. Ted sneered a bit at the vintage but drank down a glass anyway and quickly poured himself another. Only then did he decide to tell me what was really eating at him.
“I was supposed to be out on a date tonight, back in New York City, but I got called out to Littlejohn yesterday then came straight here today. I had tickets to the Met and then dinner reservations afterwards. With a pip of a honey too! Emily Clark, daughter of the Keller Clark of Clark and Dunham, LLC. Maybe the richest, most prestigious law firm in New York ... and they want me to join them as a partner! I could quit working for dad ... and the family. All of it ... to work for myself and build something of my very own for a change.”
“Aren’t you the Senior Managing Partner at Brooks & Brooks now? Hasn’t your father retired yet?”
“Not yet ... and I don’t think he ever will either. I’ve got the responsibilities, but not the title or even really the authority. That’s another reason why I should take their job offer ... but I won’t. I will string them along for awhile though; it’s nice to get all of the wining and dining attention, particularly from Emily.”
Ted finished his second wine glass and stared hard at the half-full bottle and reached for it hesitantly. He almost put the bottle back down but after a moment of thought he poured himself another glass. Ted had been a rather thirsty party-hearty fratboy back in his college days but he mostly quit entirely after joining his father’s law firm. The genetics of his family weren’t kind to drinkers. His grandfather had been an extremely famous lawyer and a two-fisted but very functional alcoholic, but his father was decidedly less brilliant and said to have much less control over his thirst. His sister Kimberly had virtually no control whatsoever. Nowadays Ted stuck to expensive wines really only popped a few corks when he was upset, and I could tell that just missing a nice dinner date wasn’t his real problem.
I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I asked anyway, “So ... how is Kim doing? I haven’t heard anything from her in quite awhile.” That definitely struck a nerve and Ted’s frustration came boiling out like a burst boil or popped blister.
“Gone ... missing for three weeks now,” Ted growled, throwing down a full half of his wine glass in a single gulp. “She’s not been well for awhile ... for years really. Been in and out of treatment facilities like a revolving door from right about the time we started this project here. They just can’t find a drug regimen that works for her and she had been getting increasingly depressed, really even quite suicidal. When she’s in treatment the prescriptions don’t seem to help much, if at all and when she’s out she self-medicates with other stuff, and that helps even less. Last time she left the center she went straight for an old warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen full of heroin addicts and nearly OD’d before they could find her. Probably there again now too.” Ted shrugged and finished his glass and poured out the final measure from the bottle with no reluctance. I took a moment to gather my thoughts better and fetched another bottle for him. Ted had a waiting car with a driver to take him to the county airport, so he didn’t need to worry about having a few drinks, or more.
“I can imagine that has been hard for your father,” I pronounced with sincere concern. That seemed like a safe enough comment, but it wasn’t.
“Dad could barely handle the strain the last time she pulled her crazy act and this time it’s going to be the death of him!” Ted slammed the wine glass upon the dining table hard enough to almost break it, but it and his temper, held together barely. “It’s like he’s not even there anymore ... he still comes into the office but always keeps the door shut and he’s not ever to be disturbed, even by me. On a good day he takes just a drink or two and then might review files or even consult with our other attorneys about a case, but on a bad day...” He left that thought unfinished. I got the clear impression that lately there had been many more bad days than good ones.
“This needs to be over, one way or the other,” Ted added in something of a whisper speaking as much into his glass as to me. “Kim’s really been dead to us for years now anyway and I just wish that she’d just make an end to it now once and for all, if she hasn’t already!” Ted was serious, that he actually wanted his older sister to be dead and the constant on-going drama of her life done with. I’d never heard this from him before, and unfortunately I could see that my best friend was entirely serious.
I knew that Kim has serious issues and had been profoundly unhappy for many years, but I couldn’t wish upon her that sort of rather permanent peace. She and I had a bit of a history back when we were teenagers ... very much against all of the unwritten family rules, which made an illicit teenaged romance extra special and exciting for us. She was my first, but she was the much more experienced, having perhaps two or three teenaged lovers before me. We had a bit of fun together the summer after high school before going to separate colleges. She was off to Harvard of course, and by every measure in those days she was the real genius of the Brooks family. Older than her brother by two years and much smarter than Ted ... way, way smarter. Crazy genius level smarter, and that was maybe her problem right from the very start. Even by high school she was self-medicating with booze and pot, but it didn’t help much.
“I can’t turn my brain off,” She told me once on a nice late summer’s afternoon at the Brook’s family vacation home at Martha’s Vineyard. “It goes and goes, round in circles and once I start thinking about something I just can’t stop it. And it’s even worse at night! I can’t sleep properly unless I’m drugged, drunk or exhausted; my thoughts won’t shut down and be quiet!”
She was institutionalized right after her college graduation and again a few months later before going to Law School. First for just a few weeks, then for a few more, then later on for a few months and eventually she was under semi-permanent care. It’s a nice quiet (and extremely expensive) facility in the mountains of upstate New York and on the rare occasions that I’m anywhere in the Northeast I try and visit her. They tell me that it does help ... but not very much. Twenty years later and she still can’t control her genius brain.
“What’s left to be done that hasn’t been tried already?” I enquired, thinking to myself that anything had to be an improvement over wishing her to finally succeed in killing herself.
“Doc Wilder wants to examine her. Cut her open and maybe do his magic, or else give her a nice happy lobotomy. It’s all fine by me. ‘Wheels’ is the only one maybe smart enough to understand what’s wrong with her ... the crazy old guy is none too sane himself, some folks are saying. Wouldn’t know myself, dad’s the only one of us that has to deal with him, thank God!”
There are hundreds of family legends about the near mythical leader of the Wilder family and my own father assured me that 98% of them aren’t in fact actually entirely true. What was true was that he and a cohort of five extremely able assistants did have a lot of adventures during the 1930’s and they did played secretive but vital roles behind the scenes during World War II and the Cold War thereafter, usually on behalf of our government. Anything that ever made print, such as in the lurid and highly imaginative ‘pulp hero’ stories of the era, was always at least 51% fiction.
As Churchill once said, “In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.”
The Wilders and their kin were at war, and had been for at least half a century by most accounts. Now who or what that enemy actually is ... well, that’s a bit uncertain. They fought a war of shadows against a Cabal of mostly unknown and unseen extremely powerful individuals, with vague names like ‘The Fifty’ or ‘The One Hundred’, ‘1001’, ‘The Anunnaki’ or ‘Magi’. Add to this about a dozen or so other titles ... most of which even I’d never heard of. The groups you have heard of, The Illuminati, Skull and Bones, Bilderberg Group, Bohemian Grove, Golden Dawn, Opus Dei, Ordo Templi Orientis, Freemasons, and dozens of other historical or modern Hermetic-Trismegistic occult groups ... are all amateur wankers, or puppet groups that lurk about or act from the shadows upon their behalf. Weird, but scary stuff.
Old Doc Wilder had been one of them once but had rebelled, taking about a third of their members with him. Not unlike the biblical tale of Lucifer and his fallen angels being cast down from heaven into hell. Rather a lot like that, in fact, now that I think about it.
Doc certainly had the immortality part of the deal, Kavuru immortality pills, an ancient herbal elixir of life and vitality used for the last ten thousand years by the elite of the Cabal. It was said to have taken him fifty years (or more) but the old genius isolated and identified the ingredients (or most of them) and duplicated it for the use of those closest to him. Most of them, much to their credit, declined. Being immortal isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, or so I’ve heard. Wheels was permanently crippled and is now in a wheelchair with a broken back as the result of his last and final adventure in Africa in the early 1970’s. Story is that his own cousin (an English Lord) did the job on him with his own bare hands, but that’s another family rumor. My grandfather and Ted’s grandfather were right there with him, to the very last and they didn’t fare so happily. Mundanely mortal, the pair of them were both old men in their 70’s and ought to have been safely home with their children and infant grandchildren. Instead they went down fighting and now have unmarked graves god-only knows where.
Ted’s always had anger issues about this. A lot of them. I’m a bit more philosophical about it and in my opinion the very last place in the world that either of our grandfather’s would have wanted to finally cash out their chips would be mundanely dying of old age in a hospital bed. Instead they went out old school, under their own terms while probably blazing away with tommy guns against hopeless odds. There are far worse ways to go.
I let Ted sip away slowly on his wine and we mostly kept our thoughts to ourselves for awhile until he stood up with a sigh and gestured towards his waiting car.
“I’m back off to Littlejohn again tonight and then probably off down to Oceana too before going back to New York ... that’s if I don’t have to visit Roberts Electrical again to brief them too along the way. It all just never ends, doesn’t it? I’ll guess you’ll be off to the island in a few weeks ... lucky you, lots of peace and quiet and not even a TV station there to resend out all the bad news of the world!”
“They’ve got television there, but more importantly there will be lots of pretty girls in grass skirts, and not wearing much else, so there are certain rewards.”
“If your life expectations are that low, more power to you! As for me, I’d have preferred a night with a tall slender blonde of breeding and culture, some live Mozart and some wine that actually has been aged properly in a cellar with a real wooden cork! Each to their own.”
I thought Ted was going to walk right out of there to his ride without saying another word but he had one last gem of outraged bile left to purge and share with me.
“Our work, the family business ... there just isn’t any end to it. It has consumed our grandparents, then our parents and now us. Where does it all end, Dave? Where does the debt of loyalty that our grandparents had to ‘the cause’ end? Not with our parents ... or with us, either? When will they send us to Africa or god knows where else to fight the good fight until we get unmarked graves as well? And what about our children, will they get trapped by all of this too, now and forever? When will it ever end ... when will the old man in the wheel chair say ‘enough’ and let us all go and enjoy our own lives and not keep living his? Someday it’s all going to go too far or get to be just too much for any of us. For me ... or even for you. Where does it all end?“
I didn’t have an answer to that. I could sort of see the big picture to pits of the ‘family business’, some of them anyway, but not all of the how’s and why’s. Not in my pay grade or else I just didn’t have the need to know. Wheels may have found my grandfather to be essential to all of his plans and activities but he didn’t have those sorts of needs for me. I usually found ignorance to be slightly comforting but Ted did raise more than a few items of concern. If you needed a minion to suicidally hold off the endless hordes for just another minute or two with a tommy gun, I could probably be your man ... assuming that you could explain to me exactly what my sacrifice was going to accomplish and that some ends do indeed justify the means. But please use small direct words and don’t shower me with bullshit!
What was the real end game? Just how many ‘pawns’ was old Doc Wilder willing to use or sacrifice to get there? At least ‘Renny’ got to become a king on a South Seas island paradise, but the rest of the younger generation of our extended family was maybe running out of fucks to give. I certainly didn’t have a fucking clue, so I turned my brain off and went to bed.
Hester
- 14.06.2020
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