Apocalypse Drift (10 page)

He had checked into bankruptcy
and couldn’t find a law firm that would take either his company or him personally as a client without extortionist-level retainer fees. The cost was so prohibitive; Wyatt wondered how anyone could afford to go out of business legally. 

When the lease was up on his company car, he relegated to a used SUV. The “We Finance Here” car lot charged extraordinary interest rates that negated much of the savings over a new car. The repair bills for the constantly breaking vehicle resulted in i
t actually costing him more than a new vehicle would have.

The role of the humiliation factor couldn’t be ignored. During the last few months the business had been operating, Wyatt had a lot of trouble focusing on work. It seemed like every night there was a new crisis at home, and the resolution was often demoralizing. Constant phone calls from bill collectors filled his voice mail, while endless emails offering money from loan sharks and payday loan hacks cluttered his inbox. Trying to work on a client’s books during this period was next to impossible, and he often wondered if the stress didn’t affect the quality of his work. 

Wyatt turned into his neighborhood and noticed another house was up for sale. There were now nine homes listed on his street, four of which were in foreclosure. Thinking about a new start and leaving all this behind actually improved his mood.
We’ll make things simpler
, he mused.

Three days later, Morgan and he packed the last few remaining items in the house and locked the door behind them - one last time. Each of them anticipated the need to console the other, but that concern was completely unnecessary. Both were relieved this chapter of their financial ordeal was finally over.

The couple stood in the driveway and held hands for a brief, tender moment before driving both cars to the marina. Stopping at the mailbox, Wyatt conducted a small ceremony of placing an envelope containing the keys inside. The mortgage company could wait on the US mail just like everybody else.

On the way to the dock, they stopped by Sage’s apartment. For once, she was actually ready to go and hopped in her mother’s car. Morgan appreciated her daughter taking a few days off so the family could be together during the transition. Since the plan was going so smoothly, she thought about taking a little of the gold money and going shopping. As the two girls followed Wyatt’s SUV through Houston, their conversation centered on how to break the news that a detour to the mall was in order.

Chapter 4

February 14, 2017

Kemah Bay, Texas

That first day, they busied themselves preparing the boat. The forty-five foot trawler was really more like a floating two-bedroom, two-bath condo. Boxer had been Wyatt’s pride and joy. After much debate, the family decided to name their new craft in honor of a great-uncle who once served as a naval aviator aboard the aircraft carrier USS Boxer. Wyatt had always been close to the man and thought the name matched the boxy shape of the vessel as well.

Like returning to a vacation home that hadn’t been occupied in some time, all sorts of small tasks needed to be done before the couple occupied the space full time. Water tanks needed to be flushed and refilled. The septic system required similar attention. While Morgan and Sage busied themselves with dusting, wiping and washing, Wyatt performed maintenance on the numerous onboard systems.

There were three diesel motors in the engine room. Two were for propulsion, the third being a 14- kilowatt generator to power the hotel. All of them required oil and fluid checks. Boxer was also equipped with an extensive battery system. Besides the normal, deep-cycle starting batteries for the engines, she carried a bank of reserve cells connected to an inverter. If the family wanted to enjoy a quiet evening without the humming of the generator, Boxer could power all of her appliances using battery only – for a while.

Wyatt checked the filters on the air conditioning and heating system as well as Boxer’s water maker. The latter device pulled seawater through a series of ceramic filters and produced fresh drinking water.

Morgan and Sage had two, full bathrooms to address. Each was fully equipped with head, shower, and vanity sink. Besides unpacking the significant amount of personal items carried from their home, the girls wanted to freshen the entire cabin, as it had not been ventilated for several weeks.

The trio worked tirelessly from dawn till dusk, as a seemingly endless amount of work was required to make Boxer feel like home. They unpacked and stowed clothes, stored pantry items, and replenished their supply of ice.

Boxer was equipped with one household-size refrigerator and a small deep freezer in the galley. A half-size refrigerator on the deck kept cool drinks handy topside.

After starting the diesels, topping off the battery fluid, and double-checking the workings of the engine room, Wyatt advanced to the bridge and repeated a similar process there.

Boxer was really a three-story boat. Seafarers boarded her transom on the middle, or deck level. Four stairs headed downward into the cabin, or hotel area, while a ladder led up to the bridge.

In the center of the bridge was the helm, the nerve center of Boxer’s operation. A plush, comfortable, white, vinyl chair was bolted to the deck in front of a dash that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an airplane. Rows of gauges, digital readouts, meters, and large monitors surrounded the stainless steel steering wheel.

Each of Boxer’s three engines required its own set of monitoring instruments. Equipped with the equivalent of four separate electrical power systems as well, Boxer could run off shore power just like a house. She could also generate her own AC power from either the battery or generator. The fourth system was DC, powered from the large battery bank in the engine room. Each of these options demanded its own panel of gauges and meters on the helm.

Wyatt smiled as he remembered having to learn how to operate the vessel some years ago. He had studied all of Chapman’s books regarding piloting and seamanship over and over again – almost memorizing the information those nautical standards contained.

In reality, Boxer was a combination house and recreational vehicle. As long as her fuel tanks held diesel and the galley were stocked, she was quite self-sufficient. She was mobile, able to handle all but the worst weather conditions without issue.

A burnt orange sunset streaked the western horizon when Wyatt finished his extensive checklists. He heard the sliding glass door leading to the salon roll open, and a moment later Sage’s head appeared at
the top of the ladder. “Mom says dinner’s ready.”

“Another five minutes and I’ll be through,” Wyatt responded.

A few moments later, Morgan steered her husband to the boat’s bow where two plates complete with PB&J’s were illuminated by a crimson, cinnamon-scented votive candle. It
was
Valentine’s Day, after all.

Wyatt’s cell phone buzzed at 2 a.m. He was so deep in REM sleep; he couldn’t find the right buttons to answer the call. His half-functioning mind revved his adrenal glands, arriving at the conclusion that collection agencies were now dialing his cell phone in the middle of the night. He became so angry that when it rang again a few minutes later, his tone was extremely harsh. “This had better be good!”

A surprised voice on the other end responded, “Dad?”

Wyatt exhaled, his voice becoming instantly soft. “David? I’m sorry, buddy…I was asleep. Is everything okay?”

“Dad, I’m getting on a military transport in 10 minutes. I should be at Ellington Field about three hours from now. Can you pick me up?”

Wyatt’s heart soared. “You bet I will, son. I’ll get ready and head that way in just a bit.”  It was almost an hour’s drive to the airfield.

“Okay, Dad. I’m sorry I woke you. You’re going to have to put up with me for 30 days,
ya know.”

Wyatt yawned
, and a sleepy smile crossed his lips. “I guess we’ll figure out some way to survive. Love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The line went dead, and Wyatt sat in the dark for a moment, enjoying what was a rare, good feeling. His son was coming home, and right at that moment, nothing else mattered. He felt a hand on his shoulder, signaling Morgan was awake. “Is everything okay?”

Wyatt stretched, the night’s stiffness evaporating from his body. “Yes, yes it is. David’s plane will land in a few hours,” he stated, pushing back the covers, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, and sitting upright. “I’m going to pick him up.”

Morgan grunted, “You mean
we
are going to pick him up, don’t you?”

Wyatt grinned, “If you make the coffee, then you can tag along.” The remark earned him a playful swat on the shoulder.

February 14, 2017

Washington, D.C.

The sounds of clicking heels and scuffing shoe leather echoed from the polished marble floor as Reed ambled toward his office. He had just been through one of the most confusing meetings of his budding political career and was trying to analyze what just happened.

The real power in the House of Representatives was measured by which sub-committees a congressman was assigned. The entire process was like a professional sports league trying to put together a multi-player deal. Draft picks, order of selection, free agents and future considerations all contributed to a system of political bartering that made Reed question the sanity of the entire process. Personal qualifications, experience, or desire had little, if anything, to do with it.

Despite this feeding frenzy for leverage and constant maneuvering for power, the freshman had managed to achieve his goal. He was now the newest member of the House Subcommittee on Domestic Monetary Policy and Technology - the sweet spot for dealing with the Federal Reserve.

Reed had sacrificed every other potential position to acquire this appointment. He
had risked exposing his agenda, with one senior member of his party questioning why he was bypassing other politically powerful opportunities. Some quick thinking seemed to satisfy the curious politician, but just barely. “I believe future economic events will make this committee more influential than it is today,” the junior congressman explained. The party’s leadership hadn’t posed any further questions.

He was running a game within a game. He had made no secret of his
dislike of the Federal Reserve System during his campaign. Carefully crafting his speeches to make it a secondary issue, Reed didn’t want to appear overzealous to the electorate or to elicit unwanted attention of party powerbrokers. He judiciously manufactured the image of a man compelled to reform the Fed, hoping to provide a good cover for his true intention – discovering what really happened to his father.

Reed strode through the heavy, wooden door that separated his office from the hall of the capitol building. Brenda glanced up and smiled, handing him the stack of messages from the corner of her desk. Before he could even say hello or thank her for the notes, the phone rang.

“Congressman Wallace’s office,” she answered professionally. “No, I’m sorry; the congressman isn’t in at the moment.” Reed winked at her and proceeded through the reception area toward his office, flipping through the messages as he passed. Brenda covered the phone with her hand and cleared her throat to attract his attention. When he established eye contact, she motioned with her head to one of the visitor’s chairs in the corner. There, a smallish man sat with a briefcase on his lap. Wallace studied his watch and realized his appointment had arrived considerably early, but that was just fine with him. He had been looking forward to visiting with this man for a long time.

Reed nodded a silen
t thank you to Brenda and stepped over to address his visitor. He offered his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. “Dr. Martin?”

Pe
ering over the rims of his coke bottle-thick glasses, the older gentleman managed more of a grimace than a smile. He nodded and weakly shook the Texan’s hand. Reed made a motion with his arm, inviting the visitor to his office while saying, “Please, Doctor, won’t you come right in?”

“I’m a little early,” protested his guest. “The taxi driver drove much too fast despite my objections. I kept telling the maniac that I wasn’t in any hurry.”

“It’s not a problem, sir. Can I get you anything?”

The man considered the query for a moment before shaking his head. “No, thank you; I’m fine.”

Reed followed Dr. Martin in, motioning for his guest to settle in one of two burgundy leather visitors’ chairs. After the doctor was seated, Reed chose the other chair, rather than sitting behind his desk. He wanted his visitor to feel comfortable and interact with him as an equal.

The congressman began, “So, Dr. Martin, how long have you been the head of
George Washington University’s History Department?”

“Almost twelve years now. I enjoy the research part of the position more than the teaching these days. The administrative role has never been a favorite of mine. Necessary evil, I suppose.”

Reed nodded his understanding. “Do you find my request unusual, sir?”

The man reflected on his response for a little longer than Reed believed necessary. When the professor finally spoke, the pause was understandable. “No. No, not really. My department receives the occasional request from various branches of the government. I normally assign such tasks to one of our post-graduate students. Your inquiry, however, had already been made some years ago by one of your congressional predecessors. I handled his project originally, so it only made sense for me to handle this request personally.”

Reed was curious. “A predecessor of mine?”

The doctor nodded, “Ye
s, congressman Ron Paul asked my department for a nearly identical study some years ago. I’ve always had a streak of libertarianism myself, and have a lot of respect for Ron. I rolled up my sleeves and dove right into the project.”

Reed nodded and watched Dr. Martin unzip his briefcase, pulling out a small pad-computer. The professor continued. “Congressman, before we begin, I need to tell you something. I do this only so as not to waste valuable time. I can provide a synopsis of the information you’ve requested right now. I don’t think it’s the answer you’re looking for, but it would save both of us a lot of effort.”

Reed was a little surprised by the statement, but recovered quickly. “Why sure, professor. I suppose that makes sense. Please continue.”

The historian nodded, “I’ll get right to the point, congressman. It’s no secret that you are the next in a long line of anti-Federal Reserve officials who’ve managed to get elected. I’ve reviewed your campaign speeches, scrutinized your website, and consulted with senior members of your party.”