The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology Read online

  “It's very early, but we've received several hundred messages so far, which get screened for the nutjobs and the pointless, and the rest get passed up to my staff, who do a further screening, and then they get passed to Cissy and Cody, who decide which ones come to me. At this point, I've only seen about forty of those. I also take a random sample of the ones that have been screened out, just to check the process.

  “The underlying principle is that while I own the country, I don't know everything, as Cissy reminds me every day … that's her job … and the innovation, creativity and problem-solving abilities of the American people can be boundless. Out of the forty ideas that I've reviewed, about half are surprisingly innovative, and about half of those are actually doable and will probably be implemented, and the folks who sent them in will be rewarded. Okay. Yes?”

  “Jessica _____, _______. What kinds of rewards do you mean?”

  “I'm still sorting that out, but in some cases, we'll be giving a percentage of the total we save each year, probably with an annual max of a million dollars or so, and in some cases, where financial rewards aren't valuable to the person, we'll figure something else out, maybe like naming something after them. I'm also open to any ideas or suggestions that any of our citizens have.”

  Donne looked directly into the camera. “So any of you watching this, by all means use the link on our website, __________.gov, and send in your ideas, okay?

  “Time for one more. Yes?”

  “Keira ____, _____. Regarding the national debt, do you blame Bush or Obama more for that?”

  “That's a sandbox-on-the-Titanic question, a political one, and I'm not going to get into it. I will only say that both parties and both presidents share blame. We'll be going after the wrongdoers over the next few months, and you'll know about that when it happens. And no, I'm not going to go into any details now.

  “But I took this challenge on as it exists, and my focus is on fixing what's wrong and going forward more effectively, and that's just what I'm going to be doing.

  “Okay, folks, that's all the time we have now. Thank you for coming, and mea culpa for the interruptions. But I think they were worth it. Oh, the press release has been posted and distributed.”

  At that, Donne left the press room, followed by his retinue, ignoring the many questions that were shouted after him.

  In Bonita Springs, Paul, Gayle and the three kids were driving back to their hotel from the beach, Cindy “Call Me Montana” still riding shotgun and the other two children sound asleep in the back seat, Skyler with her head on Gayle's lap and Jordan with his head against the window. So Paul wasn't able to watch the last segment of the press conference. But Cindy laughed out loud as she saw that the white stencils had also been painted in the eastbound right lane.

  * * * * * *

  The top stories on the major networks that evening and in the morning newspapers were “Donne Refuses to Release Tax Returns: What Could He Be Hiding?,” “Donne Guts Regulators,” “Donne Encourages Smokers,” “Donne Defends Hedge Fund Background,” “Donne Calls Tea Party 'Too Extreme,'” “Donne Likes Robots in Capitol,” “Donne/Gaddafi Connection? Donne Holding $40 Billion of Libya's Money,” “Donne Accusations: Heartless, Ruthless, Hates Women, Minorities, Unions, Churches, the Unborn and the Disabled,” but the news on the Al Qaeda operations was only covered by one lone newspaper in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and then got only three paragraphs on Page 8, surrounded by large ads for a local supermarket, two dentists and three urologists. Donne's news on businesses pledging to move or build plants and create jobs in the US went totally unreported.

  Sound bites on the major networks included, “It's easy to see things in black and white,” “It's easy to want to limit other people's freedom of choice,” “Democracy can lead to tyranny,” “I've sent the black helicopters for them all,” “Mea culpa” and “Smoke 'em if you got 'em.”

  -26-

  Five Months Earlier

  Thursday, July 7, 2011

  4:30 p.m.

  Bonita Beach, FL

  Jake's eyes slowly opened to a bedroom even darker than it had been earlier in the day. Sunset was still four hours away, but the clouds were so black that almost no light came in his doors and windows. There was no wind and only a gentle sprizzle of rain, part sprinkle, part drizzle.

  Jake reached under his pillow, stretching the stitches on his right shoulder slightly, so he glanced at the alarm box, saw the red light and pulled his arm back. He stumbled into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face and neck, brushed his teeth, gargled and began to feel almost human.

  He popped another couple of OTC painkillers, got dressed in a sweat suit and slippers and meandered down the stairs with his laptop and notebook, only remembering to avoid the ninth step at the last minute, and nearly tumbling down the stairs when he did.

  He retrieved the power cord from the sideboard, walked into his study, plugged in his PC and booted it up. He closed the curtains and turned on the lights, then out to the kitchen, where he made a quick meatball sub, nuked it, brought it back to his study and started munching.

  Once the PC finished booting, Jake checked his email and found one from Pamela93, sent earlier that morning: “Hi, Jake. I was down in Bonita this past weekend, looked for you on the beach, couldn't find you; hope you're okay. I'll be back this coming weekend and I'd like to meet with you again. Got some news that I think you'll like to hear; might help you relax some. Please call or email if you can find some time to chat. Pam.”

  Jake leaned back to think, but bumped his butt where he'd gotten the shot and leaned forward quickly, gritting his teeth. He got a pillow from one of the guest bedrooms and put it on his chair, sat down carefully and sighed with relief. Then he started a reply to Pam.

  “Hey, Pam. Sorry I missed you, but sure, I'd be happy to see you this weekend. I had to get some stitches (klutz!) and can't go in the water, so no beach for me for awhile; too hot on shore. How about we meet at the Seafood Shack on BBR, about a mile east of the beach, out on the covered lanai? My schedule is pretty open, so let me know what time works for you. Maybe lunch Sat? Jake.”

  He sent it and then composed and sent several emails with attachments to several separate recipients, using several anonymous mail servers scattered around the world.

  He then settled in to work on the timeline for Donne's tenure as owner, finishing his sandwich when he got to the spring of 2012.

  Half an hour later, as he was listing some likely candidates for the many assassination plots, his PC pinged, indicating a new email, which turned out to be Pam's reply: “Lunch Sat at the Seafood Shack works for me. Noon? Pam.”

  Jake replied: “Noon Sat. See ya then. Jake.” He went back to his list of assassination plotter prospects, adding lawyers, human traffickers and drug cartels to the list.

  -27-

  Thursday, December 15, 2011

  1:30 p.m.

  The Oval Office

  Washington, DC

  Donne, in jeans and another tropical shirt, got up from his desk and welcomed Jim Ferguson, head of Health and Human Services' Office of the Inspector General (HHS-OIG), with a big smile and a hearty handshake, guiding him to one of the couches in the center of the room, and taking his own seat on the opposite one. There was a clipboard on the coffee table between them, which Donne picked up and set to his side.

  “Jim, I'm glad to meet you. Kathleen tells me you're damned good at what you do.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, relax, Jim. I want us to be totally informal here, since you and I will be working pretty closely for a good long time.”

  “I look forward to that, sir.”

  “Okay. First, let's cut the 'sir' shit. Just call me Gordy, okay?”

  “I'll try, si- – Gordy.”

  “Good, good. Now, one of your primary missions Is to track down Medicare fraudsters, catch them and shut them down, right?”

  “Medicaid fraud, too. And build cases for prosecution.”
r />   “Right.

  “What's the most frustrating part of your job, Jim?”

  “Seeing them right back in business within days of our making a bust, especially if they're mob-related, and a lot of them are.”

  “And why does that happen, do you think?”

  “Lawyers, and our system doesn't usually let us keep them in custody; they make bond and go right back to work. Or they close down in one location and open up again in another.”

  “Right. But now you've got some new tools to use.”

  “That Al Capone tax you announced Friday?”

  “Exactly. Now you can hit 'em where it hurts, in their wallets. With IRS cooperation, you can arrest them twelve hours after they receive a payment, seize all their property and possibly hold them indefinitely. And you'll know when they're getting a payment, because their account will be flagged as soon as you have probable cause from your investigations.”

  “So we just do the investigations and turn it over to the IRS?”

  “Oh, no, no; it's cooperative. See, we're freeing up thousands of IRS agents, since they won't be looking at all those Schedule D trades anymore, and we'll be assigning many of those thousands to work with you, help your accounting folks out, running fraud-discovery algorithms and all that stuff. And since those fraudsters now have not only fraud charges against them, with all that innocent-until-proven-guilty BS, they ALSO have tax evasion charges, and there the burden of proof is reversed. Not only that, but their lawyers can't charge them more than 200 bucks an hour in federal court, so attorneys will be less motivated to work for those folks … or ANY folks, for that matter. Not as much of a cash cow as it has been for those shysters.”

  “Wait, please. I'm trying to get my head around all that.”

  “Take your time, Jim.”

  After a long pause, Jim asked, “Maybe if you could just run me through an operation and explain how the IRS is involved, that would help.”

  “No problem.

  “Right now, you gather some evidence to reach probable cause and then go for arrest and search warrants, right?”

  “Generally, yes.”

  “Once a judge grants those, you set up an armed arrest op, with some other agencies and local police?”

  “Secret Service, FBI and locals, right.”

  “And you go in heavy and make the arrests and do the searches, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, three changes so far. First, some of the IRS agents work side by side with your accounting folks to find and build the evidence for the warrants. Second, when you get the warrants and go in for the arrest, you've got notice of their receipt of funds, so you go in twelve hours after that. And third, you've got some armed IRS agents with you, and they make a second arrest, this one for tax evasion, of the Al Capone tax, unless they can prove that they paid that within twelve hours of receipt of the funds. And they won't be able to do that, because they didn't.

  “Then, since the penalty for that kind of tax evasion can range from the tax due up to immediate seizure of ALL the evaders' assets, they have the authority right then and there to seize everything.”

  “Okayyyyy,” Jim said hesitantly. “I think I get that.”

  “So then, in order to try to get their property back, they have to go into Tax Court and prove that their activities were NOT criminal, but the judges will normally delay that trial until the conclusion of the criminal fraud trial, which is back in your bailiwick, with the DOJ, as it is now. But now they have an incentive to get that trial concluded quickly, and your side can ask for continuance after continuance. Meanwhile, they have no assets; the IRS has them. And if they do try to go back into the business, you and the IRS just go after them again and again, using the Al Capone tax as the basis.

  “Now, I know that's an oversimplification, but I think you've got the idea.”

  “Yup, I think I do. And I like it.”

  “Now, one warning. Be VERY careful about abusing those powers you've got. And I'll be telling the IRS director the same thing. It's a very powerful law, and it'll be tempting to abuse it. Don't.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Gordy.”

  “Gordy.”

  “We're on the same side here, Jim.”

  “Yes, si- – I mean, you bet, Gordy.”

  “Good. Any questions?”

  “Let me think.”

  “Take your time. Oh, you can also have a DVD of this chat we've just had, if you want.”

  “DVD?”

  “Yup. We record all of these conversations. You can take it with you when you leave and show it to your whole team, or even put it on the web, if you want. I have no problem if the bad guys see it; that'll put them on notice.”

  “Hmm. I'll show it to my team, but I'll have to think about putting it out to the public.”

  “Well, after your next high-profile case, that should give them enough notice … I don't mean legal notice, of course. I just want some alarm bells to go off in that community.”

  “Deterrence.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “I'll be seeing the IRS director later this afternoon, and I'll have her or one of her people contact you and y'all can figure out just how you want to coordinate and get this ball rolling … quickly.”

  “Good.”

  “Check with Emily on your way out for a copy of the DVD.”

  “Will do … oh, I do have one question.”

  “Sure.”

  “Will we be able to get a budget increase?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Worth asking, though, wasn't it?”

  “I guess so,” Jim said hesitantly.

  “Ah, but we'll also be making some of the military available to you when you need extra manpower.”

  “But I thought they weren't allowed to operate inside the US to make arrests. Posse comitatus and all?”

  “As of last Friday, that's gone, and they're now allowed, but with extremely limited authority. Check out Directives 83 through 88.”

  “I'll do that.”

  “You're a good man, Jim. Keep it going.”

  “Will do.”

  “And feel free to get in touch with me or Emily, Taylor, Alex or Maria whenever you have any questions or concerns.”

  “Will do … Gordy.”

  “Good.” They stood and shook hands. Ferguson headed out the door and Donne returned to his desk, leaving the unused clipboard on the coffee table. He continued with the papers in his overflowing inbox, laying them in one of two piles when he had finished with them. The smaller pile was for the ones he'd approved, and the far larger one was for those he'd denied or disapproved.

  -28-

  Five Months Earlier

  Saturday, July 9, 2011

  11:10 a.m.

  Bonita Springs, FL

  Jake arrived early at the Seafood Shack and did a quick but thorough parking lot check before he parked. He walked through the patio, noticing nothing that seemed hinky, and went on in to the covered lanai, sitting (tenderly) at the table at the far end, his back to the corner, and carefully checking out the half-dozen or so other early customers. Again, nothing suspicious.

  “Hi, Jake,” Beverly, the waitress, said as she got to his table. “Haven't seen you in a while. Been okay?”

  “A little under the weather, Bev. How 'bout you?”

  “Same-oh, same-oh. What can I get for ya?”

  “Just ice water and lemon; I'm meeting someone later.”

  “Comin' right up. Nice shirt; bright red looks good on ya.”

  As Beverly headed back inside, Jake pulled out his notebook and a copy of Machiavelli's “The Prince” and picked up reading where he'd left off, occasionally jotting some notes.

  When Beverly came back with his drink, she noticed the book and said, “Ooooo, I read that back in college. Scary guy, huh?”

  “By today's standards, yup. But back then, he made a lot of sense.”
r />   “But executing all your enemies?”

  “Sometimes. But again, that was centuries ago. And that was way before the French Revolution and the guillotine. “

  “Oh, yeah. Hey, my new boyfriend told me a guillotine joke. Wanna hear it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay; I hope I can remember it. Okay; here goes. They're bringing three at a time up to the guillotine; this group is a priest, a drunk and an engineer. They tell the priest he's got a choice: face up or face down. He says, 'I want to see where I'm going, so face up.' He lies down, face up, and they pull the blade up and let it go. But it stops four inches above his throat. The crowd yells, 'It's a miracle, a miracle,' so they let him go.

  “The drunk is next, gets the same choice, but he just falls over with his face down in the block. They pull the blade up, let it go, and it stops four inches above his neck. So they let him go, and he staggers off and passes out behind some bushes.

  “The engineer is next, and he chooses face up. He lies down, they pull the blade up and he says … let me make sure I've got this right … he says, 'Oh, wait; I see the problem.'”

  Jake laughed and Beverly beamed.

  “Did I tell that okay?”

  “You did just fine, Bev, just fine,” Jake said, giving her an okay sign. “I'll add that to my repertoire. So did you meet the new guy on that online dating service, MisterRightForYou dot info?”

  ”Yup.”

  “Do you think this guy is your Mr. Right?”

  “Well, so far he's Mr. Tolerable. “

  “You're a beauty, Bev; I'm sure you'll do fine.”

  “Thanks, Jake; I needed that.”

  Beverly beamed again and headed back into the restaurant. Jake made some notes, glanced around the lanai again, then went back to his book and his notes.

  About 11:30, Jake saw Pam coming out from the restaurant. Her hair was loose, she was wearing denim shorts and a light blue Fishbuster Charters T-shirt (“They Hatch 'Em, We Catch 'Em”), and had the cataract surgery sunglasses on again. All the male heads turned to follow her. She saw Jake, walked right over to him, pulled off her sunglasses, gave him another peck on the cheek and sat down across from him, smiling broadly.