The Krakow Klub Page 9

  The original meeting in Krakow was the first and last time that all members would ever meet as a group.

  The Krakow Klub believed that all governments were inefficient and poorly run by unqualified people elected by an ignorant citizenry. Dictatorships were even worse. Powers were wasted. Opportunities missed. Wars wasted far too many resources, at least most of the time.

  It seemed only logical that an elite group of well-educated, rich, dedicated individuals could do a better job in every instance. Simple. Very simple. They would start out with small, undeveloped nations through rigged elections or brutal revolution if necessary. They would then move on to the super powers that would require much more sophisticated methods.

  For these well-developed nations, especially the United States, military conquest was not an option. They would use the political system to their advantage. America’s military is the most powerful in the world. But there is a potentially fatal flaw. The Supreme Commander of the United States military is a politician. They would have a hard time buying the military, but politicians were often for sale at the right price.

  So the Krakow Klub would avoid confronting the United States military. Instead, they planned to install a person in the White House who would be elected for two terms. They would then use those eight years to infiltrate the military high command sufficiently for their purposes.

  Stoellar was certain that securing control of a few strategic top-level positions in the military chain of command would be adequate to gain total control when the right crisis provided an excuse for martial law and military intervention. He believed you did not have to control all the players in the game to rig it. Controlling just a few key players could do the trick.

  Their plan was rather simple, as plots go. They would engineer some national threat or crisis that would allow their puppet president to declare martial law. Once martial law was in effect, they could move swiftly to eliminate any and all opposition within the military command structure. By the time anyone realized what was happening, the country would be under the control of the Krakow Klub. Even the mighty United States of America was vulnerable to such a carefully orchestrated conspiracy.

  Stoellar had studied possible candidates for the Oval Office of the United States very carefully. He found one individual who stood out above the rest. This individual was handsome and charming with a degree from a prestigious Eastern University. However, he was not noted for his superior brainpower. In fact, he had been rather lazy in school and preferred to pursue his social life rather than get good grades. Rumor had it that he only passed his exams after exhaustive individual tutoring by a person, or persons, with inside knowledge of exam contents.

  Also, he was rather naïve in many areas, making him easy to control and manipulate. His mentor soon convinced him that he was a superior human being and entitled to great wealth and power. It had been an easy sell.

  Over the next few years, the candidate was groomed carefully and moved through a succession of elected offices until he was a nationally known and respected Congressman.

  The mentor had flooded the press with glowing news reports of his leadership skills, selfless dedication to the nation, honesty, integrity, and so on. He was regularly photographed on the scene of natural disasters, as well as many large gatherings, including sporting events.

  Obviously, every news release was mostly media hype and only used to enhance his reputation and garner votes.

  He was indeed the perfect presidential candidate. He smiled at every camera while showing a perfect set of white teeth. He said all the right things, kissed babies, wore custom suits, married the politically correct wife, charmed the women voters, and made the male voters want to be his friend.

  On the other side of the coin, he loved his little vices. He liked to flirt with beautiful women, he sometimes drank a little too much, and he had even sniffed a little cocaine on occasion. Those little peccadilloes, however, could be hidden from the public by Stoellar’s organization. Their protégé seemed to be like Teflon. Nothing bad could stick to him.

  Now, he occupied the White House and was just beginning his second four-year term. The future was, indeed, bright for the Krakow Klub.

  Stoellar was a brilliant man and knew that he must always have a backup plan in place. He had selected a second political lackey that should be easy to control to be the vice president. Neither candidate had any idea that the organization controlled the other. The level of secrecy within the Krakow Klub would make the CIA and NSA look like open forums for the dissemination of information.

  The plan had worked perfectly, and his two candidates were now in place in the White House. The president had done a reasonably acceptable job and followed orders to the best of his rather limited abilities. Unfortunately, on several occasions, the Krakow Klub had had to clean up a few political messes that he had caused. However, they considered that a small price to pay for controlling the most powerful office in the world.

  ****

  Then one momentous day, just as Stoellar sat down for lunch in his penthouse, Petrovich rushed in and frantically announced that the president was resigning from office.

  Stoellar was stunned. His face reddened, and the veins stood out on his forehead and neck. He turned on the wide screen television. It was true. The fool was resigning. How could this be? Stoellar was furious and smashed his fists on the antique table before him. The man that he had so carefully trained and so well-rewarded had become a traitor. He would pay the price. He would pay the ultimate price for his betrayal. No one had ever survived the wrath of Erik Stoellar. No one had ever cheated him and lived to tell the tale.

  He swore and ranted for several minutes before he calmed down. This event would be a slight setback but nothing fatal, except for the president. After all, the vice president was in place, and he would certainly follow orders. He was now in a cold fury, and for him, that was the most lethal form of emotion imaginable.

  Stoellar calmly picked up the telephone and told his secretary to get the president on the phone immediately. Her office was in a suite located in a nearby building, but with his direct intercom, his secretary could just as easily have been right outside his door.

  While waiting for his call to the president, he called the president’s mentor. The mentor was also enraged and had already begun forming a plan to handle the Judas.

  Stoellar listened silently and then agreed that the plan was acceptable. He had spent untold millions to groom the ungrateful wretch, and he would have to pay the price for his treachery. And he must pay soon. Very soon.

  ****

  The president concluded his brief statement to the press and left the pressroom. He returned to the Oval Office and flopped into the chair behind the desk. He was ashen, and his hands shook visibly. He pulled open the drawer that held a silver flask filled with whiskey. Before he could open it, the phone rang, and he snatched up the receiver. His worst fear became reality. Number One was the caller.

  He had expected a furious rampage, but that was not the case. The icy cold voice struck fear to the very core of his existence. Beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, and he wiped them away with the back of his shaking hand. He felt like crawling under the desk and hiding. He was like a frightened child.

  He knew that he should have called his mentor before the press conference, but he couldn’t work up the nerve. Somehow, he had the foolish idea that he could leave town and disappear before the organization could get to him.

  He tried to apologize and assured his caller that things were almost in place. “All is not lost.” He stammered through his excuses while trying frantically to come up with a realistic reason for his resignation.

  Number One continued to speak in that chilling voice.

  “Yes, I know that all is not lost. The operation will continue, but you have betrayed the organization. You have betrayed me. I created you. I formed you. I trained you. I made you what you are, and I’m going to take it all away from you now. You are les
s than a speck of dust on my shoe!”

  With that, he ended the call, and the president was left staring at the receiver.

  The president of the United States began to weep and cradled his head in his hands. For the first time since childhood, he uttered a sincere prayer for deliverance. He was the center of a crisis, a deadly crisis, and he had no idea how to manage it.

  He remembered that day in the Situation Room when he learned about the man called Tom and his alien connection. Tom, the old man, had more power than Number One, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Number One had no idea that he could be nullified, even obliterated in a flash by that mysterious half-human, half Mylean.

  The president was intelligent enough to realize how much power that this old man possessed and that he was not afraid to use it. The Krakow Klub was no match and could surely be destroyed if Tom chose to do so. All loyalties flew out the window, and he had acquiesced to the old man’s demands without a second thought even though he knew that he was possibly signing his death warrant.

  The whole debacle had begun when that damned spacecraft was spotted near Earth. It hadn’t bothered him at the time as he believed in live and let live. However, the situation had gotten more and more complicated and culminated with a meeting in the White House Situation Room with his staff and that damned Dr. James Slater.

  Slater had convinced everyone that an old man named Tom had unbelievable powers and the nerve to use them. Afterward, Slater had placed Tom’s letter in his hands, and that letter would instantly change his life forever. Now, his faith in the Krakow Klub was shattered, and he knew that they would never reach their goal.

  The new player was Tom, a man who could destroy everything that Number One had worked so hard to achieve. It all boiled down to a war between money and advanced technology. He was wise enough to realize that technology would win. Tom stated very clearly in his letter to the president that he would not hesitate to reduce anyone or anything to cinders blowing in the winds of the galaxy if his demands were ignored. This Tom person wanted his resignation, and he would get it.

  There was no alternative for the president after that meeting and after reading the letter. He would resign and disappear. Dear God, how he feared Erik Stoellar. He had never met the man until he was introduced shortly after the presidential election. His handler had invited him to dinner at an exclusive Washington club. When he arrived, he was ushered into a private dining room where his handler, Stoellar, and Ivan Petrovich were already seated and in deep conversation.

  Stoellar raised his head and turned toward the new president; the look brought sheer terror to him. The eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul, and he knew that he had just met the embodiment of pure evil. Even worse was his companion, Petrovich. That imposing giant of a man was probably a perfectly trained killing machine ready to do Stoellar’s bidding on an instant’s notice.

  Now he had double-crossed the organization in his moment of weakness. He was just now realizing what he had done. He was terrified.

  And well he should be.

  ****

  At 2:00 PM, shortly after the president resigned, the vice president, Henry B. Wilkinson, was sworn in and took over the reins of power.

  The former president left the White House alone and walked slowly to the South Lawn where Marine One stood waiting silently. He received the usual salutes and returned them for the last time as he slowly climbed the stairs and turned for a last look. The door shut, and the rotors began their powerful spin. He continued to look down as they lifted off and made their way directly to Andrews Air Force Base. There, he would board a small military jet for an unknown destination. He fervently prayed that he would be allowed to live out the rest of his life in total obscurity.

  The jet carrying the former president of the United States along with two Secret Service agents and a crew of two was never to be seen or heard from again. Its transponder shut down over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. No debris would ever be found.

  The former First Lady would no longer need that expensive divorce lawyer. But it would take her lawyer a long time to get her “ex” declared “officially dead.”

  ****

  Immediately after the resignation, Erik Stoellar made a call from his satellite phone to another satellite phone located somewhere in Russia. The two parties spoke in Russian briefly and then ended the call.

  Stoellar simply stated that the organization would revert to Plan B and that Option 2 might be required. The Russian would then pass it on to his contact, who would then inform his contact. The calls would continue until all members of the Krakow Klub knew about the change in plans.

  After ending the call, he went to the window and looked out over Central Park using his terrestrial telescope. He loved the powerful optics that let him spy on those unsuspecting targets below. In fact, he liked to daydream that the instrument was actually a rifle with a sniper scope and that he could pick off one after another, after another.

  It was an uncomfortably warm day, and there were few people out and about. The scene usually amused him, but today, the brainless activities below disgusted him. He went to the bar, poured a generous glass of his favorite brandy, and returned to his desk. He sat down, loosened his silk tie, and sipped the brandy slowly. It was a bit early for him to take a brandy, but it helped him relax and think. And he needed to think.

  This setback was most unfortunate and costly, but it would not deter him from his ultimate goal. He took another sip and quickly determined his revised plan of action. He would congratulate the new president. After all, Wilkinson was also obligated to him. There would be no questions asked. He would just give him the name of the person he must appoint as vice president. He wouldn’t like the candidate, but that didn’t matter. He would do what he was told to do. He lacked the backbone to do otherwise. He had been selected for his position precisely for that reason.

  Stoellar’s nominee for vice president would be Carla Montrose. She had the temperament of a spitting cobra and the venom to back it up. Almost universally hated by her colleagues in Congress, including many in her political party, she could cause a confrontation at the batting of a false eyelash.

  Carla was in her mid-forties and had spent untold amounts of money on top-notch plastic surgeons to ensure that she retained her youthful, good looks. She worked out every day with a personal trainer to maintain her fitness. She left nothing to chance.

  Although she was a bit shorter than average height, she knew how to present a striking figure. Her short black hair was of a style that practically screamed that she was all business. She usually wore a custom-tailored pants suit and stiletto heels that echoed through the marble halls of the Capitol like an advancing war machine. She was never without her large signature handbag that many presumed contained various lethal weapons. Her slender well-manicured fingers were always adorned with several rings mounted with perfect diamonds or emeralds of impressive size.

  In public, she spoke softly, and some even compared her voice to a hiss. She could mesmerize her audience with carefully selected words that oozed promise, and then, when her prey relaxed, she would go for the jugular without hesitation.

  Another affectation was her glasses. She didn’t need them but would perch them on her nose dramatically from time to time, especially during congressional hearings. The effect was striking and gave her the appearance of a serious and dedicated public servant, at least to those who only knew her through her carefully orchestrated public appearances.

  Carla had already served five terms in the House of Representatives and would surely win the next election in her East Coast district. She had successfully obtained government contracts that had heaped great benefits there. Businesses had been lured from the West Coast through her machinations. In fact, a new international airport had been constructed in the state capital and some had even suggested that it should be named in her honor. Political constituents love to dine on pork, and Carla was good at providing it.

  Along the wa
y, she had amassed a fortune from kickbacks and shady dealings, although she was already wealthy before she ever ran for Congress. Her husband, the founder of a major chain of department stores, had committed suicide several years ago. He left her his position as Chairman of the Board and his entire fortune in real estate, stocks, and bonds. At the time, several of her associates whispered among themselves that the man was probably at peace now for the first time in years. Not surprisingly, that clever political animal used her grieving widow status very effectively throughout her next election campaign.

  There was only one tiny problem to overcome. Carla would need to get legislative approval to become vice president. There would surely be a firestorm when her name arose. However, Stoellar had more than one trick up his sleeve. First, he would have Wilkinson name another candidate, and that person would be totally unsuited for the job. Nothing new there—throwing out a sacrificial lamb had long been a ploy of political leaders. The first candidate would be, as expected, promptly rejected amidst a storm of self-righteous comments from the members of Congress. After that, the way would be open for Carla.

  Stoellar had another ace in the hole. Carla had also amassed vast files on her colleagues over the years. It was rumored that her secret records would have put Herbert Hoover to shame. She knew and recorded every detail of juicy gossip, every clandestine affair, every crooked deal, and every bribe. She would not hesitate to use the information to her advantage, especially now.

  If her nomination met significant opposition, Stoellar would just revert to Option 2 of Plan B. No problem. In the meantime, he had things to do.

  Stoellar had one more important call to make. He punched in the number of Alexei Pawlak. When Pawlak answered, he didn’t even take the time for a greeting. “Alexei, meet me at the usual place as soon as possible.” With that, he disconnected the call without another word. Pawlak would know exactly what to do.

  The usual place, in this case, was Moretti’s Italian Grill, a nondescript little joint a few blocks off 5th Avenue. It would take Stoellar only a few minutes by cab to get there.