The Return of Elliott Eastman (2 page)

Chapter Two

Once he completed his daily three-mile run, Eddie Kelley checked his mail around three in the afternoon. As he walked up the driveway to his ranch house flipping through the bills he noted a postmark from Dallas, Texas with the return address to one ‘Elliott Eastman.’

Sitting on the front stoop he swiftly tore open the letter. The writing was clean and crisp.

Dear Eddie,

Your presence is requested at 1958 Eastman Road, Fairplay, Colorado on May 5
^th
, 2018. Your travel expenses are covered. It’s time for Operation Anvil.

Sincerely, Your Friend,

Elliott Eastman

‘That’s three days from now,’ Eddie thought. Marching into the family room where his wife sat reading a book he announced. “The Master Sergeant has called a meeting in Colorado in three days. I’ll be packing and leaving in the morning.”

She knew when the Master Sergeant sent word there was no discussing the matter. He had helped Eddie on many an occasion, both financially and otherwise.

“Are you driving?” his wife asked.

“Yes, it’s a little over a days drive from here.”

“When will you be back?”

“A few days, no more.”

“Let me wash up some clothes to take and I’ll pack some snacks for the drive,” she said, setting down the book.

The following morning she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Have a safe trip.”

Nineteen other men received the same letter.

Chapter Three

The meeting was held in the great hall of the main house at the sprawling Eastman ranch on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Wagon wheel chandeliers hung suspended from thick hand hewn pine trusses thirty feet above the floor. An enormous Kodiak bear head snarled down from where it was mounted on a floor to ceiling river rock fireplace. Along the rear wall, a series of French doors with clerestory windows above them gave the guests a panoramic view of the snow-covered Rockies. There was laughter and friendly ribbing between the men who had all served together under the Master Sergeant in Afghanistan and Iraq, but hadn’t seen each other in many years.

The double doors from the hallway opened and the long-term ranch hand, Greer Jackson, dressed in white tuxedo, stood aside as Elliott Eastman strode into the room. The river rock walls and the heavy hand hewn beams twenty-four feet above shook to the thunderous ovation he received from his former men-in-arms. After a series of heartfelt hugs and firm hand shakes the men were seated and Elliott spoke.

“I’m sure all of you remember the raucous debates we had around the campfires back in Afghanistan when we were going to change the world. When we vowed more young men would not fight and die to fill the coffers of the Malliburtons and the Blackwaters of the world. When we vowed to make the world a better place by the sacrifices we made in the service of our country.”

Elliott paused for a moment and studied the somber faces. “As you know, I was a Senator for a number of years representing the great state of Colorado. I saw the workings of our government at every level. I think it is safe to say our nation is in dire straights. It is not better off than it was when we left Afghanistan those many years ago. The economy is on the ropes, we’re hemorrhaging jobs, the number of families falling below the poverty level has been increasing for years, and urban slums are cropping up everywhere. Money has a death grip on the government. It’s obvious our beloved nation is headed in the wrong direction and has been for a long time; yet our corporate leaders grow ever wealthier with each passing day.”

Again Elliott paused. “James,” he said turning to a heavy set man with deep brown eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, “I know you had some issues with your son being unable to find work and resorting to petty theft. I helped you get him released after one year of incarceration when he was facing fifteen years in prison for stealing a bicycle under the three strikes law.

“Nine years ago I helped you Rick, when your daughter graduated from college with $60,000 in student loans at 19% interest. She was unable to find work, falling behind in payments and the interest rates and penalties were eating her alive. She was contemplating suicide as I recall, and you were very scared.”

“Sallie Mae, the bastards had her trapped in debt before she even had a chance to start her life,” Rick Wheeler replied through gritted teeth. “They had no qualms about ruining her life.”

The other men in the room could feel the rage seething within Rick, the former sharp shooter.

“I could go on, but I think it’s plain to all of us that the system is broken.”

Elliott knew he might lose some of the men with what he was about to say, but he would test their mettle and go with the plan he was about to outline regardless.

“Look around you gentlemen. Life has been good, more than I’ve deserved really, but it is time for me to give back. So I ask you, how do we make a change in the direction our once great nation has taken? Do we write letters to our representatives? Do you believe that will change anything? The answer is, ‘No.’ I’m sure many of you will remember sitting around the campfires in Iraq lamenting our lack of Kevlar vests, flak jackets, or at least heavier armor for our Humvees. We all saw friends die over there for want of a few inexpensive items the government simply couldn’t procure. We didn’t understand it at the time. There were times when our anger was immense, and we hoped one of our beloved representatives would ride along with us just once.”

“Here, here,” Eddie growled, and a murmur of agreement rolled through the room. Many of the men were recalling those memories of bewilderment and anger at the lack of concern for their well being by those in power.

“We spoke those many years ago about an Operation Anvil; A way to bring about change in a swift and meaningful way. As I recall it was Eddie who said, ‘we need a way to awaken the powers that be that simply could not be ignored, like dropping an anvil on their toes.’

“I can tell you from first hand experience that we are never going to change the way Congress works by going through the usual channels. They are awash in corporate money up there, both Democrats and Republicans. They are not going to reform themselves, and the public has no chance of reforming them. They aren’t removable en mass as that would require a revolution, and you know me better than to think I would even remotely consider such a course of action. So how do we go about making change in this country, change of the magnitude we need, playing by the rules? The answer is we can’t. I think it might be time to use a little friendly persuasion on our esteemed legislators.”

The men all laughed and some huzzahs rang through the assembly. They all knew when the Master Sergeant suggested a little ‘friendly persuasion’ he usually was about to start kicking butt.

“I’m going to lay some ideas on the table, some goals if you will, and we can kick them around and share some thoughts on how we might achieve them. And remember, we need not worry about the money required to execute any plan we come up with because I can secure funding.”

“One goal near and dear to my heart is to have credit card rates set at 7%. Where did the banks gain the right to charge 18, 24, even 29%? They got that right by funneling millions of dollars into the right lobbyists’ hands. What better way to free up capital and spur the economy than relieving our fellow citizens from usurious debt? And Sallie Mae charges exorbitant rates on student loans, plunging our children into years and years of debt before their lives have even begun and leaves them facing a virtual debtors’ prison if they were to miss a payment.”

“I back you all the way on that one, Sarge,” Rick said.

“And why should we pay trillions of dollars a year to support over 1,100 military bases across the world? Many of those bases are in countries where the local populace despises us. We could cut that number in half and bring that money home to hire teachers, build schools and repair bridges.”

“I’m on board for that,” one of the former army rangers in the back of the room said.

“Now the center piece comes from a very strong belief that the hole we have dug in terms of our national debt is far too huge to be dealt with by cutting a little here and increasing some taxes there. We can adopt a Financial Transaction Fee that will be charged on all stock, commodities, futures and derivatives contracts. These types of contracts have grown enormously in recent years and are now over $703 trillion annually. We can bring this plan to fruition, and once our national debt is eliminated we can apply the almost 600 billion a year we will save in interest payments on the debt to other worthy goals. There have been proposals of this nature on many an occasion, but they have always been shot down by the government. When Europe was in dire straights back in 2011 the Europeans were pushing hard for a Financial Transaction Fee, but Treasury Secretary Tim Guttner …”

“Don’t you mean Tim Gutless,” one of the men shouted from the back of the room.

Elliott smiled. “Gutless would have none of it. I believe if he had stepped up, Europe might not have suffered the way it has since then.”

James stood and said, “And for profit prisons must go. We imprison more people per capita than any other country in the world. Huge numbers of men and women enter our prison system for the smallest of crimes, turn into hardened criminals and become the huge profit engine that is our prison system.”

“Hang on James. Let’s not get carried away,” Elliott said. “I don’t want to try for too much. Just like in Iraq, the more complicated a plan is the more room for error. We can talk about the prison system when we break up into groups in a few minutes. If you gather enough support for a sound plan, I might consider it.”

“Fair enough,” James said and sat down.

Elliott continued. “To achieve these worthy goals we’ll place a small transaction fee on stock trades, futures, commodities, derivatives and foreign exchange trades. Ten dollars on trades over one thousand, one hundred dollars on trades over one hundred thousand and one thousand dollars on trades over one million. I’m going to approach the people I know in Congress and the President with a proposal for a bill called the “War on the Deficit”. I’ve done the calculations. We can pay off the eighteen trillion in debt in less than seven years. But in conjunction with this approach we must achieve deficit reduction. This will be initiated by the base closures, which by conservative estimates will generate 400 to 500 billion a year in savings. And lastly, the reduction in credit card rates will generate a consumer-spending boom. Remember when President Rush, back in 2006, gave every family six hundred dollars? It didn’t do much. People paid their credit cards down. Now imagine if they, along with the reduction in Sallie Mae rates for our kids, were given six hundred or a thousand dollars a month more to spend for the next thirty six months rather than paying it to the banks. This is what the reduction in credit card rates will do. We’ll have this economy back on its feet in no time, and it doesn’t cost the government a dime.”

“You’ll never get the banks to reduce their rates,” someone said.

“We’ll see about that,” Elliott replied, and held up his glass of wine. “Here is to Operation Anvil.”

“To Operation Anvil,” the men cried out as one and raised their glasses.

Following the conclusion of Elliott’s speech the men broke up into small groups and discussed various ways of executing the ideas Elliott had put forth. The meeting went on well into the night. Brandy and cigars were consumed in great quantities. Morning light was beginning to filter through the huge arched windows of the hall when the meeting finally broke up.

Over the course of the next three days a plan of action was hammered out. Two man teams would contact the CEO’s of Sallie Mae, Bank of America and Capital One. Richard ‘Rick’ Wheeler would head up the team to open discussions with Kenny Borel, the head of Sallie Mae. Another group led by James Lally would deal with the prison system in daring fashion. Elliott wasn’t wild about the prison aspect of the plan and actually excluded it, but James felt so strongly about it that Elliott relented. James maneuvered himself to a quiet table with Elliott and pressed his case.

“I never told you none of this, but my boy was going to be locked up for a long time. He wrote letters to his mother begging her to smuggle rope into the prison so he could hang himself. It was killing her. He was going to be another one of the revolving door prisoners that never got out of the system. It wasn’t right what they we’re doing to him. It’s not what this country is about.”

James grew quiet and reached across the table and clutched Elliott’s hand saying, “I can’t thank you enough for all you did Sarge.”

Elliott looked across the table at James Lally. James was older now but still broad across the shoulders and his red hair had grayed some, but he was still a handsome giant. He knew this man to be a fearless fighter. He’d gone into firefights to save his buddies when even Elliott might have hesitated, but Elliott had also seen James sobbing over the broken body of a little Afghani girl killed by mistake in a night raid. His was a heart of gold. “How is Martin now?” Elliott asked.

“He’s doing great. He’s married, got a baby on the way and a good job,” James replied with pride.

“Good,” Elliott said, “Listen James. I’ll move forward with funding for your prison scheme, but it is not part of Operation Anvil. You’re your own man on this one, and I’ll only fund it under the caveat that not one solitary soul is to be injured. That means none of ours and none of the opposition. If anyone is hurt, I’ll pull the funding instantly.”

“Thanks Sarge. Thank you so much,” James replied. “You won’t regret it.”

Meanwhile Elliott himself would enlist the help of retired General Robert Gates, one of the most esteemed Generals to ever wear the uniform, to open discussions with the Secretary of Defense Bruce Holland regarding base closures.

Also Elliott would have his team of lawyers, along with some legislative specialists, draft wording for a bill creating the Financial Transaction Fee and set up a meeting with the Securities and Exchange Commissioner to discuss it. Elliott felt if he could get the backing of the SEC, then he’d have an easier time getting a member of the House of Representatives to sponsor the bill in Congress.