Ryan chuckled humorlessly. "Naive, were you?"
"It's worse than that. You think you're doing some good for the people who elected you. And you make excuses for the compromises you're forced into, thinking that on balance you're improving things. But the problem was that no matter which way you looked, the world you saw was contrived. Every source of information at your disposal, every choice you're faced with, has been rigged. It's like the whole government exists inside some perverted version of that movie, 'The Truman Show'. And it's not just our government, either. They're all like that, or most of them, anyway. I don't know what to believe any more."
"Yeah," Ryan said somberly as he picked up a can of tuna. "I was reading through Davis' papers when you came in. And as usual, it all comes down to money. I used to scoff at all the conspiracy theorists... especially the ones who claimed the terrorist attacks on 9/11 were an inside job. But there it is. They were right. And it all came down to money."
Congressman Lembridge lowered the stalk of canned asparagus he was munching and narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"The whole so-called 'War on Terror' was a put-up job. You knew that, right?"
"But that was the basis of my whole campaign. We've been struggling for years to prevent another attack like that. And it's worked, too. Okay, I'll grant you that there's been some games played with the intelligence, but only to focus our efforts, to make it clear what we're really up against." The man's voice had slowly taken on an edge of angry desperation, one that was now beginning to reflect in his face as well.
Ryan sat back, nervously fingering his fork. "Let me ask you a question, then. Do you believe that anything a business does to increase its profits is fair game... that an industry can legitimately induce national governments to act in its best interest?"
"Well, of course. They've just been taking it a bit too far, that's all."
"Even," Ryan said, and paused uncertainly, "even if that means some people get hurt... or killed?"
His visitor's face darkened. "Sometimes that can't be helped."
"If it's intentional," Ryan pressed.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not 'suggesting' anything. According to Gregory Davis' records, the Senate hearing that was conveniently cancelled so he wouldn't be called to testify at was investigating the GDP derivatives being floated by the three biggest banks in the country. Those were the goodies that were sold short by an unidentified cartel of investors just before the mortgage strike hit the wind. The greedy bastards who placed those sell orders were betting that the US economy was about to tank. They positioned themselves to make the biggest killing in history on the backs of every single person and business that went into the crapper that day. Do you, in your wildest imagination, believe that anyone with the gall to pull that stunt would balk at killing a few thousand people for the sake of drumming up trillions in war profits?"
Lembridge stared at him, ashen-faced. "You're serious?"
"Like the corpse in my kitchen. I'm sitting on proof of how the house of cards the banking cartel built up over the years was pulled. It's all in Davis' office. But what people have to be shown is how that house of cards was built, who was involved, and how long it took to build it. This isn't something engineered by a bunch of billionaire cowboys. They might have gotten some of the booty, but anything with a time horizon that long has to be organized by something that has an even longer lifetime."
The congressman rose and faced the window. He stood there for some minutes, nearly long enough for Ryan to finish the tuna in his can. Then he walked over to the pool table and leaned heavily against it, arms crossed tightly. "Like who?"
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