Page 38 of Generation Lost

“It is, and it’s been working for a while now. What if the counterfeit bills were fed back to the U.S. government? What if, instead of sending the solid cash, we send them the fraudulent cash.”

“So, they would get the counterfeit cash and attempt to deposit it into their own accounts?” grinned Nine.

“Yes. They’re taking in cash deposits now. That’s why this has been so difficult to track and trace. They weren’t accepting actual checks or wire transfers. It’s millions of dollars in cash being filtered through the casinos and then deposited into an account for our use.”

“Our use? What use?” asked Ghost.

“They’re backing the weapons manufacturing sites. No serial numbers, no U.S.-made weapons, nothing to point fingers at our own governments. All funded by counterfeit money, casinos, and a corrupt mortgage lending system.”

“I’ll be damned. She figured it out,” smirked Gaspar.

“With a lot of help,” laughed Miriam. “I couldn’t have done this without Tony, Sly, Pigsty, and Code. And, of course, Jean and the others on our finance team. I also have to say, Seamus and James gave some good ideas.”

“It takes a village,” said Ian. “Or so they say. How do we get this into the light of day?”

“We’re going to turn the light on and the heat on all of them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Why did Xi leave the country?” asked DiBenedetto.

“I don’t know,” said St. Pierre. “He went to meet with those men at the housing site, came back, and said we needed to leave them alone. Then he packed his bags and said he was needed in Beijing for a while.”

“So, it’s just the three of us now?” asked Varovski.

“Looks that way,” nodded DiBenedetto. “Although I did hear some disturbing news. Sources tell me Seamus and Conor Laughlin, and James Scarlutti are all in town. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not a good thing. Do you think the government is turning on us already? We always suspected that they would. Bastards can’t be trusted for anything.”

“We knew who we were getting into bed with when we agreed to all of this. We’ve kept all the communications and evidence. Just in case.”

“They’ll find a way out of it,” said St. Pierre. “They always do. I think we need to consider moving on. Let them figure something else out. I’m not even sure that these so-called terrorists are terrorists. That last group had four people in it who were here on work visas as professors. No one can find that they did a damn thing wrong.”

“That’s not our business,” said Varovski.

“It is our business if they decide to suddenly turn and come after all of us.” None of the men said anything as they stared into the fire. They were at DiBenedetto’s home, seated in the massive front living area overlooking the lake.

You could always count on the man to have good cigars and liquor, and they were enjoying both. Occasionally, they’d have a few women there, but not as often as when they were younger.

“Sir? There are two men here to see you.”

“What two men?” frowned DiBenedetto.

“Former President Bodwick and a man named Nine.”

“Fuck me,” muttered DiBenedetto. He looked at the other two men, who seemed as bothered and frightened by this as he was. “Show them in.”

The three men stood, straightening their suit jackets as if they were meeting royalty. And maybe, in some ways, they were.

“President Bodwick, or do I say Mr. Former President?” frowned DiBenedetto.

“Michael. That’s my name. I believe you’re familiar with my friend, Nine.” Nine said nothing, just staring at the men he’d met in passing over the years.

“We know of one another,” frowned St. Pierre.

“What can we do for you?” asked Varovski.

“I believe it’s what we can do for you,” said Michael. DiBenedetto waved toward an empty seat, and they sat down, carefully watching the men.

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