Lizzie felt like she just laid her head down on the pillow when something roused her from sleep. She looked up and saw a lighted painting of an outdoor scene on the wall, which helped bring some life to the otherwise windowless walls of the room. The painting showed no light the night before, and Lizzie realized that it had some kind of internal programming that turned the light up slowly, mimicking the effects of daylight. The light awakened her, and that fact gave her a curious sensation. She couldn't see outside, but it felt like morning.

She saw a clock on a nearby table that said 10:03. Let's see...that meant she'd slept for, what, five hours? Six? She got up and crept over to Michaela sleeping soundly in her bed. She put her hand gently on Michaela's shoulder.

“Come on, Michaela, wake up. It's almost lunchtime already!” she said as she shook her by the shoulder.

“Wha-at?” Michaela mumbled, still half asleep.

“Aren't you hungry? We need to get the day started,” Lizzie replied.

“I'm tired,” Michaela said sleepily.

Lizzie smiled and said, “Okay, sleep a few more minutes, and I'll take a shower. Then it'll be your turn.”

Michaela mumbled something and then drifted quickly back to sleep.

A short while later, Lizzie sat on the edge of Michaela's bed with one white towel around her body and another wrapped around her head. Steam emanated from the bathroom. Again she touched Michaela's shoulder to awaken her.

“I'm still tired. Can't I sleep some more?” Michaela moaned.

“Don't you want to go find your father?” Lizzie asked.

That did it. Michaela sat up and propped herself on her elbows. “Dad?”

“Yes, but we've got to get ready for the day and go find some breakfast first. Are you hungry?”

“I'm so hungry I could eat a cow. How's the water?” she asked as she noticed what Lizzie wore.

“The hot water's great. You take a shower, and then we can go find something to eat, okay?”

Michaela got up quickly and stripped off as she ran into the bathroom. On her way, she grinned and stopped at the TV to turn it on before disappearing. Fortunately, the sound level remained low on the set.

Lizzie got up and dropped her towel on the bed while she started to dress. She moved slowly, trying to plan out their day as best she could. She lacked key information, which they needed to acquire before they could make any concrete plans. For the moment, they could get some breakfast, try to find AJ, and then see what they could learn about Justin.

Michaela emerged from the shower in a towel of her own and sat down in front of the TV with the remote, flipping through the channels. Except for the usual mid-day fare, she didn't find much. Suddenly, she came upon a different channel–one she didn't recognize.

She said, “Hey Lizzie, take a look at this; it's an underground street.”

Lizzie glanced over at the TV. The screen had an AU logo in the lower right corner of the picture. The picture had the flavor of a local program. A roving reporter interviewed shoppers in a street, except that it clearly didn't exist above ground, although it shone with bright street lights. Looking more closely, she realized it had street signs but no traffic lights, and all traffic proceeded on foot. The shops stood separately, resembling buildings you'd find on Main Street USA rather than the condo-like style that shops usually have in a mall.

“Turn up the sound,” Lizzie said, and Michaela complied.

“...Agorist Village, not your typical American town. Participants in the Agorist Underground created Agorist Village to provide an alternative shopping experience for our allies and sympathizers. Here you'll find products and services not normally available in the 'real' world, and every merchant accepts alternative precious metal currencies, as well as fiat dollars. The 'hard' nature of the currencies used most frequently here and throughout the Agorist network make it possible for merchants to offer their wares at stable, consistent prices so you can think globally and buy locally. For AUTV, I'm Jasmine.”

The camera switched to a news studio, again with an AU logo on the back wall, where an unfamiliar newscaster said, “In other news, a TST operation in Harlem last night created some interesting fireworks for locals when a magnesium burst lit up Lenox Avenue around 3:30 a.m. TST spokespeople refuse to confirm involvement, but the event, reported to AUTV by local AU supporters, resulted in a driver of a black sedan plowing into a parked car and a few instances of temporary blindness. No one reported any serious injuries. The driver hit and ran, despite the efforts of locals on the scene to stop him, leaving a damaged parked car behind. While TST denies any involvement, a magnesium burst suggests their fingerprints are all over this incident, given their prior history with that element. AUTV hasn't discovered yet the reason for their involvement. Count on this: we will inform you as soon as any new developments arise.”

Michaela turned down the volume with her remote. She and Lizzie exchanged glances.

“Very interesting,” said Lizzie, raising her eyebrows.

Michaela fidgeted. She bounced softly on the bed with pent-up energy as she watched the program while putting on her clothes. Lizzie suspected that the events of the past 24 hours still keyed her up. She remembered that she promised Michaela late last night to explain why it had all happened. This morning, she felt no closer to knowing how to explain it without telling her everything. Perhaps I should tell her everything. She's 14, after all. She's old enough to understand most of this.

But part of her hesitated because she knew that some of the story should come from Justin, particularly the part about her mother and the bank's role in her mother's death. True, Lizzie herself played a key role in those events, making her an ideal witness, but at the very least shouldn't her father participate in that discussion when it took place? Lizzie thought he should. She didn't know how she could keep Michaela satisfied with cursory answers in the meantime, but she didn't see any reasonable alternative.

She stood up, found her ID lanyard, draped it over her head and said, “Shall we go?” Michaela immediately jumped up, thereby making clear the overdue nature of the request.

“Great! I'm starving,” Michaela said as she practically ran to the door.

In the hallway, they saw signs on the walls they'd overlooked the previous night. One indicated a dining room one floor up. They walked back to the main entry room past the first aid station. The elevator door stood closed, and they could only find a down button. Michaela found another elevator door a little further down the hallway.

“Let's try this one,” she shouted to Lizzie.

“There's no need to shout,” Lizzie replied as she walked to the door Michaela found. Sure enough, it looked like an elevator, and this one had an “up” button. Michaela pressed it. Within seconds, the door slid open. They walked inside. The panel showed ten buttons labeled 1 through 10. The “1” button glowed, suggesting their current location. Michaela pressed the second floor button, and moments later the door closed.

When the door slid open again, they saw a fairly large room containing about a half dozen tables with crisp, white cloths and colonial-era wooden chairs. While empty at the moment, they saw a server walk through an adjacent door, a barely, aromatic trace of bacon, coffee, and dish detergent following him.

“Oh! Have you come for breakfast?” she asked. Her white blouse and black slacks would have fit in at any five-star restaurant, but her long, dark brown hair hanging down her back suggested a more relaxed atmosphere.

“Yes,” Lizzie replied. “I hope we're not too late.”

“No problem,” the server said, her young eyes smiling as much as her mouth. “Most of our guests have already eaten, but we can fix something up for you. Where would you like to sit?”

“Anywhere is fine,” Lizzie replied, then turned to Michaela and said, “Do you have a preference?”

The room had no windows, but a colorfully lit aquarium dominated the left-hand wall.

“Let's sit over there,” Michaela replied, gesturing with her head, “so we can watch the fish.”

“By all means,” Lizzie answered, grateful for anything that might put off the dreaded conversation that she knew Michaela would eventually demand. A distraction like a fish aquarium seemed tailor-made.

Michaela grabbed a seat that faced the aquarium, and Lizzie sat beside her, facing the elevator, her back to the wall. The huge aquarium, probably eight feet wide and four feet high, sat recessed into the wall. It teemed with fish that fed on small pellets that floated down from the surface. They could see an attendant through the water on the other side who disbursed more fish food onto the surface of the water. The hungry fish darted furiously at the floating bits and pellets, gobbling them up hungrily.

Lizzie didn't know fish varieties, but she recognized some goldfish. Guppy-sized fish predominated, and their coloring glowed spectacularly. Every color of the rainbow poured into their visual field. One reflected an all-American appearance with a marine blue and white front and a red tail. Another swam clothed in pinks and violets. A few glowed a bright neon green, and the goldfish reflected a brilliant gold coloring. She realized that the lighting in the tank came from very strategic locations that created an almost surrealistic environment.

The seascape of the aquarium represented all manner of coral, plant life, and rock shapes for the fish to swim around and under. Lizzie could see a number of fish hiding in recessed areas. It almost resembled an underwater amusement park. The person who designed it had creative talent.

Michaela's gaze transfixed on the constantly shifting scene.

“It's beautiful!” she gushed in almost a whisper.

Their server put place settings in front of each of them, adding a simple menu on top of their plates.

“My name is Lisa, and I'll take care of you this morning. I'll give you a moment to decide what you want,” she said with a smile. “Would you like coffee or juice in the meantime?”

“Yes, please, coffee for me,” Lizzie said gratefully. “Michaela, would you like some orange juice?”

“Okay,” she replied distantly, her attention remaining fixed on the water-and-light show before her.

Lisa nodded and smiled as she headed off toward the kitchen.

Lizzie picked up her menu and read it. The small 6x9 heavy stock card displayed a half dozen main breakfasts on one side and an ample a la carte section with beverages on the other. No prices appeared anywhere on the card. She decided on a standard breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, and hash browns. She felt exceptionally hungry this morning, so she decided she'd add sausages as well. Their late night adventure the previous evening certainly whetted her appetite.

“Michaela, what do you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes,” Michaela replied instantly without taking her eyes off the water show.

Lizzie decided she'd better leave the girl alone. The silence soothed her, and she gladly put off the inevitable uncomfortable subject until later. She looked around the tastefully furnished room, realizing that like every other room they saw so far, the lack of windows stood out. The aquarium certainly made up for it, but the windowless rooms suggested an aspect of security to the place. She guessed that their benefactors didn't want the guests to have any outside visual references that might reveal their exact location.

In addition to the aquarium and the dining section itself, the room offered a large reproduction of Eugene Delacroix's famous painting, “Liberty Leading The People” which adorned most of the wall to the left of the elevator. The violence of the image seemed out of place to Lizzie, considering the room's purpose as a dining facility. Revolution might interest some people these days, but the image didn't improve her appetite for breakfast. Still, the vivid colors of the painting did provide a startling contrast to the otherwise formal appearance of the room.

A door next to the aquarium opened, and a young man in white shirt and black pants similar to their server walked through the room. He smiled at her and nodded as he passed but said nothing. Having finished his fish-feeding task, he now moved quickly toward his next chore, whatever it might be. Just after he passed through the door to the kitchen, she saw Lisa emerge through the same door and walk over to their table.

“Have you decided what to have?”

“Yes,” Lizzie replied. “My young friend would like some pancakes, and I've decided on your #2 breakfast with both sausages and bacon.”

“Very good. She's not your daughter then?”

“No,” Lizzie said with a little laugh, “it just seems that way sometimes.”

Lisa smiled and replied, “I understand. We'll have your breakfasts for you in about 10 minutes.” She swept from the room in a flash.

Lizzie thought about the irony of the server's question. She played the role of surrogate mother to her best friend's daughter. She'd done it for so long that it came quite naturally now. Her conversation with Justin from last night brought memories of Snow to her mind. Six years later she seemed just as alive as the last day they talked together. The events of that horribly tragic day resurrected in her mind in light of current events. One moment she reunited with her friend, the next moment she stood on the side of a highway gazing down at her broken body.

No! Don't go there. Her face began to burn a bit, and her eyes started filling with tears. Snow had been so young...too young. She glanced around for a box of tissues and found one on a small table next to the wall beside her. Grabbing a couple of tissues, she dabbed one to her eyes to mop up the excess liquid.

“What's wrong, Lizzie?” Michaela asked, her attention now drawn away from the aquarium.

“Oh! It's nothing,” Lizzie waving her hand vaguely.

“No it's not. What's wrong?”

Lizzie shook her head, completely unready to have this conversation. “No, really, it's nothing. It's a pretty aquarium, isn't it!”

Michaela watched the aquarium for a moment. “Yes, it's beautiful. I watched two of the fish playing. They kept chasing each other around the corners and hiding places in the rocks. It reminded me of a game of cops and robbers. It got me to thinking about last night. We sort of played cops and robbers, didn't we? Only this game was for real.”

She looked back at Lizzie, who nodded her agreement.

“Lizzie, why was I kidnapped? You know something about it, don't you. I can feel it. It's why you're crying.”

God! She's just like her mother. Snow could always tell what went on in Lizzie's head too. The similarity unnerved her. What could she say? The moment she dreaded had arrived. She looked down at her plate a moment, and glanced up again at Michaela.

“I do know something about it, but your father knows even more. He should tell you,” Lizzie said, having decided on this particular form of evasion.

Michaela wore her stubborn face.

“Dad can tell me what he knows later. Tell me what you know now.”

Lizzie balked.

“I can’t do that. In order to tell you what I know, you must know what he can tell you first. Otherwise, the story won't make sense to you.”

“Then you must tell me. I'll forgive Dad later on for not telling me what was going on, but I must know now the part you can tell me. If that means telling me part of his story, then fine. I'll live. So will he.”

Just then, Lisa came in with their breakfasts. The food looked delicious, and both of them tucked in and went silent as they ate their food for a few minutes.

Lizzie gratefully let the talk subside while Michaela poured an incredible amount of maple syrup on her pancakes. She didn't like the conversation's course at all. To the contrary, it threatened to get out of hand far too quickly, although she saw no way out of it. Could I get away with telling just the bare bones of the story? She doubted it, but felt she must try.

Unfortunately, Michaela didn't give her much of a break.

“So tell me what you know,” she said with a mouthful of pancakes in mid-chew.

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” Lizzie said automatically.

Michaela glared at her.

“All right, but just the highlights, okay? You must promise not to press me for the details.”

Michaela replied instantly, “I promise,” knowing Lizzie couldn't see her fingers crossed under the table.

Lizzie gathered her thoughts for a moment and then started her story: “Your father received a video of a secret conversation between your great uncle David, Harry Peterson, the Secretary of the Treasury, and Barry Bradford, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve. In this conversation, your great uncle made an admission about our monetary system that no top level banker or government official ever previously admitted. They had planned for and expected the current financial crisis many years in advance and intended to bilk taxpayers out of billions and ultimately trillions of dollars.”

“Who gave Dad the video?”

Lizzie sighed. “I did.”

Michaela's eyes widened as she said, “Where did you get it?”

“I can't tell you that just yet, but someone secretly recorded the meeting without the knowledge of any of the participants.”

Michaela continued to stare at her but said nothing, so Lizzie picked up the thread of her story again.

“The bank discovered the video's existence and contacted your father to gain custody of it. They know that if the video gets into the hands of the media or gets played for the American people there will be hell to pay. It rated such a high priority for them that they arranged to you have kidnapped at the same moment that they contacted your father to collect the video from him. They felt they needed instant leverage over him. That's why they kidnapped you.”

Michaela continued to listen. “Your father received a visitor from the bank's security department, demanding the video. He told your father they took you. He promised your return once they had the video.”

Now Michaela protested, “You mean, Dad could have had me released immediately? Why didn't he just give them the video?”

“Because he didn't have it. He gave it back to me. Your father also isn't used to being pushed around. Later, I convinced him that giving the video to the bank wouldn't necessarily get you back anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because they wouldn't know he didn't make a copy of it.”

Michaela accepted that answer, much to Lizzie's relief. Perhaps she wouldn't have to spill all the beans right now after all.

“Why is the video so important to them?”

This caught Lizzie by surprise. Isn't it obvious? “Because they've never admitted it before.”

“So what? What difference does that make? Who'd really care?”

An interesting point. A lot of people in the financial field would care. Economists like herself would certainly care. The newscasters would have a field day with it, but how much would the average man in the street understand about its significance? Probably very little, unless someone explained it to them in detail.

She realized that her bacon and eggs tasted absolutely delicious, cooked to perfection. The sausage tasted delicious too, and the kitchen staff had considerately provided her an English muffin as well. It gave her the excuse to stay silent while she considered Michaela's question.

People would get the impression of the bankers' deceit, which would surprise very few. Some politicians would get upset about it and would call for congressional investigations. Taxpayer groups would scream bloody murder. A public relations black eye would result for Hanover-Rush and the Fed. It might create a foreign policy quandary for the current administration, but they expected to leave office in January, no matter what. Wall Street might dither about it, but in the end traders would claim it strengthened the administration's claim that the banking system needed the bailout money.

Beyond that, very few other people would truly understand the importance of it. Public trust in banking and Wall Street would reduce, but that had happened many times in the past. They survived before, and they'd survive such scandal again. The public would see it as a hardship, but one they couldn't avoid. In a few weeks, it would be old news.

“I suppose,” Lizzie began after a time, noticing that Michaela still watched her intently, absent-mindedly chewing on the huge forkful of pancakes she'd shoved in her mouth, “the average person won't care very much in the long run. It will upset people at first, but as with other things beyond the control of ordinary mortals, they will eventually dismiss and ignore this too. However, it makes a big difference within the financial community. One of the myths that supporters of the Federal Reserve system, and indeed of all central banking systems, have long argued is that central bankers play an important role in stopping financial crises before they become too damaging. They argue that central bankers never act for their own gain, that they never actually cause the problems, but rather act for the good of all of us. Further, the politicians tell everyone that each crisis surprised us all, including the experts. The video admission provides direct evidence that none of that is true.”

“Why is that important?”

“Well, our monetary system survives mainly due to the public's confidence that the government stands behind it. If people think the corruption from within happened intentionally, then they think government backs corruption. People won't trust the dollar as a result. For a fiat money system, such news creates a crisis all by itself.”

“Fiat money...that means that the money is government controlled, right?”

“No, but you're close. Those who control fiat money are given full monopoly power over the money supply by the government. The word 'fiat' means 'by decree' and means the money is money simply because the government says it's money. However, our money gets created by the Federal Reserve system, which is privately owned, not by the government.”

“Oh, it's not? Really?” Michaela asked with great surprise. “Why doesn't the government own it? I thought they did because of its name.”

“No! It's run privately. The only direct input the government gets is that the chairman and members of the Federal Reserve Free Open Market Committee get appointed by the President with the consent of Congress. They called it the Federal Reserve because they didn't want people to realize it was created and run by the bankers themselves.”

“You mean, like a conspiracy?”

“Well, yes, in a sense it was a conspiracy. In November 1910, a group of Wall Street bankers met in secret on Jekyll Island off the coast of Georgia to map out a plan for a central banking system. The Federal Reserve Act passed just three years later almost exactly matched the plan those bankers created.”

“Wow! That's unbelievable! Why doesn't the government run it?”

“The monetary system? The government doesn't run it because the U.S. Constitution largely forbids it. Article I, Section 10 says:

No State shall enter into any Treaty, Alliance, or Confederation; grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal; coin Money; emit Bills of Credit; make any Thing but gold and silver Coin a Tender in Payment of Debts; pass any Bill of Attainder, ex post facto Law, or Law impairing the Obligation of Contracts, or grant any Title of Nobility.

It impressed Michaela that Lizzie could quote the Constitution word for word. Truthfully, it impressed Lizzie herself. She knew that passage so well because of her studies.

“Some people argue,” Lizzie continued, “that the Constitution does not empower the Federal Government to print paper money. In fact, this sentiment helped defeat earlier attempts at central banking in the United States prior to the Federal Reserve, the last being the Second Bank of the United States, which closed in 1832. Critics challenged the government in court when President Lincoln issued 'greenbacks,' money that was printed by the U.S. Treasury during the Civil War, and governments have historically been very untrustworthy when it comes to running money supplies directly.”

She paused to take another mouthful of eggs with a bite of muffin and to drink some coffee. This conversation turned into a lecture, which she hadn't intended. Still, she successfully avoided talking about the details of the kidnapping that she wanted so much to sidestep.

“It's also clear from records at the Constitutional Convention,” she continued after swallowing her food, “that the founders wanted money to be gold or silver, not paper. Remember how we talked about the earliest attempts in the colonial era to issue paper money that turned out so disastrously? Well, those attempts remained fresh in the minds of the founders at the Constitutional Convention in 1787. Transcripts of the debates made it clear that they didn't want the government issuing 'Bills of Credit'. The 'Bills of Credit' clause means money substitutes, paper money and other promissory notes, issued by the government to serve as money in place of gold or silver are constitutionally prohibited,” Lizzie said, finishing her short lecture before taking another piece of toast.

Michaela chewed on that, along with her pancakes, for a long time in silence, affording Lizzie a chance to eat some more of her delicious breakfast. Lizzie could practically see the wheels spinning in Michaela's head, but she gratefully welcomed the lack of questions about yesterday. With any luck, she might avoid the kidnapping question entirely.

Eventually, Michaela said between mouthfuls, “Why are bills of credit both paper money and promissory notes? Aren't promissory notes something you sign when you borrow money?”

This question impressed Lizzie. It validated the claim she'd made to Justin last night that Michaela would eventually figure banking out whether Lizzie explained it to her or not.

After taking a sip of coffee, she smiled at Michaela as she answered, “That's because paper money is created by creating debts.”

Michaela stared at Lizzie as if she had two heads.

“How do they do that?”

Lizzie smiled sadly and answered, “First, the government creates a piece of paper with a pretty design and an official seal on it. They call it a treasury bond, bill, or note. A U.S. Savings Bond is one example of such a piece of paper among many others. The government promises the holder of this paper to pay a specific amount of money plus interest on a specific date. Next, the piece of paper goes to the Federal Reserve, which classifies it as an asset on the assumption that the government will actually honor their promise. In return for the piece of paper, the Federal Reserve sends a check to the government. This check has no pre-existing money behind it other than the piece of paper the government gave them! In this manner, they create the money out of thin air.”

“How much is the bond worth?” Michaela asked.

“It's worth whatever the government and the Fed say it's worth.”

“But don't they have to have an asset to back it up?” Michaela said, knowing that's how loans usually got made.

“Good point. No, they don't. The Fed simply declares the piece of paper an asset and enters it as an asset in their bookkeeping,” Lizzie replied.

“Even though it has no real value until the government honors it?”

“Yes.”

“That's bizarre!”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

“What does the Fed do with the bond?”

“They sell it to someone else, usually a bank or a large company, if they can.”

Michaela puzzled over that one for a few more moments, while Lizzie started on her hash browns.

Michaela thought the whole thing crazy, although she could see that it had a certain twisted logic to it.

“So any time the Fed wants to create new money, it lends the money it creates to the government?”

“That's right, or they lend it to some other large company or government in return for a similar piece of paper. When the government spends the money, it eventually ends up deposited in the commercial banks. They count that money as an asset and use that asset to lend out even more money, which effectively creates more new money out of thin air.”

“So, what happens when those debts get paid off?”

“Then the money disappears back into the nothingness from which it originally came.”

“So if all the debts everywhere in the world get paid off, what would we do for money?”

“Good question. Actually, there wouldn't be any fiat money left. It would all disappear.”

“But that’s insane!” Michaela shouted.

Lizzie nodded her agreement, smirking.

Michaela stared at her with her mouth wide open in astonishment, and they both burst out laughing. “No way!” Michaela shouted.

“Way!” Lizzie laughed. "But it's worse than that. It means that if the economy needs stimulating, the Fed must create more money, which requires the country to go deeper into debt. If the money supply shrinks because debts disappear, it means that the economy falls into recession or worse. So the only way to have prosperity is to go deeper into debt. Of course, the economy only needs stimulating in the first place when society tries to recover from the last round of debt creation. The system also encourages individuals and businesses to buy things at higher prices by going deeper into debt. In essence, we never get a break to try to pay debts off, except those of us fortunate enough to make large enough sums of money to pay their own debts or who exercise extraordinary self-discipline over the long haul. However, the national debt doesn't get paid down at all; even the very wealthy don't escape the consequences, although obviously the poor get hurt much more. Meanwhile, the national debt just keeps growing.

“Think of it this way,” she continued, “As the early colonists learned the hard way, when you inflate the money supply, prices rise. With debt-based money, to inflate the money supply you have to go deeper into debt. The inflation happens because the extra money makes people think there's more demand for products and services. Basic laws of supply and demand tell us that when demand rises, prices also rise. So the price we pay for Fed-stimulated 'prosperity' is deeper debt, more interest payments, and higher prices.”

“That's why General Washington said what he said about a wagon load of money, isn't it!” Michaela interrupted.

“That's right. Inflating the money supply by creating more debt makes everything cost more, although what really happens is that the money becomes less valuable. Prices only seem to rise because the value of money falls. The more new money enters the money supply, the more existing money loses value.”

“So, when the Fed creates more money by going into debt, they make the money less valuable, right?”

“Yes. When the money supply shrinks by getting rid of debt, business activity decreases. The immediate net result is recession.”

“So why is it a crisis if debts aren't paid off? Because the people who are owed the money don't get their money back?”

“That's right”.

“Too weird,” Michaela giggled, shaking her head. Again, Lizzie sadly smiled in agreement. Michaela sat quietly for another long moment. “So why can't there be money without going into debt to create it?”

“There can. In fact, we used to have money just like that. Gold and silver served as money long before paper became money.”

“But they had to dig it up from the ground, right? So wasn't that like going into debt?”

“In a sense, but any 'debt' ended the moment the money entered the economy, and unlike fiat money, no interest payments followed every year for using gold or silver as money. The person who digs up the gold or silver refines it and turns it into coins or bullion bars, hoping to exchange them for goods and services directly and immediately, not to collect interest on it for years on end afterward like he or she would with a loan. Paper money creates a perpetual debt. Gold and silver do not. Most important, however, is that it's very hard to increase the amount of gold or silver money, but it's easy to print paper. So gold or silver are harder for bankers and politicians to manipulate for their own profit, to the hidden harm of everyone else.”

“So why don't we use gold or silver as money anymore?”

“That's a very good question. It has a long, complicated answer because of all the history involved, but mainly the bankers and governments debased and undermined gold and silver using a combination of paper money and fixed exchange rates. The law also failed to identify and prosecute certain kinds of monetary fraud by banks and politicians, practices which continue today. That combination proved more than gold or silver could overcome.”

“Why did the bankers and the government do it?”

“The people who fought for the creation of the Federal Reserve system and used it to undermine the gold standard did it because they make a lot more profit from fiat money than they ever could from gold or silver money,” Lizzie answered her. “With gold or silver as money, we wouldn't have the huge financial problems we face today, but the bankers wouldn't be as rich, and the politicians wouldn't be as powerful. The average individual, on the other hand, would benefit greatly.”

“Why haven't we tried to fix the problem since then?”

“The people in charge have no motivation to do so. The politicians don't want to give up the basis for so much of their power, and the bankers don't want to give up the basis for their ill-gotten wealth. But let's put that discussion aside for the moment,” Lizzie said, putting her napkin down after wiping her mouth. “What do you say we go explore this safe house and see if we can find out something about your father?”

Michaela liked the idea immediately and agreed. They got up from the table and went to the elevator.

When the elevator door opened, they stepped inside. The panel showed 10 floors, with the “2” button lit. Floors 4 through 10 all had the words “Security Floor” next to them in small letters.

Lizzie said, “Let's see what the 3^rd floor looks like.” Michaela grinned and pushed the button.

Moments later, the door opened onto a hallway. Sounds of conversation came from both directions. Michaela didn't wait for Lizzie but just started walking to the left. Through the door, they came upon a sitting room where a number of lounge chairs lay scattered across the floor. A television played softly in the far right-hand corner, but no one watched it. On their left, an old man and a young boy sat across from each other at a small table huddled over a chess board. Most of the chairs around the room stood empty. They heard a noise off their right shoulder and turned. A dark-skinned man sat slouched in a lounge chair reading a book with his feet draped over the arm of another chair he apparently had pulled up.

“It's AJ!” Michaela shouted.

He grinned at them, showing his gold tooth as he put his book down.

“I wondered when you two would finally get up and around!” his deep voice boomed as he got to his feet.

Once he'd stood up he came over to give Lizzie a big, warm hello hug.

Lizzie whispered as she hugged him back, “Thank you for coming to our rescue last night. I never really thanked you properly. We really appreciate it.”

AJ smiled and said in his booming deep voice, “No problem. I couldn't let my favorite study partner down.”

Lizzie grinned in reply. Michaela acted a little put out until he gave her a hug too.

“Hey there, little one,” he said as he put his huge arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Who are you calling little?” she demanded with her usual grin as she threw her arms around his huge neck, obviously pleased by the attention–so pleased in fact that she didn't let go for a long moment. AJ's grin relaxed into a happy smile, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the hug she gave back to him.

“Did you both sleep okay?” he asked Lizzie after Michaela released him.

“Pretty well, although I wouldn't mind getting a couple more hours.”

“Well, there's plenty of time around here. Take a cat nap anytime the mood strikes you.”

“We just had breakfast!” Michaela interrupted. “They have a beautiful aquarium down there.”

“It is beautiful, isn't it!” AJ agreed. “Sometimes I think it's the best part of eating here.”

“Can you take me to see my father now?” Michaela asked him.

Caught off-guard, AJ hesitated before answering, “Not just yet. First we have to arrange for his release from the hospital and from FBI protection.”

“We thought we'd do some exploring. That's how we ended up finding you,” Lizzie put in.

“Well, you won't find a lot to explore, to be honest,” AJ said, a little mournfully.

“But the building has ten floors, according to the elevator,” Michaela pointed out.

“Officially, yes,” AJ conceded, “but if you examine more closely the buttons for the 4^th through 10^th floors, you'll see them marked as 'Security Floors.' You need a special ID card to access them. I don't have sufficient access, so the time I tried one of them I found the elevator shooting down past the first floor to the garage level, where our lovely security guard greeted me and wanted to know what the heck I had in mind. Like you, I told her I just wanted to explore, and she said that if I wanted to explore I should take the shuttle over to the trading floor. So I did.”

“Shuttle?” Michaela asked. “What shuttle? What's a trading floor?”

“Well, they have a kind of minibus that shows up down in the garage on a prearranged schedule. Like everything else around here, it has no windows, but if you get on it you end up in another underground garage about a half an hour later. You slide your ID in the door, and it lets you onto the trading floor. It looks sort of like an underground mall. The decor supposedly resembles Main Street USA, but I think it looks plastic. Still, they've got some cool stuff there.”

“Oh, wow! Can we go, Lizzie?” Michaela begged.

“Well, I suppose so, but we need to go get your jacket from our room.”

“I'll go,” Michaela said as she ran back to the elevator.

“Michaela, wait!”

“Don't worry, she can't get into any real trouble around here,” AJ assured her. “The security's too good.”

Lizzie studied AJ's reassuring face for a moment, then relaxed a bit.

“What?” said Michaela who poked her head around the corner, returning in heed to Lizzie's call.

“Nothing,” said Lizzie. “Go ahead and get your jacket. We'll wait for you here.”

“Okay!” exclaimed Michaela as she disappeared. They heard the elevator door open a moment later, then close soon after.

“Have a chair,” AJ gestured to one beside his own, and they both sat down to wait for Michaela's return.

“So what's the real scoop with the security floors?” Lizzie queried. “I noticed you didn't say anything else about them.”

“I don't really know, but if you want my guess, I think they're not real.”

Bemused, Lizzie said, “Not real? Why do you say that?”

AJ lowered his voice a bit and said rather conspiratorially, “I mean I don't think they go anywhere. I think this building only has three floors and a basement.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, have you noticed the floors?”

“What do you mean?”

“They're springy. I don't mean that they have a carpet. I mean that if you jump up and down a little on them, they flex a bit. That probably means wooden floors, which suggests a brownstone or a townhouse style building rather than a steel and concrete building.”

Lizzie frowned skeptically. “Maybe, but why do they have an elevator with 10 floors?”

“Like I said, they could if the top seven floors don't exist. I'm guessing it's a security measure to find out who might try to sneak around and discover stuff they shouldn't discover.”

This impressed Lizzie. It added up.

Lizzie glanced around to make sure Michaela hadn’t returned yet. She lowered her voice to AJ. “So tell me more about Mr. Knight's condition. You didn't tell us much last night.”

AJ shrugged, “As far as we know, he's in good shape. The problem is that he's still in FBI hands. They've already demonstrated their willingness to sacrifice his interests in favor of their own. We're concerned that he won't be safe until we get him away from them.”

“How will you do that?”

“Well, let's just say we're working on it. I plan to contact the FBI directly today to set up a meeting. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes.”

“Michaela won't want to wait that long. I've already promised her we can look into her father's condition today. She's going to want to go visit him.”

“That's why I suggested the trip to the trading floor. It seemed like a good way to distract her until we can work out a way to free him.”

“Let's hope it works. You put quite an operation together for us last night. By my count about 20-25 people participated.”

“Well, it wasn't just me. I played the front man, and if I had to guess I'd put the number closer to 50. A lot of people worked behind the scenes, so to speak.”

“If true, then I'm even more impressed. All those people coming together in less than an hour to get the job done. Wow!”

AJ smirked and teased her, “You've been out of touch on that estate of yours for too long!”

“You know perfectly well it's not my estate!”

“Well, you know what I mean,” AJ said, laughing now. “In the past six years while you've been a virtual recluse, the AU grew considerably. As usual, no one knows the actual numbers, but it wouldn't surprise me if we tripled in size, possibly a lot more than that.”

“How do you know?”

“The Internet, mostly. The AU gets references all over the 'net, all around the world. If we had chapters, we'd probably have them in most Western countries and about half the Eastern ones. Try doing a search sometime, and you'll see what I mean.”

“So how come you holed up here with us?”

“Well, a number of our adversaries saw my face last night. I shouldn't show it today. So I'll just hide underground for awhile until things cool off out there. I guess I'm in the same shoes you are for now.”

“I'm sorry I got you into this AJ.”

“Don't be,” he replied, a touch of anger in his voice. “I'm glad I did it. You know why I'm in the AU. My reasons haven't changed.”

Just then Michaela appeared with her jacket in her hand. She implored, “Can we go now? I can't wait to see the underground mall.”

Lizzie turned back to AJ, who shrugged. “Why not? Let's go check the mini-bus schedule.”

The three of them went down to the first floor by elevator, where AJ found the schedule on a bulletin board next to the first aid station. It showed the mini-bus currently unscheduled due to lack of regular demand, but they could use a phone installed on the wall to request a special pickup. The phone had no dialer on it. AJ picked up the handset and waited a moment.

“Yeah, we want the mini-bus to the trading floor. ....Sounds good. We'll be downstairs waiting.”

“They're sending it over now. It should be here in about 20 minutes. Want to get a snack or something?”

“Actually, I want to get a couple things from our room. How about I get my stuff, and I can meet the two of you back here in about 15 minutes.”

“Okay,” AJ said.

“Can we go see the fish again?” Michaela asked him.

“I don't know why not, as long as you don't mind,” he said to Lizzie.

She smiled. “Sure, go ahead. I'll meet you two there.”

Upon reaching her room, she slid her ID in the slot and let herself in. After brushing her teeth and washing up a bit, she glanced around their room to decide what to take. Better take the laptop, she thought, and who knows how cold it might be outside? She grabbed her coat and picked up her laptop bag. It proved very handy last night, and she didn't like the idea of leaving it unguarded in her room, no matter how good the security.

She walked back to the elevator and rode it to the second floor, where she found AJ with Michaela who cried, “Let's go!”

They rode the elevator down one floor and took the other elevator to the basement level. A different guard sat on duty–a young man with red hair this time. Apparently he expected them, because he had mini-bus passes ready for them. He invited them to sit in the austere waiting area next to the door.

“It should be here in a minute or two,” he assured them with a slight Irish accent.

Sure enough, within two minutes the outside door opened and an older man peeked at them.

“You call for the bus?”

They got up and followed him out to the garage where a windowless van sat waiting for them. He opened the back door to let them in. Michaela eyed it warily.

“What's wrong,” Lizzie asked her.

“It doesn't have any windows, does it.” Michaela stated rather than asked.

“No, it doesn't.”

Michaela still stared at it as she said haltingly, “Why can't it have windows?”

AJ hesitated. “For security.”

Lizzie thought she knew Michaela's concern.

“You're nervous about what happened to us last night, aren't you?”

Michaela nodded.

“We're in safe hands, hon,” Lizzie assured her. She offered Michaela her hand, which the teen gratefully accepted, squeezing it tightly. Together they got inside the bus.

When they climbed in, they found four very comfortable lounge chairs bolted to the floor. The cramped but well-lit interior included a small mini-bar in the far corner.

“Make yourselves at home,” the driver said as he closed the door. “We should be there in about a half hour. I advise use of the seat belts.”

On closer inspection, Lizzie saw that each chair did indeed have a seat belt. How strange to see a lounge chair with a seat belt! Although it certainly made sense. She didn't remember seat belts the first time AJ took her for a ride in one of these vans. Maybe it had them and she just didn't remember.

They picked chairs and belted themselves in. After a moment, they felt a slight movement, then nothing.

“Hear that?” AJ asked.

“What?” said Michaela nervously. “I don't hear anything.”

“That's the point. This van is soundproofed. Notice how we hear no street sounds, no traffic sounds, not even the sound of our engine.”

“You mean we're driving now?”

“That's right, and notice how we feel almost no vibrations or feelings of the van shifting from side to side. These vans have the best suspension and shock absorption systems money can buy. We've probably made a few left and right turns already, but I'll bet neither of you felt them.”

“Remarkable,” said Lizzie, “and a very nice ride. But why?”

“Security,” AJ answered simply. “By taking away the sounds and feelings of the road, they make it almost impossible for their passengers to guess the route.”

Michaela's face showed how much this impressed her. She let go of Lizzie's hand and pushed her hand against the side of the bus.

“Wow! I feel almost no vibration at all!”

“Want something to drink?” AJ asked, turning his chair toward the bar. He reached for a handle above the bar and pulled it down. It opened like an old style secretary, revealing a variety of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages in small bottles.

“I should warn you,” he said, “that they tack a fee for this onto your bill.”

“We're being billed for this?” Lizzie asked.

“Of course. You don't think TST does all this for free do you? We're not socialists after all.”

“I know, but I haven't seen anything like a bill yet.”

“Sure you have. You agreed when you first signed up with TST, and Michaela agreed when you checked into the safe house last night, remember? It listed all charges and fees incurred in your rescue. I believe they deferred the account until your employer can be reached. They assumed he'll pick up the tab, that he'll be quite happy to get his daughter and her tutor back in one piece. Besides, as a TST member, they have already agreed to help you no matter what.”

Lizzie didn't remember signing a form, but she had to admit she must have done so at some point. She must take greater care from now on. Certainly, Justin would cover all costs, but even so...

“What happens if someone needs help who doesn't have the money to pay for it?” she asked AJ.

“TST tries not to turn anyone away for lack of funds. They evaluate the customer's financial situation and charge based on an ability-to-pay scale. In a few cases, the client ends up doing some simple, safe work for TST for a short time to work off their obligation. TST is well funded, but as you know we believe that everyone should earn their own way in life. No one wants to take someone's last dollar, so we ask them to pay as best they can for the service they get. Of course, we expect someone as well off as your employer to pay full price.”

A short time later, the little bit of motion they felt stopped entirely. The back door opened, and their driver invited them to get out. Once again they found themselves inside a parking garage, although larger than the previous one. Before them they saw a double-doorway with a sign above it that said, Welcome to Main Street USA.

“Shall we?” AJ asked as he gestured with his hand, and the three of them walked to the door with AJ leading the way.

Once inside, a remarkable sight unveiled before them. Someone had constructed a stylized version of a typical small town main street, or rather an intersection of such a street. Michaela and Lizzie both recognized it from the TV program they saw earlier that morning. Looking around, they saw that the place didn't really look like a mall at all. A mall is usually a large, open, rectangular place full of rectangular stores packed side-by-side. The small space where they stood looked more like intersecting tunnels in a subway system. The intersection of tunnels had storefronts on each corner, and they could see hints of dark “buildings” down each of the four tunnels. The ceiling and walls consisted of machine-carved rock.

“How big is this place?” Lizzie asked.

“I'm not sure,” AJ answered, “but I've heard it's about half subscribed now. Those unfinished storefronts down there are new.”

He pointed down one of the tunnels. They saw construction going on in one of the unfinished storefronts, where they smelled fresh-cut wood and heard a lot of banging and pounding. A tape line blocked them from getting closer to it. Among the stores already open in the small square where they stood, they saw a bank, a restaurant, a grocery store, a book store, and a sidewalk café. They also saw a peculiar building that resembled a shrunken town hall, suitably labeled “Town Hall.”

“That's the management's offices for Main Street USA,” AJ explained as they eyed the Town Hall. “The manager has a peculiar sense of humor, I guess.”

“Does he own all this?” Michaela asked.

“No, he's just the manager. This is owned by the UMA.”

“What's the UMA?” Michaela asked.

“It stands for the United Merchants Agora, a relatively new AU group. They aggressively promoted the idea of underground shopping malls for quite some time. Main Street USA serves as their prototype. A lot of people in the AU thought it sounded impractical, but the UMA proved them wrong and that the UMA has lots of money behind it.”

The bank stood next door to Town Hall and bore a sign that read, “First Agorist Bank.” Unlike any regular bank you'd see in the above-ground world, it only had one teller window and one customer service desk. It reminded Lizzie more of a small corner newsstand than a bank on Main Street.

Next to the bank they saw a café, with a simple little sign that read, “The Villager”. Three small tables with chairs perched on the “sidewalk,” little more than a narrow rubber walkway between the shops. One customer sat reading a newspaper, while two others at a different table carried on a quiet conversation.

“It has a kind of Greenwich Village air to it, doesn't it,” Lizzie observed, and AJ nodded.

Across the “street” from the bank and the café they saw The Open Market, with a small produce stand out front. They could see customers inside the store with very small, short, compact shopping carts, although they couldn't readily tell how far into the interior the store extended. Lizzie saw very fresh and bright produce. She supposed that in order to survive here they had to offer superior (and perhaps pricey) merchandise compared to what one might find in a regular grocery store above ground. Catty-corner from the bank they saw Free Market Books, a tiny mom-and-pop bookstore. Down the tunnel beside the bookstore they saw a small sign for a restaurant (a small café, really) which bore the unusual name Taipan Tradewinds.

“It's an Asian foods restaurant,” AJ said, in answer to Lizzie's questioning gaze. “They offer Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, Cambodian, and Indian cuisine.”

“It seems only right,” Michaela said matter-of-factly. The two adults stared at her curiously. “Well, isn't there supposed to be a Chinese restaurant in every town in America?”

They all chuckled at this.

“Let's grab a table,” AJ said, indicating the one where the gentleman with the newspaper sat a moment ago.

“I want to go see the bank,” Michaela declared.

“Why?” Lizzie asked in surprise. “There's nothing to see.”

True enough, the bank didn't seem to have much to offer, but Michaela walked the few, short steps to it anyway. They followed her as she confidently strolled to the customer service desk.

The young woman behind the desk said, “Ah yes, may I help you?”

“Is this a real bank?” Michaela asked.

“Of course it's real,” the woman answered, her very short dark hair barely moving as she nodded, and her warm eyes sparkled as she added, “My name is Rita. I'm the branch manager.”

“Branch manager?” Lizzie asked. “You mean the bank has more than this one branch?”

“Naturally,” Rita replied. “We have branches in 10 major cities around the world, and we're growing fast. We also do business above ground through Hanover-Rush.”

“That's my Dad's bank!” Michaela gushed.

“Oh, does your father have an account at Hanover-Rush?” Rita asked pleasantly.

“No, I mean he runs it.”

“Michaela, that's enough,” Lizzie said, a little worried about where this conversation might head.

Michaela whipped her head around to Lizzie. “Why, what's wrong?”

“We don't want to broadcast who your father is,” Lizzie whispered to her. “We've already had enough trouble yesterday, if you'll recall. Let's not invite more trouble today, okay?”

Rita watched all this with apparent interest, but she said nothing further on the subject.

“What kinds of accounts do you have?” Michaela asked her.

“Oh, we offer almost every kind of account you're already familiar with, along with some you may not be. For instance,” Rita answered, handing Michaela a small brochure. “This is our gold checking account. Account fees are quite reasonable, just one twentieth of a cent aurum per month plus transaction fees of one-hundredth of a cent aurum per item.”

“Aurum? What's that?”

“Aurum is the Latin word for gold. The scientific symbol for the element gold is AU, which is also derived from the word 'aurum'. AU also stands for the Agorist Underground.”

“You mean this is a checking account for gold money?” Michaela asked with surprise.

“Yes, that's right,” Rita patiently explained. “Some of our customers prefer to do business outside of the dollar-based economy entirely. This account works perfectly for them, and our fees rank among the lowest in the industry. We also offer our silver checking account for people who prefer to do business in that metal. Again, our fees rank among the lowest in the industry, just 40 cents argentum per month. Transaction fees are just one cent argentum per item. We also offer a combined account which allows the customer to write checks on either silver or gold, depending on their needs.”

“Argentum means silver?” Michaela guessed.

“You've got it!”

“Do people actually use these accounts?”

“Of course! We just began offering them within the past six months, but already we have over 10,000 customers. Here,” Rita said, reaching into one of her desk drawers. She pulled out a small cellophane package, kind of like a tiny lollipop without a stick. She offered it to Michaela, who took it and looked at it closely. It had a very small and flat silvery thing inside it about ¼ inch in diameter and paper thin. Michaela read the words First Agorist Bank embossed along the top of the cellophane with the words One Cent AG along the bottom.

“What is it?” Michaela asked.

“It's a silver penny, worth one cent argentum,” the branch manager replied. “It weighs exactly 1/100^th of an ounce. In U.S. dollars, it's worth about 14 cents at today's exchange rates.”

“That's real silver?”

“.999 fine.”

Michaela looked questioningly at her.

“That means it's virtually 100% pure silver,” Rita explained.

“Not very practical,” Michaela observed doubtfully.

“It's not meant to be,” Rita answered with a laugh. “We use them mainly for marketing purposes. Feel free to keep it if you'd like.”

Michaela smiled and studied her new mini-coin.

“Do they come in larger sizes?”

“Yes, of course, we offer silver dimes, silver quarters, silver halves, and silver dollars, just like this country used to have. Unlike the old American coins which were only 90% silver, our new coins are virtually 100% silver and are weighed and measured to exact fractions of a full ounce of silver,” Rita said patiently.

As Michaela considered all this, she reexamined the brochure about the gold checking account.

“Why don't you have free checking accounts like other banks have?”

“We do, but not in gold or silver. We can arrange a Hanover-Rush dollar-based checking account for you, provided you give us the usual identification cards, birth certificates, social security numbers, etc. However, we don't get much call for them. In fact, I haven't had a single request for one since I began running this branch. People who choose our bank do so because they want a way to get out of the dollar economy.”

“But why can't you get a free gold or silver checking account?” Michaela persisted.

“Well, you need to understand that there's really no such thing. Even if you go into a regular bank like Hanover-Rush and get one of their free checking accounts, the account isn't really free. First of all, many of them require minimum balances, but even more than that those banks use your money to lend out to other people. The interest they collect for those loans pays for the checking accounts. Otherwise, they'd have to charge fees for their checking accounts, too. Further, we never lend out gold or silver money deposited with us in order to help provide a 'free' checking account, because that money does not belong to us to lend. It's your money, not ours. The fact that banks historically loaned out money that didn't belong to them is what ultimately led to all bank panics.”

“So you don't use fractional reserve banking?” Michaela asked, showing off her fluency in banking terminology. She was her father’s daughter, after all.

“So you understand then. Yes, fractional reserve banking is where banks keep part of the deposits made to them on reserve with a central bank rather than lending them out to help make sure that cash is available when people want to withdraw it.”

“Actually, I only understand it a little. Lizzie is my tutor, and she teaches me this stuff. She told me what you said–that banks get in trouble by lending out money they don't own. So they can't always have enough cash on hand when the depositors want their money back.”

Rita nodded her approval at Lizzie. “You're very lucky to have someone teaching you who is so knowledgeable. Yes, we consider such business practices dishonest. Besides, even if we did get one or more of our depositors to agree to such a loan, they'd want the interest for themselves. Dollar-based banks expect to keep most of the earnings and give small shares to the depositors in the form of interest, if they share any of it at all.”

“That's terrible!”

“I agree.”

“Come Michaela, we should get going,” Lizzie interrupted. “We've taken more than enough of this kind lady's time.”

“Oh, it's been my pleasure,” said Rita as she stood to shake hands with her departing guests, “and it's been a pleasure to meet you. It's usually a little slow this time of day, being mid-week and all, so your visit helped brighten my day.”

“You get more business on the weekend?” Lizzie asked.

“Oh yes!” Rita replied. “We get lines of people on the weekend, especially around the first of the month. Come back and see us anytime, though!”

They said their goodbyes and got up to leave. Main Street foot traffic had picked up a bit during their visit to the bank. They saw a number of people walking down the tunnels to the various shops, as well as some people watching the construction going on. A number of them wore sunglasses–a bit strange considering they walked indoors. Lizzie spotted a few Muslim women with brightly covered scarves around their heads and shoulders, and one man wore a black face mask and a dark suit, like Batman without a cape. She fought down the impulse to say, “Where's Robin?”

AJ noticed her reaction and commented, “Yeah, a lot of people show up here in various forms of disguise. This is, after all, an underground market.”

“Does that mean this is a black market?” Michaela asked.

Lizzie didn't know what to say to that, but AJ handled it easily saying, “Yes, it is in a sense. It's not the kind of black market where people deal in human slavery or tactical nukes, but laws certainly exist against using gold or silver as money. Much of the trade that takes place here gets done using precious metals, so some people like to come here incognito.”

“Do the police ever raid it?” Michaela persisted.

“Not yet,” AJ answered. “The UMA has it pretty well hidden, and you only get in if TST lets you in. They screen people pretty carefully before letting them arrive at the parking garage for the trading floor. No one gets here directly from street-level except TST staff with high security clearance.”

“But no one searched us when we came,” Michaela pointed out.

“Actually yes, they searched us, although you might not have noticed it. The doorway to both the garage in this place and at the safe house have metal detectors and X-ray machines in them. I wouldn't be surprised if they use ultrasound as well, although I have no idea how they do it. Plus, they already knew who you were before you arrived. They do extensive background checks on everyone who does business with them. It's pretty hard getting anything past them, although some people certainly have tried. Anyone hungry?”

“I am!” Michaela said. “Can we eat on the sidewalk? You know what I mean!”

Lizzie and AJ smirked quietly to each other as they walked over to a waiting table at the café. Within minutes of sitting down, a server came out and handed them menus that said “The Villager” on the front before she scurried back inside. A fair amount of foot traffic flowed in and out of the door of the establishment, and they heard talking and the sounds of dishes inside. The Villager apparently did a brisk trade at lunch. A digital clock on the “tower” of Town Hall showed 1:10 p.m..

Examining her menu more closely, Lizzie noticed that they had two columns of prices next to each item, the second column being marked much lower than the first.

Michaela noticed it too. “How come the right-hand prices are so low?”

“It's because the second column is priced in silver. See the top?”

Sure enough, the top of the second column said simply “AG”, while the first column had a dollar sign over it. Seeing the price comparison brought home the reality of just how much value the dollar had lost over the years. For instance the Inflation Burger Platter (so big you'll think it's growing!) cost $16.95, but its equivalent price in silver came to only AG 0.99.

“How come there's no gold price?” Michaela asked.

“Well,” AJ said with a bit of a yawn as he explained and stretched at the same time, “gold is considerably more expensive per ounce than silver these days, so most lower-cost items are priced in silver instead. You only see gold prices on the higher ticket stuff. For instance, look over there.”

He pointed across the street at another shop near the exit to the garage, which they hadn't noticed when they first came in. The shop, a travel agency, displayed a number of specials on large posters in the window. One advertised two weeks in Hawaii priced at AU 3.99, on special today for AU 3.69.

“I thought silver traded at roughly $14 an ounce today,” Lizzie said. “Why is the ratio on this menu closer to 17:1?”

“They probably just offer the dollar pricing because people new to the AU often still want to do business in dollars. They have to charge extra to cover their exchange costs when converting dollars to silver.”

Just then, two men standing in the middle of the small street drew their attention. They talked quietly for a few minutes, but then they raised their voices. The language didn't sound anything like English, but their argument made clear their mutual irritation with each other. Both wore sunglasses. The taller one wore a dark blue business suit, but the shorter one wore more casual clothing with a white keffiyeh, which combined with his swarthy complexion to advertise his Middle Eastern heritage.

Out of nowhere, two TST guards, both carrying sidearms, appeared along with a third guard, a young woman, who followed close behind carrying an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder. The first two guards got between the arguing men and attempted to calm them down. The man in the keffiyeh stopped arguing and backed off, but the man in the blue suit kept shouting, ignoring the guards’ attempts to quiet him. He took a swing at the guard holding him and suddenly found himself lying prone on the ground, his right arm twisted in an extremely uncomfortable position above his head and held at the wrist by the guard. The man screamed with agony, while the guard shouted that he should stop struggling or else the pain would increase. The man stopped moving, and a slight shift by the guard (along with the fact that the man stopped screaming) suggested that the arm twisting stopped.

A fourth guard appeared at that moment and helped get the man in the blue suit to his feet, and two of them frog-marched him toward the door to the parking garage. The guard with the rifle remained talking with the man in the keffiyeh and gestured with her hand, inviting him to go in the same direction as the others went. The Arab nodded his head in agreement, and the two of them left the street with the fourth guard following close behind.

She announced to the surrounding onlookers, “Sorry about the disturbance everyone.”

“You don't see something like that every day,” Lizzie observed quietly.

“Probably an argument over a deal of some kind,” AJ said. “At least the security is good.”

“No kidding! Did you see how fast those guards moved? Did you see where they came from?” Michaela asked, obviously impressed.

“Like I said, security is pretty good around here,” AJ answered. “I think I'm going to have the Silver Dollar Pancakes.”

“Pancakes for lunch? Yuck!” Michaela declared, and Lizzie just laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” AJ asked fiercely “I'm hungry!”

“Just ask her what she had for breakfast,” Lizzie answered, indicating the teen with her head.

AJ looked at Michaela who said authoritatively, “I had pancakes. So what? Pancakes are for breakfast, not for lunch!”

He chuckled to himself and dismissed the whole thing by shaking his head. He then said, “Well, I've gotta get my energy built up if I'm going to go get your father.”

Michaela perked up at that and asked loudly, “WHEN?” Lizzie also tilted her head with interest.

He suddenly realized he shouldn't have said anything but replied, “I've got a three o'clock meeting, and there's a very good chance it will lead to a happy reunion.”

“Can I come too? Please?” Michaela could hardly contain herself at the prospect.

“Sorry, it's too dangerous,” AJ answered looking straight at her. “We went to a lot of trouble to rescue you last night. I'd get in a lot more trouble if we lost you to the bad guys the very next day, don't you think?”

Michaela's unhappy demeanor nearly broke AJ's heart.

“Sorry,” he said, “I shouldn't have said anything until we knew for sure we have him. I don't want to get your hopes up only to have to tell you later that we got delayed or that it didn't work out.”

“When were you planning to tell me...us?” Lizzie asked.

“As soon as we knew for sure that we have him,” AJ answered, realizing now the double-nature of his mistake. “You can't do anything to help right now except to stay safely out of reach of Hanover-Rush's hit team and the FBI. There's no place safer than the AU. You realize that by now, right?”

Lizzie nodded. “I do, but I hope you realize I can be trusted with such information.”

“I know you can. Like I said, I just didn't want to get your hopes up only to disappoint you later on. Still, the odds look pretty good. If all goes well, we should have Mr. Knight at the safe house by 5:00 p.m. at the latest.”

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