After spending the night as guests of the AU, Donahue's team spent most of their day nosing around the place to figure out a way to acquire some guns. They found locked doors and other barriers everywhere they looked.

They eventually found a weapons dealer down one of the “streets” of the underground mall. With his team waiting outside, Donahue strolled into the shop and glanced around. The proprietor spoke up.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“What do you have in the way of handguns?”

“We have only a limited supply here in the shop,” the proprietor explained. “Cost of overhead, TST regs–you know. Is this for target practice? Self-defense?”

“A little of both, I guess,” Donahue answered him with a grin. “I'm a Glock man myself.”

“Well, we carry the 17, 22, and 23, which as you probably know rank among Glock's most popular models. Anything else would have to be special order.”

“I like the Glock 22. It feels good in my hand. Got a range where I can try one out?”

“Not here, unfortunately, although we have one above ground you are welcome to visit. TST security places limitations on what we can offer in this location. Here,” he said, handing Donahue a business card, “Give me a call anytime from street-level, and I can direct you where to go. We have a very private and very exclusive facility.”

Donahue gave him a strange look.

“What do you mean, not here? Do you sell guns or not?”

“Of course we do. We just have to make delivery outside of AU locations, except for TST personnel. Do you have credentials? No? Well, I thought as much. Those are the rules, you know.”

“Do you insist on federal paperwork, too?” Donahue asked, glaring at him.

“Easy, friend,” the proprietor said graciously. “TST won't provide security for any AU location unless they control firearm access on the trading floor. Most people know that; I thought you did too. Now, if you can get their permission...” he finished with a shrug.

“Goddamn bureaucrats! Who do they think they are, telling honest people whether we can pack a piece,” Donahue raged, attempting to see just how far he could influence this guy's sentiments.

“Look, I know how you feel, but TST doesn't ban handguns, not like the government does. The trading floor is private property, and TST manages it for the AU's benefit. That means they get to whistle the tune for anyone who wants to come here. You don't like their gun rules? You don't have to buy here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Donahue said, dismissing the explanation with a wave of his hand. “I think I will take my business elsewhere.”

“Good luck,” the proprietor said as Donahue headed for the door. “So far, I'm the only one here on the trading floor who offers personal weapons, so you'll have a heck of a time finding someone who can do better for you.”

He shook his head after Donahue slammed the door behind him. What a crank!

Donahue rejoined his team and explained what happened.

“They've got this place locked up pretty tight, men. Any ideas?”

Porter spoke up. “Yeah, we go where the guns are.”

Donahue turned to him with a wry smirk and said, “Oh, yeah, smart man. And where might that be?”

“Simple. Who has the guns here on the trading floor? TST of course! We just gotta find one of their guards and quietly disarm him in an out-of-sight place.”

Shorty grinned conspiratorially at his teammates. “Yeah, we can do that!” Of course he always grinned, conspiratorially or not.

“Okay,” Donahue said, “we need a target and a lonely spot in this place. Everyone fan out and rendezvous back here in 20 minutes to report what you find. Keep it casual, now.”

Masters wandered off first, and Shorty set off in a different direction a minute later, leaving only Porter and Donahue standing together in the middle of the corridor.

“Take a look over by the auditorium,” Donahue suggested as he turned to walk away. “I saw a corridor I wanted to revisit yesterday, so I'll check down there.”

“Wait a minute, Donahue,” Porter stopped him.

Donahue stopped in annoyance and turned to him, “What?”

“There's something I've been meaning to ask you.”

“So?”

Porter looked around and spotted a bench over by the wall. He gestured with his head to Donahue, who followed Porter over, where they sat down. Porter leaned his head closer so no one could overhear them.

“The other day, when you told me about Operation Gadfly, you didn't finish telling me everything,” he whispered.

Donahue glanced wildly around, but he could see no one in the vicinity who might notice two men on a bench having a quiet conversation.

“What about it?” he whispered back.

“Well, you called 9/11 an inside job, but then you said we had nothing to do with it. Instead, you just called it Operation Gadfly. When I pressed you about it, you steered me off-track to talk about the Secret Service,” Porter said quietly. “How about answering my question? What the hell is Operation Gadfly, and what did you mean that we had nothing to do with this so-called 'inside job'?”

Donahue sighed and said, “Okay, but we gotta be quick. What do you know about the Committee for International Consolidation?”

“Stop jerking me around and tell me the blunt truth, all right?”

“The CIC has everything to do with the 'blunt truth'! Do you know who belongs to the CIC?”

Porter shook his head no.

“Practically every ex-President, every ex-Senator of any consequence, all the most important ex-Congressmen, former prime ministers and presidents of other countries, directors, ex-directors, and ex-CEOs of the largest banks in the world; ex-military from around the world; dozens of billionaires and leaders of major international conglomerates–the list of dignitaries who belong to the CIC would blow your rocks off. Do you know the CIC's stated purpose for its existence?”

Porter again shook his head no, and Donahue continued, “They claim to be an international think tank for global and international issues, but everyone knows they're the ones planning the new world order.”

Porter boggled at the suggestion.

Donahue continued, “They knew that something like 9/11 would eventually happen, no matter what anyone tried to do to stop it. So they decided not to stop it. Instead, they decided to embrace it and take full advantage of it. Of course, they very likely made it more potent and powerful than it otherwise might have developed on its own, but at this point that hardly matters. The CIC have a long history dating back nearly a hundred years to the time of J.R. Hanover, one of the organization's earliest founders. Long years of experience have taught them that the price of security is never too high unless you refuse to pay the price, at which point the price becomes catastrophic. They had the vision and the foresight to realize that we couldn't afford not to pay the price.”

“But why would they help make 9/11 happen?”

“Well, just look at the good stuff that emerged as a result of 9/11. Security in this country has increased ten-fold, maybe more. By focusing on a common enemy, Americans are more united than at any other time since World War II. Recruitment for the military has reached an all-time high. Americans hardly even question our involvement in other countries anymore. Except for the occasion oddball, almost no one argues for isolationism. And best of all, the power and influence of our government has reached an all-time high.”

“You mean, the CIC caused all that?”

“Well, they may not have caused all of it, but they certainly benefited from and supported all of it, as we all do,” Donahue explained.

“So you don't think we need to worry about the government getting too powerful or Constitutional rights being destroyed, like some people claim?”

“Nah! The real purpose of Gadfly was to create such a great climate of fear in America and around the world that it would encourage politicians and the people to accept necessary changes in domestic and foreign policy, to help establish CIC's secret foothold and move forward toward attaining their ultimate goals. And boy, has it worked! I gotta hand it to the guys on top–they really know how to exercise power.”

Porter noticed the admiration in Donahue's voice as he added, “My father taught me that you're either with the rulers or you're with the ruled. There's no in-between. That's why I decided to join the rulers. So did you.”

Porter nodded his agreement.

“We're burning daylight,” Donahue said. “Go find me a lonely TST guard we can disarm.”

The two men separated.