It had been eight years since the horror of facing down not just one but two sadistic killers. For months after their respective honeymoons in Hawaii had been ruined beyond recognition, Ruthie Camden and Peter Petrowski, and Rod Parker and Shelby Connor, could not for the life of any of them figure out how lucky they had been – and how an incredible stroke of genius led them to an unlikely victory that saved not just their lives but also those of Ruthie's uncle, George Grayson and her aunt (and sister-in-law) Patty Mary Kinkirk.
For a time, no one knew exactly what they wanted to do in life. Indeed, Ruthie had wanted to become a minister like her father, Eric, and her sister, Lucy. After that summer, however, she and Peter quickly had changed their majors to social work. But after the first year at UCLA, the couple realized that God had been calling them all along and they switched back to theology.
Rod and Shelby decided they wanted to be chaplains themselves. They were able to get their divinity degrees by correspondence. The Marines, which both were members of, promptly rewarded their calling by sending them to Kandahar City, Afghanistan. The number of ramp ceremonies they had to attend got to be so large, they considered quitting the public service all together and starting their own church somewhere in the Midwest – one that would practice what it preached, not at all unlike so many of the phony preachers not just on TV, but which also inhabited their and their friends' hometown.
Their stress was so great that they asked for, and got, a six month decompression stay in Guam. Then, they finally had something go their way. Their security clearance was raised to a level high enough that they were able to achieve their ambition – postings inside the Defense Intelligence Agency, and in the very city where they dreamed of spending the rest of their lives as a couple, St. Louis. Because they couldn't obviously say with whom they actually worked with, they received a non-official cover as ministers of a church on the outskirts of town and were allowed to keep any stipends over and above their military salaries. The church in question had been a mega-church but had become largely vacant after a major sex scandal involving the entire pastorate.
It wasn't the church Shelby and Rod wanted, but having nothing better to choose from – and having had twin girls, Rhiannon and Maighread, both of whom were now six – they took it over. They weren't expecting much; but their enthusiasm for God, as well as genuinely serving their fellow man with the acts of mercy, as well as their authenticity (not the least of which was their insistence on selling the palatial "parsonage" owned by their predecessor, in favour of a much more modest one floor, 2000 square foot ranch style home) had people spreading the word. Within eighteen months, the church was up to 15,000 members, even more than the peak before the "darkness." So overwhelmed were Rod and Shelby that they finally called upon their friends Ruthie and Peter and asked if they would join on as associate pastors.
In a heartbeat, they said. Peter and Ruthie also had twins of their own, James and Heather, who were born on the exact same day as Rhiannon and Maighread, indeed in the same hospital. After doing short term strings as "interim moderators" for a number of churches around the Southwest United States and over a span of several years, they actually looked forward to full time stakes even if they would be their pals' employees.
Because of their very covert intelligence work, either Rod or Shelby would be out of town or even the country for a week or two at a time, going after truly nasty people – terrorists, military and economic spies, as well as rogue elements within the US government. The ruse they would use was as missionaries, which technically they also were. On a few occasions they would pose as a couple. Whatever configuration they used, they were putting their lives on the line and risking their daughters being parentless for they didn't have the protection of a diplomatic passport like most spies would. At any time they could be smoked out and their careers ruined, or worse.
Ruthie and Peter understood their friends' choices, but had to wonder just how far they could push the boundaries. While they did not know exactly what was going on on any particular "mission" they had a pretty good guess most of the time. But they never got a confirmation or denial. This was because they didn't have a need to know, so they didn't ask.
After a Sunday service at the end of summer, and the usual "hand of friendship" line with the parishioners leaving, Rod and Shelby summoned Ruthie and Peter to their office. A bit nervous, the Petrowskis followed the instructions. Four chairs were laid out in a circle. Ruthie faced Rod while Peter faced Shelby.
"Guys," said Shelby, "Rod and I have stumbled on something huge, through one of our contacts in Luxembourg. It involves one of our parishioners, one of our wealthiest benefactors in fact. If we purge this guy or gal from our midst, the church will take a short-term financial hit – you need to be aware of that. But we can't have dirty money in our coffers. We may have to even give some of it back. We're going to need your help. We're not going to name which benefactor yet, since we need some definitive proof, but we're almost certain he's running a Ponzi scheme."
"Like Bernie Madoff?" asked Ruthie.
"Nowhere near as huge, but it approaches that scale," said Rod. "Shelby and I estimate it's about $200 million – and of course, with this person being a strict thither, that means he's laundered $20 million into our coffers."
"That's half of the cash on hand we have! That's strictly a rainy day fund. We may be able to afford the hit, as you say, but that will be a huge blow in the confidence people have in our church, that the four of us have worked so hard to build!"
"We're aware of that, Ruthie," said Shelby sadly. "We're either going to have to move fast, or slow, depending on how this operation works precisely, but in the meantime we're going to have to tend to our pastoral duties and pretend absolutely nothing's gone wrong."
"You and Rod have our help and assurances, Shelby. Umm ..." said Peter.
"What, Peter?" asked Shelby.
"I'm familiar with the concept of a Ponzi scheme. Early investors get paid by the money coming in from later investors and the pyramid keeps building until it collapses. But – and I know this a stupid question – but how did it get the name Ponzi?"
"May I?" asked Ruthie, raising her hand.
"Okay, honey, kick it."
"Well, for starters, let me ask you a question, sweetheart. Do you know what an International Reply Coupon is?"
"Sure, I do."
"How?"
"Well ... because our buddies here run their own amateur radio station, broadcasting our services on Sundays as well as their and our daily commentaries about the world around us. Matter of fact, the plate on Rod and Shelby's van has the station's call letters. There's a reason why they enjoy that privilege as do other hams; if the entire communications system ever broke down, the only links that would be left are hams, and the cops would want to know who those hams are. And, judging from our mail, I'm sure Shelby and Rod regularly get requests for QSL cards – query, station, location – people confirming where they hear us, which is around the world, and we send them that card, which in our case is our church's logo. And, since most of the requests are from outside the States, they can't very well send a self-addressed stamped envelope because it would be useless.
"So, they include a reply coupon – IRC – which covers the cost of an international stamp for the return trip. One of those coupons bought here, in return, can be redeemed at any postal office in any other country – even the Vatican and the United Nations will accept them."
"And why do they include the coupon?"
"It's just proper etiquette. When the guys here, or we, ask for a QSL from a station outside the States, we do the same."
"Exactly," said Ruthie. "And that is where Charles Ponzi comes in. After serving time in Canada during World War One for forging a check, he found his way to Boston. He had the idea of selling advertising space in a catalog for an import-export company. One day, he gets a letter from a firm in Spain inquiring about the catalog and the letter included an IRC. He never saw one before but he did a bit of research and discovered that, unlike today, there were huge price disparities between coupons issued in some countries and those in others. They are overpriced to begin with, always have been, because the home post office needs to cover the spread for the outbound stamp and the inbound they have to honor."
"In other words, they have to cover the terminal fees," said Peter. "So what's illegal about taking advantage of that?"
"Actually that isn't, Peter," said Shelby. "Buying long and selling short, or arbitrage, has been at the heart of commodities for ages. Betting on the difference for gold, silver, oil, gas, wheat, hogs, even orange juice – not to mention currencies – is the heart of what makes money stay awake, twenty-four-seven. Without that kind of cutthroat carnage, the rules of supply and demand would be tossed out the window. So what Ponzi did at that level – making a profit on IRCs – wasn't illegal. What he did that was, was way more sinister."
"I'm listening."
"At first, the payoffs were indeed huge – people who bought coupons for, say, one thousand two hundred fifty dollars, could sell them short for five hundred, walk away with two thousand, and make a profit of seven-fifty. Word spread fast and more people wanted to get into the game. Common sense dictated that Ponzi's idea really didn't add up. But no one wanted to listen to common sense. When one reporter tried to call him out, Ponzi sued and won a half million bucks – which is like five million today. It was getting to the ridiculous with Ponzi raking in a quarter mill per day. That's every day. But finally, his number finally came up – and with it, thousands of others with him."
"What happened?" Peter was at the edge of his seat.
"A then unknown financial reporter named Clarence Barron – yes, that Barron – did what any thinking person should have done," said Shelby. "He asked first, was Ponzi investing in his own company? Turns out, he wasn't. That was weird, most normal people who run their own companies do put up their own money, or at least some seed money to get things going.
"With that information, Barron then called the postal service. He had two very simple questions. First: Was it really possible to make a profit center out of IRCs? He was told, yes – but the overhead involved in redeeming the coupons, even at a massive scale, would largely wipe out the gross. Second: was it true as Ponzi claimed that one hundred sixty million IRCs were circulating in the United States, ready to be redeemed out of country? The post office said, no – there were actually only twenty-seven thousand. More important, most post bureaux across the States only had maybe a couple in stock each at any time, because back then most people either didn't know what they were or if they did had no reason to use them.
"The fallout was massive. People rushed to cash out. When all the havoc was done, twenty million was wiped off the map, and Ponzi got twelve years – three federal, nine state. Of course, he had to pay restitution which he could not."
"Well, the commodity here – real estate, precious metals, whatever – has to be involved here and it has to be of a large enough scale," said Peter. "But … wait a minute. Luxembourg is not a tax shelter country, its membership in the EU forbids that. And to be blunt, guys, this is a matter for the SEC, not the DIA."
"Peter, you need to understand that Luxembourg has some of the toughest bank secrecy laws in Europe. They make Monaco and Switzerland look like blabbermouths," said Shelby. "And regarding your second point – the intelligence officer we came in contact with, well, let's just say her brother is a bank accountant and has discovered the money laundering but is risking his job by ratting out to us. Normally, the feds wouldn't care or as you said defer it to the regulators, except the person in question – one of our flock – is not just robbing Paul to pay Peter, he's skimming some of the profits to secretly help known terrorist groups."
"Which one?" asked Ruthie and Peter together.
"Put it this way. All of us support Israel, the democratic Israel; but we also support justice for the Palestinians. There's a band of people in that part of the world who not only favor a final solution for Palestinians - expulsion not just from the territories but also Israel proper - but also wants to destroy the democratic nature of the country and make it an absolute monarchist and very misogynistic kingdom."
"Oh, my God, " said Ruthie. "He's funneling money to Kahane Chai - Kach. Which has been listed as a terrorist group by the States for nearly twenty years." She gasped at the implication.
"I'm pretty sure that in their pious zeal to 'support' Israel," said Rod, "those televangelist phonies also talk about how they're support rabbinical schools in Israel. Except that education is supported by the state in that country. And no one has ever bothered to check out to see if they are Kahanist fronts – or worse. Shelby and I have done some digging of our own and we think at least a few of them are. While we don't have definitive proof yet, if this sheep of ours has done what we think he did, he's beyond being lost, he's irredeemable. And once the shit hits the fan, the ramifications will be huge. Hundreds of people will be broke, and the Middle East could tip into catastrophe.
"So, guys, understand, we need to go at this very, very carefully. Shelby and I will do what do best which is counterintelligence. If we need you to do research, we'll tell you what it is but under no circumstances can you talk about it openly. Web searches and print-offs on secure terminals, and hand edits only. Don't even discuss this in pillow talk. My wife and I may discuss our military lives and our tours of duty related to that in bed, but never intelligence matters. You understand why by now."
"Our lips are sealed," promised Ruthie. "As far as anyone knows, we're simply the Reverends Camden, Connor, Parker and Petrowski. We won't tell our parents, we won't tell our siblings and of course not our kids - extremely gifted as they are, as are yours – they certainly don't need to know that a possible minion for the Devil might be in our midst."
"I wouldn't go that far, but as Dr. Seuss said, 'Loose lips sink ships,'" said Shelby.
"Well," said Peter, "I have to see Parkinson at the hospital, and Rod, you're meeting with the manager of the woman's shelter. Let's get going. Ruthie, are you okay with the kids?"
"Sure."
Once the men had left, and Ruthie and Shelby made sure their respective children were still having fun in the play room (being looked after by the executive secretary), Shelby returned with Ruthie to their office. They were taking off their gowns when Shelby turned to her colleague.
"Ruthie, there's something I need to talk to you about and I didn't want the guys to hear this. Have you got a few minutes?"
"Of course, Shelby," said Ruthie. "I'm always here to help, just as you are for me. What's up?"