Table of Contents

Introduction

Renegade

About the Author

Preview Other Titles by Mark Tier

Give Me Liberty and Visions of Liberty

Trust Your Enemies

Ayn Rand’s 5 Surprisingly Simple Rules for Judging Political Candidates

How To Get A Second Passport

When God Speaks for Himself

The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros

Introduction

Renegade was first published in the anthology, Visions of Liberty, I co-edited with Martin H. Greenberg.

The theme: Society Without Government—that Works. With stories from stellar authors like Lloyd Biggle, Jr., Robert Sawyer, Mike Resnick, Michael Stackpole, Jane Lindskold, James Hogan—and even the legendary Jack Williamson.

So imagine my surprise when I received my copy of the book to see this on the very first page:

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE . . .

Granddad told me about Amanda Green, a teacher in a small town near San Francisco. When she didn’t show up at school one morning, someone went to see if she was hurt—and found her house trashed, all her files and computer gone, but no sign of her.

And her valuables untouched. No ordinary burglars.

Her neighbors knew nothing. But they’d heard the familiar sounds of the sirens and car doors slamming and thumping feet in the middle of the night . . . and they’d closed their houses up tight.

A terrorist, claimed the HSS, inciting her students to rebel against the state.

A homely grandmother, a dedicated teacher, loved by her students, and respected by the community, a terrorist? For teaching her students the meaning of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?

Amanda Green was the spark that lit the fire. It started quietly, like a burning ember as groups held sporadic protests here and there. Only to be brutally repressed by the HSS police.

The TV coverage inflamed the nation. Within days millions of people across the country were parading with signs saying “Liberty or Death,” “Don’t Tread on Me,” and “Taxation is Theft.”

With all those famous authors to select from, the publisher, Baen Books, chose to feature this extract from Renegade!

What an honor.

So read on. And if you enjoy Renegade I’m sure you’ll enjoy the many other stories in Visions of Liberty and its companion anthology, Give Me Liberty, even more.

Renegade

On the giant screen in Union Square a marine running full tilt towards the camera suddenly spurted blood where his head had been. I was glad there was no sound—I felt sick enough already.

Before I could wonder what had happened to the cameraman the screen blanked for a fraction of a second, and the scene shifted to a bird’s-eye view of the jungle battle. And then cut to an ad.

On the old-fashioned ticker underneath—a copy of the relic in Times Square—the headline MARINES RETREAT appeared, one letter at a time.

A screech of brakes and the sound of scrunching steel jerked my attention back to the street. Most everyone on the sidewalk had come to a dead halt. Including me—and I hadn’t even noticed. I suddenly became aware of the unnatural silence: after all, it’s not every day you see someone’s head blown off live on a 500-foot three-dimensional screen. Drivers were mesmerized too. One of them must have hit the brakes and taken his car out of automatic. The roadnet braked the cars behind, but not fast enough to prevent a spectacular pile-up.

A lady nearby was throwing up in the gutter. My stomach started to churn. I took a few steps back. I felt a bit sick too, but I couldn’t feel sorry for the guy. He’d volunteered knowing full well what the risks were. And was—had been—highly paid to take them. After all, every man and woman on both the Eighth Army and the Marines get a share of the holo and web rights. With the ratings on this mêlée his family, if he had one, will be well taken care of.

How much time had passed? More than I thought. Now I had to hurry to be at the hearing on time. As I and hundreds of others started moving again the normal Union Square bustle returned. Though it would be a while before the traffic followed suit.

8TH ARMY ODDS ON; MARINES 27-1 was now scrolling across the ticker. I’m not a gambling man but I can’t resist an all-but-sure-thing. 27 to 1! That was like taking candy from the mouths of babes.

A few taps on my phone and I learned that the US Marines were retreating all across the front. But the retreat was slow and it didn’t seem like they were about to fold. Sure wouldn’t do their image any good if they gave up so easily. We Never Quit was their marketing slogan.

If they held out for just a few days I’d clean up. A good friend of mine, an executive of the Eighth Army Inc., had told me that their client—don’t ask me whether it was the government of Columbia or the government of Venezuela; I haven’t really been following this fracas too closely—had run out of money. That’s real money I mean: they had plenty of that stuff they printed down there, whatever they called it, and a wheelbarrow full of it and a silver dime might get you a cup of coffee in San Francisco if the vendor was short of toilet paper.

Whichever gang of thugs it was, if they didn’t pay up by Monday the Eighth Army Inc. was flying straight back home. Today was Friday. Planes and choppers were on standby over in Florida to pull them out at a moment’s notice. Then all that would stand between the US Marines and the thugs running Venezuela (or Columbia) was the rag-tag gaggle of bandits they called their army.

Those marines would walk it in the rest of the way. And the bookies would have to pay up.

A few more taps and I placed two hundred ounces (gold, not silver) on the Marines to win. If the Eighth Army pulled a rabbit out of the hat over the weekend, losing that gold would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill me. Like I told you, I’m not a gambling man. You always gotta calculate the odds. If you work with an insurance company for as long as I have without learning that you’re still pushing paper.

The phone beeped to tell me I had a couple of minutes to be on time. Then it rang and Joe’s ugly face (he’s my partner) appeared on the screen. “Where the hell are you?” he growled. I looked to find out. “Just walking into the lobby of the building,” I told him. I turned the phone so he could see for himself. He harrumphed, and his face disappeared from the screen. Joe was like that: didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. Wasn’t much good with small talk either.

*****

I took my seat just before the judge walked in, followed by his staff. Adjudicator-in-Chief was his official title, but everybody called them judges.

When he was young, my granddad became a cop just before the tax revolt brought down the government and cops disappeared altogether. Here, anyway. I guess there are still cops in Columbia (or Venezuela) and other places which still have governments. What he told me about judges in his time bear no relation to adjudicators today. For a start, adjudicators are unbribable. Well, Chief Adjudicators. Offer one of them a bribe and he resigns your case. Then you’re in deep doodoo. Boycotted. You’ll never get another reputable adjudication outfit to take you on.

In a way, I guess I’m following in my grandfather’s footsteps. Joe and I run San Francisco Investigations, one of the biggest agencies in the city. Occasionally we do some of the things cops used to do. Like today’s case: murder.

Judge Wainwright was pushing eighty, though you’d never have guessed it. He strode into the room with the walk and energy of a much younger man. That, and his full head of hair—even if it was grey—meant he could pass for fifty-something. I resolved once again to spend more time at the gym—his youthful look made me jealous. Hell, he looks younger than I am!

Wainwright commanded the highest fees in the business, such was his experience and reputation for impartiality. Any of the freshmen advocates from his firm could have easily handled today’s case. I’d expected one of them to be mediating. So why does All-Risk Insurance—they’re our biggest client—want to spend so much money when any junior could have taken his place for peanuts? It didn’t figure.

Wainwright sat down at the head of the table in the center of the room. Adjudicators’ hearing rooms are often highly personalized. This design was one of the more interesting.

The only way to know this table’s “head” is by where the judge sits. It’s almost, but not quite, circular. Look a second time and it seems triangular. It’s both.

Wainwright’s staff arranged themselves on one side of the circular triangle. The All-Risk team sat at another.

To any casual watcher on the web it should have been immediately clear why a junior adjudicator could have handled this hearing: the third side was empty. The defendant, Gerald Murdock—the murderer—wasn’t represented. And he hadn’t shown up. Not that anyone expected him to: he’d disappeared straight after the murder and no one knew—or was willing to tell—where he’d gone.

That’s why Joe and I were both here. Our firm had handled the case; we carried out the investigation, took the depositions, and so on. The moment the adjudicator made his ruling we were going to have to find the guy and get him to cough up what the judge was about to decide he owed.

Anyone who knew nothing about the killing of Randolph Ackerman had to be blind, deaf and dumb. With group sex, drugs, wife- and secretary-swapping, oodles of money, not to mention nude bodies (one of them dead) and a murderer who’d done a disappearing act with bundles of money, the tabloids had a field day.

Last Saturday evening Gerald Murdock joined Randolph Ackerman for dinner and a group sex party at Ackerman’s penthouse on Nob Hill. Murdock’s secretary, Annabelle Pearson, Ackerman’s wife Sophia and her sister Jude were also there to join in the fun and games.

The two men had a few business interests together and over the last couple of years there’d been lots of friction and disagreement between them. Apparently, both of them felt their partner was getting more than his fair share of the profits. They’d come to a peace agreement, and the purpose of the dinner was to celebrate and cement it. Bury the hatchet, if you will.

After dinner, after several bottles of wine, tabs of cocaine, and god knows what other cocktails, and lots of group groping, Ackerman and Murdock got into an argument over one of the women. The argument quickly degenerated into a vicious rehash of every accusation they’d ever made against each other.

Seemingly livid with rage, Murdock grabbed a gun from his jacket and shot Ackerman between the eyes. Waving the gun at the women he quickly dressed, ran out of the apartment, down the stairs and into a passing cab.

The women were so stunned—not to mention drunk and/or drugged—that they were slow to act. They first called an ambulance, which arrived just minutes after Murdock had left the building. Not that an ambulance was any help to Ackerman by then. Only after that did they call security. The place was crawling with armed guards (ours) just moments after the ambulance arrived. Just moments too late.

Both witnesses—Annabelle Pearson played mute—agreed with each other down to most of the fine details. And since they were both interviewed while the body was being taken away, still semi-naked, wrapped in sheets or towels, they didn’t have time to concoct any fairytales.

Ackerman’s hobby, however, made it an open and shut case. He liked to record his sex-parties with multiple holographic cameras and edit them into home porn shows. He had hundreds of them. Someone bootlegged the files. The murder—along with Ackerman’s entire porn library—is readily available all over cyberspace. It’s the worst thing to hit Hollywood and the holo nets in years.

We tracked down the cab Murdock had picked up on Nob Hill. He’d gotten out at Union Square, and then his trail disappeared. We couldn’t find any trace of him. We figured he had a car parked there and a second identity already fixed up, probably with one of the sleazier insurance outfits.

By Monday it was obvious that Murdock hadn’t fired that shot in a moment of angry passion. Over the previous months he’d quietly sold all his business interests and closed his stock and bank accounts. He’d turned the last of his real estate into cash just the week before. All but one of his bank accounts were cleaned out. He’d even managed to skim some of the cash from his joint ventures with Ackerman just minutes before the banks closed on Saturday. Ackerman hadn’t suspected a thing.

One of his companies remained. The reason emerged when we asked the Insurance Association data bank for information on Gerald Murdock: he had no insurance cover whatsoever in his own name. One reason he wasn’t represented before the adjudicator.

His sole remaining company, GMR Holdings, was insured. With the Mafia Corporation of Washington, DC. They weren’t too cooperative. Never were: just the minimum level to ensure that other insurance agencies cooperated with them when they needed it. It was part of their heritage—according to their marketing. They were proud of their history as a private protection agency back when the government kept trying to put any competitor out of business.

As Mafia insured the company, not Murdock, they were under no obligation to give us the time of day. When we called they were as mute as mollusks.

And on Monday Annabelle Pearson paid every remaining bill and proceeded to shut that company down too.

All the money was gone. Thousands of gold ounces.

Gerald Murdock’s legal identity had been tied to his company. His credit cards, bank accounts, agreements, and everything else. Very clever. He could deal normally in our society and any trace would lead back to his company, not him.

It also meant there were no records of Murdock: no voiceprints, fingerprints or retina scans on file that we could access to help track him down.

We made a voiceprint from Ackerman’s holo of the party. We found fingerprints that were probably Murdock’s. We ran them through the data bank and—as I’d expected—drew a blank.

It was as if Gerald Murdock didn’t exist. No doubt exactly what he had in mind.

*****

“Good morning gentlemen,” said Wainwright. “We’re here today to adjudicate the accusation that Gerald Murdock murdered Randolph Ackerman. Is Mr. Murdock present?”

When there was no answer, Wainwright asked, “Since Mr. Murdock does not appear to be here, who stands to speak for him?”

Again, no answer.

Wainwright was a stickler for procedures. He already knew that Murdock wasn’t represented. But any missing step could give grounds for a re-hearing or appeal. If Murdock ever surfaced to make a challenge. “Who speaks for the estate of Randolph Ackerman?”

“I do sir.”

Joe and I looked at each other and I could see he felt as startled as me. Martin Li, the attorney who’d answered, billed more per hour than Wainwright. As usual, I was surprised I hadn’t noticed him before. Strangely for a lawyer, he seemed to disappear in a crowd. Yet he was an extraordinarily handsome man. Eurasian most likely. But you just didn’t see him until he began to use his deep, penetrating voice. From that moment on, I always had difficulty pulling my eyes away from him.

So why did All-Risks want two of the highest-powered guys in the business on this case? No reason popped into my head, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that it would somehow involve us.

This case had moved at lightning speed. Murder Saturday; evidence all assembled by Thursday morning; hearing today. No defendant to argue with helped. Still, fast in our business was normally two to three weeks between crime and hearing for an open and shut case. Ever since Sunday night, our office had looked more like a student dorm without maid service than a place of business. I don’t think any of us had had a good night’s sleep all week.

“Be it noted that Gerald Murdock has failed to appear to contest the charges against him,” Wainwright said. Turning to Li he asked, “Do you contend that this hearing has jurisdiction over the case?”

“Indeed it does, sir. Mind if I walk around? I think better.”

Wainwright waved his hand in a gesture of assent.

“It is conceivable that by his absence,” said Li as he paced slowly from one side of the room to the other, “from the fact that he is not represented here today the defendant, Gerald Murdock, could argue that this hearing does not have jurisdiction.

“If he did, he would be wrong.

“Randolph Ackerman was a client of All-Risk Insurance. His person and his property, including his apartment, was insured by All-Risk under a general all-risk policy. That policy included legal representation and mediation with other members of the Insurance Association and their clients. That policy was registered with the Association.

“When Gerald Murdock entered Ackerman’s apartment on Saturday night, he implicitly agreed to place himself under the rules of Ackerman’s policy with All-Risk.”

“Was there a notice to this effect?” asked Wainwright.

“Yes, sir,” answered Li. “On all entrances to Ackerman’s apartment.”

These signs are so common the only time I become aware of them when they aren’t there. They usually read:

WARNING

This property is insured by XYZ Insurance Co. By entering this property you agree to be bound by the rules of the policy and the American Insurance Association.

“Has this been attested?” asked Wainwright.

“Yes, sir.” One of Li’s assistants passed a file to Wainwright, who quickly skimmed through it. Though I’d bet he’d read it all before.

“As Gerald Murdock is neither represented here today,” Li said, “nor has he any known contract with any member of the American Insurance Association, or any of the other insurance associations in North America, he is uninsured. And was uninsured at the time Randolph Ackerman died.” Li’s assistant passed another folder to Wainwright. “In that file,” Li continued, “are the results of our search for any insurance cover of Gerald Murdock.

“Being uninsured, any of his actions while upon the property of Randolph Ackerman are to be adjudicated by the rules of Ackerman’s policy with All-Risk Insurance. He implicitly agreed to that upon entry.”

Two more files were pushed across the table to Wainwright. They’d be copies of Ackerman’s policy and All-Risk’s rules.

“In that case,” said Wainwright, “I hereby rule that this hearing has the legal jurisdiction to adjudicate the accusation that Gerald Murdock murdered Randolph Ackerman.”

Every adjudication session began with these formalities. Now they were over, Wainwright turned with obvious relief to Li and asked, “Is there anything you’d like to add to your brief?”

Knowing Wainwright, he’d already mastered every nuance of the evidence the All-Risk team had prepared—including any errors or omissions. Today’s hearing was, other than the decision itself, the final part of the adjudication process.

“No sir,” answered Li.

“Then, please proceed with your summary.”

“The facts are clear,” said Li. “At 11:07 last Saturday evening, Gerald Murdock shot Randolph Ackerman. The time was established from Ackerman’s holo. He died instantly, according to the doctor who examined the body. Murdock left the apartment, hailed a cab, got off at Union Square, and hasn’t been seen since.

“These facts were established from interviews with two of the three witnesses, Sophia Ackerman, the victim’s wife, and Jude Schwarz, her sister, and from the holo. A secure copy of the holo was made immediately it was discovered by bonded detectives from San Francisco Investigations.

“The third witness, Annabelle Pearson, Murdock’s secretary, refused to answer any questions.”

My attention was again riveted to Martin Li. I was vaguely aware that Wainwright sat stock still, like a grey stone god, only his eyes moving as Li walked.

“Both witnesses agreed that no one had been near the computer recording the holo, a fact borne out by the holo itself. Between the murder and the time the detectives entered the apartment twelve minutes later, none of the three women or the medics went anywhere near the computer. There was no one else in the apartment at the time: the maid and the butler who served dinner had already gone home.”

Wainwright made a cryptic note with his pencil, the first time he’d moved since Li began to speak.

“Bonded computer experts testified that the only access to the holo files was through the terminal in the living room, and the terminal in Ackerman’s study which could only be entered from the living room.

“Since there can be no question of the veracity of the holographic file of the murder that we have presented in evidence, it is clear that Gerald Murdock is guilty of the murder of Randolph Ackerman beyond a shadow of doubt.

Li stopped pacing for a moment and let silence hang over the room.

“We have prepared significant excerpts from the holos and depositions that show these facts. Would you care to review them, sir?”

“No need,” said Wainwright. “However, please show me evidence that supports your contention that no one went near the computer terminals.”

“Certainly sir.” Turning to one of his assistants, he continued, “Blair, can you bring up the holo at the time of the murder.”

“Alleged murder please, Mr. Li. Murder—or otherwise —has yet to be determined.”

“Of course, sir.”

The holo shimmered and then solidified on top of the table. Murdock was frozen with his hand reaching into his jacket. Ackerman stood naked in the center of the room, his face bright red, his mouth open in the middle of a scream. The three women lay on the sofa or the floor in different states of undress.

Li walked around the table to stand behind his assistant. He spoke softly and the scene revolved. After a moment, a door and a terminal were highlighted.

“This is the computer terminal in the living room,” he said, and leaned over the table putting his hand inside the holo to point at the keyboard. “And this —” he pointed at the highlighted door “— is the only entrance into the study, with the only other terminal that could access these files.”

At a gesture from Li, another of his assistants passed two files to Wainwright. “These files show the layout of the computers, and which terminal could access which file type, kind and level of security,” said Li, “and the layout of Ackerman’s penthouse apartment.”

“Thank you,” said Wainwright, making another note. “Continue,” he said, looking at Li.

Li said a few more quiet words to his assistant, and stepped back.

“We’ll hold the holo on the door and the keyboard and fast forward it to the moment the secure copy was made.” As he spoke Murdock sprang to life and for the second time today I saw a man die. This one didn’t affect me nearly as much. I’d seen it before, and knew it was coming.

I felt like laughing at the way Murdock dressed and disappeared in a flurry of clothing and as the three almost-naked women seemed to run every which way across the room. A team of medics appeared and suddenly the room seemed to overflow with armed men. As one of them looked into the study the picture slowed back to normal speed.

“As you can see, this is the first time anyone has been near the keyboard or the door,” Li said.

Sam Renkin, one of our investigators, sat down at the keyboard. A moment later he said, “Hey, this thing is recording something.”

Li signalled his assistant and the holo stopped. “From this moment on,” he said, “this man, Sam Renkin, a bonded detective from San Francisco Investigations never left the keyboard until a secure copy of the files on the computer was made.

“One other point. These files could be accessed by voice, but only by Ackerman’s voice. The computer would respond to Mrs. Ackerman’s voice for other commands. Otherwise, only with a password that Mrs. Ackerman said she did not know. Indeed, when Mr. Renkin asked her if she’d known that the computer was recording everything, she went into shock and had to be treated by the medics.”

Turning to Wainwright he asked, “Do you have any other questions, sir?”

With a slight shake of his head, Wainwright indicated that Li should continue. As the holo shimmered and disappeared Wainwright ceased being a faint shadow behind Sam Renkin’s face.

“In our brief, we outlined the substantial circumstantial evidence that strongly suggests Murdock had murder in mind when he arrived for dinner.

“But the facts are clear. At 11:07 last Saturday evening, Gerald Murdock shot and killed Randolph Ackerman. There can be no doubt of Murdock’s guilt. For that reason, whether he killed Murdock in a fit of anger or, as we submit, as part of a long-standing plan makes absolutely no difference to the penalty we seek.

“Gerald Murdock is guilty.”

Li took a sheet of paper from his place at the table and passed it to Wainwright.

“The high probability the murder was premeditated merely adds weight to our claim that Murdock pay the highest penalty the law allows. And it’s to that penalty I’d now like to turn.

“We submit that Murdock be required to pay to All-Risk Insurance the sum of 125,115 gold ounces, plus all costs, with interest.”

The amount Li asked for drew a low whistle of astonishment from several spectators, including me. People started whispering to each other until Wainwright’s sharp “Quiet, please,” brought silence back to the room. “Continue.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Li. “If he fails to pay the penalty, ownership of all property identified as belonging to him be transferred to All-Risk Insurance in full or partial settlement of the penalty. As he has disappeared entirely and has no known legal identity, we ask that Gerald Murdock be declared a renegade and outlaw until such time as the penalty is paid in full.”

Now I understood why they’d rushed to have this case adjudicated. They’d be able to take ownership of Murdock’s companies. GMR Holdings was the only one left. If they could grab it before Annabelle Pearson closed it down completely they’d have a chance of being able to trace money and with it, Murdock.

Correction: We’d have a chance. Joe and I were going to be the ones who had to find him.

“As we all know, and as Murdock must also know, the penalty for murder is restitution to the heirs of the victim for the value of the life taken, and restitution of any other damages directly attributable to the death.

“Ackerman’s life was insured by All-Risk for the sum of 15,000 gold ounces. We seek reimbursement of that amount. “In addition, Ackerman’s policy with All-Risk includes coverage of violent death, such as murder.

“Because of this provision, All-Risk had complete access to Ackerman’s financial records and routinely up-dated this risk. The calculation of the value of Ackerman’s life, based on the present value of his estimated future earning power, totals 110,115 gold ounces. This amount is exhaustively documented in the brief, using standard Insurance Association scales.”

That was a big number, even for someone as wealthy as Ackerman. It’s a number you could easily low-ball. That was one of the things I liked about All-Risk: they never stiffed their customers.

How do you figure someone’s future earning potential? You make lots of assumptions. Assumptions that would have been challenged—if there’d been a Murdock representative to challenge them.

“The penalty we seek includes reimbursement of the 15,000 gold ounces in life insurance cover that All-Risk has already paid to Ackerman’s widow, Sophia Ackerman All-Risk, and the sum of 110,115 gold ounces that would become immediately due and payable by All-Risk Insurance.

“We also submit that the penalty include all the costs of the investigation and these proceedings to date, plus the costs yet to be disbursed in finding the defendant and recovering the penalty.

“Finally, that the penalty include interest on the outstanding amount from the moment the decision of these proceedings is finalized to the time the penalty has been recovered in full.”

Wainwright was looking at the papers Li had given him. When Li stopped talking he looked up.

“Subject to any questions, the plaintiff rests.”

“No questions,” said Wainwright. In a louder voice, looking around the room. “Is there anyone here to speak for Gerald Murdock?”

Once more he was greeted with silence.

“In that case, this hearing is adjourned until two o’clock.” As Wainwright stood up his assistants followed suit. A hubbub of conversation quickly filled the silence as they left the room.

I grabbed Joe by the arm. “Let’s go and talk to Li before everybody else does.”

A loose knot of people had gathered around him. I squeezed through and offered him my hand. “Nicely put, counselor.”

“Hi Ray.” He smiled at me. “Joe.”

“We were surprised to see both you and Wainwright here today.”

“They don’t want the faintest question as to the probity of the verdict.”

Up close, I noticed that his eyes looked tired. “Looks like you haven’t had much sleep recently. Either.”

He laughed. “We’re hoping to give you a warm trail to follow. If there’s any trail at all.”

“There’s always something—”

“Ah, there you are.” A voice came from behind me. “Joe. Ray. We need to talk right away.” I turned as somebody’s hand grabbed my arm and started tugging it gently.

“Hi Fritz. Anyone here had any sleep this week?” Fritz Gandhi—he had an Indian father and a German mother—was chief of All-Risk’s San Francisco bureau.

“Plenty of time for that next week. Or next month,” he said.

“Look like I have to go,” I said to Martin. “See you at two.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Fritz. “You’ll be too busy.”

*****

Joe and I followed Fritz into a nearby room along with a number of people I recognized from his office. A woman I did not know, who was stunningly attractive despite her full head of grey hair, was already sitting at the table.

“Ray, Joe, I’d like you to meet Noni Brooks. Noni, this is Ray Black and Joe Herrera. They head San Francisco Investigations.”

“Good,” she said. I presumed our reputation had preceded us. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Noni’s from Berkshire Re,” Fritz explained. “They have—potentially—a large interest in this case.”

“They reinsured the violent death cover?” Joe asked. Noni and Fritz both nodded.

Noni Brooks certainly didn’t waste any time. “The question is: can you find Gerald Murdock?” But her look seemed to say: If you can’t, we’ll get someone who can.

Berkshire Re is the biggest—and smartest—insurance outfit in the world. They obviously wanted Murdock and his money found. And they don’t take “impossible” as an answer.

“What’s the budget?” asked Joe.

“Five hundred ounces,” said Noni.

“To start with,” added Fritz.

“You’re assuming Wainwright will find him guilty,” I said.

“No,” said Noni, “we’re not assuming that. Though we expect he will.” She looked at her watch. “Judge Wainwright will give his decision three and a half hours from now. If we just sit around and wait till then and the verdict is guilty, that’s three and a half hours we’ve lost.

“Do I need to point out the obvious? It’s Friday already, and this man is going to be very hard to find. His trail’s getting colder by the minute. One extra hour could be the difference between success and failure.”

What about the five days we’ve already lost? I thought to myself. But I said, “If anyone can find him, we can.” Joe nodded his agreement.

“As far as you’re concerned,” said Fritz, “Wainwright has already pronounced him guilty. We’ll call you when he announces his decision but we want you to be ready to move the moment he does.”

“GMR Holdings,” said Joe.

“That’s right,” said Fritz. “Follow the money. We’ve got all the papers ready: five minutes after Wainwright rules we’ll be in possession of the company. Then we have to get Murdock’s secretary out of the office and see what she’s left for us to find.”

“I want to see the bank records,” I said. “Murdock disappeared at Union Square Saturday night. Like the Invisible Man. Feels like we’ve been like hitting our heads against a brick wall ever since.”

“That’s exactly the point,” said Fritz. “Somewhere in the company’s records should be a warm trail to follow. At least a lead, a hint of some kind.”

“Looks like our only bet,” said Joe.

Noni Brooks shook her head. “There’ll be a reward. One thousand ounces for information that leads us to Murdock.”

“Who’ll screen the replies?” asked Joe.

“We want you to do that. You’re the experts,” said Fritz.

“That’ll cost extra,” said Joe. “Murdock will be ‘seen’ all over the world.”

“We only need one.”

“Yeah. But figuring which is the right one will cost a fortune.”

Fritz turned to Noni, who nodded her head.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re also going after the money Murdock skimmed from the joint venture companies. We’re claiming Murdock broke the partnership agreements which would make it theft.”

“But I thought he had the right to withdraw that money,” I said.

“He had the right to spend the money on joint venture business. Not to pay himself without Ackerman’s agreement. Anyway, we’ll have a judgment in a day or three. If the judge rules against Murdock, he’ll be guilty of theft as well as murder.”

“Good,” said Joe.

Everybody turned to look at him. “Why?” someone asked.

“Never mind now,” said Fritz. “It’s time we got moving.”

“Who’s handing things on your end?” Joe asked.

“Tony Ramirez. He’s expecting your call.”

“What I want to know,” said Joe, to no one in particular, “is why did he do it? What’s his motive?”

*****

“Greed or lust,” said Joe as we walked out onto Geary.

“What about revenge?”

Joe shook his head. “Doesn’t figure.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Joe. He stepped into the tobacco store we’d just passed.

“Heavens above,” he said, jogging up to where I’d stopped. He stared at his phone in one hand and a packet of Maui Wowie Lights in the other. “They’ve gone down in price again!”

I jangled the coins in my pocket. Joe never carried any, always paying by phone. Call me weird if you like, but I enjoy the feel, the weight of gold and silver.

“So what’s new?” I asked.

“They dropped last month, and they’re down again already.”

Thinking of our payroll I said, “Wish salaries went down like everything else.”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“So what do you want with them?” I asked him.

“Added inspiration.”

“I’m inspired enough already.”

“I said added inspiration, you dummy. I want to watch the holo. There’s bound to be something, something somebody said or did, that will give us a clue.”

****

The rest of the morning disappeared in a blaze of activity. But at two o’clock we were ready. At 2:05 Wainwright announced his decision: Guilty. At 2:10 one team from All-Risk, along with some of our operatives, moved in to Murdock’s office. A second team went to the Bank of San Francisco. At 2:15, they zapped us the account records of GMR Holdings.

“What’s the time in Switzerland?” asked Joe as the records scrolled across the screen.

I thought for a minute. “Bedtime, I’d say.”

“Damn. Bet Swiss banks aren’t open Saturdays, either.” Joe pointed at the screen. “I don’t like the look of that.” His fingers danced over the keyboard and the screen split into half-a-dozen different displays.

“See,” he said. “All the money was sent to Swiss banks. All these transfers —” all but one of the displays lit up “— went to three different Swiss banks. Union Bank, Credit Suisse, Bank Leu. All big names.”

“We should get some cooperation out of them. What’s the problem?”

Joe punched a button on the keyboard and the display that hadn’t been highlighted filled the screen.

“Right there. That wire went Saturday. Anstalt Bank. Where the hell is Vaduz, anyway?” He highlighted the bank’s name and an information screen appeared. “Vaduz, Liechtenstein. Oh hell.”

“Liechtenstein,” I murmured. “So how do we stand with them?”

“Those guys in Liechtenstein don’t say ‘boo’ to their own mothers. Let’s see. Court order required,” he read from a new display. “Hmmm. To get that, the whole case has to be retried in Vaduz. Witnesses. Everything. God knows how long that would take—years possibly. They don’t recognize our adjudication process.”

“Anyway,” I said, “what’s the bet all the money is some other place?”

“Ha. Want me to take the wrong side of a sure thing?

The phone rang and a message blinked on the screen that Tony Ramirez was calling. “Good,” said Joe as he pushed the ACCEPT button. Tony’s face appeared on the screen.

“Seen the bank records?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Joe. “Liechtenstein.”

“And Switzerland, which is a bit more cooperative. Monday, we’ll be filing cases in both places.”

“So what are the chances of getting any information?” I asked.

“Not good,” said Ramirez.

“Better, though, when we get a ruling that Murdock stole the money from the joint ventures. That case should be finished this afternoon.

“You got anything?”

“Lots of questions,” said Joe. “You got any answers?”

“Lots,” Ramirez laughed. “See what you guys can dig up in Switzerland.”

“Sure. We’ll be on the next ship out. Let us know if they find Murdock guilty of theft.”

“Will do.” After Tony had signed off Joe asked me, “Who is our guy in Switzerland?”

“Günter Lattman. Remember?”

“Let’s call him.” Günter’s number appeared on the screen.

“Wait! How cooperative do you think he’ll be if you wake him up in the middle of the night?”

“You’re right,” Joe said, grudgingly.

“Send him a message, ask him to call us as soon as he can. Let him wake us up in the middle of the night.”

Joe nodded as the phone rang again. It was Andy, one of our investigators who’d gone with the All-Risk team to Murdock’s office.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“She didn’t leave much for us to find. Most of the computers have been wiped clean. We’ll see what we can recover, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. She’s had a whole week.”

“Anything at all?”

“Well . . .I don’t know. We haven’t moved anything yet. I’d like you to come down and have a look. Joe, I mean. My gut feeling is he might smell something.”

I didn’t take offence. Joe’s “nose” had taken on a mystical quality in our company.

“We’re on our way.”

*****

What had clearly been Murdock’s office had a wonderful, close-up view of the building next door. We entered through a general office/reception area with three desks. A second, smaller office had been Annabelle Pearson’s.

Joe stood in the center of Murdock’s office, deep in thought. We all knew better than to interrupt him when he was in this state.

This office, like the others, had been all but stripped clean. Other than a few papers in the trash cans, a few files lying around, some old newspapers and magazines, all that was left was two bookshelves full of books. Mostly travel guides.

After a while Joe said, “It’s too obvious.” One of the All-Risk guys started to ask him, “What—” and was silenced. “Wait,” somebody whispered to him.

Joe walked to one of the shelves and scanned the titles. They were mostly tourist guides to countries in Africa and South America. On one of the tightly packed shelves it was a hole where a book had been removed. The missing book was one of the travel guides.

“It’s like Murdock left instructions. ‘Ms Pearson,’” he recited, “‘please destroy everything but don’t remove or touch anything on the bookshelves.’”

“It’s like Murdock’s trying to tell us, ‘Please waste your time looking for me here.’”

“Somewhere in Africa,” I said. “Starting with ‘N.’”

“Nigeria,” someone said.

“Niger.”

“Nairobi.”

“Nepal.”

“Nepal’s in Asia, muscle head.”

“Never mind.” Turning to Andy Joe said, “What I’d like you to do is set up these books and shelves in my office, exactly as they are now. Make a list of all the countries; see what’s missing. And what the missing book probably is. See what you find out about trips Murdock took. Was he a traveler or a stay-at-home? Where did he go on vacations? What were his hobbies? Things like that. We need a better feel for this man.”

“Right,” said Andy.

“Wherever he is, I’ll bet he’s not where that bookshelf is pointing us to.”

“Perhaps he’s sitting there laughing at us while we’re looking everywhere else,” said one of the people from All-Risk. “Wheels within wheels.”

“That really helps narrow down the search,” I said.

“Or maybe Annabelle Pearson took it,” said Andy. “Maybe she wants to go there.”

Talking to himself again, Joe murmured, “I’ll bet she does.”

*****

“Want me to order you guys pizza or something before I head for home?”

Molly’s voice pulled me away from the screen. I rubbed my eyes, bleary from hours poring over files and documents. By contrast Molly (our receptionist) was bright and chirpy: she was about the only member of our staff who hadn’t been putting in 26-hour days.

Joe seemed to be asleep, his feet up on the desk and his chair laying all the way back. With Joe, appearances are always deceptive. “Good idea,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Want the usual?” she asked.

“Sure, pepperoni,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Joe, “with just a sprinkle of hash.”

“You too?” said Molly, looking at me.

“Not for me. I want to keep my head clear so I’ll stick to beer. If you could order a six-pack—make sure they’re ice-cold.”

“What’s the time?” asked Joe.

“Six,” Molly said. “Oh . . . and everybody else is wondering if you want them to stay another night, or can they all go home?”

I looked at Joe. “Tell ’em to go home, sleep—and keep their phones on in case we need ’em at three o’clock in the morning.”

“Thanks, Molly,” I said.

As she closed the door Joe stirred himself; stretched; and sat up. He reached for the still-unopened packet of Maui Wowie Lights lying on his desk and pulled out a joint. “Time to look at that holo,” he said.

Joe and I shared a large office. Our desks half-faced each other so we could work privately or talk when we wanted to. A couple of very comfortable sofas lined the opposite wall—they’d proved their worth this week. The books and bookshelves from Murdock’s office had been set up against the wall to Joe’s left.

“Any inspirations?” I asked, waving at the books.

“Needle in a haystack. I think that’s a red herring. My gut’s bugging me about that holo. Maybe that’s where we’ll find our lead. Not in those books. Heard from Andy?”

I shook my head. “Let’s give him a call and see what he’s got.”

“No need—he’ll call in when he’s ready.”

Joe punched a button on his keyboard and the holo shimmered in the center of the room for a moment before stabilizing.

“This is hardly what I’d have chosen for a Friday night movie.”

Joe grinned. “Me neither. I’d rather watch the football. So let’s run it—maybe we can catch the end of the game.”

Fat chance. Having seen it before, I had trouble keeping awake. Joe on the other hand looked like he was going to fall asleep at any moment, only moving to munch on pizza. But he was actually in a highly-alert, trance-like state. Which deepened as the smoke in the room thickened. Just when he looked like he’d finally dozed off he wound the holo back saying “Look at this.”

Dinner was over, but the five of them were still at the dining table. Murdock and Ackerman were toasting each other. “To our partnership,” said Ackerman. “May it prosper,” said Murdock. “He doesn’t mean it,” said Joe.

Joe wound the holo back and locked it onto Murdock’s face and zoomed in. When Murdock said “May it prosper” he looped it, so Murdock said the same words over and over again.

“Look at his face,” Joe said. “It’s wooden. That smile is forced. He’s lying through his teeth.”

We know that, I thought. Just that morning he’d stripped the money out of the partnerships. He’s ready to run. I also knew better than to interrupt Joe when he was following his nose. I knew what he was trying to do: get inside their minds.

Joe then ran through the same scene again, with the perspective locked onto Ackerman. “He doesn’t notice.”

“What?” I asked.

“He can’t see it. He’s enthusiastic. Maybe he’s one of those people who can’t read faces; insensitive.”

“Maybe he’s too drunk or stoned.”

I only perked up when the women stripped off. No—I don’t “get off” from watching other people have sex. These three women, though, were something to look at. Like watching a beauty contest. And Ackerman’s wife, Sophia, was the clear winner.

“There it is. That’s why my nose has been twitching. It’s not Murdock at all.”

I couldn’t figure out what Joe was talking about.

“Look at this.” Joe locked the holo on Sophia Ackerman’s face. Even I could see it now: she and Murdock weren’t screwing; they were making love. Or she was: it was written all over her face.

Then Joe flicked to Annabelle Pearson. For just a moment there was a look of pure hatred on her face. Joe froze the picture, zoomed out, and it was clear that Annabelle Pearson was looking at Sophia and Murdock making love.

One more flick and we were looking at Sophia Ackerman. Just for a second, a look of disgust crossed her face: at that moment she was looking at her husband.

“That’s it,” said Joe. “The eternal triangle. Or quadrangle in this case. If we can’t follow the money, we can follow the sex.”

He punched his phone. “Andy. I want a twenty-four-hour tail on Mrs. Murdock and Annabelle Pearson . . . . Yes, starting right now . . . . Call anyone you need. This has got to be tight. You’ve all got to be ready to follow them wherever they go . . . . Sure, hire all the extra help you need . . . . Yeah, right, tell everyone to have their bags packed. And make sure your cards are loaded with cash: one of those women is going to lead us to Murdock as sure as my name is Joe Herrera, and you’ve got to be ready to go wherever in the world they go.”

For a while Joe listened, muttering “Yeah,” “Okay,” “Good,” and so on. Finally, “Okay, I’m on my way,” and put the phone down.

“Where?” I asked.

“Murdock’s apartment. I’m meeting Andy there.”

“My god, it’s getting on for midnight!”

“Well, I’m in the mood right now.”

“What’s Andy found out?”

“Oh, this and that. Sort of mood stuff. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Is that it?” I asked, motioning to the holo.

“Oh yeah, we’re finished with that. My nose has stopped itching.” With relief, I switched the holo off and the room was clear at last.

Joe grabbed his coat and waved “goodbye” as almost ran out the door. I’ve no idea where his energy came from; it just made me feel even more tired.

And then the phone rang. Who could be calling at this time of night? Maybe it was Sophia Ackerman looking for a date. I must have been dreaming.

“Hullo. Is this San Francisco Investigations?” said a voice I didn’t recognize. It was English English, but with a faint trace of a foreign accent I couldn’t place. No face appeared on the screen to help me out.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Oh, good morning Ray.”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s too early in the morning to show my face. Günter Lattman here.”

“Günter! You got my message? What time is it in Zurich?”

“About eight thirty. What are you doing in the office so late?”

“Working, more’s the pity.”

“I went quickly through the Murdock stuff you sent me. There’s no way I can get information out of a Swiss bank without a Swiss court order. And Swiss courts don’t recognize your murder penalties. If we found Murdock here we could lock him up for you—but that wouldn’t get you any money out of him.”

“All-Risks is going to file in a Zurich court bright and early Monday morning.”

“That’ll take weeks if you’re lucky. Months more likely. And even then, the Swiss court isn’t going to give you—or me—access to Swiss bank records. Not for murder.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. There’s another case against Murdock in court right now. For theft.”

“That’s different,” said Günter, enthusiasm showing in his voice at last. “If you can show there’s stolen money in a Swiss bank, well—”

“Murdock’s flown the coop. He didn’t show up in court today, and he won’t show up next week. So it should be open and shut.”

“Okay. You’ve still got to get a Swiss court order. But that’s a lot easier for theft. What do you want me help you get that done?”

“I’m pretty sure All-Risks will take care of that. I’ll check and let you know. Main thing is we want to see those records as soon as possible after we get the order. Can you set that up?”

“That I can do.”

“Great. I have to hit the sack. I’ll talk to All-Risks and get back to you next week.”

“Fine. Goodnight.”

After I’d closed up the office—kind of Joe to leave that to me—I slumped into my car, ordered it to take me “Home, Jeeves,” reclined the seat and dozed while the roadnet took me there. When the car pulled into the garage I was sound asleep; it had to wake me up.

*****

On Monday the Eighth Army called for a truce and pulled out. My bank account was flusher by 5,400 gold ounces. The rest of the week was downhill from there.

Tuesday Murdock was found guilty of theft; Thursday a Swiss court gave us access to Murdock’s bank records (which impressed Günter no end. “All-Risks must have pulled a lot of strings to get the hearing done so fast,” he told us); and Friday we had copies.

All the money had flown. To places like Nauru, the Cook Islands, Pitcairn, and other sandbars that made Mafia, Inc. look like first prize winners in a gabfest. The money trail was a dead end. Meanwhile our phones were ringing off the hook with more red herrings, thanks to Berkshire’s reward:

WANTED
for Murder and Theft:
1,000au REWARD

Gerald Murdock has been declared an outlaw and a renegade under the rules of the American Insurance Association. A reward of 1,000 gold ounces will be paid to the person who provides information leading to his arrest.

Outlaw means that no client of any AIA member is insured for any dealing with Gerald Murdock other than self-defence.

Renegade means that any member of the public who apprehends, arrests, or detains Gerald Murdock or assists in doing so will be considered a bonded representative of the AIA under its rules.

People were told to contact us—and they did. Within two days, Murdock had been sighted in 55 countries, every major city in North America and half the small towns.

Luckily for us, Berkshire paid for all the extra staff, phone lines, and follow-up on all the leads, just as Noni had promised.

Noni—and Fritz—weren’t quite so understanding on everything else.

Eventually, after several meetings, some of them heated, they had to agree that with the money trail dead and none of the leads leading us anywhere Joe’s instinct to “follow the sex” was all that was left.

“And if he dumps both women?” Noni asked.

Joe and I could only shrug.

*****

Some three months later I’d just gotten to sleep when a phone call from Andy woke me.

“I’m on a rocket to Tokyo. Just took off.”

“So? What? Why?”

“I nearly lost her on the way to the airport.”

“Who?”

“Sophia Ackerman. Are you asleep or something?”

“I was.”

“I didn’t get a chance to call in earlier. We land in Tokyo in 45 minutes and I’m going to need backup.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back.”

It was a wild night. We couldn’t arrange backup in time. Luckily, Andy kept up with her as she got on the Mag-Lev to Osaka. When the train arrived he had all the help he needed.

She took him on a merry chase, from Osaka to Shanghai, to Singapore, to Hong Kong and finally Manila. At each stop she changed her appearance. And at each stop from Osaka on, a female operative followed her into the bathroom. Otherwise we might have lost her entirely: each time, she had a new identity to go with each disguise.

She ended up in a condo in a high-security walled and gated village.

Andy sent us a picture of the happy couple by the condo pool.

“My god,” said Joe, “I’d never have recognized him. But it has to be him.”

Murdock had a goatee and mustache, had changed his hair and eye color (contacts, I figured), and had picked up a new nose somewhere along the line.

“Right,” I said. “If she was going to meet anyone else, why the merry chase?”

“Manila, hmmm,” Joe murmured. “No mountains, no beaches, no snow. Clever.” Among the useless information we’d piled up about Murdock was that he loved skiing, hiking, mountaineering, boats and deep sea fishing.

“All you have to do now,” he said to me, “is go to Manila and pick him up.”

The only non-stop service to Manila was an aging SuperJumbo. I didn’t fancy a 12-hour flight, so I took the rocket to Hong Kong and connected. Hong Kong-Manila took longer than San Francisco–Hong Kong.

*****

As a kid, I loved hearing my granddad’s stories about the tax revolt—but I never knew until after he died that he was one of its heroes.

He’d sit on the swinging chair on the porch every night to watch the sun go down. He’d set me on his knee and tell me how people hated the government, but were afraid. Some arm of the government called the “HSS” was rounding up terrorists, and nobody ever knew where they’d strike next. I’d wake up from nightmares of giants, dressed in black, storming into my room in the middle of the night. Even so, I could never resist another of his stories.

He told me about Amanda Green, a teacher in a small town near San Francisco. When she didn’t show up at school one morning, someone went to see if she was hurt—and found her house trashed, all her files and computer gone, but no sign of her.

And her valuables were untouched. No ordinary burglars. Her neighbors knew nothing. But they’d heard the familiar sounds of sirens and car doors slamming in the middle of the night . . . and closed their homes up tight.

Amanda Green was a terrorist, claimed the HSS, inciting her students to rebel against the state.

A homely grandmother, a dedicated teacher, loved by her students, and respected by the community a terrorist? For teaching her students the meaning of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?

Amanda Green was the spark that lit the fire. It started quietly like a burning ember, as groups held sporadic protests here and there. Only to be brutally suppressed by the HSS police.

The TV coverage inflamed people from coast to coast. Within days millions of people across the country were parading with signs saying “Liberty or Death,” “Don’t Tread on Me” and even “Taxation is Theft.”

One night an IRS office was burned down and somebody calling himself Tom Paine appeared on the web, urging people to strangle the government peacefully by refusing to pay taxes. As the idea caught on, the government called out the army to help the police help the tax collectors to “do their duty.” Despite widespread support for the tax revolt, the government was winning until a couple of big corporations announced they were joining in.

The way my granddad told me when I was a kid, the people united against the hated government and brought it tumbling down.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple or that easy, as I later found out. And I also learnt how granddad had persuaded some of his fellow policemen do their real duty: protect the public. The sight of police standing between the army and the people inspired thousands of other policemen to do the same. When soldiers started joining them, the government had no choice but to cave in.

When the government collapsed the oil-rich states of the middle east spotted an opportunity and hired a remnant of the US army to “liberate” the Muslims of the Philippines. They had no trouble at all gathering a seasoned force of veterans who were highly skilled in killing people.

The oil sheiks started a trend. Pretty soon American mercenaries were fighting other people’s wars for them all round the world. As they still are.

The Philippines—which used to be pretty much all the islands between Taiwan and Borneo—disintegrated. The Philippine army was no match for the Americans, who threw them out of Mindanao in a couple of weeks. Once Mindanao declared its independence other islands followed suit. Local elites grabbed control, often with the help of a few hundred American mercenaries, and the country disintegrated into a patchwork of competing warlords. What’s called the Philippines today is the island of Luzon and not much more.

The ride from the airport to the hotel—a slow crawl through an almost continuous traffic jam on what was labeled an “expressway,” interrupted only by detours around numerous potholes—did nothing to convince me that much had improved in three generations. Beggars in rags cadged pennies from millionaires riding in chauffeur-driven air-conditioned limousines. Here, a glitzy apartment building that wouldn’t have been out of place in San Francisco stood opposite a pile of garbage blocking the sidewalk and spilling out onto the street; there, a wall topped by razor-sharp barbed wire prevented the wealthy occupants of a village from seeing the teeming slums across the street.

My guess was that Murdock was merely waiting for the heat to die down before moving on.

*****

Andy had set up 24-hour surveillance on Murdock. Two of our operatives had moved into one of the condos as a “couple,” and had even become vaguely friendly with Murdock and Sophia Ackerman. Murdock’s story, they were told, was that he and his “wife” were retired and were taking a slow, multi-year trip around the world. His next stop? “Well, when we’ve finished here we’ll decide. Maybe flip a coin. Who can say?”

Andy introduced me to our local contact, Jose Guzman, known to everyone as “Boyet”, who I’d called on to help Andy “meet” Sophia Ackerman off the plane.

“We’ve got one of our people in the condo security force, and three or four others discretely patrolling the streets around the building.”

“Is that enough?” I asked.

“You have to understand that in the Philippines most everything is the opposite to what you’re used to. For example, in America, you have law but no government; here we have government but no law.”

“Maybe it’s jetlag, but I don’t get it.”

“The system here works on grease. Bribery and corruption. Of course there are laws—the government makes new ones every day. But whether they’re enforced, or how, depends on who pays what to whom. Going to court here is like going to an auction.

“What that means is everything and everyone is for sale. So you’ve got to know who you can really trust. That’s why I’ve put so few people onto Murdock. Once somebody talks, inevitably it will get back to Murdock or the people he’s paid off, and your bird will fly away.”

“So what do we do? And there’s no extradition agreement we can use.”

“Andy and I have talked about that. Here’s what I advise . . . .”

*****

It took another week of long days and sleepless nights, intense negotiations not to mention considerable expense before we were ready to spring the trap on Murdock. Speed, Boyet stressed, was the essence—a difficult proposition in a country where the local equivalent of the Mexican word manyana didn’t have quite the same sense of urgency—to make sure Murdock didn’t get wind of what we were up to.

As every day passed, more and more people were involved. We did our best to ensure secrecy by paying officials—up to and including the president—bribes we were pretty sure Murdock couldn’t match. One condition of the payments was that 80% of the money only got paid when Murdock was on a plane out of the country in handcuffs.

That didn’t mean someone who got wind of things couldn’t extract a healthy “reward” from Murdock for tipping him off. In my nightmares I was part of a gun battle between two groups of rent-a-cops on the streets of Manila.

On the appointed day, Tim—one of our two operatives who’d befriended Murdock—knocked on the door of his apartment. I, Andy, Boyet, the local chief of police and a couple of cops stood well back from the door. Other police, teamed up with Boyet’s people, stood guard on the apartment’s rear entrance, and took control of the lobby to guard the elevators as well as prevent the security guards from giving any warning.

“Hey, Tim, come in,” said Murdock as he opened the door. Tim took a step forward and then pushed Murdock hard in the chest so he fell backwards, landing in a heap on the floor. We rushed in, guns drawn.

“You bastards. And you,” he screamed, pointing at Tim, “are a low-down, lying, shit-faced scum of the earth.”

Two of the cops pulled him up and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. I heard a crash as Andy put his foot through one of the bedroom doors. In a moment a chastened Sophia Ackerman was led into the living room.

“You bitch,” said Murdock, his face reddening with his fury. “You brought them here.” Forgetting the handcuffs, he struggled to hit her. Realizing he couldn’t, he spat in her face instead.

“Yes,” said Andy, smiling, “she led me a merry chase. Almost lost her a couple of times. And it looks like we got here just in time; she was packing for a trip.”

“And I never saw you, damn your eyes,” she said.

“Another hour, we’d have been outta here,” said Murdock. “You bastards.” I managed to pirouette out of the way as he spat again in my direction.

“Anyway,” he said, pulling himself up and trying to look officious and innocent at the same time, “you have no right to be here. I’ve committed no crime. What’s this all about?”

The chief of police pulled out a thick file of papers. Waving them in Murdock’s direction he explained, “I have here an order of extradition, signed by the President of the Philippines, for the apprehension of Gerald Murdock and Sophia—”

“Gerald who?” said Murdock.

“You,” I said. “The goatee and the nose job are certainly a good disguise. Even if you’ve changed your fingerprints all we have to do is pull off those contact lenses and a retina scan will be conclusive.”

Murdock’s shoulders slumped.

Sophia Ackerman turned to the chief of police, “You have a warrant for my arrest? On what grounds?”

“Embezzlement, false pretences, defrauding an insurance company,” he replied.

“I’ve not been convicted of any such thing,” she said adamantly.

“True and not true. At the same time,” I said.

A puzzled look crossed her face. “What bullshit!”

“This gentleman here,” I said, indicating the chief of police, “has an presidential order to extradite you from the country. So you must have been convicted. Here, at least. By the time we get land in San Francisco, All-Risks will have presented its case before an adjudicator. In your absence there’s a chance the hearing will find, prima facie, against you. The best you can hope for is another hearing, since All-Risks won’t have given the proper notice.”

“Anyway,” said Murdock, “what’s this about extradition? The Philippines has no extradition treaty with America.”

“It does now. Here,” I said, pulling out a sheaf of papers, “is a treaty between All-Risks and the government of the Philippines, signed by the President. Something for you to read . . . on the plane.”

“That can’t be legal,” said Murdock. “Don’t you need an act of congress or something? Presidential order ain’t enough. I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“That won’t be possible,” said the chief of police. Pulling out another sheet of paper which he offered to Murdock, grinning when he remembered the handcuffs, he continued, “This is an order for your immediate deportation. It seems that your visa, as well as Miss Ackerman’s, has expired.”

Murdock looked like he was about to explode. Then his body relaxed and he turned to me with a glint of admiration in his eyes. “You really pulled out all the stops, eh?”

“Well, Berkshire Re did.”

“Oh, that I didn’t know.”

“You’d have done better to stay at home,” I told him. “Not in San Francisco, of course. Some other American city. With your money, your disguise, and new finger-prints, just by avoiding retina scans we might never have found you. In a place where government is for sale, you can always be outbid.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said.

“Look on the bright side. Here, the penalty for murder is death. Back home, all you have to do is pay back all the money and you’re a free man.” The prospect didn’t seem to be all that appealing to Murdock. I could sympathize: from wealth to poverty in matter of moments.

“And what about me?” asked Sophia Ackerman.

“Same thing. The presumption is you’re an accessory to murder. That was your plan, right?” I said, looking from one to the other. “You were after Ackerman’s insurance—the 110,115 gold ounces Sophia got for your murder of hubbie.”

They stared at me blankly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

I looked at Sophia admiringly—an easy thing to do.

“You’re a good actress,” I said. “I saw the holo.”

She spat at me, this time connecting.

“Time to go,” said Andy, looking at his watch.

“Right,” I agreed, wiping the spittle off my face. “Let’s move—we all have a plane to catch.”

*****

Renegade was first published in the anthology Visions of Liberty I co-edited with Martin H. Greenberg. One of a number of science fiction stories based on the theme of “society without government—that works.” For more on Visions of Liberty and its companion anthology, Give Me Liberty, turn the page.

Or visit marktier.com/my-books for more.

About the Author

Mark Tier, an Australian based in Hong Kong, started writing when he was 14—and hasn’t stopped since.

His first work, Understanding Inflation, was a bestseller in his native Australia in 1974. That was followed by The Nature of Market Cycles, How To Get A Second Passport, and The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros, which has been published in 3 English (New York, London, and Hong Kong) and 11 other-language editions.

Once labelled “the Eclectic Investor” for his wide range of interests (he has been a soldier, businessman, publisher, investment analyst, counsellor, coach, writer, investor, speaker, editor, foreign correspondent, and even co-founder of a political party), he co-edited two science fiction anthologies which won a Prometheus Award in 2005, an analysis of Christianity, When God Speaks for Himself, and a political thriller, Trust Your Enemies.

For more, visit marktier.com | Facebook | Google+ | Goodreads | LinkedIn

Preview Other Titles
by Mark Tier

Give Me Liberty and Visions of Liberty

“An excellent assemblage of some rarely reprinted material that deserves to be better remembered…genuinely thought-provoking sf in the classic mode…taking nothing for granted, daring to dream.” — From the review of Give Me Liberty in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction

“Society Without Government — That Works!”

Science fiction anthologies with the theme of societies without government — that work!

Give Me Liberty is a collection of classic science fiction stories by authors like Frank Herbert, Lloyd Biggle, Jr., Vernor Vinge, Murray Leinster and Eric Frank Russell.

Visions of Liberty is a collection of original stories written by Robert J. Sawyer Mike Resnick, Michael Stackpole, Jack Williamson, James P. Hogan and others especially for this volume.

In 2005, this pair of anthologies won a Special Prometheus Award from the Libertarian Future Society. Established in 1982 Prometheus Awards are given to “science fiction writers whose books examine the meaning of freedom.”

The following year, Give Me Liberty and Visions of Liberty were reissued in one, combined volume entitled Freedom!

Here are the complete contents of both books, followed by the respective introductions:

Contents of Visions of Liberty:

Introduction by Mark Tier

The Unnullified World by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

The Right’s Tough by Robert J. Sawyer

The Shackles of Freedom by Mike Resnick and Tobias S. Buckell

A Reception at the Anarchist Embassy by Brad Linaweaver

According to Their Need by Michael A. Stackpole

Pakeha by Jane Lindskold

Devil’s Star by Jack Williamson

Renegade by Mark Tier

The Colonizing of Tharle by James P. Hogan

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Introduction to Visions of Liberty

Imagine we’re on a plane; we’ve crossed an ocean, we’ve landed; we’re taxiing up to the gate. As we file off the plane we have our passports ready.

But something rather strange happens: no one wants to look at them. We see no official-looking types of any kind.

Perhaps we have to get our luggage first. But as we come down to the baggage carousels we don’t see any customs or immigration officials; nor do we see any barrier between us and the outside world. We can pick up our bags and walk straight out of the terminal off an international flight into a taxi. Which is exactly what we do.

Welcome to Freelandia, a country — perhaps it’s better to call it a place — which is truly free: there’s no government to invade and restrict our liberties. Of course, Freelandia doesn’t exist (yet) except in my imagination.

And in science fiction, the literature of the imagination. Where else can we skim across the surface of black holes, dive into the sun, and journey to the beginning, the end, and the edge of the universe? And visit a society without government that works.

Could that be possible in reality, not just in science fiction? After all, if you counted the number of societies without government on the fingers of one hand, you wouldn’t even open your fist. And if government disappeared, wouldn’t the result be anarchy? Chaos? Isn’t government an essential prerequisite of peace and order?

If we were to travel back in time, some ten or twenty thousand years, before the development of agriculture and the beginnings of civilization, we wouldn’t find any governments as we know them today. Homo sapiens were hunter-gatherers, living in tribes of some hundred or so people. Yes, tribes have rulers too. Chiefs and shamans. But tribal chieftains rarely have the power to force their decisions on the members of their tribe. They are more like leading citizens who rule by moral suasion and consensus rather than police power.

That all changed with the development of agriculture some ten thousand years ago. For the first time, a few dozen square miles of land could support human populations much larger than a hundred-odd hunter-gatherers. For the first time, our ancestors stayed fixed in one place.

For the first time, there was something to loot.

Pick up any history book and you’ll find a record of kings, princes, shahs, chiefs, emperors, czars and their battles. What were they fighting over? Today, governments will tell you they’re fighting for freedom. But freedom is a very recent phenomenon. The concept of freedom originated with the Greeks and Romans, but did not become a part of the political landscape until the Renaissance just a few hundred years ago.

Even today, words that we take for granted like “freedom,” “rights,” “liberty,” and “free will” simply have no counterparts in most of the world’s languages. For most of the world’s people, these concepts just don’t exist.

No medieval king or Indian maharajah ever fought for freedom. They fought to keep their power or to expand it. Their prize: the surplus they could extract from the peasantry that financed the building of their glittering palaces and ornate churches and temples. Today’s major tourist attractions — the pyramids of Egypt, the Taj Mahal, the Angkor Wat, Notre Dame — were all built by forced or slave labor for the pure benefit of the rulers. There was no pretense that “we’re doing this for your own good.”

Many times, kingdoms and empires were overrun by latter-day hunter-gatherers. The Greeks and Romans called them barbarians; the Europeans called them Huns; the Chinese called them Mongols. They came with only one objective: to loot as much as they could. And sometimes they stayed; after all, a steady stream of loot in the form of taxes can be more attractive than the spoils of hit-and-run raiding.

The greatest of these was Genghis Khan. His empire collapsed upon his death but his grandson, Kublai Khan, established the first alien dynasty to rule all China — the Yuan (1279–1368). History, of course, is written by the victors, so Genghis Khan and Kublai Khan were transformed from bandit leaders into great princes. After all, only losers remain barbarians.

From the agricultural revolution until the Renaissance, mankind had the choice of rule or be ruled; to be the oppressed or the oppressor. The idea of freedom — that you should neither rule nor be ruled, but be left alone to pursue your own happiness in your own way, and grant others the same right — did not exist, just as it still doesn’t exist in most parts of the world.

When you are ruled you have no rights. You are property. Such is the meaning of “the divine right of kings,” the ideology which flowered in Europe in the Middle Ages. Kingdoms did not have citizens; they had vassals. Under “the divine right of kings,” everything and everybody in the kingdom belonged to the monarch. Kings fought each other for territory and to the victor went the divine right to rule. In China, when a new dynasty was established they said that the old one had lost “the mandate of heaven.” In Japan, as in Thailand, the ruler was thought to be the representative of God on earth. All these names are no more than Orwellian double-speak to dress up and legitimize the reality that might was right.

We can trace the origin of government back to the first thug who spied the opportunity to live a life of ease on the backs of the peasants. His spiritual successors are still in our midst today, with names like Lenin, Stalin, Mao Zedong, Pol Pot, and Idi Amin — and those petty bureaucrats who love to flaunt their power over you whenever you have some dealing with a government agency.

A revolution in the idea of government began with the Renaissance, was crystallized by John Locke among others, and came into being for the first time in human history with the American Revolution. The idea: that government should serve man instead of man serving government; that rulers should be the people’s servants, not their masters. That people have the innate right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and that the purpose of government is to defend those rights, not to invade them for the benefit of the few at the top.

But how to create such a government? Because what sets government apart from every other organization is that it is the legal instrument of force within a society. No other group has the right to use force except in self-defense, and the people who do we call criminals.

When so much force is concentrated in one organization’s hands, how can you limit its use? And you must, if you want to live in a free society; only the initiation of force can divert you from the pursuit of your own happiness. Only the initiation of force can threaten your life. The greatest danger to your freedom is not some foreign power — it is your own government. When Thomas Jefferson said “the price of liberty is eternal vigilance,” it was the government of the United States that he was warning his fellow citizens to be vigilant against.

The solution of America’s founding fathers was to delineate and restrict the role of government. Via the Constitution and the Bill of Rights they clearly (they thought) laid down what government could do, saying that everything else was reserved to the people.

Unfortunately, the imperative of every human organization is to grow. Businesses grow by making more sales and gaining market share; associations grow by signing up more members; governments grow by expanding their power.

This never happens overnight; government grows by salami tactics, slice by slice. For example, when the income tax was introduced in 1913 no one in his right mind would have suggested a top rate of 90 percent. In fact, there was considerable support for capping the income tax at 4 percent. This was shot down by those who argued that specifying such a maximum rate would mean the income tax would rapidly rise to that (then) horrific level. Can you imagine living in a world where an income tax of 4 percent is unthinkable!?

So the government of the United States has grown, slice by unnoticeable slice, till it bears scant resemblance to the government at the country’s birth.

Perhaps there is some other way to put a government’s use of force into a straitjacket from which it cannot escape. To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever come up with a convincing, workable proposal along these lines.

As Ayn Rand put it in The Fountainhead: “The only way in which we can have any law at all is to have as little of it as possible. I see no ethical standard by which to measure the whole unethical concept of a State, except in the amount of time, of thought, of money, of effort and obedience, which a society extorts from its every member.”

If the initiation of force is unethical, then it logically follows that government, as we know it, is also unethical. But that, of course, does not answer the question: Could a society without government actually work? If it’s hard to imagine a world in which a 4 percent income tax is unthinkable, it’s much harder to imagine how a governmentless society could avoid breaking out into a civil war, or simply degenerating into chaos.

That’s a common view; after all, the word “anarchy” is generally used to mean “chaos in the absence of government.” But that’s to assume, mistakenly, that government is the source of law and order.

On January 24, 1848, the California gold rush began. But it took eighteen years for the U.S. Congress to enact a mining law to regulate such discoveries. Meanwhile, gold production in California boomed. How could that have happened without a governmental framework to recognize mining claims, register titles, and regulate disputes?

The miners created their own. They established districts, registries, procedures for establishing and registering a claim and buying and selling claim titles, and a system for resolving disputes. Officers were usually elected, including the recorder of claims. Their private arrangements were recognized in California state courts; and Congress’s 1866 statute “explicitly noted that all explorations for minerals would be subject to those ‘local customs or rules of miners in the several mining districts’ that were not in conflict with the laws of the United States” (quoted from The Mystery of Capital by Hernando de Soto).

This is just one of many historical examples of what Friedrich Hayek calls “spontaneous order,” demonstrating that neither government nor even leaders are needed for order to appear.

So perhaps Freelandia is possible after all. And thanks to the rich imagination of science fiction authors, we can visit a plethora of Freelandias.

Although there’s a strong individualistic streak within science fiction, until recently very few stories were set in a completely free society. One reason, perhaps, is that all fiction thrives on conflict and a truly free society is so peaceful that there’s not very much to write about. So in stories like Eric Frank Russell’s classic “… And Then There Were None,” the conflict comes from outside, in the form of invaders from an authoritarian empire. (You’ll find this story — and some other classics of this genre — in this book’s companion volume, Give Me Liberty, also published by Baen Books.)

Another example is James Hogan’s (in my opinion) sadly neglected Voyage From Yesteryear. L. Neil Smith has been very prolific in this area, two of his novels, The Probability Broach and Pallas, winning the Prometheus Award for Best Libertarian Fiction. In his most recent book, Forge of Elders, humans meet aliens who are, horror of horrors, capitalists!

Here in this volume are nine more visions of liberty, all set in societies without governments that work. As you’d expect from the fertile minds of science fiction authors, each is very different from the others.

They are not Utopias. Like real life, there’s pain and suffering, as one story here (I won’t tell you which one) tragically shows us.

And there are visions of how, in the words of Aristotle, life could and should be. A cornucopia of Freelandias that I hope inspire and entertain you as they have me.

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Contents of Give Me Liberty:

Introduction by Mark Tier

Monument by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

Gadget vs. Trend by Christopher Anvil

The Ungoverned by Vernor Vinge

Historical Note by Murray Leinster

The Weapons Shops by A. E. van Vogt

Second Game by Katherine MacLean and Charles de Vet

Committee of the Whole by Frank Herbert

And Then There Were None by Eric Frank Russell

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Introduction to Give Me Liberty

When Patrick Henry spoke his immortal words, “Give me liberty or give me death,” on the eve of the American revolution, the last thing he expected was for the British to give him liberty. Indeed, in the history of mankind, you could count the number of benevolent rulers who have given people their liberty on the fingers of one hand — and still have plenty of fingers left over.

History shows there’s only one way you can be sure of gaining your liberty: take it.

Which is exactly what Patrick Henry proposed to do. His stirring 1775 speech concluded:

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

This is a collection of stories about people who, like Patrick Henry, take their liberty.

Just as liberty is a powerful urge in the human heart, so liberty is a recurring theme in science fiction. Yet the majority of the stories in this book are unique even within the imaginative realm of science fiction. They propose taking the ultimate in liberty: doing away with government entirely.

They show the ultimate truth of the saying that Thomas Jefferson made part of our history: “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.”

When Jefferson used the phrase at the signing of the American Declaration of Independence was he talking about the British? Absolutely not. He was naming the American government a far greater danger to the liberties of Americans than the British (or much later, Soviets) could ever be, a sentiment widely shared by the American revolutionaries.

Jefferson’s declaration was co-opted and corrupted by cold war politicians. Eternal vigilance, they told us, was required to protect our liberties from external enemies like the Soviet Union. In the name of freedom they erected the powerful welfare-warfare state that continues to invade our liberties to this day.

Stories like Lloyd Biggle’s “Monument” and Frank Herbert’s “Committee of the Whole” demonstrate the ultimate truth of Jefferson’s statement: that eternal vigilance against our own government — not external enemies — is the price of liberty. A lesson that has, to our detriment, been forgotten.

I first read most of these stories as a teenager, beginning with A.E. van Vogt’s “The Weapons Shops.” I can still recall the excitement that gripped me then — what teenager could resist the idea of a gun that would fire only in self-defense? Sold by shops that government officials (and criminals) simply couldn’t enter?

You might argue that such a teenage fantasy should remain where it belongs — as a teenage memory. I can only respond that yes, when I first read it, the idea of liberty that gripped me then through van Vogt’s story was merely an abstract ideal. As an adult, my teenage ideal has taken on whole flesh, so to speak. This, of course, is not the place for a discourse on liberty (or anything else). All I can say is that, as an adult, I can think of numerous times when van Vogt’s gun would have come in real handy. And when I see the injustice and oppression around the world, if van Vogt’s weapons shops were to suddenly appear as they did in his story, I’d say the demand for his guns would far outstrip even his wild imaginings.

Ah, but you might respond, if there’s no government wouldn’t society collapse into barbarism?

I suggest you read Eric Frank Russell’s classic “And Then There Were None” — my favorite story in a book full of favorites. If you’ve never read this story before (and quite likely you haven’t as it’s been out of print for far too long) I envy you. I’ve re-read this story many times, but there’s no time like the first time.

The possibilities that Russell offers in just a few thousand words is mind-boggling.

Then there’s Vernor Vinge’s neglected gem, “The Ungoverned.” As the “Republic” of New Mexico invades the peaceful anarchy of Kansas where can your heart lie but with the truly free people — the ungoverned?

Do you sometimes think that bureaucrats should be strangled with their own red tape? Then you’ll love Russell’s “And Then There Were None.” Do you feel like dancing with joy when a ruthless dictatorship collapses? Then kick up your heels with Murray Leinster in “Historical Note.” And shouldn’t petty tyrants get their just deserts? They have no choice but to surrender in “Gadget vs. Trend” by Christopher Anvil — and are delightfully defenseless in van Vogt’s “The Weapons Shops.”

I feel sure you can’t fail to be inspired by these wonderful stories about the ultimate freedom. Whether I’m right about that, I know you’re in for a lot of fun in the following pages.

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Trust Your Enemies

“Worthy of Ayn Rand” and

“Up there with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”
say Amazon readers

“Politics, sex, corruption,
blackmail, lies . . . and that’s
just the first three pages!”

As teenagers, Alison and Derek were lovers—but chose opposite directions which tore them apart.

Now adults, the pursuit of their incompatible dreams turns them into enemies who must deny their love for each other. But the real-world consequences of their actions bring them together in an alliance of mutual self-preservation—and cause them both to question their every belief.

TRUST YOUR ENEMIES IS A NOVEL OF IDEAS that’s packed with action and adventure. It’s a political thriller—but one like no other you’ve ever read.

Alison McGuire is the indispensable “right-hand” to Australia’s next Prime Minister. She’s one step away from achieving the goal of a lifetime . . . when she’s suddenly ensnared in a web of power and intrigue by Frank McKurn, a devious, Machiavellian politician.

In her frantic race for survival, Alison must deliver a knockout blow to demolish McKurn . . . before it’s too late. But how? . . .

To win, they must
risk everything

In desperation, Alison turns for help to the key people in her life: An acerbic-tongued newspaper columnist—who ends up in a coma. A secretive computer hacker who discovers incriminating evidence—and then is forced into hiding. A police officer who’s abruptly removed from a crucial investigation. A politician supposedly on her side—who shows his true, spineless colors at the worst possible moment.

With her every resource exhausted, she faces a life-or-death question: Can she trust Derek Olsson—the man she once loved? The man she mistakenly thinks deceived and betrayed her, who she now regards as an enemy?

Meanwhile, Olsson is nowhere to be found. He’s on the run, wanted by the police for a murder he claims he didn’t commit. A drug-dealing Triad king has offered a reward for his head. And a powerful politician must shut Olsson’s mouth—or risk spending the rest of his life in prison.

A battle of liberty
against power

Only by joining forces can Alison and Olsson both survive. The irony is that they don’t yet know it. Alison must first overcome her anger and bury the hatchet—and time is running out.

A shadowy contract hit man is pursuing them both. Known only as “The Assassin,” he has never failed.

But Trust Your Enemies is far more than a page-turning action novel. You’ll be plunged into the seamy underbelly of partisan politics, a world where no one is a friend and—paradoxically—the only people you can really trust may be your enemies. Woven through the novel are challenging and controversial themes, ranging from the psychological motives behind power and corruption to the eternal human desire for freedom and individualism. The key characters learn, dramatically, that when you make the wrong choices, you get the opposite of what you set out to achieve—and then take you on an inspiring journey of moral redemption and personal liberation that will have you cheering when you reach THE END.

Read Chapter 1 of Trust Your Enemies online

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Ayn Rand’s 5 Surprisingly Simple Rules for Judging Political Candidates

Ayn Rand on . . .

Ronald Reagan—

“That so-and-so, claiming to be a defender of capitalism and Americanism, has come out against abortion. If he doesn’t respect so fundamental a right, he cannot be a defender of any kind of rights."

That’s what Rand said about Ronald Reagan at the Ford Hall Forum in 1976.

Reagan supported the right to abortion when he was governor of California—and later changed his tune.

—or Mitt Romney?

But those words apply equally to the 2012 Republican presidential candidate, Mitt Romney. As governor of Massachusetts he supported the right to abortion—and later changed his tune!

So we can confidently conclude Rand would have the same “That so-and-so” opinion of Mitt Romney.

Jimmy Carter—

“[A] cheap, small town peanut power luster [who’s] been on both sides of every key issue.”

—or Barack Obama?

Rand’s opinion of Jimmy Carter applies equally to Barack Obama who, as president, broke most every election promise he made in the 2008 campaign—with one main exception.

That was “Obamacare,” which Rand would have skewered with much the same words she used to tear apart George McGovern in 1972.

These are just a few examples of Rand’s many statements we can adapt to current issues when the concrete referents are sufficiently similar.

From her political writings we can also derive the “5 Surprisingly Simple Rules” she applied to judge politicians. When combined with her philosophy of Objectivism, we can have a pretty good idea what she’d probably say about today’s political issues—even though she died in 1982.

In the following pages we’ll apply “Rand’s Rules” to the 2012 American Presidential election as a case study.

And, in conclusion, you’ll learn how to apply those very same rules to parties and politicians everywhere.

So whether you agree with Ayn Rand or not, you’ll never be fooled by a politician again.

See more at marktier.com, or Amazon.

How To Get A Second Passport

This report started an industry.

When I wrote it, it was impossible to find information in this topic in one handy volume.

Pretty quickly, that changed — in significant part because this report was shamelessly plagiarized and copied all over the world. And my ads caused people in the passport business to realize that it definitely “pays to advertise.”

How To Get A Second Passport went through three editions and seven printings from the time it was first published in September 1984 to its last edition in July, 1990.

Today of course you can find information on this topic just about anywhere (though, especially since 9/11, most of the easiest options have been firmly blocked).

What led me to write it was the 1997…

Crisis in Hong Kong

In 1984 the then-British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, signed an agreement with Beijing that would pass the sovereignty of Hong Kong to China on July 1, 1997.

The reaction in Hong Kong was, to put it mildly, one of panic. The Hong Kong dollar collapsed; and people, especially the wealthy, began hunting for the exits.

It was in this environment that I wrote How To Get A Second Passport, which I published in September 1984. As you can imagine, in Hong Kong it sold like hotcakes.

What really surprised me, though, is that when I ran an insert in my investment newsletter, World Money Analyst, about 10% of my subscribers bought it — even in countries like Australia and the United States. In large part it was curiosity value — though I was visited by one very wealthy American who wanted to stop paying taxes to Uncle Sam.

The Sincerest Form of Flattery…

If plagiarism is any indicator, How To Get A Second Passport is the most successful thing I’ve ever written.

It was shamelessly stolen and published in Britain, Canada, and Greece (I even went to court in Athens and won—not that that made any difference).

An American had it translated into Chinese and tried to sell it in Hong Kong!

I was told that was it was on sale at the Manila Hotel in the Philippines—as a photocopy.

While I was sitting in his chair, my dentist in Hong Kong shamelessly told me he had a photocopy of it!

It’s amazing what lengths people will go to to get something for nothing. The first time I ran an ad for How To Get A Second Passport in the local Hong Kong paper, the very first phone call that morning was from an Indian gentleman who wanted to know whether there was really a money back guarantee.

Sure enough, a couple of days later the copy he bought was returned for a refund—after, no doubt, he had photocopied it.

A Word of Caution

I’ve put this up on the internet as several people have asked where they can get a copy. Now they — and you — can read it with my compliments.

But you need to be aware that this is the text of the latest edition, published in 1990! So much, if not all, of the information is out of date.

That’s especially true of the centerpiece of my report: Portugal.

Back in the 1980s, you could become a resident of Portugal if you merely owned property there. Six years later you could become a citizen. With no more than two or three visits to Portugal over that time.

There was one other requirement: you had to pass a Portuguese language test. This was laxly enforced — but one of the first things the Portuguese government tightened. (I was told that the wife of Portugal’s Consul in Hong Kong was doing a roaring trade giving Portuguese lessons.)

As Portugal came under pressure from British government (who were afraid of an influx of Hong Kong Chinese moving to Britain with their new Portuguese passports) and the EU, Portugal changed its rules.

Given that and the other information that is no longer current, the main reason you might want to skim through How To Get A Second Passport (aside from curiosity) is that the principles applied in analyzing passports, citizenships and residence have not changed.

In addition, I have provided links where you can find current information on some of the countries I talked about.

Here are the chapter headings…

Chapter 1 Why Do You Want A Second Passport?

Chapter 2 Citizenship: the Two Stage Process

Chapter 3 Do You Need A Lawyer?

Chapter 4 Citizenship Without Residence

Chapter 5 Central and South America

Chapter 6 Portugal: For the “Man of Means”

Chapter 7 The Big League

Chapter 8 How Another Passport could Save You a Bundle in Taxes

Chapter 9 Portuguese Property: Suggestions and Calculations

Chapter 10 Future Developments

Begin wherever you like!

When God Speaks for Himself

He uses words you’ll never hear
in church or Sunday School

Have you read the Bible?

From cover to cover? From Genesis to Revelation?

It would seem that few of us have.

Not even devout Christians, or those you’d think would be required to read the whole Bible — like a nun who, when browsing through a copy of When God Speaks for Himself burst out, horrified:

“That’s not true! Those verses aren’t in the Bible!”

To prove it, she opened the Bible — only to discover that she was wrong.

How can this be?

It turns out that what most people “know” about God, Jesus and what the Bible says is the abridged, saccharine version of the “Word of God.”

No wonder, then, that most Christians are astonished to learn that, when “God speaks for himself,” he uses words you’ll never hear in church or Sunday School:

• Gruesome, bloodthirsty massacres ordered by God — Bible passages that will make your stomach churn;

• Bible passages that say the exact opposite of another Bible passage, sometimes in two consecutive verses!

• Bible passages that contradict what you “know”: Jesus was born in Bethlehem — wasn’t he? (Page 35). And he gave his Sermon on the Mount on the mount, right? (Page 13). And of course David killed Goliath with a slingshot (didn’t he? — see page 40);

• Obvious inconsistencies about the Virgin Birth, Original Sin, and other central tenets of Christianity — to which the churches’ only possible answer is: “have faith”;

• Simple questions about such Bible favorites as the Creation, the Flood and Noah’s Ark that make Cinderella and The Three Little Pigs seem far more realistic.

Plus: extracts from official church documents, some kept hidden for centuries, including the actual words of the Inquisition’s reasoning and verdict on Galileo; a collection of pointed and often hilarious quotes and comments from skeptics and believers from all over the world...and much more.

In sum, in When God Speaks for Himself you’ll find the answers to dozens of questions you simply would not have been allowed to ask in church or Sunday School.

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The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros

Warren Buffett, and George Soros both started with nothing, built their billion-dollar fortunes solely by investing — and are now world’s richest investors.

Was it luck? Something in their genes? Connections and “insider information” that the average investor can’t get?

NO! says Mark Tier in this path-breaking book. He discovered that — despite their radically different investment styles — they both practice exactly the same mental habits and strategies religiously. What’s more, Peter Lynch, Benjamin Graham, Sir John Templeton, Bernard Baruch, and all the other successful investors and traders he has studied and worked with follow them too. Without exception.

Their mental habits and strategies fly in the face of the conventional Wall Street “wisdom.” For example:

- Buffett and Soros don’t diversify. When they buy they always “buy as much as they can.”

- Both will tell you that making predictions about the market or the economy has virtually nothing to do with their success.

- They’re not focused on the profits they expect to make. Indeed, they’re not investing for the money at all.

- They don’t believe that to make big profits you must take big risks. Indeed, they are far more focused on not losing money than on making it.

- Their beliefs about what makes markets tick are amazingly similar — and diametrically opposed to academic theories like the “Efficient Market Hypothesis” and the “Random Walk” which they both view with contempt.

- And all those research reports that Wall Street churns out — they never read them. They don’t give a hoot what other people think.

Investment success (and disappointment) lies in your mental habits and strategies.

By identifying the winning investment habits that led Warren Buffett and George Soros to phenomenal success, Mark Tier has uncovered for the first time the habits that ALL successful investors share.

What’s more, every one of these winning habits is something you can easily learn yourself.

And it makes no difference whether you look for stock market bargains like Warren Buffett, trade currency futures like George Soros, invest in real estate, antiques or collectibles, use technical analysis, buy on dips or buy on breakouts, use a computerized trading system — or just want to salt money away safely for a rainy day.

Harness the investment genius of the world’s richest investors by adopting The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett and George Soros and you too can make more money more easily than you ever thought possible.

See more and read excerpts at http://inversebooks.com

What they’re saying about The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros

“EXCELLENT!”

— Richard Russell, editor, Dow Theory Letters

“The world is full of get-rich-quick schemes, but this definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Instead, Tier teaches readers to invest smartly by delving into the skills, philosophies and investment strategies of some of the world’s richest self-made men — Warren Buffett (Berkshire Hathaway, Inc.), Carl Icahn (Ichan & Co.) and George Soros (Quantum Fund) among them.”

— Publishers Weekly

“Based on a stunningly simple idea…”

“This book is based on a stunningly simple, but highly intelligent and effective idea: Analyze the methods of Buffett and Soros – probably the two most successful investors of our time — and see exactly why they’re so successful. Everybody talks about these guys, but it’s rare to find a good, thorough analysis of why they’ve done so well. Tier’s approach is especially valuable because Soros’s and Buffett’s methods are often so different — yet, as Tier shows, the keys to their success are amazingly similar. Great book —something I rarely say about this genre.”

— Doug Casey, editor, International Speculator

“Exciting investment book”

“One of the most exciting investment books to come down the pike in a while.”

— Laissez Faire Books Review

“Gets to the essential reasons for the successes of Soros and Buffett better than any other book”

“Tier’s book is a great read, and I recommend it. It gets to the essential reasons for the investment successes of Soros and Buffett better than any other book I have read. More important, it can get you to thinking about how you can apply their lessons and reasons to your own investment approach, even if you have a modest amount of money.”

— Chris Weber, editor, The Weber Global Opportunities Report

“Stands out from the normal run of How-To-Get-Rich books”

—Jake van der Kamp, Asian Review of Books, Hong Kong

“What do Buffett and Soros have in common?”

What do Warren Buffett and George Soros have in common besides their self-made investment fortunes? Well, neither takes big risks or diversifies…. Instead, both are cautious investors who have learned how to protect their capital. Oh, and neither follows analyst reports—ever.

— U.S. News & World Report

“Revelation”

“Neither Buffett nor Soros tries to pick the market. Nor do they diversify. They specialize, something advisers tell you not to do. They are also more focused on not losing money than making it. But the real revelation in The Winning Investment Habits Of Warren Buffett & George Soros is they spend far more time analyzing their mistakes than their successes. Soros once said recognizing his mistakes was the secret of his success.”

— Sun-Herald, Sydney

“Smorgasbord of investing wisdom“

“If you have even a small taste for profit, you might consider filling your plate from Tier’s smorgasbord of investing wisdom and indulging until your mind — and wallet — are full.”

— Angele McQuade, Better Investing magazine

“Readable and Informative“

“One of the most readable and informative investment books for a long time.”

— Lloyd’s List

“Same principles for real estate”

“Your book on Buffett and Soros is really very very good. There is something to think about on every page. I invest in real estate, but as you indicate, the principles are the same. You provide a significant methodology for me to confidently progress. As well as being outstandingly insightful it provides several important strategies that anyone could develop.”

— Vance Marcollo, Australia

“Tremendously useful”

“I’ve just finished reading The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett and George Soros. I find it tremendously useful for a beginner like me, to start with a correct frame of mind. I am looking forward to finding and testing my own system.”

— Christina Siu, Sydney, Australia

“READS LIKE A THRILLER!”

— Peter Chen, Sydney, Australia

“40% return in first month…”

“By applying just the first two rules in the book, I have increased my investment returns in one month to 40% of my investment capital. I look forward to many more months of achieving similar returns as I analyze and apply the principles laid out in your book.”

— Greg Barnes, Auckland, New Zealand

“Showed my weak points”

“Loved your book on Buffett and Soros. It’s very well written, the ideas follow in a logical order, and my interest was held throughout the whole book. It jelled very well with me and showed me some of my weak points.”

— Gary Hannan, Sydney, Australia

“Improved my business”

“It’s really a pleasure to read, even for a non-native English speaker…. An unexpected effect is that I transposed some of the beliefs and habits to my business and made some dramatic — and profitable! — improvements.”

— Laurent Gounelle, Paris, France

“Clearly describes the habits you need to profit…”

“By far the best book written on the subject of investment habits. It clearly describes and explains the habits one would need to profit from the stock market. I would recommend this book to anyone who does not understands the phrase ‘Bulls make money, Bears make money, but Pigs get slaughtered!’”

— Reader’s review on yesasia.com

“Tripled my profit”

“I tripled my profit on the first investment I made after reading your book by following just ONE of your ‘23 habits.’ Your book is a brilliant piece of work and I commend you for it.”

— Don Palmer, Perth, Western Australia

“The best ideas in one book”

“I have read over 50 books on the market, and this one brings together some of the best ideas in one book. I found it to be well written, and was impressed with the notes and references. Mark Tier gives credit where credit is due. With this book you can definitely shorten up the learning curve.”

— Lisa Hyatt on Amazon.com

“MUST READ”

— Straits Times, Singapore

“Out of the box.”

“There are only three books on the recommended reading list for my business course — and The Winning Investment Habits of Warren Buffett & George Soros is one of them.”

— Bay Butler, University of California, Davis

“Masterful mapping of investment genius”

“Mark Tier’s mapping of investment genius is simply masterful — clean and true. What lifts his book even further above the rest, though, is his infectious delight in discovery and clarity of explanation as he hands you the attitudinal and behavioral keys to becoming the consummate investor.”

— David Gordon, author, Expanding Your World: Modeling the Structure of Experience

“Every chapter is packed with good, practical wisdom”

I have no intention of getting into the stock market, let alone currency trading, but the habits are still highly appropriate for my niche — property.”

— Stephen Greig, New Zealand

“Page-turner”

“A real page-turner. Fills in lots of gaps in my knowledge.”

— Hugh Butler, Salt Lake City, Utah

“The most important book on investing since Charles MacKay’s Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds.”

— Daniel Rosenthal, San Francisco, CA

“Wonderful style…totally lucid”

“I just finished reading your new book. What a beauty! You have a wonderful writing style, you are totally lucid, and you have mastered the art of not overloading the reader in any given chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and I can’t imagine anyone putting it down once they open it.”

— Dan Greenberg, Framingham, Massachusetts

“For anyone who cares about their financial future”

“A great book, extremely well researched, and a very easy read. Definitely worth a read for anyone who cares about their financial future.”

– Terry Harcott, Vancouver, Canada.

“The common ‘threads between three investing legends”

“Mark Tier has taken it upon himself to extract the common threads between three investing legends — one speculator [Soros], one activist [Icahn] and the greatest value investor ever [Buffett]. You may be surprised at how many traits they share — both personally and professionally. I especially enjoyed learning about these investors in their own words.”

— Whitney Tilson, T2 Partners, New York.

“Greatly exceeds my expectations”

“I am something of a fan of investment books and am usually happy to be able to take at least one investment idea away from any book I buy. I have to say that your book was a surprise. Not only did it greatly exceed my expectations but it was a level or two above, not in difficulty but in its global applicability to the field of investment. Your book will feature in my top five, at least until your next one comes out.”

— Jeff Wicks, Hong Kong

“Excellent book”

“Tier has written an excellent book. His chapter on exit strategies alone (knowing when to sell even before you buy) is worth the price of the book.”

— Dr. Mark Skousen, editor, Forecasts & Strategies.

See more and read excerpts at http://inversebooks.com

Published 2016 by Inverse Books, GPO Box 9444, Hong Kong

www.inversebooks.com

Copyright © 2004 by Mark Tier. All rights reserved.

First published in Visions of Liberty, Baen Books, Riverdale, NY, 2004, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Mark Tier. Reprinted in Freedom!, Baen Books, 2006, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Mark Tier.

To connect with the author visit:

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