Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

again from 1974 to 1976.”
    “What makes you believe that this meeting happened or these groups even existed?”
    “Because my godfather, Colin Tanner, was the professor who organized that student group. He was a sociology professor at Oxford University. He also knew while this group’s intentions may have been honorable, they were doomed from the start.”
    “Because?”
    “Because basic human nature would never allow communism to blossom into what it was supposed to be.”
    “Which is?”
    “A vehicle for people of every race, sex, and nationality to flourish.”
    “You’re saying we humans prefer the survival of the fittest mentality? Dog eat dog and all that?”
    “Exactly.”
    Danny’s eyes danced for a few moments. “So, Wilson’s group was a bunch of Marxists that became infected by their own human nature?”
    Sydney nodded. “And over time, like any untreated infection, it has only gotten worse.”
    “So, they’re the ones behind all of this world domination nonsense?”
    Sydney nodded again. “Have you ever heard of the Bilderbergers?”
    “No.”
    “The group Wilson belonged to has never had an official name. It’s one of the rather elementary yet brilliant ways they have kept outsiders from proving they actually exist. They came to be known as the Bilderbergers, because they first became identified by the media during their meeting at the Bilderberg Hotel in Oosterbeek, Holland, in 1954. The group is comprised of people who define power. They are European royalty, politicians, international bankers, CEOs of multinational companies, and the heads of media empires all around the globe. Members of two American banking families are on that list.”
    “You’re going to make me guess?”
    “Aren’t you dying to?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “The Rockefellers and the Morgans.”
    “You might as well have said the Washingtons and the Lincolns. Those two families helped build America, why would they want to destroy it?”
    “Because they were after something larger from the start, Danny. They wanted to rule the world.”
    A laugh escaped Danny’s lips. “You can’t just destroy a country. There has to be a war, or an invasion, or at least—”
    “Someone on the inside,” Sydney finished.
    “Do you have a name?”
    A knowing look appeared in Sydney’s blazing eyes. “Does the name Dexter Walsh ring a bell?”

Chapter 41
    Stefan Taber checked his PDA device. He had used it to track Stavros’s assault rifle during his entire journey from the McAllen, Texas, airport to Houston’s Hobby Airport. The private Gulfstream V was the same jet the ICJ group had used to fly from the Amsterdam Airport Schiphol to Texas. Little did Sydney Dumas and Joseph Ambrose know that the jet was owned by The Group.
    As he cruised around the concrete jungle behind the wheel of a rented Volvo S60, Taber’s PDA still performed brilliantly. After zigzagging throughout the city’s downtown streets, the tracking device’s signal had finally come to a stop for over ten minutes now.
    Taber had to assume that Sydney told Cavanaugh the real reason why she was running from him and the other guards. He put himself in Danny Cavanaugh’s shoes. Cavanaugh had to know he would be the prime suspect in the shooting of Senator Halsey. He was already a man on the run, and now the noose had tightened around his neck. Cavanaugh couldn’t go to the police; he couldn’t go to any officials. So what would he do next? What do desperate men do? Was Cavanaugh even still just desperate? Or had he turned the corner toward hopelessness?
    Taber stopped the car at a red light. He tapped the PDA screen, accessing the zoom feature. He studied the tracking signal’s coordinates from his present location. A right, a left, and then another right.
    Taber continued on his way, examining the skyscrapers around him. People were everywhere. The streets were choked with vehicles of every size, shape, and color. Cavanaugh had been smart enough to ditch the truck that Taber and his men had turned into Swiss cheese back at the cabin. It was nowhere to be found outside Booker Halsey’s racquet club. Taber figured Cavanaugh must have stolen another car. But while there had been numerous cars parked in the club lot, most were high dollar jobs with car alarms. At the back of the lot, however, was where the help undoubtedly parked. There had been a dozen vehicles parked there. But as Taber left the club lot, he had noticed that the gold Toyota