Starbeans: A Coffee Conspiracy: The American Conspiracy Series, #1

By Dan Salem

"If you love Blake Crouch (Wayward Pines, Dark Matter), you'll love Dan Salem's Starbeans."

"Douglas Adams would be proud if he played spy games."

The United States is executing a grand experiment on the American people. President George W. Bush believes he's in control, but the CIA has other plans. Coffee is the catalyst of this massive conspiracy, and the Starbeans brand is now their weapon. 

There are no coincidences.

Matthew Norton adored caffeine until he awoke one day to find his cup of joe had twisted his middle class life into one of an American vigilante. He had no intentions of toppling Washington, but once you uncover government secrets, there is no going back. CIA project STAR must be stopped.

"Its not illegal if the president does it." (President Richard Nixon) 

Even the president is under the CIA's thumb. Spies meet satire in an unforgettable CIA conspiracy. Starbeans is just the beginning.

"Dan's story is an incredible mix of humor and mystery. What are you waiting for?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Salem
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386393238

Book preview

Starbeans

Coffee Conspiracy

––––––––

By Dan Salem

Text and Cover Art

Copyright © 2018 Dan Salem

All Rights Reserved

To my wife Mandi, I owe you the utmost thanks.  I started writing this story shortly after we met at Boston University.  You read countless drafts as we fell in love, got married and created a life for ourselves in Los Angeles.  Without you this story would have been incomplete.  You encouraged me to begin it and helped add so many layers along the way.  Thank you for loving me and my words, no matter how abstract they may be.

To you, my readers, thank you for believing in me and my story.  Without your support Matthew Norton would not exist.  The Starbeans Corporation would still reside within my head and this incredible CIA conspiracy would still be under lock and key.

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, both good and bad.  I love reading the positive ones and learn so much from those who wanted more from my story.  Keep connecting on social media and I’ll keep writing.  Your support means everything to me.

Enjoy!

Table of Contents

0745 ET: Day Three

0815 ET: Day Three

0700 ET: Day One

0850 ET: Day One

0900 ET: Day One

1115 ET: Day One

1130 ET: Day One

1400 ET: Day One

1600 ET: Day One

1645 ET: Day One

0900 ET: Years Prior

1820 ET: Day One

1830 ET: Day One

1850 ET: Day One

1820 ET: Day One

1600 PT: Day One

1930 ET: Day One

1700 PT: Day One

2000 ET: Day One

2030 ET: Day One

1330 ET: Years Prior

0030 PT: Day Two

1300 PT: Day One

1100 PT: Day Two

1245 PT: Day Two

1300 PT: Day Two

1530 ET: Years Prior

1340 PT: Day Two

1400 PT: Day Two

1410 PT: Day Two

1500 PT: Day Two

1440 PT: Day Two

1445 PT: Day Two

1510 PT: Day Two

0015 CT: Day Three

0500 ET: Day Three

0520 ET: Day Three

0715 ET: Day Three

0730 ET: Day Three

0800 ET: Day Three

0825 ET: Day Three

0830 ET: Day Three

0840 ET: Day Three

1500 CT: Day Three

1510 CT: Day Three

END

Go Beyond the Page

About the Author

0745 ET: Day Three

September 15th, 2003

The Oval Office of the White House

Washington, D.C.

Frosty air brushed his lips, successively inhaled and exhaled with increasing ferocity.  Stiffness shot up each leg, past his pelvis, straightening his spine to attention.  Sweat droplets formed cozy connections at his temples, sending chills down his arms as they collided with the icy touch of steel against flesh.  His eyes dilated, first the right, then the left.  The sharp, piercing realization of life’s final moments shattered Matthew Norton’s once smooth facade.

He longed to go out with something grand on his mind, that one memory that embodied his life, his passion, his love.  Yet Matthew thought of only one thing.  If this was it, if this was how it all ended, his face would be famous!  He stood, internally freaking out, within the most prestigious office in the country, clean-shaven with minimal sweat stains.  His rudimentary life, his above average-looking mouth, his abnormally large nose, they would be the things of legend.  For it was not just any firearm squeezed tightly to Matthew’s forehead.

The pounding in Matthew’s chest rapidly increased.  He slowly closed his hand over his heart, attempting to squelch the beating without alarming his foe.  This rampant excitement was confusing, if not exhilarating.  Matthew held back a smile.  Was his heart really beating this loud?  Was he panting like a dog?  Matthew took a long, deep breath, trying to regain his composure, or at least appear presentable.

What the Christ are you doing here?  The president bellowed in the face of his adversary.  Answer me!  I’m not afraid to pull the trigger.  Who the hell are you? 

Wrestling away panic, Matthew slowly turned around while remaining statuesque inside the Oval Office. His red polo was wrinkled and his jeans and black sneakers worn from the day’s events, but mostly Matthew wished he’d brushed his curly brown hair before confronting his Commander in Chief.  Now face to face, the barrel of the president’s weapon rested calmly on Matthew’s brow.  He steadily regained his composure, his eyes darting until they met those of the man before him.  Matthew opened his mouth, but only silence escaped, and a splash of pride graced his face.  What an exquisite firearm, expertly wielded by the most powerful man in the world.  He truly admired his Commander in Chief’s courage, but he knew his adversary to be more Christian than Texan.  Awe gave way to trepidation as Matthew’s eyes found his best friend, Victor Hobbs, motionless in a corner.  The air remained silent, save for the humming of the air conditioner; and the main door wide open, swaying slightly.  Matthew cautiously shifted his weight, taking heed to the mounting tension in the room.

Such inner emotions were lost to the captivated television audience.  Footage from security cameras in the hallway outside the Oval Office were playing on a constant loop.  Matthew and Victor were seen strutting down the hall, opening the door to the Oval Office and disappearing within for mere seconds before Victor’s body slumped to the ground in the visible part of the doorway.  Speculation ran rampant, as the president was known to be nearby, but was absent from the footage.  The news media were like vultures and when the top level White House security protocols were initiated, they all swarmed the phone lines for a story.  The result spat out by the Secret Service was the video, quickly dubbed ‘Not so sneaky Spies,’ leaving the world at large to speculate on the identities of the two casually dressed intruders.  The most impenetrable structure in the world had been penetrated, penetrated hard and deep to its sweet spot where the good stuff resides.  News eventually broke that the president himself was armed and handling the situation.  Never mind why he was carrying a gun; he was kicking ass and taking names.  America!

The president swallowed hard and gripped his .44 Magnum, pressing its steel barrel tight to Matthew’s temple.  Sweat stains slowly expanded across the pits of his navy blue blazer as he painstakingly re-adjusted his stance, his red tie wavering in rhythm with his frantically shaking hands. The president’s beady eyes melded into a concentrated stare, attempting to instill fear into the man who was yet to be identified, his weapon becoming heavier with every passing moment.  For the first time he could recall, the president wished his elderly number two was by his side, and not locked in a nearby closet.  He lacked the threat of violence, the reality of impending death only his vice president could exude; the man infamous for shooting his friend in the face. 

With the president trembling, and with justice on his side, Matthew took another deep breath and spoke.  Mr. President, I assure you I’m not here to cause any harm.  My name is Matthew Norton and I come to you unarmed, so if you would put down the gun I will gladly explain everything.  Matthew waited calmly for a response, hoping his Commander in Chief understood reason.

I do not give in to the demands of terrorists, and although I value Dickey’s friendship, I will not negotiate for the release of a hostage!  Now put down your bomb and put your hands behind your head!  The president once again tightened his grip on his weapon, showing a surprising amount of poise in the face of danger.

What bomb? Matthew replied.  Oh, you mean my leather bag.  This is actually what I came to talk to you about.  Matthew carefully removed a black leather binder from the bag.  The word STAR was exquisitely embossed on its cover.

As the lights from the chandelier overhead glistened off the binder’s shiny cover, the president lowered his firearm and peered at Matthew quizzically.  This man had no bomb, he was no terrorist.

We’ll discuss why my number two is locked in the closet later.  Explain to me about the black binder.  It looks important.  The president attempted in vain to hide a sly smile as he walked casually around to the brown leather chair behind his desk and sat down.  Matthew cautiously followed suit, plopping into one of the nearby sofa chairs.  The president opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it.  He decided it best to allow Matthew the first words, and instead reached for his cup of coffee, brushing aside several crumpled notes and a matte black business card in the process.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir.  Matthew reached out and stopped the president mid sip.

I don’t understand.  Did you see someone poison my coffee?  It was Dickey wasn’t it ... You are surely a hero, my son, and I’ll make certain that you’re handsomely rewarded.  A mixed expression of gratitude and nervousness fell upon the president’s face.  He stood up to properly thank Matthew with a handshake.

Umm, no, not exactly. Just take a look at what’s inside this binder.  Matthew handed the black leather binder across the desk to him.  The president carefully picked it up, thumbing over the word STAR with his large, aged fingers.  Reluctantly he opened the binder to its table of contents.

The president glazed over the classified statements with an air of arrogance and disinterest.  He looked up several times as if expecting someone at the door.  After about ten minutes of careful and deliberate page turning, the president finally spoke.  This is definitely an eye opener, and you, my friend, are most assuredly a hero.  But let me ask you, where in all of Texas did you find this thing?  The president once again reached for his coffee, stopping himself midway.  He shook his head indignantly and leaned back casually in his chair.

Matthew was unsure of the situation and uncertain whether to place his trust in the man he called president.  Yet the last forty-eight hours had been quite exhilarating and he was out of options.  Matthew stared through one of the large rectangular windows before him, gazing blindly into the Washington sun.  He arranged his thoughts precisely, for this was not an easy question to answer, especially when asked by the president.

0815 ET: Day Three

The Oval Office of the White House

Washington, D.C.

Matthew and the president had been chatting for thirty minutes without incident. Despite the relief of being able to share his story, the privacy afforded them was disconcerting. So you see, sir, it wasn’t that I intended to discover this binder, or to exploit you in anyway.  I just knew that if I didn’t come here with it, then I’d probably end up dead.  Matthew took a deep breath, barely allowing the air to escape his lungs.

The president shifted around uncomfortably. He’d secured all three intruders; Matthew before him, his friend unconscious on the office floor, and the woman locked up next door in waiting room number three. He’d instructed his Secret Service to set up a perimeter, so protocol was in order.  Yet nothing in his presidential training told him what to do next. Nothing.

Tension hung in the air as silence penetrated Matthew’s thoughts.  He too was unsure of how to proceed, but had gotten this far without giving anything much thought, so why start now? The president sat pensively in his chair, slowly rocking back and forth.  Well, you’re right, I’m sure I would have had someone whack you if you hadn’t come to see me.  Oh, scratch that.  We aren’t supposed to use that word anymore, too many bad memories.  You would have been granted permanent retirement. 

The president opened the black binder emblazoned with the title STAR.  He glanced musingly at the contents page and attempted to finish his thought.  Anyways, I’m pretty sure I knew about something like this, but I thought we had decided to go with sugar and sugar substitute.  Caffeine oversaturated the market, so sugar was the next best thing.  The president furrowed his brow, focusing on his last statement.  Well, that doesn’t make sense either; sugar is everywhere.  Regardless, this program has evolved, yet the knowledge you have brought before me poses many threats.  I stand by my hero remark, but there is no good way to handle this.

"Wait, sir, are you trying to tell me that Project STAR has been upgraded to include sugars?  That you’ve been consistently upgrading the masking and delivery agent for your serum?  An awkward pause stood between the two men.  Do all of these addictive substances still contain the serum?  Wait; I don’t want to know anything."  Matthew didn’t care for the openness with which the president was sharing.  The less he knew the easier it would be to leave.

The president looked up from the CIA documents before him and stared intently at Matthew.  Their eyes locked.  You got me, son, I never really gave much thought to the whole caffeine project.  It was before my time and I love coffee too much to care.  The sugar thing, well I make sure I get mine imported.  At least that’s what my number two tells me.  He thought about this for a moment and then went on.  The whole thing was supposed to help unify the people, not alienate or control them.  Unfortunately, we humans possess a free wielding spirit and simple mind control proved inadequate.  Seeing as how you are only privy to the induced complacency and suggestive nature of our brainwashing serum, I will not elaborate further.  The president again paused to emphasize his position of power.  I would like to tell you this can all just go away, but you can’t always make lemonade from a lime.  Not even the president is safe from our government. 

A somber glance was exchanged, point taken.  Matthew’s mind raced, trying to put the puzzle pieces together before his conversation with the president was over.  Something just wasn’t adding up.  The president loved coffee, so he upgraded Project STAR to sugar, but the black leather binder was less than a year old.  Things were much worse than Matthew had initially thought.  He focused on the final words from the president’s mouth.  Where had he heard them before?

Mr. President, before we continue, would you mind giving me a moment to collect my thoughts?  This whole experience has been rather trying.  Matthew knew he had to prolong their meeting as much as he could.  They weren’t negotiating and he could tell the president did not consider him a hero.

Sure, you can have a moment.  I’ll just check my email.  The president reached into his pocket and pulled out his Blackberry.  He began typing away, his button presses forming a rhythmic beat akin to a Beach Boy’s ballad.

Matthew stared for a moment, wondering whether the man before him was actually checking his email.  He brushed off this thought and delved deep into his own mind, connecting the dots as fast as he could.  Okay, okay, I remember something I saw on the History Channel.  It was a documentary on Richard Nixon.  He had said something like ‘When the president does it, it’s not illegal’ in reference to his illegal activities in office.  Yet he was forced to resign, so even though he didn’t go to jail, someone stepped in and made an example of him.  The government proved that no one, not even the president, is above them.  So why would this president be above Project STAR?

Matthew fidgeted in his seat.  He knew the answer to his question, but tried to avoid it.  The president might know about Project STAR, but that didn’t mean he understood it, or that he too wasn’t under its control.

Sorry, sir, I’m ready to continue.  So you were saying how you have been subtly aware of this project, yet kept your hands off and merely tried to reap its benefits.

Yes, yes.  I was trying to level with you.  I’m a smart guy but I’ve just kinda rolled with it, you know?  Read a bit here, a bit there.  I’ve seen this thing here, the president slapped his hand onto the Project STAR binder as he spoke, but never bothered to give it much of a read through until today.  I mean, what’s the point when you have someone to do it for you?

Matthew exhaled a deep sigh.  The president before him was more than ideal in the eyes of the American government.  He knew what was going on, but didn’t care enough to impose.  Well, sir, I figured you weren’t fully aware of the implications behind these types of projects.  That’s why I brought it to your desk and not some lackey at the CIA.

The president smiled.  Well, what is it then, just you and your friend over there in the corner?  Sorry about that, by the way.  Didn’t you mention a Jessica and a Linus?  I have the woman’s file here somewhere.

Yeah, yeah; Jessica is our friend and she’s still out in the waiting area. That’s Victor on the floor there.  Linus should be with the CEO of Starbeans.  I believe they were going to the Pentagon, but he doesn’t know anything.

Better call over just to verify.  Wouldn’t want him selling secrets now would we.  The president glared at Matthew as he uttered those words, sending chills down Matthew’s spine.  Dickey, would you come in here?  He waited for his VP to enter the room via a side door, accompanied by two muscle bound Secret Service agents adorned in pressed black suits, and then hit the speaker button on his phone, followed by the button for his secretary.

Hi, Suzanne, can you please connect me to Mr. Murdoch at the Pentagon?  I believe he has just received two guests I need to speak with immediately.

The president calmly waited for a reply from his secretary, looking up from his desk to watch the vice president walk slowly to a window behind him.  The vice president placed a hand on the glass, staring off.  He looked rather disheveled, his navy blue tie askew and his grey suit wrinkled. Didn’t we lock him the closet? He was taken care of, Matthew thought.  He tried to hide his obvious sense of worry, but was failing. Matthew’s leg tapped uncontrollably and his palms grew clammy, but before he could ask any questions, the squeaky voice of a woman chimed in over the phone line.

Sir, is that you?

Yes, of course it’s me.  Please connect me through.

Sir, you know I can’t do that.  You issued a lockdown on communications until the intruders were in handcuffs and on their way out of the building.

Oh, snap.  Well then lift the lockdown and put me through.  Thanks.

You got it, sir.  As Suzanne’s voice faded, it was immediately replaced by the tone of a ringing phone, presumably a call to Mr. Murdoch at the Pentagon.

Oh, we better get your lady friend in here pronto.  Dickey sent me a nice email; he wants to finish their prior conversation once we’re done talking.  The president pressed a button on the monitor in front of him.  Matthew watched intently as a devious smile creased the president’s lips as his finger pushed down on the screen, yet instantly vanished as he looked up.  Behind him the vice president quietly turned away from the window, standing expressionless at the back of the room.  The two Secret Service agents paced back and forth on either side of the president’s desk as he yelled out, Hey Jessica, come in here and sit with Matt and me!

Jessica’s pretty face appeared in the doorway moments later, her brunette hair tied neatly in a bun atop her head, accompanied by that of a female Secret Service agent.  Jessica forced a smile as the agent stared her down, their heads vying for position in the doorway. The president waved her in as the phone to the Pentagon continued to ring.  She smiled harder, but did not move a muscle, the agent jabbing at her side with a baton.  As the phone rang, she continued to burn a hole in Matthew’s head with her grin, willing him to turn around.  Finally, someone at the Pentagon picked up and Matthew turned to see why his lady friend had not yet joined him in the room.

Mr. President, glad to hear from you.  I wish it were under better circumstances, but nonetheless.  Arthur Murdoch’s voice boomed over the speaker phone on the president’s desk.

The president mouthed the words ‘suck up’ across the table before he humored his lead intelligence supervisor.  Yes, good to speak with you, too.  It’s exactly those circumstances for which I’m calling.  Once Ms. Jessica Morrison takes a seat we can proceed.

Jessica held her grin for a moment longer.  Matt, hold your breath and run!  She elbowed the female agent in the boob, knocking the wind out of her, and popped into the doorway just long enough to toss a tiny plastic object into the room before smashing the agent’s head into the wall, rendering her unconscious, and dragging Victor’s body into the hallway.  The object jingled towards the president’s desk for a second and exploded into a large cloud of smoke as Matthew and the president stood up.

Matthew wasted no time.  With his lungs full of air he grabbed the black binder from atop the president’s desk and darted as fast as possible towards the main door.  Two more Secret Service agents burst through a side entrance immediately after hearing the explosion.  One, a blond man, instinctively flung himself on the origin of the smoke.  The second, a lanky African American, leapt sideways and tackled Matthew into the plant beside the main door to the office. 

As Matthew wrestled with the agent, the vice president ducked instinctively into a corner, shielding his face and covering his mouth with his shirt.  The two agents originally in the room dove to protect the president and vice president respectively, flinging their worthless bodies atop their leaders as shields.  Arthur was still on the phone.  He slammed the receiver against his desk and began shouting emergency signals to those around him.  His voice continued to boom within the Oval Office as the smoke petered in the air. 

The president coughed uncontrollably, the grenade having exploded right in front of him.  He pushed aside his human shield and silenced the phone, pressing another button beside it.  The jig is up!  All agents, lockdown a five hundred foot radius around my GPS location!  Now!

Matthew struggled mightily against the brute force of the well trained man attempting to put him in an awkward choke hold.  The black leather binder was pressed uncomfortably into his sternum, but no pain could match what was to come if he didn’t escape immediately.  He could hear the pitter patter of approaching agents from down the hall.  Capture was not an option. 

Matthew looked into the face of his captor, noticing instantly that his eyes were wide, his expression one of immense pride.  Wiggling his right arm free, Matthew plunged two fingers into the man’s left eye.  As the agent recoiled in sudden pain, Matthew kneed him roughly in the groin, finally pushing the man to the floor beside him.  The agent got back up on his side in a matter of seconds, grabbing the cuff of Matthew’s pants as he jetted into the hall.  Matthew dragged the man several feet before executing a final karate-style kick. His foot shattered the agent’s nose and battered the man’s squishy brain deep into his skull.  A concussive daze instantly overtook him, leaving Matthew enough time to scramble out of the Oval Office, into the lobby area, and slam the door behind him.

0700 ET: Day One

Matthew’s Condo

Newton, MA

Nearly two days and innumerable cups of coffee earlier, Matthew Norton wrestled with an equally combative adversary, his alarm clock.  It was a standard old thing on the surface, square and black with large red numbers to display the time; military time, always military time.  His alarm clock currently read 0700 and blared the most obnoxious pop song atop the charts, one of the Black Eyed Peas classics.  Matthew hated the song, hated its catchy tune and its inane lyrics, but couldn’t figure out how to silence the device.  He sat in a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts on the edge of his bed, legs hanging down until his toes grazed the floor, staring blankly at the two buttons of the clock, one square and bright red, the other a blue circle.  Neither seemed right and yet the longer he stared, the louder the music became and the harder it was to choose.

Matthew wiggled his toes against the cold wood floor and jammed his eyes shut.  He quickly felt a breeze pass by his cheek, the wind picking up and blowing his brown hair about.  Intuitively Matthew began to panic and thrust open his eyes in shock.  He was now perched along the wing of an airplane, on his way to Hawaii.  He’d always wanted to visit Hawaii.  But Matthew really had to pee.  Without warning his eyes were closed, shot open, closed again, and finally rested halfway open to shade the bright sun which engulfed his bedroom.  Now he was actually awake. Matthew jumped up, sprinted into the bathroom, and before his feet could get cold, was back under the covers squeezing his eyes closed, willing himself back to sleep.  Things aren’t always as they appear, Matthew thought.

Matthew tossed in his bed, unable to shake from his conscious mind the complexity of the alarm clock and the terror of riding the wing of an airplane.  His hands were still clammy, his brain aching from the thought.  Settling on reality for help, Matthew sat straight up and peered bleary eyed around his room, waiting for his actual alarm to go off.  Yet the usual morning feelings were no more comforting, and Matthew instinctively tried to fight them off.  But as he gained awareness, six words resonated heavily in his mind, the same six words which penetrated his thoughts every morning.  Things aren’t always as they appear.  The words were plastered before Matthew on the wall, detailed in gold on a motivational plaque his mother purchased as part of his college graduation present. 

Matthew loved his mother, now deceased, but hated the irony in her golden plaque.  She had been struck down by an errant air conditioner, assuming someone nearby was whistling.  In reality, a large metal box was plummeting towards her