The Consortium finishes the Patriot Acts Trilogy...
In Part One we saw an evil plot between Iran and right-wing radical American Nazis to destroy the nation. In Part II, the plausible scenario of a biological terror attack ruthlessly is hatched by enemies of the state. In Part III of the Patriot Acts series the world banking and global power brokers are explored.
In September, 2008, The Fed and the treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat. Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a gun to his own head and said, $800 Billion or in 24 hours we die and 5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. What if he had said NO?
Chapter Fifteen
The White House,
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 3:42 p.m.
“I am placing the nation under emergency powers effective upon my signing of this document. The authority of the Emergency Powers Act will not be enforced until tonight, but the temporary powers of the moment do immediately grant the president the power to appoint anyone to vital vacant seats in the Executive Branch. Technically, the speaker has not officially recalled Congress back from recess. I love that word recess; it suits them perfectly.” Fisher chuckled.
Michelle handed Fisher the document and he placed his signature in the appropriate place. Then, Michelle gave President Harrison a second document. Fisher read it out loud.
“By the powers under the State of National Emergency act of 1977, the president has the power to appoint any vital vacant seat and it shall not be automatically removed when and if emergency rule is lifted, and only shall the president’s appointments be removed by resignation, end of life issues or impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, as prescribed by law and the Constitution of the United States of America.
“Therefore, I hereby appoint Hamilton W. Smith to be Vice President of the United States.” Fisher signed the appointment letter and looked at Hamilton. Fisher thought he looked excited and terrified at the same time.
“Hamilton Smith, would you raise your right hand?” Fisher asked.
Hamilton raised his hand and slightly pulled it down two times before Fisher recited the words and Hamilton repeated them. Secret Service came to the door and Fisher, Michelle and Vice President Hamilton Smith all walked out of the Oval Office and headed to two different escorted cars which would depart for two different escorted places.
Hamilton’s destination was in hiding in an undisclosed location, while Fisher’s destination was for the whole world to see. Fisher leaned over to speak to Hamilton as they walked down the White House hallway.
“Hamilton, way back in time, at Iron Mountain prison in Alaska, you remember.” They stood in front of two different limousines and Fisher took his new vice president’s hand and congratulated him. “Well, Hamilton, I just wanted to take back some words from way back when I said in a moment of foolish jesting. Because you’re not just a Smith; you are Vice President Smith.”
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:52 p.m.
“Approach, I need assistance. This is Captain Ray Jerrod; the coordinates you have sent us do not work. You are taking us into the wall of the mountain.” Jerrod pulled and banked left. Jerrod was a good pilot, and he knew this was not an error. Such errors don’t just happen.
A mountain wall appeared before the pilot and he heaved the yoke back all the way. He feared a stall as he had aimed the nose almost straight upward. Margaret and Nate were strapped in, but both had passed out from forces that neither this plane nor human bodies were built to withstand.
“Control, this is GB1 taking evasive action maneuvers and …”
“We’re gonna make it.” The pilot screamed out and straightened out the airplane. “Get back there and check on them.” The navigator specialist got out of his seat and opened the cockpit door. He saw the First lady slumped over and her baby had started crying.
He quickly walked over and called out her name. “Mrs. Harrison … Mrs. Harrison, are you alright?” Margaret’s eyelids began to move and her eyes blinked and finally, she moaned and cried out,
“Where’s my baby?”
Over Iceland,
the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:55 p.m.
Roger, GB1.” The control officer passed his microphone to a tall man with wavy hair in a nicely knitted suit. “He’s all yours Mr. Berkowitz.”
“Well, Peter, so you are a man of character, whatever that means, but I like you. You’re the other side of me.”
“You lie; I am nothing like you. I breathe air not money and power.” Peter suddenly shouted into Berkowitz’s ear piece, making him wince a bit.
"Well, it lives. I thought you had found Jesus or something and were on your way to paradise. Very well, here goes nothing.”
Berkowitz took a card from his pocket and swiped it and his screen came up. He logged onto the same channel that Peter Barlowe used to control his forces. Then he punched in his personal code and a signal was instantly sent to the pilot of the GB1. As the code streamed it found the command to find the micro-circuit lying dormant in the back of the scalp of one Captain Ray Jerrod, the pilot who was now trying to fly the First Lady and her son to safety. The subject was found and it instantly sent the command to obey Berkowitz’s command. It also registered inside the data crunching computers of Homeland Security, the Pentagon, the NSA and the CIA.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
Pilot Captain Ray Jerrod felt Berkowitz’s commands overtake him slowly. He thought it was air sickness then it was like an instantaneous bout of the stomach flu and then just before he was sure he was going to die, he went calm and felt fine. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
First Lady’s Cabin
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
“It’s OK honey, we’re OK now,” Margaret told her baby, which she knew was a lie.
“Mrs. Harrison, I want to stay here with you and help, but I have to assist the pilot. Are you OK?”
“Thank you; my son is OK, so I’ll be fine.” Margaret had the greatest urge to scream out for her husband and only let it resonate in her head. Fisher, where are you? Fisher, I love you.
Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:57 p.m.
Berkowitz spoke to the pilot. “Captain, you are a true patriot, full of everything our money could buy, and that’s a hell of a lot. The problem is, I am not, and I don’t need to be. These are your orders.”
En route to Joint Session of Congress
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 4:05 p.m.
President Fisher Harrison rode in his limousine for the just over a two mile ride between 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW and 100 Constitution Ave NE. He looked out the windows and the two most prominent things he saw were throngs of people with great distress stretched across their faces waving and shouting out well wishes to their a president they trusted. He also saw throngs of soldiers as far as the eye could see. They were all there in battle fatigues and seemingly ready to fight a war or to start one. Of course they all think I ordered them out here.
Fisher saw one man in particular holding up a large sign with the map of the United States prominently displayed with drops of blood dripping down. It read, ‘Is America’s Democracy Bleeding?’Another sign showed a flag shaped into the United States with all the colors running into each other. The words across it read, ‘Why are these colors running?’
They all spoke to him and he knew these fine people loved him, but not as much as they simply needed him, and it gave Fisher great fear and trembling to imagine three hundred million Americans thrown to the dictatorial rule of whatever political charade the Consortium would raise up to hide behind.
Fisher’s motorcade continued on and stress seemed to form all over Fisher’s body, and he felt a trembling inside his arms, hands and legs. He knew it was all far too big for his feeble arms to carry. Fisher waved and didn’t know if the people outside could see him or not, but he caught a glimpse of an old man in a Air Force uniform and holding a sign that was plain and simple, but which bore words that were just like a ray of light in a dark and frozen world to Fisher Harrison. He had needed to read its message before taking on a great nemesis such as the Consortium.
“Driver, I want you to stop the car for a moment. Do you see the big plain sign behind us?”
“Yes, sir, but that against protocol.”
"I realize that, but I need you to ask him, not tell him, but ask him if the president could see him for just a moment.”
The driver radioed to one of the cars behind the president’s to talk with the man. A moment later, a Secret Service agent was standing by the president’s door with the older gentleman. Fisher lowered the window and looked at the sign that told him how to proceed. It gave him hope and told him God had heard his pleas. Fisher read the words. He had heard President Tate use them before. Then Fisher spoke them out loud. “Don’t be afraid to fight this war.”
Fisher looked up at the man standing by Fisher’s window and the old man saw that the president had tears in his eyes. His face had taken on a deep shade of red due to the adrenaline woven together with sorrow.
“Please forgive me for accosting you this way, but your sign touched me so much and it is a direct answer to me from God through you. We need direction, my brother.”
“Mr. President, the honor and privilege is all mine. Would you like to have it, sir? The sign I mean.”
”That’s really generous of you, but it is of much greater value right where you are. Right now, you just might be more powerful than I am, in this awful situation; and isn’t that the way it’s truly supposed to be?”
“Here, let me sign it and that means I will follow your advice, my friend.” Fisher said and placed his signature on the poster.
“I will never forget this day, Mr. President.”
“Please don’t, and remember how your simple message gave a president great resolve. What a truth and stress reliever to know someone is bigger than our feeble abilities to control the deeds and intents of evil men and women.”
Fisher put his arm out the window and shook the elderly man’s hand. “I wish I could get out and thank you appropriately, but these guys might kill me trying to protect me. I will do my best to preserve that you have worked so hard to have and to pass on to your children. Thank you for letting God employ you, sir. ‘Don’t be afraid to fight this war.’ I really love that. Pray for America.”
President Fisher Harrison had no idea how his resolve would soon be placed under maximum danger.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 4:12 p.m.
The Navigator Specialist reentered the cockpit and strapped himself in for what he knew would be a rough landing.
“Ray, did they radio you?”
“Yes, they did.”
“And … what’d they tell you?” The navigator looked out ahead and saw the well hidden runway. “Great, Captain, you did it.”
Captain Ray Jarrod looked over at his Navigation Specialist and pulled out his side arm.
Jarrod said the words exactly as he had been instructed. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”
The navigator laughed “Yea Captain …” He looked at the pilot and saw his friend and comrade, Captain Jarrod’s sidearm staring back at him. “Yea I have been told that a few times. What are you doing, Captain?”
“Well, they’ll never tell you that again.” Captain Ray Jarrod squeezed the trigger and unloaded three shots into the navigator’s head. Then, his next orders flashed through his mind.
He switched on the intercom and spoke to the First lady. “Mrs. Harrison, we have the runway in sight...”
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The Most Intelligent of Idiot
The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley
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