Chapter Twenty

“He came here?” David Coombs, Manning’s lawyer was flabbergasted. The President visited one of USA’s most ‘dangerous’ prisoners in a clandestine fashion, not letting anyone outside of his circle know. “The media would freak if they knew there was any kind of connection there. I can’t believe he risked it.”

“It made my day,” said Manning. “He feels like this is all his responsibility, and he definitely doesn’t like playing political games, but I guess he thinks it’s the only way to do it while allowing those in the wrong to save face.”

“To be ‘moderate’ nowadays certainly looks liberal…unless you’re a liberal.” Coombs smiled. “What did you guys get into?”

“It felt like a bit of a pep talk,” said Manning. “but it’s like he’s living in two worlds. In his public demeanor, he’s solid but flexible, wise but cautious, and overall slow to change on the big issues. On the other hand, in candid moments, he’s just as hip as you or me. He knows war is stupid, he knows old money controls most of the government, military and big business, he knows corruption in the US is more rampant than ever before, but he doesn’t want to step on people’s toes. He wants them to evolve on their own.”

“Sounds like he knows you can’t force anyone to learn.”

“That’s where these feints and counter feints are so poignant,” Manning continued, “you can tell the government that the FDA has been bought and sold by Monsanto, you can tell the military their soldiers are killing civilians, you can tell the President the banks haven’t changed their ways, but if he tries to fight the status quo, they will inevitably gang up on him. On the other hand, if he sides with them…”

“The People become outraged enough to get off their asses and do something about it,” concluded Coombs. “He must be busy after the Aurora shootings.”

“He wouldn’t tell me much,” said Manning, “but it sounded as if it’s all part of the plan.”

“What, that Holmes is another Loughner?” asked Coombs.

“He used the word ‘patsy’. I couldn’t tell if he meant Lee Harvey Oswald or Sirhan Sirhan, but maybe he’s going deeper. Historically, the FBI/CIA have always known how to find killers who fit the mold, whatever their purposes may be.”

“The NRA certainly thinks he’s the boogeyman out to eradicate their ‘God-given right’ to bear arms,” said Coombs, “but then again, they do that every time a democrat holds office.”

“I got into this situation in the first place, because I believed this President was the one who could see us into the future. The old guard is stuck in their primal ways. They would rather profit from murder since they feel as if we will never evolve from it. In my fantasy, our leader says straight up: ‘WAR IS NOW ILLEGAL’. How cool would that be?”

“Hmmm…” thought Coombs, “ideal, for the average human, who doesn’t murder anyways, but what do we do with the most advanced killing machine ever created in history?”

“Penance,” said Manning. “Let them build back the countries they’ve destroyed. Let them raise the children of the parents they’ve killed. Let them feel good about being alive, instead of wishing they were dead.”

“Careful,” said Coombs, “or when you’re freed like Mandela, and you get a first class ticket to the White House, I’ll hold you to those words.”

“Do that,” relied Manning. “I dare you.”

Chapter Nineteen

“You have a visitor señor,” an embassy guard announced. Assange was doing ok. The latest WikiLeaks from Syria were currently leaking all over the globe and international powers hadn’t bullied Ecuador into handing him over to the British authorities. The judge assigned to Manning seemed to be giving him a chance. Things were looking up.

“Who is it por favor?” Assange asked.

“Señor Karl Rove,” the guard answered. Bloody hell. Assange paused and took a big breath.

“Send him in.” Karl apparated in the doorway. His face was passive and uncurious. He stared at Assange for a few seconds. “Well?”

“I’ve come to collect you for the United States government,” Karl said matter-of-factly. “You are wanted for crimes of espionage and sedition against the USA. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can conclude this little dance that is getting you nowhere.”

“We already did that dance,” responded Assange. “As far as I remember, I didn't leave you wanting, nor did I disregard our agreement.”

“That included you never peering into classified US material again.”

“Not exactly old boy,” Assange looked smug. “If you re-read line one, second paragraph of my release papers, it states: ‘will refrain from entering US military/government domain space or face further punishment.’ I never agreed to censor my reading habits, or my publishing for that matter. I also didn’t solicit any particular person or party to steal your precious cables. I merely read up on US law, used the Pentagon Papers as precedent, and created a space for publishing information that whistle blowers obtained.”

“We have proof that you contacted Manning before he uploaded the material,” said Karl.

“Really?” asked Assange. “Show me.” Karl stood still and didn’t say a word…waiting.

Finally, Karl spoke. “You’re not fooling anyone. You can throw words out there like transparency, accountability and conspiracy, but in the end, you’re still just another wanna-be usurper.”

“Usurper?” smirked Assange. “Come on Karl, with all your passive-aggressive control you still can’t help showing your hand. I’m not you.”

“Sure you are,” said Karl, plain-faced. “You want the same power that I already have, but you hold yourself as if you’re above the rest of us. You’re not. You’re actually more of a liar in that regard. You found an ‘in’ and are taking advantage of it.”

“They thought the same thing about Jesus,” suggested Assange, “but you should know that since you’re such good friends with the Fundamentals.”

“You’re no Jesus.”

“You can’t know that Karl.” Assange looked at him thoughtfully. “Your ethics are so compromised that you wouldn’t recognize a being filled with only Love. It’s like a foreign language or a layer of atmosphere you have no idea about. Whether you like it or not, I’m here for the right reasons, and I accept you as a brother, even if you are as far from brotherly as any human being I’ve ever met.”

Karl stared. “Philandering isn’t Love.”

Assange smiled, “No, it isn’t, but it’s closer to Love than war, and between our vices, who makes more happiness in the world?”

“I’m not going to argue lifestyles with a free-loading, couch-surfing, whore-mongering spy,” Karl continued, “so let’s cut to the chase. If you don’t walk out of this embassy with me, your mother will be jailed on tax evasion.”

“Hardly, but I accept your threat as the only way you know how to do business.” Assange stood up. “It’s a shame. What will happen to your lifestyle when the world makes war illegal?”

“I’ll be long gone before anything like that happens…and I’ll make sure you are too.” Karl stared one last time and walked out.

Chapter Eighteen

Manning was in the best spirits he’d been in years (around two of them), and it was about time. His treatment at Fort Meade was spectacular compared to Quantico (marines) and Leavenworth (army). He assumed it was because the US media had actually been picking up his story lately (even FOX). His lawyer, David Coombs, was young (had to be), pro bono (thankfully) and learning as fast as he could how to defend him (a slow and painful process). Although they had made mistakes early on, Coombs was tenacious about promotion and making alliances with the older generation of conservatives and liberals who understood what was really going on. They had tricks as well…

Today was unusual. He had an unannounced visitor.

“Private Manning! You will face the wall until told otherwise!” The guards were still hardasses, but whatever. His patience was growing, and it had power.

“At ease soldier,” a familiar voice said softly, “how’s the weight of the world?”

“Mr. President!” Manning turned and stood stunned. “Sir, you’re not supposed to…”

“I know, I know, but the President has privilege.” He smiled and took him in. “You look much better than the last time I saw you. I’m grateful you’re ok.”

Manning didn’t know what to say. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes sir.”

“My eyes are sore too son. I had hoped this would take less time, but you are persevering. Thanks for not dropping the ball.”

Manning felt like he was in a dream again. All this began with a shitty decision to join the military, when a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity came in the form of US government cables, (millions of them at his fingertips) and he made the decision (albeit medicated) to out his employers. Assange had mentioned the President was pro-WikiLeaks, but with all the feints and counter feints thrown around during press conferences, it was hard to know what the truth was…and here he was.

“Sir?”

“Yes private.”

“You’re still going to denounce me and my actions to the public right?”

“For now, we have to.” The President held his stare, “we are waiting for public understanding to catch up, and the tipping point is almost here. Remember, legally, I must hold you to your ‘crime’, so the People will polarize with you (realizing you are no criminal), and the truth will come out faster. More celebrities and politicians are bristling at how you are being treated, and they will recognize your ‘new’ cause. David Coombs has been brilliant. He’s still playing the innocent, school boy well. After all this is said and done, I will have positions for both of you, if we can sew this up during my next term.” Tears welled in Manning’s eyes. “Otherwise, ‘There are worlds beyond this one’.”

“Maximillian Roivas, ‘Eternal Darkness’,” quoted Manning. “Didn’t know you played sir.”

“I don’t,” said the President. “That’s also Stephen King, ‘The Gunslinger’, I forget how old I am sometimes.”

“You have the youngest, sharpest, most strategic mind out any president I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m grateful you’re on my side,” Manning confessed.

“It’s because you are the truth private,” said the President, “and ‘the Truth shall set you free.’ It was good enough for Jesus, let’s pray it’s all we need.”

Chapter Seventeen

Rafael Correa, the president of Ecuador, shook hands with Assange for the first time inside the embassy. They stood inside his mini-makeshift office/bedroom amongst a laptop and clothes scattered everywhere.

“Julian, mucho gusto amigo,” smiled the President. “Your reputation proceeds you, but I’ve been particularly fascinated by the rabble rousing you’ve been up to. Buen trabajo!”

“Mucho gusto Mr. President,” replied Assange. “I’m thrilled that you’ve noticed at all. Amigos are far and few in between nowadays. What I really need now is allies.”

“Mi embassy es su embassy buei. I hope this will suffice for now. I will most likely get a subversive ‘talking to’ by my American affiliates, however, like much of the American public, I too believe you are doing the right thing.”

“It’s perfect,” said Assange. “This single room has enough legal freedom for me to continue my work, and I will push for transparent government and media rights until further notice. Thank-you, by the way, for pardoning those journalists in Quito, that was a breath of fresh air.”

The President raised an eyebrow, “you think that was because of you?”

Assange took an awkward gasp and let out a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t going there sir…”

“I was just kidding amigo!” The president howled, “but I wasn’t…no, I did have an Assange moment. Those journalistas are pendejos and they know it, but even their trash has rights. I don’t give them enough inside scoops, so they make up their own gossip.”

“If you would like any ayuda, I offer my services toward a dialogue between you and the local media…”

“Gracias, pero no my friend,” the President sighed. “You have much bigger fish to fry. All I ask is that you keep publishing, I’m addicted to WikiLeaks, your team is the best! And in the spirit of objectivity, I know I am not out of bounds, but por favor, at least give me forewarning if you are going to print anything about Ecuador.”

“I alert everyone,” stated Assange, “but of course, for your hospitality, I will make sure you know what’s up. Is there anything in particular I should know about, Mr. President?”

“Hah, hah!” The President lol’d, “you are the last person I would give any information! Just clean up your room, it’s a pig sty…just kidding!” Assange lol’d too.

Happy Terrorist Day (4th of July)

Happy Terrorist Day!

236 years ago, our forefathers ignored British law and initiated treasonous, terrorist acts against their country England. John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and George Washington committed crimes against the crown, and were considered terrorists. We know now, they were only doing their duty when the rights of mankind were being infringed upon.

Let's remember that today.

We can always re-choose a new legal system, a new military or even a new government...just by deciding it so and doing something about it.

Remember, remember that 4th of July's means terrorism is good sometimes.