Chapter 42

Assange was flummoxed. Snowden had given him leaks alright, but these leaks focused on conspiracy theories…well, at least what the government called conspiracy theories. It turned out the NSA had a whole database of evidence on the CIA, the FBI, the DEA, the FDA and every government entity to ever have existed. It was as if they were playing J.E. Hoover’s old game of blackmail, but on a scale to the nth degree. Since it’s conception in 1952, the NSA had collected all available information on the Kennedys, aliens, the Bilderbergs, the FED, Flight 800 you name it, and it was neatly divided into two categories: factual evidence and misinformation. They had actually been doing their detective work…but to what end? What kind of influence were they using on the rest of government? Who was the NSA actually loyal to?

This was particularly frustrating for Assange, because he had specifically avoided subjects like 9-11 and UFOs as it was easier to be defamed in the public eye when suggesting anything other than the official story. He chose to stick to topical, mainstream issues that could be proven in a court of law, and retain his journalistic credibility. But this…this was the mother lode of all leaks for Americans personally affected by government deceit. Families of loved ones killed intentionally or thru collateral damage would only be right to obtain this treasure trove of proof…proof of the amoral, systematic strategy of concealing actions considered too risky for the public to handle…or maybe it was the fear of having to be accountable for their actions…or inactions. Those humiliated by this policy, called ‘crazy’ or ‘emotionally distraught,’ intimidated by spooks ordered to intimidate, could find justice in one fell swoop. He just had to upload it online.

“Bollocks.” Assange kept reading. This was unprecedented material, book-ready plot lines and real dirty tricks, but worst part was, it became shockingly clear, nearly every major conspiracy theory was actually true…at least to an extent. There were always loonies or opportunists seeking the spotlight with tall tales, but even they were filed, and some were used by the government to create the impression that anyone doubting the official story must be loony too. Problem was, there were far more regular people seeking the truth, witnesses, whistle blowers and holders of evidence than liars…and the strategy of character assassination against them was staggering.

Assange kept seeing terms like ‘THREAT TO THE STATE’ and ‘NOT FOR PUBLIC VIEW.’ The more he read, the more it appeared their reasoning was simple: beneath each official story there was ‘what really happened,’ whether murder, theft or just some minor embarrassment to the status quo. The government had developed a culture of fear based around how the public would respond to the truth…and it appeared they were scared shitless.

“I’m not bloody Alex Jones!” Assange cursed. But maybe, that’s not what I’m supposed to bother with, he thought. How do I show the policy rather than the history?

Then he found a subgroup that made his blood run cold: “Assassinations of Witnesses and Whistleblowers.” The list was broken down into military personnel, civilians, agents, corporate businessmen, journalists…and there it was…names he recognized, Dorothy Kilgallen, William Colby, Vince Foster, William Cooper, Phillip Marshall…and Michael Hastings. All victims of government sponsored murder for the sake of maintaining their public image.

And then he found another subgroup: “TO-DO LIST.” He looked away from the screen for a moment and collected himself, then he continued to read, and sure enough he found it: Julian Assange, Bradley Manning, Glenn Greenwald and Edward Snowden.

Well, he thought, I guess it’s time to call in the cavalry.

Chapter 41: OPERATION SCHOOL HOUSE ROCK

Marine One touched down inside the Bush compound at dusk. Houston was still hot as hell, even in October. The president was escorted off the chopper by his Secret Service. The long walk across the lawn felt grounding after a bumpy ride. They were greeted by the 41st president in a wheel chair, accompanied by two secret service men who would guard him for the rest of his life.

“Howdy, Mr. President,” said the elder Bush.

“Howdy to you sir. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I’m also quite curious about this secret meeting with you. I don’t get invited to many of those anymore.”

“Well thank you for indulging me,” replied the President. “How’s Barbara?”

“She stands by her man after all these years…and she’s still gorgeous.”

The president smiled. “Glad to hear it sir. Do you have a secure location for me to pick your brain?”

“Sure son.” Bush turned to his men, “why don’t you boys catch up with your brothers, and let us talk for a bit.” The two guards looked at each other and then at the President’s men, not budging. “I’m not asking fellas.”

“Hang here guys,” said the President. “I need some time with the man.” He motioned toward the wheelchair handlebars, “shall I?”

“No, I got it.” Bush stood up and led the President into his house. “I’ve been sitting around all day, I could use some exercise.”

“I read about the gay wedding you attended,” remarked the President. “That was intriguing and heart-warming.”

“I don’t need to worry about constituents anymore…especially the fundamentals. I never felt particularly close to them anyways.” They continued down a long hall full of pictures, Bush with Reagan, Bush with Hoover, Bush with the Pope, Bush with Michael Jackson. They rounded a corner into an oak furnished den. Bush’s presidential portrait was framed above his desk. He relaxed in a big leather chair and invited the President to sit across from him.

“Oh, before we begin, I brought a gift.” The President opened a small box full of official looking medical packages. “These are the latest vaccination immune boosters the FDA will be releasing this winter. They’re fresh off the presses, and word on the street is there are some nasty viruses coming out soon. I haven’t done mine yet, and I thought we could do a…toast of sorts.”

Bush stared at him without blinking, then cracked a smile. “To what do I owe your consideration?”

“I know you’re a fan of the latest medical breakthroughs, so I thought we could have a truce and talk turkey.” He took one, tore the plastic cover, popped off the protective cap and stuck it in his arm. He offered the box to Bush.

Bush’s brow furrowed a bit, but he shrugged it off and picked a package. After he had injected himself, he said, “Salud. Now tell me what’s on your mind son.”

The President relaxed into his chair and thought for a moment. After a deep breath he said, “I’m really having a difficult time with your old associates in Washington. I respect them because I believe it’s the right thing to do, but they don’t respect me. I’ve been making deals with them since I was elected, and although I’ve held my end of the bargain, they’ve reneged on every one.”

Bush chuckled, “well, you’re in the big leagues now. Did you think it would get any easier?”

“No…but I was hoping there was a way to unite us instead of continuing this endless divisiveness. I’ve been impressed with your own personal unfolding at this stage in life, and I thought out of anyone the GOP does respect, you might have some tips on how to…communicate with them.”

Bush rolled his eyes, “Son, they think you’re lower than dachshund dick. They made an agreement to never work with you, lest it deify you in the eyes of the people. They don’t trust you, and they don’t believe it’s possible to maintain power with you around, so they will use any means necessary to whoop your ass in the court of public opinion. Between that and your catty Democrat ‘friends’ who talk about you behind your back, I don’t think you have many real allegiances.” He felt great to be this candid on a matter of such importance. Hell, the kid wanted his honesty.

“Does this go back to Kennedy?” asked the President. “Is this just residue from bad blood that’s never been forgiven?”

Bush’s eyes glazed over. “Jack was his own worst enemy. He really thought he could have his cake and eat it too. He thought he could destroy the CIA while sleeping with some of their wives. He thought he could take mafia money and then sick his brother on them after he was elected. He thought he could castrate the FED to stop them from raping the system…he thought he was the king of Camelot…a valiant Arthur, righting the wrongs of the system to win the hearts of the people…but we showed him.” God I feel good, he thought.

The President prodded, “I heard you were on the scene in Dallas cleaning up the aftermath.”

“I was ordered to help any of our guys who might’ve been picked up by the local police who weren’t aware of the operation. The amazing thing is, we got away with it clean. It’s still considered to be the most effective assassination since Caesar. I can’t say I agree with it in principle, but by God, that narcissist had it coming…it is what it is…by the way, what else was in that injection?”

“It’s a cocktail of vaccine and vitamin B12 that some feel has a bit of a euphoric kick,” the President responded.

“I’ll say.” One of Bush’s eyes started to go lazy, and he sighed. “Jack was getting cocktails of codeine, Demerol, methadone, Ritalin, meprobamate, librium, barbiturates, thyroid hormone, and injections of gamma globulin. He was juiced to the gills before doctors even knew what that stuff could do to the human brain. His people said he was in constant pain, but he was definitely flying high. It’s bad for business to be that compromised.”

“Well, you certainly had your fair share of close calls Poppy,” remarked the President.

“That’s part of being in ‘the shit’,” Bush continued. “There is so much money to be made in government, but if you stick to the conventional routes, it’s totally limited.”

“Is 9-11 still the biggest take on record?”

“Son,” Bush revved up, “9-11 was the most profound operation ever pulled off in the history of humanity. It was inconceivable before then, but once we had the right architects in place, it went down exactly as planned. ONI manned the drones…they were playing war games that week, so it just came down to fooling the operatives into thinking they were in a simulation exercise. We thanked Orson Scott Card for writing Ender’s Game…it was a genius idea we mimicked. Once Cheney was able to commandeer NORAD, it was easy to make a mess of who was supposed to be in charge and what orders were actually given. Our boys in the banks had fair warning to make money off the Stock Market plunge, and that bunker buster destroyed all the evidence they had at the Pentagon.”

“Is it true that they even hit the towers in the exact floors where the people who were taking you to trial met with their evidence that morning?” the President asked.

Bush beamed. “That was a gift to me for staying loyal to ‘the Company’, but you know all this Junior…wait a minute,” Bush looked scared suddenly. “You’re not Junior.”

“No Mr. President,” said the President warmly, “but you’re just confirming everything I’ve been told already. Your secrets are safe with me. I’m only trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between me and your people.”

Bush relaxed a little, but still looked unnerved. “Well, I better be getting to bed. Barbara will be missing me if I stay up past bedtime. Night, night Junior. Tell Laura we love her…”

The President made his way back outside. The Secret Service were waiting at the front door. Bush’s men departed to the house to lock up. As the President walked back along the lawn to the helicopter, SS#1 ambled up close.

“Sir, was the operation successful?”

“It was,” replied the President. “He told me everything I needed to know.”

“How did you get him to take the Sodium Pentothal?”

The President smiled. “I told him it was the latest vaccine.”

“He believed you?”

“I did one first.”

SS#1 paused, “How did you know which needle wasn’t doped?”

The President kept smiling, “I didn’t.”

The Instrumental beats to "SICK BOYS" are now available

Heavily sampled from skateboard videos like H-Street’s “Shackle Me Not” and “Hokus Pokus,” (as well as lots of good classic rock) these instrumentals are some of DJ Crucial and Toth’s best beats…

Chapter 40

The president was chilling out. It was the end of another long, hard day deadpanning responses to obstructionist Republicans who just wanted to see him fail. The government shutdown was not going to be averted this time, and while all those in the GOP would still get paid, they didn’t seem to mind all those government workers who wouldn’t. Too bad I can’t run for a third term, he thought. It would be even easier now.

“Want any company, Love?” The first lady was silhouetted in the doorway.

And that’s enough to let go of all this shit and 'thank the Lord.' “You wanna relax with me over some Sports Center? They’re still playing weekend highlights…”

“Sure, you know me and highlights.” She smiled at him, but her eyes said something else. He was about to ask, when she pulled some 3x5 cards out of her robe. She sat down to face him, and held one up. In sharpie marker, it read: “I’m scared.”

The president smirked and dropped his glance, thinking, ahhh love. When he looked back at her, she held another that said, “Are we doing the right thing?”

His smile became warm and affectionate. He found a pen and some business cards inside his jacket, and wrote: “Yes we are. God’s got us. I promise.”

She smiled again, and her eyes softened. She switched cards and held it for him, “how do you know?”

He picked up another business card and scribbled: “We’ve trusted this far, and so far, it is written. You, me, and the kids are all protected.”

She stared at him for awhile. Man, she is gorgeous, he thought. She flipped again: “Is there anything I should know about?”

He considered this for a moment, then wrote: “Great things are happening. Possibilities coming true. We shall overcome, and trust that I will always love you…only you, wholly you, soley you.”

She giggled at his rhymes and showed her dimples. She looked up holding another that read: “I trust you and I love you.”

The president’s heart melted. “You are amazing. I’m forever grateful for you, Love.” He pulled her in for a long hug.

“I’m grateful for you too,” she replied and got up to go. She was just passing the doorway, when she turned around and pulled out the final 3x5 card: “Will you make love to me now?”

God damn. He turned off the tv. She is perfect.