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.

Chapter Sixteen

“Is this line secure Mr. President?” Assange sounded frazzled.

“Hard to believe with your celebrity status that it could be,” said the President, “but my people assure me it is. Everything ok?”

Assange took a longer breath than normal, “as well as it can be, but I can’t help but feel as if I’m running on borrowed time. Great Britain is about to sell me out to the Swedes, Australian parliament is blocking me from running for office and I’m supposed to just take it in stride.”

“Remember the power of the martyr.” chimed the President.

“Aye, so long as he has the media with him,” Assange grumbled. He was nervous. Vaughan’s compound had been such a peaceful reprieve from everyday life, it felt awkward to be back in the throws of the unknown. “I can’t help but feel abandoned by my fellow journalists after they blamed me for any trouble that came their way.”

“Two words: catty bitches.” Assange could hear the President’s smile thru the phone. “They love you for the dirt you dug up, but they hate you for getting it to the public first. Trust the path you’ve chosen. Maybe you’ll get a taste of how Jesus felt…”

“ ‘Thrice before the cock crows,’ and maybe more if this keeps getting delayed.” Assange paused. “Any good news?”

“I enjoyed your show on RT,” said the President, “it’s already a vice of mine, and it may be even more detrimental than my Marlboro Reds. Free speech is becoming hazardous to your health around here. Did you notice the banks still playing the same games that got them in trouble before?”

“ ‘Spare the rod, spoil the rich kids.’ Isn’t that how it goes nowadays? I can only assume that’s playing into your plans…”

“I’m working on a new possibility.” The President took a breath. “Historically, when the market fails, you shore up the banks and let them fix their mistakes. It’s taken three years to find out that no longer works. They played me in the first month of my administration, and if they think I’ll be played again, they will experience something else.”

“…like?” asked Assange.

“What if,” the President paused, “the money we would normally supply the system with in times of crisis, we shared with the People? What would happen if the USA gave grants and loans to those who couldn’t afford their mortgage instead of the banks?”

“First and foremost, you would be THE MAN,” answered Assange. “The People would love you even more, but I would worry about certain power-hungry, fat cats becoming angry at being cut out of the equation.”

“True,” continued the President, “even though that money would still go to the banks, they might feel…under appreciated…but it would certainly help our accountability.”

“…and your popularity,” said Assange. “I think it’s as bold a move as executive order #11110, so watch your back.”

“If you think that’s bold, what do you think about a total overhaul of government pensions?” asked the President.

“You’re going there?” Assange gasped. “Wow Mr. President. I thought you were moderate. That sounds like borderline revolution.”

“Well, it may not be necessary if we can get some transparency in regards to where the money is going, but the People have to want it.”

“ ‘Follow the money.’ If only it were that easy,” Assange thought for second, “but if another crisis happens…”

“Then it might be time to roll out the big guns,” said the President, “if by ‘big guns’ I mean…‘a lifting of the veil.’ ”

Chapter Fifteen

“I’m sorry old boy, but I’ve held out at long as my sanity will allow. You’ve got to go.” Vaughan Smith had tears in his eyes. His home Ellingham Hall in Norfolk, England had been Assange’s sanctuary from political persecution for nearly a year. “I thought I could stomach it, as I believe in what you are doing. Prannie understood in the beginning, but month after month of fending off reporters and paparazzi has taken its toll. The prank phone calls were funny at first, but now they’re hourly, on every phone we own. Our spam filters don’t block death threats and we’ve been hacked so much we considered unplugging ourselves from the world…but we don’t need to if you’re not here.”

“I understand mate.” Assange smiled. “Fish and visitors stink after three days, let alone three hundred, and what I brought to the table was already rotten.”

Vaughan’s eyes leaked as he maintained his gaze. “You are not rotten, you are the truth. You are what the world needs and wants. I will continue to help however I can, but if I want my marriage to last, I have to pass the baton for now. Prannie believes in you too, but when ideology and reality are set upon a mother’s scale, children tip the balance.”

“Rightly so. Your family is one-of-a-kind Vaughan. I’ve written you in my will to pay you back when the time comes.”

Vaughan wiped his tears away with shaking hands and held them out to Assange. “Then stay alive chap. I want you to see what you’ve accomplished when it all plays out. You deserve to witness the fruition of your work. The dominoes are falling as we speak, and the world is ready for this regardless of the governments who are scared shitless of their own shadows.”

“As well they should be.” Assange took his hands in his own. “Thank you brother. Your hospitality and understanding are only surpassed by your sustainable farming that tastes so good.” They embraced as if it was the last time they would see each other.

“You’re not so bad for an Aussie.” Vaughan’s voiced hitched and his eyes kept leaking.

Assange winked. “And you’re not so bad for a wanker.”

Chapter Fourteen (there will be no chapter 13 for the USA)

“You are boggling my mind with your political deftacity sir,” Assange admitted, “although I am still waiting to hear you really ‘tell it like it is.’ I think you would be a smash hit amongst the youth and the baby boomers, and right now, they are embodying the ‘cool’ in politics.”

“We’re getting there.” The president enjoyed their conversation. “The rhetoric game has been going on too long in politics. Have you ever noticed that leaders get criticized for saying one thing and doing another?”

“Only obviously,” smirked Assange, “even you said in your campaign speeches you would ‘defend whistle blowers’ and seek ‘transparency.’ I trust you didn’t forget that.”

“Pardon my non-politically correct response but, ‘it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.’ I came into this job knowing you have to ‘dance with the devil’ to make anything happen. What you’ve seen so far is called the first term anchor. For sustainability, I had to plug the holes of the last administration’s leaky ship by paying for the mistakes of the banks, create trust within the status quo by giving them their precious top 1% tax cuts (further alienating them from the rest of the 99%) while keeping my constituents satisfied with meager change (even though they are clamoring for revolution) just so I can keep things from getting out of hand amongst the media and public opinion to keep my promises that couldn’t have been accomplished within the first term, so I can initiate greater change during my second and go down in history as one of the best presidents to have ever held the job…aka one hell of a cluster fuck.”

“I’ve never seen the GOP so toxic,” said Assange. “When you offered to work ‘with’ them, it was almost like you called them out on their stance of doing nothing to fix anything. If their only goal is to defeat you, they are telling the American people, ‘we’re not doing anything until this guy is out of office.’ That’s a back handed way of earning a paycheck for four years from US tax dollars.”

The President raised an eyebrow. “It’s what happens when politicians stop being politicians.”

Julian thought for a moment. “Speak on it, please.”

“For all the problems the Dems have with being bought out by the banks, the GOP was bought years ago. They are no longer accountable to their voters, they are accountable to their bank accounts. When you don’t govern based upon your ethics and your decisions are made for you by money…”

“…you’re just a cog in the machine, and no longer a politician.”

“And Bingo was his name-o.”

Julian looked awed. “Fuck me, the banks aren’t political strategists, they’re just money holders. How do they expect to win in politics when they can’t even balance wealth that’s not theirs?”

“Their aggressiveness is staggering, but I’m not the kind of guy who wants to call anyone out. It’s best to allow the People to find the truth on their own.”

“So when you took office and the financial fallout occurred a month later, it was basically the banks pulling some gangsta shit,” mused Assange.

“This is a stick up!” clowned the President. “Give us more money to cover the cost of our gambling debts or we’ll let the whole system fall apart during your term…and there will be CHAOS!”

“Riots, food shortages, raping and pillaging…wow. You could’ve just called their bluff though. Do you think America would’ve fallen apart?”

“No,” said the President, “we have too much good in us, but I didn’t want it to fall apart. I believe in the human race, and part of that is allowing the People to correct their mistakes and learn from them.”

“What if some people don’t want to fix their mistakes?” asked Assange. “What if some control freaks are so enamored with their own deception that they deceive themselves into believing they are bullet proof?”

“If it comes to that, the People will supply the bullets.”