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.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Señor Assange, teléfono, la línea dos,” the intercom chirped in the Ecuadorian Embassy.

“Gracias amigo,” Assange replied. “¿Quién es?”

“Un hombre de Rusia.” Russia? Who on Earth…no bloody way. Assange got excited. He picked up line two.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Assange…do you know who this is?” It was Edward Snowden, but Assange could tell it was best not to mention that on the phone.

“I do. Thanks for contacting me. How are you fairing?”

“I’m a little depressed about how difficult life can be, but I’m trusting it’ll get better. You?”

Assange grinned. “Same old, same old…reading…writing…lecturing via satellite from this humble abode. My hosts are still gracious, thank God.”

“Good, mine too.” It was phenomenal to hear from Snowden. Assange had never spoken with him before, and during his purgatory in the Moscow airport, there was plenty of interference run by those against him from contacting WikiLeaks for protection. Luckily, Amnesty International had gotten to him first bringing more press with them. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“By all means,” replied Assange. “Tell me something good.”

“During my tenure at Big Brother, I saw, read and heard mostly tame stuff. The overwhelming majority of people were just people, and that rule extended across international boundaries. I would estimate 99% of all info I perused was simple, bill of rights material…”

“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?” asked Assange.

“Exactly,” Snowden continued, “very little illegal business and no terrorist activity…until, I began monitoring some of the larger players, Monsanto, Dow Chemicals, GE, big oil, big banks, the government, and especially our military. Suddenly, it was like opening the door to a perverted version of reality. Not only were they often conspiring in illegal behavior, it appeared to be the norm. Suppressing information from the public, bribery, confidence scams, eliminating competition and even murder was commonplace. It was as if they considered themselves immune to any kind of accountability so long as they worked together in secret.”

Assange empathized. “I’m only too aware.”

“When I was younger, I heard a song called ‘Power Corrupts’ by some folk singer named Rob Getzschman. I laughed at his generalizing, what a naïve dude! He clearly didn’t know how America worked. We’re the good guys! My family was a perfect example. We always obeyed the rules, we always stayed the course, and we were always rewarded for doing the right thing, military or otherwise. All the families I was raised around held this same ethic of American exceptionalism, and I was rigid in my agreement…but then working for Big Brother showed me what happens behind the curtain, and my world was split in two: the 99% who just want to live their lives and the 1% who want to control them, at whatever the cost.”

“Well, ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely,’” quoted Assange. “Lord Acton was a lord after all, and 1887 was a banner year for the Bank of England considering the Rothschild’s joined forces with the DeBeers diamond mines of South Africa then...”

“I don’t want any part of it,” Snowden cut him off. “The glimpse I had was Earth shattering, and I will not play their game. It’s not stable, and their culture of lying knows no bounds. They will protect their lifestyles by any means necessary. It goes against humanity…it goes against nature.”

Assange felt for Snowden. He was clearly still in the middle of a breakdown, but at least he was coping.

“Do you know what nature does to forests?” asked Snowden.

“Tell me,” Assange urged.

“Plants compete for sunlight, and eventually you get a handful of massive trees that dominate the landscape. Life still adapts beneath them, and while less is able to grow, what does survive gets protection from the trees. It’s like a trade-off. This goes on for hundreds of years, sometimes thousands…until the tree dies. Then it falls and destroys much of the life beneath it, but even then, the sun shines where it couldn’t before and creates new life, and the process starts all over.” Snowden paused, breathing fast.

“Go on.”

“Our leaders have spent their load. The tree is dead, but instead of letting it fall, they’re propping it up with 2x4s called ‘quantitative easing’ and chains called ‘strategies of tension,’ and balloons called ‘drones.’ They’re hoping against hope that they can keep this tree from falling…they’re hiding the condition of the tree…they’re keeping the public from seeing it, and anyone who tells the People, ‘hey, that tree is dead!’ is silenced by threats, defamation or even death.”

Assange stared the floor. “So what’s the answer?”

“The only way the People can evolve is if they know the tree is dead.” Snowden paused again. “I have some leaks for you.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Snowden story had the president riveted. Sure, on the outside he was terse and agitated, and his statements resembled his stance on Bradley Manning, but inside…the sleeper was awakening. Stay alive son. Get somewhere safe and stay alive.

When Snowden reached Russia for political asylum (oh, the irony) protocol was to cancel the G-20 summit meeting with President Putin after he refused to cooperate with US authorities on Snowden’s extradition. Vlad “the dad” was protecting a kid with unrestricted access to the US intelligence honeycomb, very precarious to American interests. The CIA enlisted Snowden’s real father to facilitate some form of pressure (basically emotional blackmail) on the young whistleblower. So far, nothing had worked, and the media portrayed Russia as an enemy once again.

The president set up another meeting with Putin, but this time, he had an ace up his sleeve. Before their official press gathering that would be subject to body language experts and general speculation, Air Force One made an unofficial stop in the Russian countryside for an actual discussion away from the media frenzy.

“Are you sure you want to do this Mr. President?” asked SS#1. “We’re practically naked out here in the middle of the Soviet Union.”

The President smiled, “It’s called Russia now hoss, you better catch up on modern geography. Seriously though, I don’t believe Mr. Putin wants to start WWIII…or IV or whatever it is we’re up to now.”

“The Cold war was III, the current Information war is IV, and I'm not worried about Putin as much as his dissent out here in the wild east.” SS#1 wore no smile. “The Cossacks didn’t just disappear, you know.”

“Well, I’m willing to trust my man Vlad with that. He’s been around awhile, and he understands the virtues of more options.” The sound of aircraft resonated through their feet. On the horizon, three massive helicopters appeared moving slowly toward them.

SS#1 checked his mic: “All right guys, the golden goose is a sitting duck on the pond, so be on high alert and ready for immediate evac.” The helicopters touched down a thousand feet from them. Several troops formed a double line from the center chopper. Putin marched out.

The secret service formed an arc behind the President. “Hold your position boys. All eyes on the goose. Be prepared for anything.”

The President walked forward with his interpreter, as did Putin with his. WOW, thought the president, it’s go-time. They shook hands and met each other’s gaze, neither looking away. After some quick introductions, and an understanding that the interpreters would help guide the conversation with accurate translations (as objective as possible) by double checking each other, the President opened up first.

“Mr. Putin, I’m in a bit of a bind with the current US government. The status quo has me nailed down for it’s agenda, but I’m doing my best to work with them. The Republicans are running me around with their obstruction, but I’m letting them for now. The American people are fed up and subject to propaganda of all kinds, but I’m trying to fight for them too. All in all, it’s a lot of work, but I’m learning.” The Russian translator spoke in Putin’s ear, while the other nodded along, listening for inaccuracies of any kind.

He continued, “I’m gonna shoot you straight.” The Russian translator paused, unsure of what to say. “Whoops,” the president’s translator quickly filtered his metaphor. “Sorry about that. I mean to say, I know your leaders have been lied to by our leaders many times in the past, but I’m here to level with you. I’d like to work with you in a way that helps both of us and our countries.”

Putin uttered one word. The president’s translator asked, “how?”

“I’m going to suggest war with Syria using their chemical weapons cache and crimes against their own people as precedent.” Both translator’s eyes widened. The translation continued.

“I will then attempt to enlist my government and any in Europe that want in on the action so we can go in there and take out a corrupt regime.”

Putin’s poker face showed nothing, but he listened.

“My strategy is this: if I clang the bells of war, I’ll be pre-empting all of the war mongers in congress, most of whom don’t like me. This will force them to choose to support me and go against their party policy or fight me and look like hypocrites. Likewise, the American people will be equally divided, but all-in-all, those in favor of war will be far less, and those against war will make a mighty noise. Furthermore, my own soldiers will come ‘out of the closet’ with a massive opposition to any more war in the middle east. The only people in favor of this kind of action will be the status quo, so it’ll look like I’m aiding and abetting their agenda, but that in itself will expose them to the public…and then here’s where you come in.”

Putin smirked.

“I want you go on record that we should not go to war, but open up talks with the Syrians to avoid any more bloodshed. Why? Your history of human rights violations will be forgiven by many, my people will realize how much they have in common with you and your people, my government will be caught in the middle trying to figure out whom to support without pissing off their task masters and the Syrian government will have to work with both of us to avoid being ousted from power. But most importantly: I will ‘agree’ with you, and the fear of war will be subverted by an agreement to work together for peace instead of violence.”

As the translator continued, Putin’s smirk faded.

“The press will call me a hypocrite, a liar, a puppet. They will say you ‘owned’ me or I caved, but in the end, there will be no war, and you will ‘help’ me achieve it.” The president paused. “I offer this plan with the utmost respect for you, your people and the rest of the world, in hopes that we can all get along and stopped being sidetracked by the corporate interests who profit from war. I’d really like to see this happen in my lifetime. Does this sound interesting to you?”

When the translator finished, Putin took a big breath and exhaled through clenched teeth. “Da.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

NSA WHISTLEBLOWER ALERT!!!
Edward Snowden is a 29-year-old who worked for Booz Allen Hamilton as an infrastructure analyst for NSA in Hawaii. He was also a systems engineer, systems administrator, senior adviser for the Central Intelligence Agency, solutions consultant, and a telecommunications informations system officer.

Snowden:
“When you're in positions of privileged access like a systems administrator for the sort of intelligence community agencies, you're exposed to a lot more information on a broader scale then the average employee and because of that you see things that may be disturbing but over the course of a normal person's career you'd only see one or two of these instances. When you see everything you see them on a more frequent basis and you recognize that some of these things are actually abuses. And when you talk to people about them in a place like this where this is the normal state of business people tend not to take them very seriously and move on from them.

“But over time that awareness of wrongdoing sort of builds up and you feel compelled to talk about. And the more you talk about the more you're ignored. The more you're told its not a problem until eventually you realize that these things need to be determined by the public and not by somebody who was simply hired by the government.

“NSA and intelligence community in general is focused on getting intelligence wherever it can by any means possible. It believes, on the grounds of sort of a self-certification, that they serve the national interest. Originally we saw that focus very narrowly tailored as foreign intelligence gathered overseas.

“Now increasingly we see that it's happening domestically and to do that they, the NSA specifically, targets the communications of everyone. It ingests them by default. It collects them in its system and it filters them and it analyses them and it measures them and it stores them for periods of time simply because that's the easiest, most efficient, and most valuable way to achieve these ends. So while they may be intending to target someone associated with a foreign government or someone they suspect of terrorism, they're collecting you're communications to do so.

“Any analyst at any time can target anyone, any selector, anywhere…I sitting at my desk certainly had the authorities to wiretap anyone from you or your accountant to a Federal judge to even the President.

“I think that the public is owed an explanation of the motivations behind the people who make these disclosures that are outside of the democratic model. When you are subverting the power of government that's a fundamentally dangerous thing to democracy and if you do that in secret consistently as the government does when it wants to benefit from a secret action that it took. It'll kind of give its officials a mandate to go, 'Hey tell the press about this thing and that thing so the public is on our side.' But they rarely, if ever, do that when an abuse occurs. That falls to individual citizens but they're typically maligned. It becomes a thing of 'These people are against the country. They're against the government' but I'm not.

“I'm no different from anybody else. I don't have special skills. I'm just another guy who sits there day to day in the office, watches what's happening and goes, 'This is something that's not our place to decide, the public needs to decide whether these programs and policies are right or wrong.' And I'm willing to go on the record to defend the authenticity of them and say, 'I didn't change these, I didn't modify the story. This is the truth; this is what's happening. You should decide whether we need to be doing this.'

“If I had just wanted to harm the US, [I] could shut down the surveillance system in an afternoon. But that's not my intention. I think for anyone making that argument they need to think, if they were in my position and you live a privileged life, you're living in Hawaii, in paradise, and making a ton of money, 'What would it take you to leave everything behind?'

“The greatest fear that I have regarding the outcome for America of these disclosures is that nothing will change. People will see in the media all of these disclosures. They'll know the lengths that the government is going to grant themselves powers unilaterally to create greater control over American society and global society. But they won't be willing to take the risks necessary to stand up and fight to change things to force their representatives to actually take a stand in their interests."

“And the months ahead, the years ahead it's only going to get worse until eventually there will be a time where policies will change because the only thing that restricts the activities of the surveillance state are policy. Even our agreements with other sovereign governments, we consider that to be a stipulation of policy rather then a stipulation of law. And because of that a new leader will be elected, they'll find the switch, say that 'Because of the crisis, because of the dangers we face in the world, some new and unpredicted threat, we need more authority, we need more power.'

“And there will be nothing the people can do at that point to oppose it.

“And it will be turnkey tyranny.”