Adam saw a new alert. “Insurrection in Chicago fuels fights in other cities.”
Could it be a coincidence that this had happened as he was on his way? Adam didn’t think so. Without saying a word, he thought to himself, is Ferraro up to the task?
Chapter 48
“They’ve got armed overwatch on top of the buildings,” Ferraro heard Melissa say in his ear piece.
As Ferraro walked down the city street towards the mosque, he turned to his right, pretending to address his partner. “That’s good, that means we’ve come to the right place.”
Melissa was orchestrating the command and control from a private high-rise apartment. The height of the building offered uninterrupted communication. The clear view from the penthouse gave her oversight over the entire area. This was one of six communication centers she was monitoring. With Mauricio on another mission, these operations were all hers to command. She understood that she and Krieger were kicking off the first parts of the complicated mission. These two things would appear unrelated, but it was all part of the plan. That’s all she knew about what Krieger was up to. She was told that much, so when news broke, she wasn’t surprised. She would know that it was all part of the plan and she needed to stay concentrated on her part. She had no knowledge if the president or even the vice president knew. She had no way of knowing the president was currently at the White House watching and listening to the many moving parts. He had kicked off the largest single operation since D-day.
Melissa’s lead relayed information from each field command post (CP). The decentralized command centers could each make decisions and adjust to circumstances as things developed. This structure allowed Melissa to best accomplish the main mission of providing overwatch and offering good information to Ferraro. Collecting and relaying information was all she was authorized to do. The dirty work was up to Ferraro and his people.
Melissa and her teams had been monitoring increased activity for days. Armed locals had been moving through alleyways and gathering in small groups at several locations in the vicinity. Most of the communication was being directed from the mosque, and those who had ties to the mosque. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t happen. It was almost impossible to get approval for legal surveillance in cities any more.
Melissa’s team had picked up reports about the plans to escalate the civil unrest during the upcoming demonstrations, when local police would stand down.
Ferraro’s teams were in place, and they all had their assignments. These men were professionals. They didn’t know anything about the operation, besides what Ferraro had told them. They believed the efforts of the foreign globalist backed insurgents were to overthrow them. That part was true. The radical arm of the Muslim nation had a goal of total domination, and they hated the Christian side of the Mafioso culture. Those working with Ferraro knew this pre-emptive strike was needed to ensure their livelihood for generations to come. They also understood they had a window of time to make their hits and get out. This was their only chance to beat back the competition.
Now, Melissa’s team listened in silence. Even though they had secure scrambled lines, they were letting Ferraro handle this. Mosques these days had lookouts for police and federal agents, and Ferraro knew it. If a lookout detected a risk, they would radio the inside of the mosque, then those in charge would take the appropriate actions.
Usually mosques had a lead imam who almost always had enough money to pay off informants or someone in government, so they knew when the authorities were coming. However, unexpected infiltration would be met with the highest sense of urgency. This mosque not only had the usual safe room, it had an extra room in between, which offered those inside added security. It also bought them time in case they were infiltrated.
Two of Ferraro’s team worked from a distance so as not to be identified. No one except Ferraro and Melissa knew who was behind the drones.
At Ferraro’s confirmation signal, four small drones took off for the four corners of the mosque and one flew to the center. Being less than ten inches across, they were quiet and could remain unnoticed unless someone happened to glance directly at one.
Ferraro’s man, a well-paid retired military woman of Italian ancestry, watched the monitors. After she was satisfied it was all clear for Ferraro to move in, a woman walked out of a door up ahead. She brushed the back of her skirt and then stopped and examined the heel of her shoe as if to look for something. This was the all-clear signal. Ferraro was a go.
This would be his first hit. After Ferraro eliminated the HVTs, Melissa and her teams would immediately leave town. For the remainder of the day, Ferraro and his team would be allowed to handle their own business before pulling out.
After accomplishing the purging, Ferraro would move to another city via a secure private plane provided by someone in the family. This travel wouldn’t show up on any budget and thus was as secure as it could be.
Though brutal, this was a way for the only free country left in the world to turn back the tide of economic overthrow by wealthy banking families aided by Islamic terrorists. It had to be done, because they all knew, when the deep state gave the signal, the Islamist extremists would strike a series of fatal blows to unsuspecting masses across the country. Ferraro had to complete his purge before theirs began.
Ferraro had another twist he planned to add to his methods; when the Islamic recruits saw this, few Islamic terrorists would want to come to the United States, and many of those who were still here would flee of their own accord.
As soon as Ferraro and his companion crossed the street, the jamming device over the center of the mosque actuated. It would effectively interrupt the communications from the mosque and a small surrounding area.
Ferraro walked directly up to one of the sentries at the front corner of the building. Ferraro was obviously Italian, and the man figured he was a local small time Mafioso who wanted something. He never paid attention to what was coming from behind. No sooner had he been shot in the head with a suppressed weapon, when a small van pulled up and two men dragged him inside. One of Ferraro’s men inside the van grabbed his ear piece and pistol and took his place. That sequence went seamlessly one more time.
The driver parked the old van they’d stolen the previous day in the alley by the dumpster. He locked the doors, threw the keys away, and put his thin rubber gloves in his pocket.
Ferraro was accompanied by an elderly middle eastern man who had long ago changed his name. Sam Perra had been born and raised in Iraq, and he’d witnessed his eldest brother taken away by the guard and forced into Saddam’s army. Sam’s mother, knowing Saddam’s guard would come back again in a few years and take her other two sons, trained them throughout the summer and the following winter. Then, in the spring, she sent them over the mountains to escape. Both had made their way to the United States. Sam’s elder brother had started up a small restaurant, while Sam earned his red belt in Karate and eventually made his way into security work. Then, through a series of incidents, Sam ended up going back to Iran and other countries in the middle east as a contractor working for US intelligence. He had searched, but never saw his mother again.
When his second contract was up, he went back to the US where, fueled by his anger of stories about his mother’s disappearance, he had gotten into a conflict with some men. After holding his own with two, a third had knocked him silly from behind. They were Mafia, and it had been Sam’s unlikely introduction to his new way of life.
Sam had seen what evil men had done to his family and friends when he was a boy. He knew evil was here, trying to take away the way of life he now cherished with his American family.
With Sam obviously being of mid-eastern descent and Ferraro a half step behind him, they were paid little attention. Once inside, they went straight to the men’s room to give the team some time, while they pretended to clean themselves.
They could hear the hustle of men and their fast-s
peaking middle eastern dialogue. Sam understood they were upset about the loss of communication. He nodded to Ferraro, ever careful in case they were being watched or listened to.
They walked casually down the hall where the back rooms were for the most important men in the mosque. Money flowed from the middle east to leaders in mosques across America. The well-connected Muslims had infringed on traditional Mafia businesses for decades.
Even though it was well known that this imam was responsible for training and supplying individuals conducting terrorist activities, they had so many people paid off, their nefarious activities were allowed to continue. That was all about to end today.
Ferraro checked his watch as he followed Sam down the hall. It had been less than twenty seconds since entering the area they weren’t supposed to be in.
A man with a heavy mid-eastern accent asked, “May I help you?”
Sam Perra, still walking in front of Ferraro to buy them the few seconds they needed, responded fluently in his native tongue. “I’m sorry.” Reaching into his jacket pocket he continued, “Maybe you can help us find…” Sam pulled out his suppressed 45 and shot the man square in the chest before saying, “…Jesus.”
Knowing the suppressed sound was loud enough to be identified in the next room, Sam moved quickly and burst through the door. Ferraro followed.
As shots were fired throughout the room, Ferraro’s handpicked men busted through two other entrances of the mosque and came in shooting. They didn’t wait until they’d identified every person. With the mosque closed, everyone they saw was male and of mid-eastern decent and thus connected. This was a hit, an extermination of an element that would no longer be tolerated in the country.
With one man down in the first room, Perra moved quickly. He threw open the next door, staying behind the wall. It was a good call that he had learned while helping the military clear houses in his homeland, because he watched as rounds riddled across the door and wall. Reaching around the doorframe with his 45, Perra emptied his magazine.
He quickly slapped in another magazine, looked at Ferraro, took a few more shots and they both lunged into the room firing.
Only the imam was inside. The .45 had hit him with such power it had thrown the gun out of the imam’s hand. Perra thought, That’s the advantage of using a .45 at close range.
Ferraro looked at the HVT with disdain, knowing he was responsible for countless deaths of innocent children, knowing what they did to women. These were both things his traditional Italian culture despised.
Ferraro said to the man, “Your day has come. Today begins the purge of your kind.”
The imam coughed up blood and, through a pained look on his face he grinned and said something in his native tongue.
Ferraro looked at Perra. Perra shot through the imam again, finishing him.
Reaching into his pocket, Perra had come prepared with a message he’d acquired from a family member on the south side of town where the slaughter house was. Pulling out the heavy plastic bag, he carefully opened it and spread the pig blood and parts on and around the man. These Muslims had died with the pigs and whoever found them would know it. The message was Ferraro and Perra’s alone, neither Melissa or anyone else had any knowledge of it. By the time Ferraro and his team were through, the message that was being delivered there and in several other locations would be received by the entire Muslim community throughout the nation.
“What’d he say?” Ferraro asked.
Perra turned to Ferraro. “He said, no, soon the time begins to purge the great beast.”
Ferraro looked back at him, knowing they had accomplished their mission here by eliminating this HVT. “Let’s get out of here.” Something big is up. I hope whatever the military is doing works.
* * *
Hours later, after taking care of numerous foreign criminal elements, Ferraro and Perra were safely at the airport. Ferraro pulled out another secure phone and made a call to the only number in it.
A familiar voice simply said, “Hello?”
Ferraro confirmed he was all clear by a pre-determined code phrase, saying, “Is this the florist?”
With the authentication that Ferraro was safely out of the area, the voice simply said, “Nice day to send flowers,” and hung up.
Ferraro was on to the next destination.
* * *
Their next stop started off rather unusually. One of Ferraro’s assassins pulled out his gun, carefully aimed, and squeezed the trigger. He barely grazed the mid-section of the officer with a perfectly placed round about two inches above the belt.
The shooter immediately concealed his weapon and walked casually around the corner with his head down, and got into a car. The officer fell to the ground, screaming in pain.
Drapes opened in the building across the street. The officer screamed for them to come out with their hands up. After a short delay he was met with a hailstorm of bullets.
Over his radio, the officer called in, “Officer down, I repeat, officer down. I’ve got multiple armed assailants. Need backup.”
The officer knew two things: first, his brothers in uniform would react without mercy to these foreign infiltrators who were packed into the building just across the street. Second, he would be compensated very well by his Italian family for taking that grazing shot.
As Ferraro left town, several tips led local police to the other staging grounds where terrorists were held up, preparing to unleash terror on the unsuspecting public. At each of these locations, somehow shots were fired at police, who vented their pent-up anger. Ferraro was a brilliant man, using every tactic at his disposal. This way he could purge much more.
* * *
A few hours later, the plane took off for its next destination. In the back of his head, Ferraro knew Adam, Krieger and others were up to something much bigger than he was undertaking. He had no idea what it was, although something in his gut told him it was only a matter of time before the lid blew off this thing and all hell broke loose.
* * *
The motorcade carrying the vice president pulled up to the New World Order headquarters. Adam’s face gave no indication of the sense of relief he felt when he glanced back over his shoulder to see that The Shadow had made it through security.
They entered through the front door and walked down the ornate marbled hallway of the globalist banking stronghold. They went up the elevator. As they headed towards the conference room, Adam knew he was about to set in motion a sequence of events that were the only hope of saving the country. To do so, this meeting was going to rock the world banks.
* * *
“Gentlemen, let me get started,” Adam said. His opening silenced the room immediately after introductions. He had their undivided attention.
George had told the bankers that Adam would show up personally to negotiate the terms of the United States putting up collateral in exchange for their ongoing financial support of another huge loan to keep the country from collapsing. With little negotiating leverage, George’s only demand was that the heads of each of the families that owned the Federal Reserve attended the meeting personally. Present were: heads of Goldman Sachs, Rockefellers, Lehmans and Kuhn Loebs of New York; the Rothmayers of Paris and London; the Warburgs of Hamburg; the Lazards of Paris; and the Israel Moses Serifs of Rome.97 George had made it clear that a roll call would be taken, and if all families weren’t present to negotiate in person, Adam would leave.
From the bankers’ perspective, the globalist families were overjoyed that they’d finally, personally, witness the transference of a significant amount of the assets of the United States of America over to them. Along with the terms came ongoing economic control George had taken out of their grasp when he’d backed out of the TPP agreement. They already knew approximately how many miles of infrastructure and the magnitude of the natural resources that would become theirs.
&nb
sp; Everything the globalists did was with the intention of enriching themselves. Slogans and movements like save the environment, political correctness, humanitarian issues were all a lie to get more money out of people while the globalist bankers kept the lion’s share and gradually increased their control over working people everywhere. Adam couldn’t think of one agenda ever that reduced taxes, let people keep more of their own money, or let people have more control of their own lives… not even one!
George hadn’t wanted Adam to be a part of this, but there was no other way. The globalists would only agree to having their top people there if Adam represented the United States. With all these players, at this location, they could orchestrate the transfer of any amount of money and communicate directly with any branch they had around the world. Direction from this headquarters was the supreme authority and, per the agreement, George had these bankers prepared to make what was to be the largest financial transfers in the history of mankind.
Each reigning globalist family member knew huge transfers were coming. They’d had paperwork drawn up, teams were standing by, and other bank headquarters around the world had been notified and pre-authorized to immediately make huge transfers of whatever amounts were agreed upon during the meeting. They only awaited the account numbers and amounts.
The United States needed these funds to avert an imminent collapse — within days.
These men expected to receive the United States subservience. They were at ease. They were surrounded by their own private military, and the most capable protection of any civilians in the world.
Though it would never be publicized this way, the globalists expected Adam to set the stage for the final economic surrender of the United States as a viable entity and sovereign nation.
Return of Our Country Page 24