by J W Brazier
“Now, as Mr. Pauley pointed out, our exercise phases recognize suspicious rhetoric by potential terrorists, individuals, or groups. A successful weapon of terrorism is fear and intimidation. They incite armed resistance, distort public opinion, and disrupt commerce. Our phases were designed to thwart those agendas on a global scale.”
Dean really wanted to interrupt the windbag. The general was now contradicting his GEM-Tech speech according to what Joshua had explained to Dean.
“Thank you,” Phillips said. “Next question.”
A tall, thin man sporting a pencil mustache led the fray of reporters’ noise and hand-waving. General Phillips smiled and pointed.
“General Phillips,” the man said in a thick British accent, “Winston Humphreys with World Alliance News. Sir, your Southern states are quite hostile toward any world unification. Has the local citizenry embraced or rejected United Nations armed forces on American soil and the new technologies you’ve introduced?”
“Great question, Mr. Humphreys. Inform your readers that White River citizens have shown extraordinary Southern hospitality. You may further add, a small number of ultra right-wing religious fanatics of varying flavors are out of step with a progressive twenty-first century America.
“I’ve spoken with my counterparts in other countries. We’re agreed, the key phrase is ‘world unity.’ We’ll stand firm and united against rhetoric to the contrary. I believe I can speak for our esteemed UN representatives.” Phillips turned. “How say you, officials?”
With one voice, the on-stage bureaucrats rose to a standing ovation—except for Joshua. The applause subsided and General Phillips faced the British journalist.
“You have your answer, sir.” General Phillips nodded and the officials sat again. “Now, I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, but I must leave. I’ve pressing engagements. Mayor Austin will answer additional questions. Thank you all.”
The general waved like a conquering hero and exited the stage with his advisers in tow. The applause was brief as Joshua came to the podium. As Joshua gave a nod to the audience, Dean mused that the media blackout blanket must have been lifted—at least for those journalists preapproved by Abram Solomon and his crew, no doubt making sure that only select bits of the truth would make it to the outside world.
“I have time for a few questions,” Joshua said. “Mr. Archer will follow.”
Many reporters waved their hands, but Joshua pointed to Dean.
“Mr. Mayor, Dean Cohen of Global News Daily. Sir, your public comments counter General Phillips. You’ve struck a public chord against the resolutions and direct involvement of the United Nations in White River. Would you explain your views?”
“You’re correct, Mr. Cohen. I addressed those concerns with the governor. I believe UN involvement in this so-called training exercise is a grave mistake. The UN or ICC has neither authority nor powers over Americans to institute their resolutions. We’re a sovereign nation.
“I do endorse training against terrorist threats, whether propagated by individuals or groups, and that includes Christians and Jews. No one should use violence to force their views, dogmas, or agendas on citizens, local or global. But Operation Chameleon, in my opinion, isn’t about training against terrorism. It’s about power … and control. Our government has allowed UN involvement to desensitize and indoctrinate the public, law enforcement, education, business, and religious institutions. They want Americans to accept and take part in the adoption of a one-world government within a sovereign nation.”
Joshua’s searing comments clearly agitated the audience. Whispers amplified to grating noise. Dean had to shout his next question.
“Mayor Austin, if I may, sir, I have a follow-up question?”
“Make it brief, Mr. Cohen.”
Joshua’s adversaries quieted.
“Sir, my question pertains to you as a public official displaying the Ten Commandments. The ACLU is barking at your door. Other cities and states are taking similar firm stands against court actions that threaten freedom of religious expression. Sir, what is your intended response against a possible lawsuit?”
“Mr. Cohen, I pay a price with my open acknowledgment of faith. I’m portrayed as someone two-holes-in-a-sheet shy of a Clansman. The Ten Commandments adorn the building and walls of the US Supreme Court. And atop the Washington Monument, on its east side, an inscription in Latin greets the morning sunrise: LAUS DEO, which means, Praise be to God.
“Judicial tyranny is still tyranny, Mr. Cohen. Generations of Americans were once confident in their constitutional freedoms. Today that same Constitution, according to activist judges, is deemed outdated and in need of revision. Government institutions are bowing to a dangerous ideology: progressive liberalism. Our nation’s fundamental foundations are in jeopardy.
“Contrary to popular belief, the idea of ‘separation of church and state’ is not in the Constitution. It was a phrase used in a letter by Thomas Jefferson to the Danbury association confirming his commitment to freedom of religion and against a state-established religion.
“I believe in the Ten Commandments—a personal choice. They’re an excellent guide and a tremendous piece of literature. I may display them like any other great author’s work. I see no conflict with the Constitution.”
Dean nodded, admiring Joshua for his courage to speak plain and truthful. Joshua next pointed to a male reported a few rows in front of Dean.
“Mr. Mayor, Ed Harris of The Little Rock Clarion. Sir, both the governor and Washington approved Operation Chameleon. What are your intentions as the joint exercise continues in your community?”
“Thank you, Mr. Harris. I intend to present to the voters a resolution calling for White River to become a United Nations-free zone. I’ll warn everyone I can of the dangers of UN intrusion into our American structures of our society and government.”
Dean couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Joshua had thrown a fireball into the press conference. The UN and city officials began murmuring. Ben Archer looked to be enraged, then rose and stormed off the stage.
“I’ll take one final question,” Joshua said.
Roger Pauley jumped ahead of others to shout his question: “Mayor Austin, why has the city joined in a lawsuit with Senator Jeremiah McRamsey against White River General?”
“Ha,” Dean whispered. “Going for the jugular, are you?”
Roger Pauley had attempted to present a loaded “gotcha” question. Dean saw it for what it was: entrapment. Roger’s news commentaries, Dean knew, supported the hospital policies on infanticide.
“Mr. Pauley, the litigation is ongoing,” Joshua said. “You should know that, but I will comment on known facts in the case that are public record.
“First, the McRamsey child was premature at nineteen weeks. Hospital policy allows intensive care for a twenty-week premature birth.
“Second, the hospital informed the mother and father that their child had died. Sworn affidavits from several eyewitnesses state that the child was alive at birth. The McRamsey infant expired gasping for breath.
“Money saved … That’s how hospital administrators justified allowing a living infant to die from exposure, suffocation, and other complications. Animal clinics treat stray and abused animals more humanely than the hospital cared for the senator and his wife’s infant.
“Third, they wouldn’t allow for a proper burial. Senator McRamsey begged for his infant’s body. He was a little boy, in case anyone cares. The hospital had planned the disposal of the child as if throwaway medical waste or garbage.
“As mayor, I’ll do everything possible to stop that barbaric practice from a medical facility in our jurisdiction.
“Any further questions or comments, I suggest you contact the city attorney. Thank you all and good day.”
Joshua walked out while reporters clamored, shouting questions. Dean could see, though, that Joshua had heard enough.
Chapter 27
Dean glanced at the wall clock for the fourth t
ime. Glenn’s plane had landed almost an hour earlier. The wait for his boss was taking longer than he’d anticipated. A few passengers had already exited security; they looked distressed by what they’d experienced. Airport security had elevated, Dean learned from a couple of passengers he talked to. All arriving passengers would experience the OWN ID machine. Their choices: the card or the implant. He wondered what ID Glenn had selected.
Glenn has a short fuse. He’s going to blow a gasket when he steps inside that OWN machine, he thought. He envisioned his temperamental boss experiencing a firsthand taste of the so-called new world order.
Impatient after two coffees, Dean thought the waiting area felt like a holding cell. He tossed his coffee cup into the trash, strolled off, and found a newspaper. The bold headline from the local paper read: Mock Martial Law Imposed in White River—Military exercise suspends Constitution three weeks.
Nothing he’d read suggested outrage or concern over citizens losing their constitutional freedoms. Not one column writer protested or asked probing questions. Who’d given General Phillips and the UN autonomous authority in White River? Disgusted with the propagandized news, Dean threw the paper into the trash and sat back down.
His hard chair soon grew uncomfortable, eliciting another stroll around the waiting area with a close eye on the security exit. He thoughts drifted to his conversation with Joshua in the park.
Maybe the idea Joshua’s toying with is true. How can the exercise not be a preemptive test run at total control?
Dean noticed a few passengers exiting terminal security, Glenn among them—finally. Dean waved, and Glenn steered toward him at a lively clip—and, by the look of it, unhappy about the probe-and-tag experience.
“Welcome to White River and occupied northern Arkansas, boss. It’s good to see you.”
Eyes wide, Glenn looked like a deer caught in headlights—a rarity, Dean knew.
“Dean … my God, man! You—I mean, we’ve stepped into a cow pile with this story.”
“Yes, and the airport is a small sampling. There’s more to come. Anyway, I’m glad you made it. You had to see and experience White River firsthand. My descriptions couldn’t do it justice. You’re witnessing an armed invasion of UN troops in America’s heartland, all sanctioned by our government.”
Glenn nodded. “It sure looks that way. Let’s head over to baggage claims. I need fresh air.”
“So, Glenn, I’m curious, what did you get back there: card or implant?”
Glenn cut his eyes at Dean. “Don’t get cute with me, Cohen. Card, of course.”
Dean grinned, but then stopped and pointed to a newspaper vending machine. Glenn bent down and read the headline.
“Martial law,” he whispered.
“That’s the truth of it, boss,” Dean said. “Hey, before we get your bags and head out, let’s find a café, relax, and talk for a few minutes.”
Glenn nodded and then glanced over his shoulder, giving the security area a last look before they walked on.
“I feel like I was violated back there. It leaves you feeling unclean.”
“Believe me, I know that feeling, Glenn.”
“They scanned me like I was a barcode, for goodness’ sake. That OWN machine spit out passenger cards like a slot machine!”
“We’re a number in a databank, Glenn, cornered like fish in an aquarium. There’s no more hiding. The OWN system can track us anywhere in the world within a stone’s throw. Pretty scary stuff.”
Glenn shook his head. “Tracked by whom, and for what? Who gave that authority or gives them the right to invade my privacy?”
“Their authority and right. Well, let’s start with the Patriot Act, Domestic Terrorist Act, IRS, FBI, CIA, NSA, FEMA, EPA. Oh, and let’s not forget nationalized health care, financial regulatory reforms, UN authority, an unfettered Congress, and lawless president. In short, we did, Glenn: me, you, and every other American who’s stepped into a voting booth since 1920. We’ve tied our own hangman’s noose and handed it over to an oppressive government that will sell us out and hang us all. Should I continue?”
“No, no, you’re a hundred percent right. If this fiasco in White River is a sign of things to come, then the average citizen hasn’t a clue what’s in store. Americans can kiss their freedom good-bye. Yes, sir—screwed and tattooed if those thieving progressive politicians get their teeth into this technology. I can almost guarantee those tyrants are discussing a National Identity Card bill. Ugh. Dean, I need a drink.”
“Glenn, you don’t drink. You stopped, remember?”
“I know, I know, but what I just experienced would be a good excuse to start again.”
Dean smiled and pointed to a lounge nearby. After they sat, a young waiter hurried over to take their orders. Dean read the man’s gold-lettered nametag.
“Steven, I’ll have a club soda with extra lemon slices, please.”
“Make that two, please,” Glenn said.
When the waiter left, Glenn leaned across the table. Dean recognized that questioning stare—minus the protruding cigar.
“Tell to me more about this Miss Ann Taylor. Anything new?”
Dean expected Glenn to ask, but not so soon. He felt his brow start to sweat.
“Ah … well, it’s all in my reports boss, but nothing new. Ann’s an intelligent, witty, and beautiful women. We’ve talked over a few dinners, if that’s what you mean. Don’t worry, I was honorable in every way, and strictly professional.”
“Cohen, I know that. I trust you. But I’m not a dinosaur, young man. I recognize that sparkle of a budding romance. The way you spoke about her on the phone and right now with that glassy-eyed look when you mention her name.”
“Is it that obvious, boss?”
“Oh, yes, very obvious, my friend.”
The waiter returned with their drinks. Glenn laid his new OWN card on the serving tray. The waiter scanned the card.
“Was your tip calculated in, young man?” Glenn asked.
“Yes, sir, it’s an automatic 20 percent. Thank you, gentlemen, and welcome to White River, Mr. Boyd.”
Glenn smiled, toying with his new card before stuffing it in his wallet. “No more cash, just an OWN card. My editor friends in New York will go bonkers when they see this thing.”
“The OWN system is flawless,” Dean said. “I’ve used it inside and outside of White River, from buying gum, snacks, clothing, to gas and dinner, without additional fees.”
“What was it your NGO, Ms. Gonzales, said about if someone steals it or you lose this darn thing?” Glenn asked.
“She said not to worry. The card or implant is designed specific for that person. No one else on earth can duplicate it or use it. Ann and I verified that by swapping cards. Ms. Gonzales was correct.”
“Secure and sophisticated technology doesn’t happen overnight just for an exercise, Cohen.”
“And you’re right. Remember our story a few years back when the UN launched a series of eight telecommunication satellites.”
“Yes, Global One—or no … One World SAT, if I’m not mistaken.”
Dean nodded. “That’s right. My sources at the time confirmed that the UN partnered with the IMF. They built a new global system, a One World Network. The IMF linked all international and domestic monetary funds around the world. We’re seeing their OWN system played out with the trial tested here in White River. I believe, at a point in the future, our nation’s economy will crash. The dollar’s collapse will enable a new world currency to emerge that’s controlled.”
Glenn raised an eyebrow. “Dean, you’re overexposed. Your conspiracy buddies have you thinking crazy.” Glenn rolled his eyes, then sipped his soda.
“You know me better than that, Glenn. What I’m saying isn’t conspiracy, just the facts. Imagine the economic havoc a barrel of oil has on the world markets. Overnight, five or ten dollars and higher for a gallon of gas in the US. Food and energy costs skyrocket. Currencies falter, European economies go under, along with the EURO. I
t’s not by accident; it’s planned.
“We’ve elected socialist Marxist radicals into positions of authority. The White House has leveraged America and future generations. We’re trillions in hock with world banks, China, and Japan.
“America’s debt is 102 percent of GDP and climbing. Unfunded liabilities are over 250 trillion dollars, and approaching 35 trillion in budget deficit spending. It’s got to crash. That level of debt and spending can’t be sustained. With our dollar devalued and our credit line downgraded further, the entire bond market will collapse. That’s when our creditors will take a piece of their American pie as collateral. The fix is in, Glenn. America is in deep doodoo, and there’s no way to stop it, short of a miracle.”
Glenn stared off into space. “What you’ve described, Dean, is a dark concept, but what every American fears is inevitable unless we change.”
“Scary stuff, boss, but it ties in with what’s happening in White River. Why? Because White River is their test area for population and financial control using the military and a new cashless system. How does this new OWN card or nano-implant technology show up where no others exist? Where’s the press, the governor, the president?”
Dean read Glenn’s silent expression.
“I recognize that look, boss. I haven’t bought into bizarre conspiracy theories. What I’ve seen and now what you’re experiencing firsthand is real, not conspiracy.”
Glenn nodded. “Dean, let’s get out of here so I can get checked in at the hotel and take a shower. All of a sudden, I feel really dirty.”
“I’ll give Ann a call when we get to the hotel and ask her to join us for dinner tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it’s okay. I’m excited to see the woman who’s captured the heart of Dean Cohen.”
Chapter 28
Among the hundreds of employees and non-government officials working and passing through the United Nations building, Ellen Harper occupied a unique position as the private secretary and personal assistant of US Ambassador Gordon Adderley.