The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22)

by Robert Thornhill

  Take a look around your grocery store and realize that just about everything on the shelves contains something grown with Monsanto’s patented gene splicing techniques and proprietary toxic pesticide concoctions. Then try to understand the scope of this complete takeover of our food production system.

  Control the weather and you control food production. Get enough key players in the government, control American policy, control the weather through your connections or obtain inside information about that control, buy up all the major seed suppliers, and then you are in a position to force feed GMOs to America and every other nation that does business with America, your partner in one of the greatest crimes in history.

  Kevin shook his head. “I had no idea it was so bad.”

  “Neither does your next door neighbor or the guy across the street. That’s the way the players want it. As long as there’s groceries on the shelf, the average Joe doesn’t give a damn about what’s in them or how they got that way.”

  We pulled into the parking lot of the Adams Mark Holiday Inn. Mrs. Shipley said her daughter was staying in room 518. We stopped at the front desk to make sure no one else was in the room. The last thing we wanted was to walk in on someone courtesy of Kevin’s little electronic gizmo.

  The clerk said the room was reserved for two more days, so we headed upstairs.

  The hall was empty and I stood watch while Kevin hooked his machine to the door lock. A few minutes later, we were inside.

  It was obvious Louise was not planning an extended stay. The one suitcase in the room was on the little folding thing and had not been unpacked.

  “Nothing in the bathroom but some hairspray and the other gunk that women use,” Kevin reported.

  I spotted a piece of paper on the desk by the phone. It was a business card and the name on the front hit me like a brick. Louise Shipley had come to Kansas City to talk to Jack Carson.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Holy crap!” I said, picking up the card. “Dollars to donuts, Louise Shipley was a Monsanto whistleblower who had come to Kansas City to give Carson more dirt for his expose.”

  Then I noticed a thumb drive which had been hidden by the business card. “And I’d be willing to bet there’s some juicy stuff on this thing,” I said, holding up the drive.

  “So what now?” Kevin asked.

  “I think we’d better get Jack Carson over here. It’s quite likely he’s the reason she was in town and he may have some insight as to where she might be.”

  I started to dial Carson from my cell but then changed my mind and dialed from the hotel phone. I figured the less ‘they’ could tie me to Carson, the better.

  “Jack Carson here.”

  “Jack, this is Walt. Does the name Louise Shipley mean anything to you?”

  A long pause. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

  “Because she’s missing and we’re in her hotel room. I think you’d better get over here. Room 518, Adams Mark Holiday Inn at the Sports Complex. Oh yes, bring a lap top or IPad.”

  “Give me twenty minutes.”

  When Carson arrived, I held up his card. “Start talking.”

  He sighed, “It’s a long story. A month or so ago, I was covering a series of home invasions and I took the time to interview several of the neighbors close to the homes that were hit. One of those interviews was with Genevieve Shipley. She was a nice lady, very cooperative and friendly. I ran the story and figured that was the end of it. Then one day, out of the blue, I got a call from her daughter, Louise. She said her mother had given her my number.

  “Bottom line, she worked for Monsanto and was disturbed by some of the things she was seeing and figured the public should know what was going on. Naturally I was excited. According to everything I’ve found, Monsanto is right at the heart of this chemtrail thing, so I encouraged her to come to Kansas City and bring whatever information she had.”

  “That information is probably on this thumb drive,” I said, holding up the device.

  I could almost see Carson salivating. He reached for it, but I jerked it back.

  “Not so fast. Louise is missing and we’ve been hired by her mother to find her. Have you had any contact with her since she arrived?”

  “Yes and no. She called me and we made arrangements to meet for lunch, but she never showed. I’ve been trying to call, but everything goes straight to voice mail.”

  “Same as her mother,” Kevin said. “She was supposed to meet her for breakfast, but didn’t show there either.”

  “So that’s my story. Can we see what’s on the thumb drive?”

  I handed him the device, he booted up his lap top and plugged it into the USB port.

  One of the first things that popped up was a photo of a map.

  Carson let out a low whistle. “This is a map of HAARP installations all across the globe. Every continent is affected.”

  I remembered one of the passages I had read from the organic farmer’s website. Control the weather and you control food production. Get enough key players in the government, control American policy, control the weather through your connections or obtain inside information about that control, buy up all the major seed suppliers, and then you are in a position to force feed GMOs to America and every other nation that does business with America, your partner in one of the greatest crimes in history.

  With the kind of global coverage pictured on the map, both the weather and food production could be influenced worldwide.

  The next thing on the drive was an article about Monsanto partnering with the Weather Channel, supposedly so Monsanto could bundle more services to farmers who already buy their genetically modified seeds and herbicides.

  I remembered the organizers of the Chemtrail Awareness Day wondering why the Weather Channel was running articles on their weather pages smearing the campaign and its organizers, and here was the answer. Monsanto and the Weather Channel were in bed together with the mutual goal of assuring the public the chemtrails were harmless because Monsanto had the resources and the products to save the world’s food supply.

  “Another nail in their coffin,” Carson said, pocketing the thumb drive, “and it dovetails perfectly with the other information I’ve gathered.”

  He opened a file on his lap top.

  “It gets worse. Do you remember when I gave you a partial list of all the things in our daily lives which contain aluminum: vaccines, deodorants, anti-perspirants, over-the-counter medications, soft drink and beer cans, baking powder, cake mixes, processed cheeses, and other food products and additives?”

  I nodded.

  “Then remember the data which confirms the metals such as mercury and aluminum aren’t flushed from our bodies but collect in our brain cells and cause all kinds of neurological trauma such as dementia, Alzheimer’s and even brain cancer?”

  I nodded again.

  “Well, guess what other chemical we’re force fed, which facilitates the movement of soft metals across the blood/brain barrier to infiltrate our brain tissue. Fluoride!There have been over 34 human studies and 100 animal studies linking fluoride to brain damage, including lower IQ in children, and studies have shown fluoride toxicity can lead to a wide variety of health problems and yet over 67% of the nation’s water supply is fluoridated.Today America is the sickest society on this planet … made so in three short generations. Is it coincidence we are also the most Geo-engineered, vaccinated, GMOed, fluoridated and drugged society on the planet? America needs to wake up and smell the coffee before it’s too late!”

  “That’s all well and good,” Kevin, Mr. Practical, replied, “but we’ve got a missing girl to find. I say we flash her photo around downstairs and see if anyone saw her last night.”

  We started at the front desk. I showed the photo to the clerk.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Shipley. Very pretty girl. The last time I remember seeing her was late yesterday afternoon. She was on her way to Casey’s, our sports bar.”

  I thanked him and we headed into the bar. I showed t
he photo to the bartender.

  “Yes, I remember her well. She sat at the bar, right over there,” he said, pointing. “She ordered a cocktail and an appetizer. Her food had just arrived when her cell phone went off. After she read the message, she threw some bills on the counter and took off. Didn’t take a bite or finish her drink.”

  Kevin tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the surveillance camera in the corner of the bar.

  I thanked the bartender and we went back to the reception desk.

  “We need to see your surveillance footage from last evening,” Kevin said.

  The previously friendly clerk became defensive. “I can’t just show you that. I don’t even know you guys. Besides, I think you need a warrant.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kevin replied. “Let’s start over. My friend here and I are private investigators.” He handed the clerk a card. “One of your guests, Miss Shipley, is missing and we have reason to believe she’s been abducted. We’re trying to find her. Yes, technically we’d need a warrant if you weren’t willing to share your footage with us, but it would mean involving the police and most likely, with all the commotion about someone being abducted from your hotel, a lot of your guests might check out and find some place safer. Is this what you really want?”

  The clerk thought about it for a moment. “Okay, let’s don’t get people excited. Gina, come cover the desk, please.”

  He led us to the back office and started fumbling with dials. “What do you want to see?”

  “Just Casey’s during the time Miss Shipley was in the bar.”

  He fiddled some more and the images flashed across the screen. “There she is,” Kevin said.

  We watched, and the scene unfolded just as the bartender had said.

  After she left the bar, Kevin said, “We’ll need a copy of the footage. Now let’s go to the camera which covers your parking lot.”

  The clerk shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. Some kids shot out the lens with a BB gun and we haven’t got a replacement yet.”

  “Damn! Well, copy what you’ve got and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  We thanked the clerk and gathered in the lobby.

  “Time to get the cops involved,” I said. “I’ll make some calls.”

  I called Gino Ferelli at Missing Persons and we headed downtown.

  We pulled into the parking lot just as Ox and his new partner, Amanda, were finishing their shift. I gave Ox a brief explanation why we were there and he asked if he could tag along.

  After briefing Ferelli, he pulled the file. “Here it is. Genevieve Shipley called in and said her daughter was missing. Not much we could do at this point. Let’s take a look at your surveillance footage.”

  I handed him the disk and he slipped it into the machine.

  Just as Louise Shipley got up to leave the bar, Ox said, “Stop! Back up a few frames.”

  He looked closer at a man who had gotten up right after Louise and followed her out of the bar.

  “I know that guy. That’s Paulie Spiegel. We call him Paulie the Pervert. We arrested him about eight years ago. He was working at a gas station and had installed a camera in the women’s bathroom. We arrested him in his apartment. He was watching some of his recorded videos and doing the hand jive, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you caught him red-handed?” Kevin quipped.

  “Actually, if I remember correctly, I think he was right handed. I thought he was still in jail.”

  Ferelli punched a few keys on his computer. “Here he is. Paulie Spiegel, released three months ago. I’ll put out an APB and we’ll bring him in for questioning.

  Two hours later, Spiegel was in an interrogation room.

  “What am I doin’ here? I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Ferelli said, turning on the video screen. “See the chick heading out of the bar? Well guess what? She’s missing, and here’s you, Paulie the Pervert, going out right behind her. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  Paulie swallowed hard. “Yeah, I saw the chick. She was a hottie all right. I had just decided to make a move on her when her phone went off. She read some message and took off like a bat out of hell. I looked around and there weren’t no one else I was interested in, so I went up to Harvey’s Tavern up on Highway Forty. You can check with Gus, the bartender. I was there for three hours and still didn’t score.”

  “My heart’s broken,” Ferelli replied. “I’m going to check with Gus and if your story doesn’t hold up, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt. Now get your ass out of here.”

  “Too bad,” Ferelli said after Paulie was gone. “I thought we might have a good lead.”

  “Let’s run her cell phone,” I suggested. “I’ve got her number.”

  Ferelli led us to one of the technicians who entered her phone into his computer. After a few minutes, he said, “I’ve got a location for you. It’s on Blue Ridge Cutoff, just a couple of blocks from the hotel.”

  We piled into the car and headed back toward the Sports Complex.

  We parked on a side street and split up, searching both sides of Blue Ridge.

  “Got it” Ox said, picking up the phone. “Whoever grabbed her must have tossed it. They knew we would be tracing it.”

  “Let’s see what that important text was all about,” Ox said, punching some keys. “Here it is. It says, ‘Plans changed. We must talk tonight. Very important. Meet me in the hotel parking lot.’ It’s signed Jack Carson.”

  We all looked at Carson who was dumbfounded. “I --- I didn’t send that message. I swear! I was at home all evening, working on my story. You can check the time stamp on my computer.”

  “We believe you, Jack. But someone knew the two of you we’re getting together. Maybe we can find out who. Ox, call in the number that sent the text. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  A few moments later, his phone rang. “Okay, thanks anyway.” He turned to us, disappointed, “No luck. Burner phone.”

  “Jack, who knew about your meeting with Louise?” I asked.

  “No one. I told absolutely no one, and I’ve been really careful about making calls. I even got a burner phone of my own just in case my cell and my land line were tapped.”

  “Where were you when you set up the appointment with Louise?”

  “At home. Why?”

  I thought about going home and finding someone had been in my apartment. I hadn’t told Jack because then I’d have to explain about my screwed up computer and Frank Katz’ manuscript.

  “Just an idea. Kevin, do you still have the gizmo in the trunk that tracks bugs?”

  “Does Monsanto have aluminium resistant seeds?”

  I took that as a yes, and we headed to Jack’s apartment.

  We quietly followed Kevin as he swept the entire apartment. He paused, tapped his device, and checked the screen, then he put his finger to his lips and pointed to the smoke detector.

  We huddled outside his apartment.

  “There’s a listening device in your smoke detector. Even though you used your burner to set up your meeting with Louise, someone overheard it, sent her the text and when she went to the parking lot --- well who knows what might have happened. Whatever it is, it’s not good.”

  “So what should I do with the damn thing?” Jack asked.

  “I’d leave it right where it is,” Kevin replied. “If you get rid of it, whoever planted it will know you’re on to them. Knowing they’re listening just might come in handy before this thing is over. Just don’t forget it’s there.”

  “I couldn’t possibly,” he said. “This thing’s getting darker every minute. Now it looks like three people are dead all because of this damned conspiracy.”

  He was right. The prospects of finding Louise Shipley alive were slim and none and it was my job to deliver the bad news to her mother.

  CHAPTER 14

  An article in the Kansas City Star drew my attention. The headline read, Mass extinction is on the way, scientists bel
ieve.

  It went on to say that a study published by biologists in the journal, Science Advances, found that the Earth is losing mammal species at 20 to 100 times the rate of the past. “We can confidently conclude that modern extinction rates are exceptionally high, and they are increasing, and they suggest a mass extinction under way. If the currently elevated extinction pace is allowed to continue, humans will soon, in as little as three human lifetimes, be deprived of many biodiversity benefits. We have the potential of initiating a mass extinction episode which has been unparalleled for 65 million years.”

  Given what I had learned over the past few weeks, assuming it was true, it was no wonder things were dying off at a record pace. If some sinister cabal was indeed spraying aluminium, barium, ethylene dibromide, and God knows what else into our atmosphere, all of it had to eventually come back to good old earth and seep into the ground and water supply, thus affecting the planet’s vegetation. The animals eat the poisoned plants, drink the polluted water, and Bingo, things start dying off.

  The thing which was puzzling to me was the article never once mentioned geoengineering, chemtrails or weather manipulation. Why not? Was it because those things simply don’t exist or because the influence of the cabal was so far reaching the scientists feared for their lives?

  I was pondering these weighty issues when the phone rang.

  It was Mary Murphy.

  “Mr. Walt, is everything still a go for our picnic?”

  “Oh crap!” I muttered under my breath. With all the chemtrail drama going on in my life, I had totally forgotten we had planned a picnic at the hotel to celebrate the Fourth of July.

  In years past, we had gone to one of the massive celebrations with fireworks displays like the one at Riverside Park, but as we have gotten older, hunting for a place to park and fighting the huge crowds had become less appealing. We decided this year to all meet at the hotel and include the twenty residents there as a good will gesture.