The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22)

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by Robert Thornhill


  Like Falcon, Frank Katz conveniently died before his paper could be published.

  Two people connected to the conspiracy were dead, but they weren’t the last.

  The chemical giant, Monsanto, had been mentioned often as a partner in the conspiracy. One of the agents supposedly being sprayed into the air was aluminum, and anything heavier than air eventually falls to earth. The accumulation of aluminum in the soil is a deterrent to normal crop seeds, so Monsanto applied for and was granted a patent for aluminum resistant seeds.

  Louise Shipley, an employee at the Monsanto headquarters in St. Louis, contacted Carson and came to Kansas City with the intent of blowing the whistle on Monsanto.

  Shipley disappeared the night before her meeting with Carson.

  Soon after that, Carson himself disappeared. I was determined to find him and was vigorously pursuing leads until I received a text with a photo of Maggie going into her real estate office with a caption that read, “Stop digging!”

  Later, I received another text with a photo of Maggie in front of our apartment building. That text read, “Back off!”

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to interpret the sender’s message. If I continued to hunt for Carson and pursue the chemtrail conspiracy, Maggie, the most important person in my life, would disappear just like the others.

  That was enough for me. I knew I was in way over my head and I was through.

  No one knew what had happened to Jack Carson or had even heard from him --- until today.

  Since that day, every time I go outside and see the trails crisscrossing the sky, I think about the people that lost their lives trying to bring the truth to the American people.

  I think about a quote from Dresden James, “When a well-packaged lie has been sold gradually to the masses over generations, the truth will seem utterly preposterous and its speaker a raving lunatic.”

  I hate the fact that I know the truth and am powerless to pursue it and share it with others, but for me, nothing has changed. There is absolutely no way anyone will listen to a seventy-two year old private investigator, and even if I thought there was a chance anyone would, there is no way in hell I’d risk the life of the person I love the most.

  I stuffed everything back in the envelope, taped it shut and locked it in my safe. As I spun the dial, I muttered, “Sorry, Jack. I just hope you got away safely.”

  Needless to say, I was upset.

  I tried to read, I flipped on the TV, but I couldn’t get Jack’s words out of my mind. “Now it’s up to you to expose this horrendous program that is filling our skies with poison.”

  He had passed the baton, but I just couldn’t run the final lap.

  Then I thought of something. Before Frank Katz died, he emailed me a copy of the paper he had planned to publish.

  Someone broke into our apartment and corrupted my hard drive, destroying the paper, but not before I copied it on a USB drive.

  Knowing the document had most likely cost the professor his life, there was no way I was going to try to get it published myself.

  Then a thought occurred to me. There are fictional novels published all the time with themes of government conspiracies and corrupt politicians. If there was some way the information in Frank Katz’ paper could be published in a fictional format, maybe people would get the message without somebody else getting whacked.

  I knew just the guy for the job, Robert Thornhill.

  I had met the author at a craft show. He had a booth displaying his twenty volume mystery series. The craft show typically drew a crowd of several thousand, and we had learned that terrorists were planning on detonating bombs from one of the hundred or so booths in the show. Thankfully, members of our K-9 corps sniffed out the bombs, before they could be detonated. The terrorists made a run for the exit. One of them ran toward an exit that would take him right past Thornhill’s table. Timing his move just right, Thornhill upset his table, sending a hundred slick paperbacks into the path of the fleeing terrorist. The perp went ass over elbows on the slick books and due to Thornhill’s quick thinking, we got the guy in cuffs.

  We became friends, and when I thought of the fictional novel idea, I contacted Thornhill.

  We met and Thornhill agreed to get started on the book. Two months later, I received a signed copy of Lady Justice and the Conspiracy in the mail.

  The fictional story contained every detail in Frank Katz’ paper. All the programs that had been uncovered, Indigo Skyfold, Project Cloverleaf and the HAARP installation in Alaska, were woven throughout the book. Everything was there. All a person had to do was read it, then go outside and look up into the sky, and realize that sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

  I had called Robert to thank him, but I hadn’t really had a chance to visit with him in person since the book was published.

  This seemed like a good time.

  I called Robert and we agreed to meet at Mel’s Diner.

  Since both of us were regular customers at the diner, Mel had our orders on the grill the minute we walked in the door.

  We chatted briefly between mouthfuls of hamburger steak and chicken fried steak, and when our plates were empty, we got down to business.

  “Robert, I loved the book. How have sales been?”

  “Not too bad, actually. It hit #1 on Amazon a few weeks after it was published.”

  “Congratulations! The subject matter was pretty heavy. How has it been received?”

  “I’ll show you,” he replied, opening his laptop.

  He punched in his author page on Amazon and clicked on Conspiracy. I was surprised to see that readers had rated the book 4.8 out of 5 stars.

  “That’s fantastic. What are their comments?”

  He scrolled down the page to the reviews.

  One read, “Robert Thornhill has no fear when it comes to tackling enormous issues. He once again took on a very delicate and controversial subject, tackled it from all sides, exposed the inner workings of a conspiracy, and escaped cleanly out the other side. If this book doesn't get you thinking about what is going on in our world, then you need to take off the blinders and look up.”

  Another read, “Lady Justice and the Conspiracy may be the most controversial yet. It makes me wonder what is happening in our country and the world that we don't know about. A true five star read.”

  A third read, “Outstanding! Very clever how the author weaved truth into a book of ‘fiction.’ Wake up, people. The truth is in this book.”

  “Wow! That person certainly got the idea,” I said enthusiastically.

  Then I had a sobering thought. “If people like the book so much and are seeing the truth, why isn’t something happening? Why aren’t people up in arms? I just don’t get it.”

  Thornhill shook his head sadly. “I know you’re disappointed and so am I, but honestly, we’re not the first to try to sway public opinion with a book of fiction.”

  “Really?”

  “Have you ever heard of Robin Cook?”

  I shook my head.

  He started tapping keys. “He’s a medical doctor and author. He’s written dozens of books with medical themes. Here’s why he says he writes, ‘Cook says he chose to write thrillers because the forum gives him an opportunity to get the public interested in things about medicine that they didn't seem to know about. He believes his books are actually teaching people.’

  “You should read Acceptable Risk. It’s about the dangers of taking anti-depressant and mind altering drugs. It’s scary as hell, but people just don’t care. It’s estimated that one in ten Americans use anti-depressants regularly.”

  “I see what you’re saying.”

  “Then there’s Michael Crichton,” he said, tapping again. “Another best-selling author trying to wake up the public with his fiction. In State of Fear, he takes on eco-terrorists and climate change and presents volumes of evidence that climate change is another government smoke screen to cover up what’s really going on.”

  “Maybe chemtrails
.”

  “Maybe so, but the point is, Walt, Robin Cook has sold over 400 million books and Crichton has sold over 200 million, way more than Conspiracy will ever sell, and what has that accomplished? Nothing really, as far as swaying the public is concerned. People just don’t care.”

  That statement reminded me of the words of my first floor tenant, Professor Leopold Skinner, when I asked him why more people don’t care. “Apathy, the curse of modern society. Why do only fifty percent of the voting population cast their votes in a presidential election? Frustration, as in you can’t fight city hall. The government is just too big and powerful. Complacency, as in I’m doing all right, why rock the boat.”

  I thanked Robert for his time and hard work and promised we’d stay in touch.

  Four people were dead or missing, our attempt to sway the masses with fiction had failed, and now Jack Carson had dumped the problem right in my lap, and I had no idea what I was going to do.

  Actually, I did know what I was going to do --- nothing!

  CHAPTER 5

  I needed a break --- from crazy guys with razors, and more importantly, from the contents of the manila envelope locked away in my safe.

  When Maggie got home, I asked her if she had any buyers or listing appointments for the weekend. Thankfully, she did not, and when I suggested a few days away, she was more than enthusiastic.

  One of our favorite retreats is Branson, Missouri, the entertainment capital of the Midwest. Tucked away in the Ozark hills, Branson is the perfect place for old codgers like us who grew up in the 50’s. Among the hundred or so shows available are tributes to Ritchie Valens, Chubby Checker, The Platters, The Drifters and of course, Elvis. For me, a trip down memory lane is the perfect balm to sooth my troubled soul, and I was anxious, as the old Ronnie Milsap tune suggests, to Get Lost in the 50’s Again.

  From Kansas City, it’s a good four hour drive, and one of the things I enjoy along the way is stopping at one of the little towns along Highway 13 for lunch.

  I particularly enjoy this because country restaurants add an additional category to the five major food groups, gravy.

  I’d be willing to bet that not one restaurant on the Country Club Plaza has gravy on their menu, but every country restaurant has at least two kinds, brown and white.

  Another big difference between city and country eateries is the green beans. Country green beans melt in your mouth because they have been simmering in a big pot with bacon or ham hocks for hours. City green beans crunch. I’m sorry, but beans just shouldn’t crunch.

  Every country restaurant has a daily special. It might be fried chicken, pot roast or ham and beans, and you can usually have two pieces of chicken, a whopping serving of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy and soft green beans for around five bucks.

  Then there’s the pie, the kind with three inches of scrumptious merengue on top. You don’t find pies like that in most city restaurants because they’re lovingly baked by someone’s grandma.

  You can always tell the best country restaurant, because the parking lot is filled with pick-up trucks.

  Our first day in Branson, we did all the usual tourist stuff. Maggie likes to stroll through the dozens of stores that sell quilts and other authentic Ozark handmade crap, and what woman doesn’t like hunting for bargains at the Outlet Mall?

  That evening, we bought tickets to the Legends in Concert, and were treated to performances by The Blues Brothers, Johnny Cash, Tina Turner and Elvis. All in all, a good day.

  We have a tradition that every time we come to Branson we take a side trip to Big Cedar Lodge, a resort about a half hour south of town. We were introduced to the place a few years ago when we attended a real estate retreat, and fell in love immediately.

  Nestled in the hills next to a mountain stream, the accommodations are rustic and every room or building is adorned with stuffed creatures of every kind.

  My favorite building is the Devil’s Pool restaurant. They have a breakfast bar with biscuits and sausage gravy to die for.

  The Devil’s Pool was the first stop on our day’s agenda.

  We were stuffed to the gills, when our server presented us with the check.

  “I hope you folks are going to stop by Top of the Rock while you’re out this way.”

  Top of the Rock was a golf course along Highway 65 adjacent to Big Cedar Lodge.

  “Probably not. Neither of us golf.”

  “Ohh, I guess you don’t know about the additions Johnny has made.”

  She was referring to Johnny Morris, the Missouri billionaire, who owns the Bass Pro Shops, Big Cedar Lodge, Dogwood Nature Park, and Top of the Rock, among other things.

  “No, we don’t. So what’s new?”

  “A few months ago, The Lost Canyon Cave Nature Trail and the Ancient Ozarks Natural History Museum were opened. You really should check them out.”

  The Lost Canyon Trail wound around through the forested Ozark Hills and included a trip through an underground cave complete with waterfall. The best part was that it was taken in a golf cart that I could drive myself.

  The trail was beautiful. As it wound around through the hills, squirrels chattered at us from their woody perches, cardinals flitted from tree to tree, and we even saw a red fox scamper for cover as we rounded a bend.

  A gentle breeze whispered through the tall oaks and the gurgling of the mountain stream was just the tonic needed to sooth a troubled soul.

  I was more relaxed than I had been for days --- until we emerged from the forest cover and the first thing I saw was a half dozen fluffy trails stretching from one horizon to the other.

  In an instant, my euphoria turned to melancholy. It was like a punch in the gut, knowing that the planes were spewing a toxic stew of aluminum oxide, ethylene dibromide and barium that would eventually fall to earth polluting and changing forever, the natural beauty we had just enjoyed.

  I was so disheartened, I was ready to call it a day, but thankfully, we did not.

  At the end of the trail was the museum. It was huge, over 35,000 square feet.

  I picked up a brochure and read, “Created to celebrate the fascinating history and stunning natural beauty of the Ozarks, the Ancient Ozarks Natural History Museum features artifacts, images and interactive exhibits that chronologically walk you through the development of the Ozarks. As you explore the museum, you will learn about the people and animals that have inhabited the region for over 12,000 years. Bass Pro Shops and Top of the Rock founder Johnny Morris was so amazed by the exhibits at the Chicago Field Museum that he commissioned the same design team to help create the displays you’ll find here. Featured attractions include carbon-dated skeletal remains of a wooly mammoth, a saber tooth cat, a giant ground sloth, and prehistoric cave bears.”

  Sure enough, there were all kinds of prehistoric creatures that once inhabited the Ozarks, but the exhibits that fascinated me most were of the Indians indigenous to the area. Room after room was filled with arrowheads, pottery, and artifacts of their daily lives.

  Photos of the early tribes intrigued me most. Along with the photos, were words of wisdom attributed to famous Indian leaders.

  As I read, I soon discovered that these so-called primitive people had a far greater understanding of our place in the world, than do the bureaucrats spewing poisons into our skies.

  In 1854, Chief Seattle spoke these words, “Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The perfumed flowers are our sisters: the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices of the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man --- all belong to the same family.

  “The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath --- the beast, the tree, the man. They all share the same breath.

  “What is man without the beasts? If all beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of s
pirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

  “Teach your children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves. This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family.

  “Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

  Tears came to my eyes as I read the words of this ancient sage. A hundred and sixty years ago, he could not have envisioned huge silver birds flying from coast to coast spreading poison across the land, and yet he knew that the air was precious and not to be defiled. He understood that if men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves, and that is exactly what is happening as the poisons being spewed into the air fall to the ground.

  I moved on to another saying of Black Elk of the Oglala Lakota tribe, “We can no longer rule over the beasts of the earth and seek dominion over our environment. We human beings are not privileged beings who are above or separate from the world. We are part of the landscape and everything and with this awareness comes humility and the gift of harmony. All beings are to be respected, for all have souls. In truth, we depend on all of the creatures of this world. For in order to survive, we humans must consume plants and animals and life must be taken so that we can live. It is only with this awareness that we learn humility and find balance.”

  The people behind the chemtrail conspiracy were pulling out all stops to harness Mother Nature and have dominion over our environment, and in the process, were destroying the very thing they were trying to harness. Their toxic brew of aluminum, barium and ethylene dibromide was affecting every living creature, causing irreparable damage by impairing brain, heart, and liver function. People curious about the increased incidence of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and a host of other disorders, need only to look up and see the dirty streaks across the sky.

 

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