From Murderer to Conqueror

by Jeff S.

  "Sir, ma'am, we're about to land. You'd better strap in."

  After the plane had landed at Kotoka International Airport, the Dorman's were met at the terminal by the Ghanaian Minister of Health Adam Ayittey, and Vice President Kwame Botchwey. Honor guard decorated their flanks and press photographers recorded every moment of their arrival and the greetings.

  From there, the Dormans were escorted to Accra's premiere hotel, near the capitol building. They were given a little over four hours to settle into their hotel and to freshen up after their long flight.

  From the hotel, they were taken to one of the Accra suburbs, where a makeshift hospital had been set up in a school. They both rode in a government limousine with Health Minister Ayittey.

  "Over a thousand children had been informed in advanced," said Ayittey. "They are all very excited to meet the great Mr. Dorman."

  "It's an honor," said Bill, nodding with a slight, but pleasant smile.

  "How many doctors will be there?" asked Mindy.

  "Two doctors and twenty nurses," replied Ayittey. "Local press will be covering this event, plus reporters from several European, Asian and American news agencies. We're all quite excited. Much of Africa will be looking at this day with hope. But even as we do this, the remainder of the vaccines are being distributed to other sites throughout the country. This one site will be symbolic of all the others."

  When they arrived, the health minister's aide escorted them into the school, followed by cheers from all of the children and several groups of parents. The Dormans were introduced to dozens of mothers and fathers, plus several elders. By the time introductions had been completed, the nurses had the vaccines ready for the children. Photographers and videographers moved in as Bill Dorman administered the first vaccine to a young boy of twelve. The boy had grimaced with the jab, but smiled to receive a lemon lollypop from the software billionaire.

  As the remainder of the children were given their vaccinations by the nurses on duty, the Dormans talked to the press.

  "Thank you all for witnessing this great event," said Bill. He looked to his smiling wife and nodded before continuing. "This is only the beginning—a sign of things to come as our world becomes truly global—humans taking care of their own."

  "Mr. Dorman," said one of the reporters, "there are some who remain skeptical of your efforts at altruism. What do you hope to gain from this philanthropy?"

  "Good question," said Bill. "I have been rewarded with so much for my years of hard work. Now, it's time to give back. Our would can be so much better. All it takes is more compassion. I hope I can set a good example for all."

  The following day, the Dormans were guests on a local television show. The day after, they did two television shows in Lagos, Nigeria, and after a couple days rest in London, they did several more television shows in both London and Paris.

  A week later, the couple had returned home to Idaho. The news media praised their heartwarming efforts. Only in the local Accra press were the words about the Dormans anything other than admiration. Out of the 280,080 injections given, 8% of the children died—22,492. Nearly 4% (10,972) became violently ill and suffered permanent neurological damage. And 84,379 (over 30%) contracted illnesses which lasted more than two weeks, followed by full recoveries.

  Nothing of the tragedies left Ghana. Even in the nearby countries of Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Togo and Nigeria, the news carried nothing of this tragedy. The Dormans had left and the media interest had evaporated. There was no follow-up to ensure their philanthropic campaign had achieved its goals. The world assumed that everything had gone smoothly—that there had been nothing to add to the initial good news.

  Van Eyck and several other interested parties had investigators in the Gold Coast region, listening for any chatter about vaccinations, injuries and deaths. They documented the news and rumor vectors and reported back. Their calculated risk had paid off. The van Eycks were especially grateful that news of the vaccination deaths had been so easily contained.

  A month later, the Dorman children were also given vaccinations to another photo opportunity. The press did not know that the billionaire's children were given vaccines from a different batch than those received by the African children—a very small batch of pure saline solution.

  Unknown to the world, except in Accra, arrest warrants had been issued for Bill Dorman and his wife for their complicity in the wrongful deaths of tens of thousands of Ghanaian children.

  Chapter 4: Leverage to Move the World

  Have you ever had a learning experience that shocked and overwhelmed you? For me, from age ten to adulthood felt like one barrage of overwhelm after another. By age fourteen, I had reached a snapping point. I felt as though I was going insane and that there was no possible escape. I hid my insanity as best I could. In some respects, I felt I was living in an enemy camp—as a spy or intruder—always in danger of being discovered and executed.

  Several weeks past my fourteenth birthday, my grandfather asked me to walk with him in the garden. For a billionaire's home, a garden is not one simple row of flowers next to the house. His garden stretched for more than two acres. It was not the largest garden in the world, but it was one of the more elegant affairs. As we walked, I did not see the flowers, the graceful Japanese-style bridge, or the multitude of trees and shrubs.

  For the first few minutes, we walked in silence. When we were far enough from the house to be out of its line of sight, my grandfather started to talk.

  "What's the best way to control people?" he asked.

  As always, I gave the question a great deal of thought before answering. "First," I said, "make certain they don't know they're being controlled."

  Grandfather Rutger chuckled. "Good. You're learning. And?"

  "Fear," I said. "Sometimes anger."

  "But fear gives the biggest leverage," he said and stopped. "Give me some examples."

  "Disease and fear of death. Terrorist bombings. Fear of the world coming to an end. People go crazy with fear, more than they do with any other emotion. Fear provokes action. Giving the fearful a solution—a safe haven—makes them more manageable."

  "Again, good," he said, and grasped my shoulders firmly. "The fear of disease compelled thousands to seek vaccination. You heard about the incident in Ghana several months ago." I nodded. "We needed to find out how others would respond to the deaths of so many. If we are to reduce the population to a safe level, we need to know how people will react to their elimination."

  "But why kill innocent children?"

  "Innocent? Is a virus innocent. Is an individual bacterium? You cannot look at others that way. They are incapable of managing the world. But we are. What we are doing is preparing the world for a far better operating basis. A world without war and crime. A world where the rule of law, not the mindless law of the jungle, prevails."

  "So, other people are a disease?"

  "If you want to look at them that way, yes. They are no better than insects. They consume our resources and take up valuable space. They are useless eaters."

  I nodded cautiously. Though I felt an overpowering need to shake my head, fear kept me from revealing my disagreement.

  "Humanity is an infestation," he continued. "We need to restore balance with nature. And you are part of the family that will guide the world toward that balance. Once we have trimmed the world population to the appropriate level, humanity will no longer be a threat."

  By this age, I had met many other children of the elite families. They all seemed to have adapted to this mindset. They seemed to accept it without question. But what had happened to me? How did I have such a different outlook that I questioned everything my grandfather told me? Did I learn something early on that others had not? Did someone say something to me that upset the balance of familial order? Would I always have this maudlin reaction to the harm grandfather Rutger had planned for most of humanity?

  My grandfather tugged on my shoulders nudging my attention toward him. I looked into his e
yes as he spoke. "But there is something else beyond fear and anger. The real control is ego. Behind every evil, you will find ego or self-concern. We use ego to divide and conquer people, polarizing them to associate with one group or another. Ego is pride, so we build up their pride and use it to demean those they oppose. For the conservatives, we give them pride of reason and restraint, and we give them tools to distance themselves from their opposition—like the label 'libtards.' This makes their enemy seem more despicable. For the liberals, we give them pride of compassion. They strengthen their pride with political correctness, tolerance of others and sensitivity to the feelings of others."

  "But," I said, "both sides sound reasonable. Even good."

  Grandfather shook his head. "That's merely illusion. People like to belong to groups. We give them different types of groups and pit them against others with opposing views. We control the definitions of those views. We define what the groups mean. And because of ego and something called cognitive dissonance, they learn to accept those other views, because it's too painful for them to admit that they were wrong."

  "But what about those who use both reason and compassion?"

  "They are too rare," he replied. "Too many people are creatures of reaction. They are not intelligent enough and fearless enough to put ego aside. They react to whatever stimuli we give them. This makes them more manageable. When we created the attack in New York, people immediately believed that Muslims had done the deed. They believe whatever our news media tells them. We've spent decades learning how to control masses of people. Our various corporations have tested these techniques through their marketing departments."

  "Do we control the media so thoroughly? What about those reporters who don't say what you want them to say?"

  "It's not a perfect system," my grandfather said, nodding thoughtfully. "We make suggestions to the managers and they throw hints in the direction of the people who work for them. The few who have become problems are given special treatment."

  "Like the reporter who supposedly wrecked his Mercedes at a hundred and fifty miles per hour?"

  "Yes, but we can't talk to others about that. Some events, like that, remain too sensitive. People could hurt us if they ever found out."

  "Yes, grandfather."

  Chapter 5: Creating a Climate of Fear

  I was nineteen when grandfather held his meeting on climate change. There may have been others, but this was the only one I had attended.

  I had already started college, but was out on holiday break. Grandfather Rutger was now 87 years old.

  Some of the same men attended the meeting that I had first met when I was ten. Some were new faces. Bob Lanark looked as though he had lost some weight. Somehow, it made him look younger. Grandfather had him start the meeting.

  "We're losing our climate fear leverage," said Bob. "Too many are talking about the climate change hoax. Our kidnapping the scientific term for our own purposes is starting to backfire."

  "Really?" asked Geoffrey Still. He wiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head decisively. He was beginning to look older than grandfather. I privately wondered if he would die soon. He looked painfully tired. "Certainly, climate change means any change that has occurred in the climate over the last four-point-five billion years, but our news outlets are staying true to the message. We merely have to keep repeating it enough. We don't need one hundred percent of the people to agree. Only enough to sway politicians. Only enough to ridicule other citizens who are too smart for their own good."

  Too smart? I wondered. If we admire intelligence, why are we condemning it in others who see through our scam? I left the question sitting there in my mind, unasked. I didn't dare ask a question like this at such a meeting.

  Ed Winterstone laughed softly, then said, "And some are intelligent enough to see through the entire climate hoax and make note that we live in an Ice Age while we're promoting global cooling. If too many pick up on this, we're going to be in hot water—figuratively and literally."

  "Too many nations are holding back," said Barton Carstairs. "The last few UN conferences fell far short of the buy-in we need to establish the first leg of global governance. The upcoming conference has the greatest potential for success, but we need to keep outside influence away from the conference delegates. We need to focus on how to do this."

  This time, grandfather spoke up. His voice was weaker than usual. He was looking his age and then some. "The French are already censoring their Internet. Opposition sites have been added by our agents to their list of unsavory websites. But I agree with Barton. We need to shore up the barrier of non-interference. What if dozens of people were to die. A terrorism attack. Wouldn't that force the Paris police to declare some form of martial law? Wouldn't that effectively sequester the climate conference delegates? Perhaps they could outlaw all forms of demonstration."

  One of the new guys spoke up. I later found his name to be Tom Parkman. "My CIA contacts can get their Muslim assets to stir things up. That should not be a problem."

  "Any questions, John?" asked my grandfather.

  By now, I was not at all intimidated. Yet, I did still feel the need for caution. Now, I knew too much. I did not want to jeopardize myself or my grandfather. Asking the wrong question might create problems I might not be able to solve.

  "I understand that we're creating a problem that doesn't exist, but with all I've known of the family business, I don't yet understand why. How does this fit into the long-range objectives?"

  "I'd like to offer an answer on that," said Geoffrey Still. "First of all, we need to cripple industry. This will end up giving us the economic leverage we need to finalize our takeover. We've already shipped millions of jobs overseas. America is our largest barrier. If we can finish it off, then we stand a far better chance of achieving the global government we seek. Already, we've stripped out many of the citizen freedoms in this country. Plus, we've made America appear to be the new evil empire. More people worldwide hate America than at any other time. This will come in handy when we need to impose martial law. Bringing in foreign troops, not bound by the American Constitution, will allow us to eliminate all opposition. We won't have to worry about officers using the Constitution as an excuse not to follow orders.

  "But to get to that point," he continued, "we need to have the controls in place from the climate change initiatives. By being able to blame warming on carbon dioxide, we increase our chances of placing the proper burdens on industry. And this will make America weaker and more manageable."

  "But," I asked, "that means our industrial companies will make less money, won't it?"

  "Yes," said Mr. Still, "but money is no longer a concern. Not only do we have enough money to fulfill all our needs, but our currency manipulation through our private central banks generates sufficient yearly income to fund our entire operation. Once we're done converting society from consumerism to feudalism, money will no longer have any meaning.

  "But getting back to the climate change gambit, we are well aware of the fact that we live in an Ice Age and that we are far closer to dangerous cold than we are to dangerous heat. All of the extreme weather ideas are false. Cold produces far more bad weather than warmth ever will. Stronger storms happen because cold reaches closer to the equator. The strength of storms comes from temperature differences—not just heat alone."

  Without thinking, I found myself asking, "If we're living in an Ice Age, then are we in danger of more glaciers?"

  "Absolutely," said Ed Winterstone. "In fact, the Holocene interglacial is several centuries overdue to end, based on the average duration of an interglacial. But we can't let the general public know this. We have to keep up the illusion of global warming being dangerous. We need this just long enough to get the climate agreements with all nations. When we have that, the public-at-large can believe anything they want. By then, it will be too late."

  "Also," said Mr. Still, "we're not in any danger, personally. Our families have plenty of resources to ride out anot
her glacial period, even if it is another ninety thousand years long. Our underground bunkers will give us food, water and everything else we need to manage the world while everyone else starves."

  "Everyone? Billions?" I asked.

  "As close to everyone as we can figure."

  "Does that answer your questions?" asked my grandfather.

  I nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "Good." Grandfather turned to face Mr. Parkman. "Tom, make contact and put your idea into motion."

  Chapter 6: Tragedy in Paris

  A young man wearing a dress shirt and tie with his sleeves rolled up walked quickly down the hall, carrying a slender folder. Overhead, fluorescent lights lit up an otherwise dark, government office building corridor. He knocked twice on room 330 and entered. An older man behind the desk was having a meeting with two others. After handing the folder off, the younger man left.

  The older man opened the folder and scanned its contents.

  "Change of plans," he said to the two sitting in front of his desk. Operation Condor will have to wait a few weeks. New priority. We need to create increased tensions in Paris. We need several dozen to die in order to force a state of emergency. The French need to outlaw all demonstrations to the end of the year."

  The two who sat before him were a younger man and woman dressed in business suits. The woman spoke first, "Why the sudden operation change?"

  "This is from the top," said the old man. He knew his agents would take this as meaning the president, but they were not cleared to know any differently. "We need to have half a dozen strikes, but one has to be close to, but not in, Le Bourget. Primary recommendation is the commune of Saint-Denis. The national football and rugby stadium is located in Saint-Denis."

  "Any other desired outcomes?" asked the young man.

  "Once the dust settles from the terrorist killings, we need several things. Besides the state of emergency and outlawed demonstrations, we need the upcoming climate conference sequestered for delegate protection. Also," the old man pulled a sheet from the folder, "we need this list of websites blocked by the French government."