From Murderer to Conqueror

by Jeff S.

  Fuerza knew that President Bush had effectively fallen on his own sword, so to speak, by promising "no new taxes" during his candidacy—a promise Bush had known in advance he would not be able to fulfill. Fuerza knew that Bush was helping to test the public's reaction to a lying president. This would help Rockwell, and others, find ways to make a liar more acceptable.

  Toward the end of 1992, Mario began work on a more detailed project, helping the FBI—America's Federal Bureau of Investigation—set up a terrorist cell and to implement an attack on American soil. The objective was to kill thousands in order to create massive public outrage.

  "There are two FBI's," Rockwell had told him. "One, at the executive level, knows what's going on. The other, at the field level, remain clueless about our efforts. You need to know who you're talking to at all times. Make certain you never let slip any hint of our efforts to field agents who would eat us alive, if given the chance."

  On October 31, 1992, Fuerza met with Emad Salem, an FBI informant who had agreed to work with known terrorists in blowing up the World Trade Center. With Fuerza and Salem were two FBI agents. Only Fuerza knew that the terrorists had been financed by a group related to one of David Rockwell's non-profit organizations. Emad Salem wanted very much to help foil the terrorist plot, but found it increasingly difficult with conflicting orders coming from the FBI. As far as the agents were concerned, Fuerza was there merely as an observer ordered by headquarters.

  "But you said we would be using a fake powder," said Salem. "How say you—substitute—that's it. When will I get this substitute?"

  "The harmless powder will be ready long before we have a date," said one of the agents. "You need to get us that date. When do they plan to strike?"

  "No date. Not yet. Ramzi Yousef is being cautious. As you know, he arrived September 1—nearly two months ago. He's getting the real materials. He even call from hospital room after the car accident caused by Mohammed Salameh."

  The conversation went on for several more minutes. Afterward, Fuerza reported his observations to Rockwell. Then Rockwell called his contacts in FBI headquarters so that they could better manage the situation.

  "It is imperative," said Rockwell on the phone, "that Salem fail to replace the explosives. We need to have at least several hundred deaths from this. Thousands would be better. We need to find out the best location for placing the explosives so it does the most damage. Then we need to get that information to Salem. Keep him thinking that he will stop the bombing, but he needs to make sure the terrorists put the bomb in the right spot. Are we clear on this?" He listened. "Good. That's all for now."

  When the bombing finally took place, February 26, 1993, it was a dismal failure. The driver, Eyad Ismoil, had parked the truck in the wrong part of the garage.

  Rockwell dispatched Fuerza to the scene to investigate. In the gaping hole created by the blast, several FBI agents had already gathered to collect data. To the side of the catastrophe, three high ranking FBI officials stood monitoring the situation. Fuerza knew who they were, but stood several feet away from them, pretending to be an interested spectator.

  "Not enough casualties, damn it," said one of the officials.

  One of the others nodded. "I agree. He's going to be pissed that we didn't kill enough people here, today."

  Later that evening, Mr. Rockwell actually seemed quite cheerful at the six deaths, one thousand forty-two injuries and half billion dollars in damage.

  "I thought you would be angry, sir," said Fuerza.

  "When you pull strings, to have other people pull strings, to have still another layer of people pull strings of people to do some specific task, you have to smile that anything goes according to plan. We have minor casualties, true. But we have a seed planted in the minds of Americans that they are not safe. This can be helpful in getting legislation passed to erode the troublesome liberties these Americans hold so dear. No, my young apprentice. There were many successes, today, all of them worth celebrating."

  Chapter 5: Birthday Celebration

  As Mario Fuerza gained more experience and learned his way around the corridors of power, he was given more and more responsibility. By 1995, he was conducting several layers of a major operation in the heart of the nation.

  On one hand, he had demolition and explosive experts. On another, he had a young patsy ready to take the blame for everything.

  Timothy McVeigh had been asked to volunteer his withdrawal from special forces training to join CIA black ops. McVeigh had already worked with the CIA to smuggle drugs into America to finance some of their black operations. He had also worked on a joint task force between the ATF and FBI to help Fuerza recruit people to work as domestic terrorists.

  Fuerza knew that McVeigh had been deemed expendable. Though this would upset a lesser man, Fuerza knew that such injustices were necessary for the greater good.

  In late February 1995, Fuerza met with the FBI's fastest rising star, Associate Deputy Director Larry Potts. As a senior special agent, Potts had been the FBI's presence at Ruby Ridge in 92. Later, as special agent-in-charge, Potts had overseen the Waco siege in which 76 people, including 26 children, had been slaughtered by the government assault. Such slaughter was helpful by calling out some of the more radical elements within the country.

  "Thank you for seeing me," said Fuerza, as he entered Potts's office in Washington.

  The associate deputy director waved toward a chair. "Please. And how may I help you?"

  "Mr. R is very pleased with your work. Personally, I think it's genius to use your previous two most controversial assignments as motivation for McVeigh to attack the Federal Reserve Bank. We would like you to change the target to the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. Also, could you make the date April 19, this year? That's the second anniversary of the Waco siege."

  "You ask a lot," said Potts. "But yes, we can do that. Very little has been done to prepare the Federal Reserve building. Besides, we were having some difficulty getting complete access. Something I wasn't aware of—the Fed is not actually part of the government. And I thought I knew everything about the government. It seems the Fed is a private corporation and they were unwilling to cooperate fully."

  Fuerza nodded. He knew all of this. He also knew that Potts and his associates had chosen the Federal Reserve without first gaining permission. Mr. Rockwell had been furious, but Potts was less of a loose cannon than McVeigh. The young patsy could cause far more damage if he was allowed to live. McVeigh had too much ego for black ops. He could not hold a secret well enough.

  Inwardly, Fuerza nodded to himself. April 19 was also Mr. Rockwell's birthday. Was it merely a coincidence that the Waco siege had culminated on that day? He would have to ask his mentor about that one.

  "I appreciate you letting me know, now. We still have plenty of time to place the explosives in the new building. Naturally, one truck bomb is not going to do the needed work."

  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Potts. We see you rising even further in the bureau after this. Keep up the good work."

  While getting ready for a special celebration of his eightieth birthday, David Rockwell learned that the Murrah building in Oklahoma City had been bombed. He immediately called Mario Fuerza.

  "Mario?" asked Rockwell on the phone. "Was that you? Did you tell them to do it today?"

  Fuerza hesitated before answering. "I hope you are pleased. Yes, I asked them to do it today."

  Rockwell was silent for several long moments. "I'm deeply touched by the effort and the message, but in the future, I would prefer not to be connected so intimately to one of our undertakings. I hope you understand."

  "Yes," replied Fuerza. "Sorry, sir. So—"

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing, sir."

  "Come now, Mr. Fuerza. You've let the cat out of the bag. You can't force me to stop thinking about it. What were you about to say?"

  "I was going to ask you about the Waco siege—how that event also happened on your birthday."

  Rockwell l
aughed softly. "My dear, dear boy. Some things truly are accidental coincidence. No one that I know of arranged Waco to honor me."

  "Yes, sir."

  In the months after the bombing, Fuerza helped to keep the delusion alive in McVeigh's mind that the young CIA asset would ultimately be rescued by his handlers. This would help to keep him quiet long enough to secure his access to the outside world. There had already been too many leaks on this project. In fact, in 1998, the New York Times published a letter McVeigh had written to his sister revealing his work for the government after his supposed discharge from the military. A film crew videotaped a brief, accidental interview with McVeigh at US Army Camp Grafton, North Dakota, in August 1993, two years after his alleged military release. And Camp Grafton specialized in explosives training.

  The bombing also helped Senator Joe Biden breathe new life into his controversial Omnibus Counterterrorism Act of 1995, eventually becoming the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act of 1996, giving police new powers which eroded the liberties of American citizens. This, Biden was proud to say, became the framework of the Patriot Act.

  In addition, the demolition of the Murrah building helped in the destruction of documented evidence against President Bill Clinton and his wife, Hillary. Mr. Rockwell wanted to protect these two who had done so much to forward the aims of the New World Order.

  More than anything else, this project taught Fuerza how difficult it is to make progress in the real world with so many moving parts and so many people driven by their own special needs—especially their selfish need to survive.

  Chapter 6: All Ducks in a Row

  "Okay, knock it off," said the business suit behind the microphone. "Let's get this thing started."

  The room sat about forty and included CIA section chiefs and other interested parties. Chattering quickly became murmurs and then silence.

  There were no boy scouts among them. Each one of them had been hand-picked for their ruthless self-concern. Each one of them had a dagger hanging over their head—a skeleton or two in their closet. In other words, they were, each and every one of them, bought men and women—minions of the New World Order. Nominally, they worked for the United States government. In reality, they each worked for themselves and whoever held their leash.

  "Ladies, gentlemen. Mr. Mario Fuerza."

  Fuerza stepped up to the microphone and scanned the brightly-lit room. Today was March 9, 2000. No longer a young man, Mario Fuerza looked decidedly older than his thirty years.

  "Thank you, Lyle. I know many of you personally." Even Fuerza could detect his own Dominican accent. He focused on his diction for a moment to reign in the inflection to something closer to American English. "For those of you who I have never met, let me bring you up to speed. I am David Rockwell's personal assistant. For the last decade, he has been my mentor as I have helped him prepare for next year's big event. Most of you do not know the details of that event and will not until after it happens. But we need your cooperation nonetheless."

  Again, he scanned the room. Every one of them had locked their attention on him. Not everyone respected him, but they respected the seat of power that had been given him. They instinctively knew that their welfare depended upon their obedience.

  "Tomorrow, the NASDAQ will peak just above five thousand. If you have stock portfolios, you need to purge them of tech stocks. The day after tomorrow, the bottom will drop out and everything will start to free fall.

  "Why am I telling you this? It is quite simple. We want to ensure that you are well taken care of. I recommend put options on all tech stocks. And when September 11 comes next year, two airline stocks will drop significantly—American and United. Each of these events give you a chance to prosper."

  Fuerza took a sip of water and smiled before continuing.

  "Here's what we need. Your cooperation and protection of our upcoming preparations. Over the next year and a half, we will be preparing this building—World Trade Center 7—and the two towers for demolition."

  Audible gasps broke the momentary silence. Even these hardened spooks could be surprised.

  Fuerza continued, "Naturally, we need your silence. And with the clues I have given you, many of you will likely guess some of the specifics to come. Any leaks will let us know who betrayed us, but I remain certain that each of you will not be amongst such an unlucky minority. If you happen to notice anyone else noticing our preparations, help distract them from such efforts. Make nothing of them. For instance, both towers will be undergoing elevator upgrades early next year. By staying focused on the safety upgrades, no one will think of the possibility of demolition emplacements. Questions?"

  "But demolition?" asked a man in the third row. "How are you going to explain three buildings blowing up?"

  "Don't be an idiot, Lamberth," said a man toward the back. "If American and United stocks are going to plummet, that likely means airline crashes. Come on! Remember the conference last year on weaponized airliners?"

  Lamberth shrugged and nodded.

  "Anything else?" asked Fuerza. He waited for a few moments. "Okay, that's it."

  Chapter 7: Hands Off My Patsies

  For the last couple of years, one FBI field office in Arizona, and more recently another in Minnesota, had been jeopardizing their project. When Fuerza visited FBI headquarters, he did so following a request for a specific list of attendees. On that list were included the Director, Deputy Director, Associate Deputy Director and most of the Executive Assistant Directors. A few other key, mid-level personnel were included. Those who were excluded were either known boy scouts—those unable to see anything illegal as beneficial—or they were unknown quantities—those who had not been properly vetted.

  Fuerza brought his own assistants to sweep the room. As sensitive as this meeting was going to be, it would not do to have someone else in the bureau find out the details.

  Everyone sat around a conference table with the Director at one end, Deputy Director to his right and Mario Fuerza to his left.

  "Our special guest," said the director, "at today's meeting is from the Rockwell Group. They've been coordinating with the CIA, White House and international bodies on terrorist threats. Mr. Fuerza, here, has worked with David Rockwell directly for the last decade. Mr. Fuerza." The Director turned his attention to his left.

  "Thank you, Director. And thank you, Deputy Director, bureau executives and guests. Last April, Special Agent Ken Williams in your Phoenix, Arizona field office, started investigating one of our assets, Zacaria Soubra. We need to protect our assets until they're needed. We've worked hard to get them into the country and to get them trained. Could we get Williams assigned to something else? In other words, can we keep him busy?"

  "I'm sure we can find something else for Williams to do," said the Deputy Director.

  "Good," said Fuerza. "In Minnesota, agents there are interfering with Zacarias Moussaoui. The sensitive nature of our operation and its complexity require that all of our Muslim assets be free to move about."

  "I'm familiar with the Minnesota office," said the Executive Assistant Director for Human Resources Branch. "Supervisory Special Agent Michael Maltbie, there, is a good man. We can depend on him to do the right thing."

  "I'll call him this afternoon," said the Director. "Coming from me, it will be clear how important this is."

  "Thank you, Director," said Fuerza. "What kinds of actions could Maltbie take to protect our assets?"

  The Deputy Director replied, "Quite simple, really. If field agents need approval for a search warrant, Maltbie could remove critical information from the packet sent to headquarters."

  "That should work." Fuerza nodded and scanned the faces of each of the executives at the table, even turning to the side to ensure he took in all of their faces. "Our key interest is in the freedom of movement of these assets. Whatever suspicious activities they may be involved in is greatly outweighed by the importance of the larger mission, here. We have nearly two dozen assets in play. A great deal
is at stake. I am grateful to have the bureau's cooperation on this mission of natural security."

  Chapter 8: Infecting the Core

  October 17, 2000, Mario Fuerza met with David Rockwell at his apartment study in New York. The dark books and wood paneling made the room seem like some murky cavern despite the daylight streaming in through the window. On the table between them stood a silver service with coffee pot and cups. Neither man used creamer or sugar, knowing full well their toxic nature.

  "I'm very pleased with all you've done," said Rockwell. "In fact, I would like to stop calling you 'apprentice,' for you have grown out of being taught by me. I'm beginning to learn from you." He chuckled softly. "Please, tell me about the preparation of the towers."

  "Lawrence Livermore, of course, developed the nano-thermate technology of incendiary explosives and specialized, steel beam cutting applications. They should have a sufficient number of kits produced by late December."

  "Good, good."

  "Our team at A.C.E. Elevator will be managing the modernization project. They've recently hired our specialists. I personally talked with the team yesterday. All of the elevator technicians, of course, know nothing about the real purpose of the modernization. The specialists will be placing the cutter charges incrementally as the modernization is completed in each section. Armed guards will keep even the regular elevator technicians away during the more sensitive stages of the operation."

  "Have you ever seen thermite burn?"

  Fuerza hesitated, blinked and then smiled. "No, I haven't."

  "It's quite amazing," said Rockwell. "Simple iron rust and aluminum shavings, when brought to a flash point, will burn at about 4,500 °F—1,700 °F above the melting point of iron. The nano-thermate burns slightly hotter, but far more quickly and with catalysts which lower the melting point of iron."