The Illuminati

by Larry Burkett

  The other senior military officers gathered in the room were equally shocked at what they had heard so far. They were career soldiers who had fought for their country’s freedoms. They had assumed the government’s campaign was against terrorists too. Now they realized they had been sucked in by the media, just like the rest of the country.

  “The information pinpoints three of the camps, sir. They are marked on the map. At present there is one in Arizona and two in California. Other data indicates at least twenty additional camps are being readied, but no details have been given.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes, sir,” the intelligence officer replied. “I went over the Israeli satellite photographs myself. There is no doubt about it. There are recently constructed camps; each camp has about one hundred thousand people interned.”

  The murmur went throughout the room. “A hundred thousand!” Another brigadier general said, “How can that be?”

  “We believe that nearly two million people have been arrested so far, sir. Therefore, there will have to be many more camps. We think each camp could handle nearly a half million people eventually.”

  “Five hundred thousand people per camp!” General Gorman said in disbelief. He knew his aide was a very thorough man who would not make wild statements without having the facts to back them up. “What could the ultimate purpose be?” the general asked. But inside he had a sickening feeling that he already knew the answer.

  “I think there is another discovery that will help answer that question, sir,” Colonel Anderson said, struggling to keep his professional objectivity. He had seen the photos and read the reports someone had sent him, and he still had a hard time believing it was true. It was so bizarre he questioned if the whole thing had been fabricated. But the facts were conclusive.

  “Sir, the Israelis sent us data from their Bios satellite.”

  “Bios?” the general said quizzically. “Isn’t that their weather satellite?”

  “That’s what our intelligence had been led to believe, sir. But now the Israelis have revealed the true nature of Bios. It is a radiation detection satellite that has been systematically mapping the location of every nuclear weapon in our country.”

  “What?” General Abbott, commander of the air force, growled. “You mean they have the capability to detect all of our nuclear devices?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir,” the red-faced major with Colonel Anderson said. “Even our nuclear subs. They are at least ten years ahead of us in this technology.”

  “Why those sneaky . . .” General Gorman said admiringly.

  “Sir, their satellite shows a nuclear device stored at the Arizona camp. About ten kilos,” the colonel said grimly.

  “A ten-kilo device at an internment camp . . . for what purpose?” the general asked of his aide. But even as he spoke the words he guessed the truth.

  “Sir, the only logical conclusion we can draw is that the device is there to eliminate the camp,” the colonel replied.

  The tremor that went through the room of top military officers was genuine shock. The colonel flashed the satellite detector pattern on the screen, which displayed the most current distributions of nuclear devices under their commands. Flashing arrows indicated new locations; the most recent was centered in the Arizona desert. Every man present knew there were no nuclear storage facilities in that area.

  The general stood and watched the screen for several minutes before he spoke. “There can be no doubt about the intentions of our government’s leaders. A ten-kiloton device would turn this camp into nuclear dust. There would be no trace of anyone retained there.”

  “But, Lou, how would anyone in the government think they could get away with that, even if they had control of the weapon?” General Abbott asked in disbelief. “I would send the Eighth Air Force to bomb Washington if that happened.”

  “I believe you, Stub, and I suspect our government leaders do too. They must also believe that I would send the Eighth Army, if I had to. So there’s only one logical conclusion, isn’t there?”

  General Robert “Stub”Abbott just sat looking at his long-time friend. There was just one logical conclusion: They would all have to be removed before the device was used!

  “Gentlemen, I would say that we are in extreme jeopardy at this time,” General Gorman said coolly. “The people who are capable of doing this to their own countrymen must not be allowed to get control of the United States military.

  “I would like to have a list of secure officers who can be trusted, as soon as possible,”General Gorman said. “I don’t have to tell you that both time and secrecy are critical. We will schedule another meeting as soon as the information is available. I suggest we keep a low profile in the meantime.”

  “How will we convince those under us that we’re not paranoid or trying to take over the government ourselves?” General Abbott asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out what kind of leaders we really are, Stub,” Gorman said grimly. Then he added, “I don’t know if I would believe it myself.”

  Rutland carried out Razzak’s orders to have Fred Lively removed as attorney general. President Alton issued the executive order and within a day Marla West had assumed the position of acting attorney general, just as Lively had several months earlier.

  Even before he knew what was happening, Fred Lively found himself barred from access to the White House. “You can’t do this,” Lively screamed into the phone at Rutland. “I’ll go to the press.”

  “If you do, you will find it is your last press conference,” Rutland said unemotionally. “Or perhaps you would like to tell the Leader how you feel.”

  Lively felt the chill of death upon him. He quickly said, “No, I’ll do what you say. I’m here to help.”

  Marla West was thrilled to be appointed as attorney general by President Alton. Her loyalties to Fred Lively lasted only until Rutland told her the Leader had selected her to head the purge of the Christians.

  The last time anyone saw Fred Lively alive was when he left his apartment to meet with members of the NCLU. The official statement was that he had been drinking, and his car ran off the road. The state police found Lively, still in his car in the Potomac River, just above the dam. It was almost exactly where the “terrorists’” car had been recovered.

  The scene in Atlanta was typical of hundreds of other cities throughout the country. Armed secret service agents loyal to the administration were kicking in the doors of homes of anyone suspected of harboring terrorists. Under the guise of martial law, the agents were given complete authority to arrest and detain anyone. America had become a police state. As more and more people were arrested on the vaguest of suspicions, there were fewer places for the Christians to hide. For the Jews, there were none.

  In an abandoned bank building on the outskirts of Atlanta, John Elder was in a meeting with several of the CRC leaders. Data-Net had almost made banks obsolete, since the system handled all the transactions and arranged all credit.

  Elder was explaining the plan to organize safe houses all across the country and then begin an underground newspaper to publish and distribute information about the Society. Shepperd had been tremendously helpful in securing more recruits from inside Washington, and they were beginning to piece together conclusive proof of the Society’s existence and its planned takeover of America.

  Jeff Wells was back at the farmhouse working diligently to keep the funds flowing for Elder’s groups.

  He’s the old Jeff, Karen thought.

  She hadn’t realized how depressed he had been over the misuse of his talents. Now that he had a goal again he was enthusiastic and totally absorbed.

  Jeff had discovered the authorization codes for President Alton’s transportation of the detainees to the various camps. With one stroke of his keyboard, he fouled up the codes so that no movement would be possible for several days. The trains that were needed in Atlanta were diverted to central Arkansas; those scheduled for Chicago were sent to
New Hampshire, and so on. Jeff couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he thought of Rutland’s reaction to this mess. And he would not be on Dr. Loo’s most favorite person list either.

  It made Karen feel good to see how excited Jeff was. Before she went back to work on the underground newspaper, she bent over and kissed the back of his neck. Jeff stopped typing and took her hand. He kissed the palm of her hand gently. “The world will be a better place for our children,” he promised her.

  “I hope you’re right,” Karen replied, choking back her tears. It all seems pretty pathetic right now, she thought. A handful of people against the government. Any mistake could get us all captured.

  On the first floor of the abandoned bank building, Bill Frost heard a commotion outside and glanced out through the dusty blinds into the street. What he saw chilled his heart. In the street, police in full combat gear were piling out of five cars. Someone had tipped the police about their meeting.

  “The police are outside!” Frost shouted to the group. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

  Shepperd acted instinctively, gathering the papers spread out on the well-worn conference table. He knew the documents must not fall into the hands of the police. They contained the details for developing the safe houses. Shepperd, accustomed to thinking about contingencies, had directed Elder to draft his notes on rice paper, much as the CIA and KBG did back in the twentieth century. He took out his butane lighter and struck the igniter. Once the flame was strong, he touched it to the rice paper. The results were immediate and spectacular: the paper literally evaporated into smoke.

  “How many policemen are there?” Shepperd shouted to Frost as the last of the documents were incinerated.

  “About thirty!” Frost shouted back frantically. Dear God, he prayed, don’t let us have come this far just to lose it all now. Help us.

  “They’re taking no chances,” Shepperd said to Elder as they exited the room. “Let’s hope they don’t know you’re here.” Once in the hallway, Shepperd said calmly to the men with him, “Above all else we’ve got to keep John from the police. We won’t ever have the chance to rescue him again if they get him.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Elder said just as calmly. “Try to get away yourselves.”

  “Very noble, Pastor,” Bill Frost answered, trying to get his heart rate a little more under control.“But you really are the key to our organization. You have to get away.”

  “You can’t sacrifice . . .” Elder was saying when Shepperd cut him short.

  “Listen, we’re just wasting time talking. I intend to get us all out. Follow me!” Shepperd ordered. He knew the police would cover the front and back exits before they entered the building. He also knew they would use the stairs. As far as anyone knew, the elevators were not working. Actually, only one elevator was working. Shepperd had hot wired it by tapping into the main power system. He stepped into the elevator, followed by the others. As soon as the doors closed, he jerked the control box open and snipped the indicator wire with a small pair of pliers from his pocket.

  “Now they won’t see the elevator moving,” he told his small group of conspirators. He waited almost five minutes before doing anything. No one in the group said anything during the interminable wait. They all knew that their safety rested with Shepperd, and they trusted his judgment.

  Only John Elder spoke. “I suggest we use the time we have to pray,” Elder said with a calm that reassured the group. Then he led them in a prayer, asking that God would see fit to give them mercy. They could hear the crashing sounds below their level as the police stormed the building, kicking in doors to offices on the lower floors. Shepperd punched the down button and prayed the old elevator would not be too noisy as it descended. He stopped it at the front entrance level.

  “But this is where the police cars are!” Frost exclaimed.

  “Exactly,” Shepperd replied. “We need transportation, don’t we?” The elevator stopped and Shepperd stepped out. He pulled his gun from its holster and waved it as a sign for the group to go before him. With a puzzled look, they obeyed.

  As Shepperd exited the building, a startled young policeman stared at him. Shepperd had his FBI badge out and flashed it at the policeman.

  “Load these prisoners in the van,” he commanded.

  “What . . .” the young policeman stammered.

  “Just load them in the van, will you?” Shepperd commanded again in his most authoritative tone. “There are more suspects around in back.”

  The confused policeman opened the rear of the van and the group stepped inside.

  “Thanks,” Shepperd said. “There will be more coming, so stand by.” With that he stepped into the driver’s seat of the van.

  “Wait a minute,” the officer said, in total confusion. “Who are you?”

  “Shepperd, FBI. I’m a part of the antiterrorist squad. We called in the report. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome . . .” the young man stuttered as he tried to decide what to do.

  Shepperd started the van and shifted into gear. He was gone in a second, leaving the policeman to sort it out.

  By the time the assault teams came out of the empty building, Shepperd and the others had changed to the cars they had left several blocks away. Milling around nearby was a group of tough-looking youths, eyeing the parked cars. Shepperd walked over and handed the keys to one of the young men and said, “Take the van; it’s yours. No strings attached.” He chuckled as the confused group of would-be car thieves piled into the van and roared off in the opposite direction. “That should keep the police busy for a while,” he said as he watched the van disappear.

  Word was filtering back to Rutland from across the country that the level of public support the Alton administration had enjoyed in the past was rapidly declining. Citizens were having their doors smashed in by government agents who often used excessive force—all on the basis of frivolous accusations by their neighbors. The net result was that less than 5 percent of the assaults yielded any trace of the missing Christians or Jews. Disgruntled and unemployed citizens were using the system to wreak havoc on anyone who was better off than they were.

  Rutland secretly asked his contact at Insta-pol to take a public opinion sample directed at the recent crackdowns. The results were alarming. The original support level of almost 80 percent had eroded down to less than 50 percent.

  Now this latest thing with Elder in Atlanta, he thought silently. When word that the police had let Elder slip though their fingers reached Razzak, he had gone crazy. He ranted for nearly ten minutes about having the officers eliminated. He even went so far as to suggest a nuclear strike on Atlanta to eliminate Elder. Rutland wondered if the man he had revered and vowed to serve with his life was becoming mentally unstable. Was this the affliction that defeated Adolf Hitler? he wondered. Both men had made brilliant moves in the early stages, only to destroy their successes by irrational actions later.

  Rutland had another piece of disturbing news from his informant on General Abbott’s staff. The joint chiefs were aware of the camps and knew about the atomic device that would be used to destroy the camp in Arizona as a test. Now that the military was alerted, he knew they would have to move quickly or risk facing well-armed and disciplined foes within the military. Stopping them wouldn’t be like rounding up the Christian “sheep.”

  Rutland was torn between telling Razzak or dealing with the generals himself. Normally he would have gone directly to the Leader, but he was concerned that an overt act against the military leaders would spark a revolt in the Armed Services. They were nowhere ready to face that tiger yet. It is better not to tell the Leader, he decided. When the group meets again, we will arrest the traitors.

  He knew he would need evidence, real or contrived, to convince the public. He would call Marla West; her agents would be needed if Gorman and his group were to be rounded up.

  His concentration was interrupted by the electronic beep of his private line. “Mr. Rutland, we have a
problem with Data-Net,” Dr. Loo said.

  “What is it?” Rutland growled into the phone.

  “I would suggest you come down immediately,” Loo responded coolly. “It is critical.”

  Rutland slammed the door to his office so hard when he left that the receptionist jumped, knocking the phone off of the desk. She knew he was headed to the basement area and would be gone several minutes at a minimum. She hurried into his vacated office and carefully exchanged his pen set with an identical set containing a sensitive listening device. She tried to be as careful as possible not to leave any sign that she had been there. She was terrified of Rutland, but the information she had received the day before convinced her she had to help the group opposing the administration. Her sister and brother-in-law had been arrested and taken away, just because they had been hiding the daughter of a friend in their home.

  “What is it?” Rutland shouted at Loo, as he stormed into his office.

  Loo did not even seem to notice Rutland’s manner. “We have a problem,” he replied unemotionally. “Look at this.” He shoved a large pile of printouts toward Rutland.

  Rutland shoved them back angrily. “Just tell me the bottom line! What’s wrong?”

  Loo shuffled the papers into neat stacks before he answered. “Apparently something in one of the subroutines has been altered. The trains scheduled to pick up the detainees have been rerouted to remote locations around the country.”

  “What!”Rutland shouted. He knew the effect this information would have on Razzak. “Can you straighten it out?”

  “Yes,” Loo replied without further comment.

  “How long?”