The Illuminati

by Larry Burkett

  When the phone rang, the housekeeper answered, “May I help you?”

  “Yes. My name is Shepperd. I work with Pastor John Elder’s organization. Ask Mr. Galt if he will talk with me for one minute. Tell him it’s critical.”

  The long-time housekeeper was also accustomed to peculiar calls to one of the world’s wealthiest and most eccentric men. She pressed the hold button and told Galt, “Sir, there is a Mr. Shepperd on the line. Says he works with Pastor Elder. He wants to talk with you. Says it’s critical.”

  “Tell him I’m not here,” Galt growled as he sipped his third brandy in the last hour. It didn’t seem to help dull his conscience anymore, he noted wearily.

  “He isn’t at home,” the housekeeper said with no conviction.

  “Wait!” Shepperd said forcefully. “Tell him I have information about the Society.”

  Punching the hold button, she repeated what Shepperd had told her. “He says he has information about the Society.”

  “I don’t care . . .” Galt started to say. Then he stopped.“No, I’ll talk to him.”

  The housekeeper carried the cordless phone over to where Galt was sitting and handed it to him.

  “This is Galt. What do you want?”

  “My name is Shepperd . . .”

  Galt cut him off. “I know who you are. You’re the FBI agent working with the terrorists.”

  “You know better than that, Galt. They’re no more terrorists than Little Orphan Annie. We have information that will sink the Society once and for all, but we need your help.”

  “My help!” Galt almost choked on his drink.“We haven’t exactly been allies, you know.”

  “If you’re a real newsman you’ll want to hear the truth,” Shepperd snapped. “If not, then God will use someone else.” The comment even surprised Shepperd. He really did believe what John Elder had said recently—“If God is for us, who can stand against us?”

  “Why should I help a bunch of idiots who are against everything progressive?” Galt said without any real conviction.

  “Because you have seen the price Americans have paid for much of that progress,” Shepperd responded. He could sense Galt’s softening. He had hit a sensitive spot. He continued, “You and the others in the media have done these people a lot of harm. But I can tell you that not one of them bears you any malice. Now we want our country back, and you can help.”

  “How?” Galt asked.

  “I’ll send the instructions to your home today. After you have a chance to read them I’ll contact you.”

  “No!” Galt said with an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. “I want to see this group of ragtag radicals you’re involved with for myself.”

  That surprised Shepperd. He hadn’t really expected Galt to get involved at all. Why would he want to check them out personally? Maybe he had a trap in mind.

  “I can’t do that,” Shepperd said. “There is too much at risk.”

  “For whom, Mr. Shepperd? You or me? If you won’t comply, I want nothing to do with it.”

  Shepperd thought for a moment, then answered, “Okay, but it will have to be on my terms. I’ll have someone pick you up at the MARTA station in Marietta at six o’clock this evening.”

  “I’ll be there,” Galt said as he hung up. Now why did I do that? he asked himself. Maybe I am getting senile.

  Shepperd decided that they had to take a chance on Galt. They might be able to pull off the plan without him, but there was no certainty that any of the other media types would help either. He placed a call to his contact in Atlanta, filling him in on the details of the meeting with Galt.

  At six o’clock that evening an old man got off the MARTA train and stood just inside the terminal. Several tough-looking youths were milling around outside the terminal, and there appeared to be no security guards on duty.

  A man could get mugged in this place, Galt said to himself. He wished he had not made his bodyguard stay home, but he knew the presence of an armed guard would probably have scared off the people he was to meet. Now he wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea.

  Two of the young toughs entered the station and eyed him carefully. “What you doin’ here, ol’ man?” the smaller of the two asked.

  “You talking to me?” Galt responded nonchalantly.

  “Yeah, ol’ man. Where’s your wheelchair?”

  “I left it with your babysitter,” Galt said with the same grit that had put him on the top of the pile.

  The youth turned red-faced, as his companion laughed. “It don’t look like he knows who you are,” the other teenager quipped.

  “You shut up!” the smaller teen said through clenched teeth, adding a few more choice words. “I’m gonna cut you up, ol’ man,” he spat out as he clicked the switchblade open.

  “If that’s what you’ve got planned, you’d better bring a lunch, sonny,” Galt said as he gripped his cane. “I took care of better men than you when I was twelve.”

  The youth took his position in front of Galt and started to swing the knife back and forth. Just then the turnstile doors swung and a large man stepped inside. “You can go now, guys,” he said grinning. “He’s alone.”

  The youths smiled back and slapped his hand as they exited. “Later, brother,” said the knife-wielding youth as he passed the big man.

  Galt sat down on the bench, his energy depleted.

  “Sorry about that, Mr. Galt, but I had to know if you were really alone. I guess you are.”

  “Yes,” Galt replied. “Though I had my doubts about the wisdom of it a few seconds ago. You’re with Shepperd?”

  “Yes, I’m Paul Brown,” the man answered Galt as he shook his hand with a firm grip. “I’m really glad to meet you, Mr. Galt. We should get started; it’s a long trip.”

  With Brown leading the way, Galt followed him to the waiting van. Once inside, another man ran a transmitter detector over his body.

  “You gentlemen don’t seem to trust anyone,” Galt commented when the second man signaled that the sweep was negative.

  “No, that’s not true; we trust a great many people,” Brown said. “I hope you’ll be one of them.”

  Galt sat in silence as they drove away. In a few minutes they came to the old Peachtree-Dekalb Airport, which was all but abandoned except for a few private planes. As they approached one of the hangars, a sleek business jet was being tugged out.

  “You mean we’re going to fly?” Galt asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Brown answered. “We had to relocate a few months back. It seems the government didn’t appreciate us.”

  “I heard about that,” Galt responded. “A friend in Washington said you boys left our politicians a little red-faced.” The story about the aborted bust in Atlanta had eventually spread throughout Washington, where there were few secrets.

  As the jet roared into the sky, Galt asked, “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”

  “Sorry, sir, I can’t do that. In fact, if you don’t object, we’ll pull the curtain shut. It would be better if you didn’t know where we’re located at any point. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Galt replied.

  After making a wide sweep to the south, the pilot pointed the plane toward Dentville, Mississippi, where another landing strip was prepared for their arrival. Even if Galt was working with the government to pinpoint their location, he would have a difficult time orienting himself. Twenty minutes later the plane slowed and began its approach into Dentville.

  It touched down with hardly a bump and Galt said, “You have a good pilot.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brown agreed. “He’s an air force general.”

  After the plane rolled to a stop, General Abbott made his way back to the passenger compartment. “Welcome to . . .” then he paused, thought about it, and said, “Welcome to the real America, Mr. Galt. I’m Abbott.”

  “I know you by reputation, General. I understand you helped put a stop to a military takeover.”

  “Some in the administration might say
I helped with a military takeover, Mr. Galt. Only time will judge.”

  Once they reached the waiting van, Thomas Galt found the curtains drawn again. “I see you’re a cautious group of men,” he said to General Abbott.

  “You would be too, sir, if you had had the entire might of the United States government directed against you for as long as these people have.”

  “I suppose so,” Galt agreed, “but it would seem they have given as well as they got.”

  “Not so, Mr. Galt. These people have had their constitutional rights denied, their families arrested, their properties confiscated, and their lives threatened. And you, sir, were part and parcel of their misery.”

  “We only reported the news as we saw it,” Galt said without any conviction in his voice.

  “No, Mr. Galt. You heard what you wanted to hear. Then you reported the news that would give you the highest ratings, not the truth. It would seem the founders of this nation did well in protecting the rights of a free press, but they never envisioned the abuse that it could lead to. The only crime that the Christians are guilty of is being courageous enough to stand up for their convictions. The only crime the Jews are guilty of is their parentage.”

  “There was evidence that the Christians organized terrorist squads,” Galt countered. “They attacked the police when they couldn’t force their way on the public.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Galt,” the general said angrily. “You’ll see evidence that the Society staged the whole event, and the media bought into it—hook, line, and sinker.”

  Galt sat silently for the remainder of the trip. General Abbott could not have known the real impact of his words. They confirmed Galt’s worst fears: he had allowed himself to be used to undermine the country that had given him so much. In his younger years he had been tough but fair. Now he was just greedy, and for what? Power? Wealth? What? Maybe just greed itself, he thought.

  The van stopped at the farm serving as CRC headquarters where several men were waiting to greet the elderly Galt.

  “Thank you for coming,” a middle-aged man with a pleasant smile said, as he opened the van door.

  “You’re John Elder, aren’t you?” Galt said. “I recognize your face from pictures.”

  “Yes, sir,” Elder replied. “You certainly carried my photograph enough in your newspaper,” he added, without any tone of bitterness. “Let me introduce you to my friends. I believe you already know Donald Shepperd.”

  “By voice only, I’m afraid,” Galt said as he weakly extended his hand.

  “And this is Jeff Wells . . . and his fiancé, Karen Eison.”

  “Jeff, I know you by reputation,” Galt said. “I understand you have been a real thorn in the side of the government.”

  “We do what we can,” Jeff said with a sly grin on his face.

  “We have some things to show you, Mr. Galt,” Shepperd said. “And not a lot of time.”

  The next three hours were spent reviewing the data that had been collected about the Society and the role the Society members played in the assassinations of the Supreme Court justices, President Hunt, and a host of government officials.

  The evidence that it was the Society’s infiltrators who initiated the violence against the police in the riots two years earlier was irrefutable. But the final straw for Galt was the evidence gathered through Wells’ snooping in the government’s own records that the deception of the media had been planned, funded, and executed by members of the Society.

  When Shepperd finished his barrage of information, the effect on Thomas Galt was exactly what he had hoped for. He was a man shaken in his basic convictions. “What do you want me to do?” Galt asked as his trembling hand tried to hold his pipe still enough to light it.

  “We need to launch one final assault on the Society, and we need your help,” Elder said. “We know if the government happened upon this camp and captured us, it would be only a matter of weeks until the emphasis would shift back to their side. Right now, Americans are fed up with Data-Net and, consequently, with the Alton administration. But that’s only because Jeff is able to force errors into the system.”

  “And although we still control the military at this point, the administration might just win in a showdown. After all,”General Abbott said as he reached over to light Galt’s pipe, “The president is still the commander in chief. How well would the nation sleep knowing that Razzak had control of three thousand nuclear weapons?”

  “What do you want from me?” Galt asked.

  Jeff outlined the plan for Galt. When he was finished, Galt said, “If I didn’t know what you people had already accomplished, I would say you were nuts. Are you sure you can do what you are proposing?”

  “We have no choice,”Abbott said angrily. “Razzak is certainly nobody’s fool. He knows that we’re able to watch every step, thanks to Jeff here. He has something in the wings that none of us wants to risk. We can’t afford to wait and see if he’s crazy enough to do it.”He then explained what they knew about Razzak’s plans to obliterate the camps with nuclear bombs.

  “You can’t be serious,” Galt said as he tried to imagine someone evil enough to destroy two million innocent people.

  “Deadly serious,” the general replied. “We must act quickly, and decisively.”

  “I’ll help,” Thomas Galt said with an excitement he hadn’t felt in years. “You just be sure the other pieces are in place.”

  “Now let’s talk about something important,” John Elder said with a smile. “Mr. Galt, if you died today, do you know where you would spend eternity?”

  Thomas Galt was sure he knew exactly where he would spend eternity, and it frightened him so much he couldn’t sleep at night. His pride kept him from answering honestly. Instead he said, “I guess I’m not really sure.”

  John Elder spent the next hours discussing how Galt could be forgiven of his sins and could be certain he would spend eternity with Jesus Christ. It was not until Shepperd interrupted for the tenth time saying they had to get Galt back to Atlanta to make the preparations that the meeting broke up.

  “I’ll think about what you said,” Galt said, shaking Elder’s hand warmly. This is a man who knows what he believes and is willing to die for it, Galt thought as he headed back to the van. I’m only willing to die to get away from the things I don’t believe in.

  On the way back, Galt noticed that the curtains were not drawn. When he asked why, the driver said, “Pastor Elder said it would not be necessary.” Galt was impressed more than he let on. Elder certainly was a man of his convictions.

  A desperate meeting was taking place in the White House Oval Office, with three people in attendance: Amir Razzak, Kathy Alton, and Cal Rutland. The room had been swept clean with the most sophisticated electronic sensors in existence. Two miniature microphones had been detected in the room. One was concealed in the overhead light fixture. The other was truly ingenious. It was no larger than a penny and was actually planted in Kathy Alton’s purse. Rutland knew the range of the small device had to be very limited, so he had the sweep extended to detect the base station. He was shocked to discover that his own secretary had hidden the transmitter in her desk. She was out sick or he would probably have shot her on the spot. What Rutland didn’t know was that all the Christian sympathizers had been warned to get out of Washington.

  “The room is clean,” Rutland said to Razzak. He could see the insanity in Razzak clearly now. As more of the system had broken down over the last several weeks, Razzak’s communications had digressed to fits of rage and wild rantings.

  “We will not lose what we have gained!” Razzak railed at the two who represented his inner circle. Since the death of Jason Franklin and the disappearance of Marla West, the circle had grown much smaller. President Alton was still a true devotee. Rutland was still committed to the Society, but he had less confidence in Razzak. Rutland was a pragmatist. He knew the noose was tightening. Already Kim Loo had fled, leaving the Data-Net system in sh
ambles. Rutland had not even told Razzak about that.

  “We will move immediately on the plan,” Razzak said as he paced around the room. “We have two thousand agents ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alton agreed. “Since the agents are unable to use Data-Net to secure transportation, they will steal the vehicles they need.”

  At the mention of Data-Net, Razzak’s face darkened. “We have them,” he said in a hiss.“Wells is smart, but he is not infallible. Dr. Loo will make the system impenetrable. And with the bombs in place, the military will be forced to comply.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alton agreed again. “The bombs will turn the tide for us.”

  Rutland thought he was going to be sick. The president agreed with anything Razzak said without question. He knew that at best they might round up transportation for two hundred men. How they would transfer three more bombs to the camps without the military intercepting them, nobody knew. With Wells in charge of the system and Gorman in charge of the spy satellites, they would know before the mob moved a hundred miles. Since Dr. Loo had fled, he knew they had virtually no access to Data-Net.

  “I disagree, sir,” Rutland said firmly. “It would be better to send a small group of agents into the area to secure the camps first.” Rutland had already decided what he must do: flee to an area where Data-Net didn’t control everything—perhaps Japan—but he would have to make his move before the whole country came down on them.

  “You had your chance,” President Alton said as she glared at Rutland, “and you blew it. We will crush the traitors while they sleep. We will not fail.”

  Rutland felt his face flush. He knew the plan was doomed. And with it his only hope of escaping.“You are an idiot!”Rutland shouted at Alton.

  “Quiet!” Razzak commanded in a voice that was somehow not his own. His eyes mirrored his tormented soul. “I will decide what happens now,” he shouted maniacally. “The first bomb will be exploded just as planned. We will also transport a bomb to Camp Two. This will give the military something to think about.”