by D F Capps
* * *
Sean headed back to the Hilton, and checked out the sky once more. It was still clear light blue. No clouds and no contrails.
In his room, he went through the EDGAR files for corporations on the Securities and Exchange Commission website. He cross-referenced the corporations on the list he had from Charlie, checked the stock filing reports, and compared the members of the board of directors for the companies. A tight network of names was emerging, and those same names were at the top of Charlie’s list of corrupted individuals.
He checked the sky once again. Still clear blue. His curiosity was getting the better of him. He checked for flight cancellations. There weren’t any. He called a contact he had at one of the major airlines. There were no changes in flight altitudes. He called the National Weather Service. There was no significant change in humidity, temperature, or atmospheric pressure from yesterday to today. There was nothing to explain why the sky was clear today when it hadn’t been yesterday.
Sean spent the rest of the day in his hotel room working on his exposé of three interlocked corporations. At five in the afternoon, he checked the sky one last time. It was still clear blue. He pulled his phone and invited Patrick to dinner.
Chapter 21
President Andrews listened carefully to the discussion taking place in the White House conference room. The Secretary of Defense, the Joint Chiefs, and the commanding officers of all the military branches were present. He felt uneasy about the direction things were headed.
“Our unanimous opinion is that our advantage over the Russian Forces in Eastern Europe needs to be pushed forward,” Secretary of Defense Farnsworth said. “NATO is fully aligned with us and we have sufficient support from pro-western elements within Ukraine and Belarus.”
Farnsworth used the remote to turn on the main display, then zoomed in showing Ukraine and Belarus full screen.
“We have rising political operatives in place in each country ready to insure a referendum vote in favor of NATO membership. This is the culmination of two decades of funding covert political figures and their agendas. By bringing Ukraine and Belarus into the NATO sphere of influence, we will be able to place anti-missile installations literally on the border of Russia.”
Farnsworth zoomed the screen view out to show Russia and the anti-missile facilities already in place. Existing placements were in red; proposed sites in Ukraine and Belarus were in blue.
“That will place us within reach of more than seventy percent of Russia’s ICBMs on the ground. By adding these anti-missile units to the bases already in Greenland and Northern Canada, our high-speed missiles will be able to destroy ninety percent of all Russian ICBMs launched against our country before they can leave Russian airspace. This is a necessary step in creating a much higher degree of national security.”
He seems to think being ready and able to blow everyone up makes us more secure, Andrews thought. Isn’t that the same thinking that got us into this mess in the first place?
“What about Russian submarine-based nuclear missiles?” Andrews asked.
Farnsworth turned and nodded to Admiral Dosinski, who typed on his tablet bringing the position and status of all Russian subs onto the main screen.
“Russia hasn’t had the financial resources to maintain their full submarine fleet. Currently only three ballistic missile submarines are on patrol at any given time. With our advanced submarine technology, we are able to follow them and remain within striking distance at all times without their knowledge.” Farnsworth pointed to the three submarine locations on the screen. “Those subs are currently here, here, and here. We have a nuclear fast attack sub tailing each of them. You can forget about any threat the Russian subs pose to us.”
Andrews leaned to the side in his chair and studied the screen. He frowned.
“This sounds as though we’re developing a first-strike nuclear plan against Russia. Is that where this is going?”
Farnsworth shrugged. His expression and hand gestures seemed a little too rehearsed to Andrews.
“It’s not entirely out of the question, world tensions being what they are. Obviously, it’s not our first choice, but with the recent increase in Russian military actions in Crimea and Syria, something has to be done to counter the Russian president’s provocative actions.”
Farnsworth turned to face Andrews directly.
“We need to take a firm and decisive stand against them. The American people and our allies are waiting to see if you have the resolve to do what needs to be done with the Russians. You’ve been in office for ten months. Now is the time to demonstrate the world-class leadership qualities we know you possess.”
Andrews ignored Farnsworth’s blatant attempt at manipulation painted in flattery. They had known each other much too long for him to take it seriously. It was just Farnsworth being Farnsworth; that was all.
“Timetable?”
Farnsworth skipped back with the remote to show Ukraine and Belarus on the main screen. “Our people can force a referendum in Ukraine within two months. Belarus will take another six months.”
Okay, Andrews thought. It is where they’re going with this. “And you’re certain of the outcome?”
Farnsworth seemed to relax a little.
“Hundred percent,” Farnsworth replied, as he showed more enthusiasm. “Barring any unforeseen incidents, of course.” Farnsworth’s smile wasn’t reassuring at all.
“Of course,” Andrews said. “I’ll let you know what I decide to do with Russia. Thank you for your input.”
Andrews stood, left the conference room, and leaned into Doug Franks’s office.
“Walk with me.”
Franks looked up. His expression revealed that this was one of those “we’ve got to talk” moments no one likes. He followed Andrews through the White House and into the personal quarters for the First Family.
“I need an off-the-books sit-down with Pasternov in three weeks. No press, no military, minimal security, and face to face. Can you make that happen quietly?”
Franks looked stunned, yet curious. “I can. What’s going on?”
Andrews set his lips tight together and looked around the room.
“I need to invite him into the circle.”
Chapter 22
“Okay, I’ll bite. How did you know?” Sean’s curiosity was piqued. It wasn’t often he got something wrong, at least not something he considered this basic. Dinner could go on the expense account, but the hundred bucks would come out of his pocket. It just might be worth it.
“When you understand how a system works, the results become more predictable,” Patrick said with a self-satisfied smile.
Sean let a half smile show. He liked how Patrick was always so careful about his documentation.
“Which means something happened so you knew what was going to happen next?”
Patrick was deep into conspiracy theories and far out stuff, but he usually knew what he was talking about. That’s why Sean called him in the first place.
“Exactly,” Patrick said. “I knew from the weather forecast that we didn’t have a storm front anywhere close to us. Plus, the day before, Iran fired off a new ballistic missile.”
Sean nodded. He remembered the news item from the previous day.
Patrick used his hands to emphasize different parts of the globe as he said, “When Iran or North Korea does something provocative like that, the U.S. puts its military pilots on alert.”
Sean tipped his head, frowned, and wondered what the connection was going to be.
“The planes that spray the chemtrails are flown by military pilots. When they’re put on alert, no chemtrails. The pilots aren’t available.”
The waiter brought their salads and drinks. Sean took the opportunity to study Patrick for a moment. So far this wasn’t making a lot of sense.
“Why do you call them chemtrails instead of contrails?” Sean asked, as he started in on his salad.
Patrick beamed. “Contrails are the result
of burning jet fuel, which is high-grade kerosene,” he said, holding his left hand over the table. “So what you get is partially consumed hydrocarbons and water vapor. The white part you see from the ground is the water vapor, which freezes and then dissipates in thirty to sixty seconds.” He held his right hand out to balance the left. “Chemtrails are composed of a mix of metals and other chemicals that remain suspended in the air, at least for a while. These chemicals gradually settle to the ground. We collected samples of the residue and sent them to a lab for analysis.”
Sean nodded. He could see where Patrick was going with this, but said, “How do you know people aren’t jiggering the results by doping the samples?”
Patrick’s face flushed. He didn’t like being challenged. He’s probably emotionally invested in being right, Sean thought.
“Here’s a packet of different lab results from various parts of the U.S. and Canada,” handing a buff envelope across the table. “You may find the analysis from the State of California particularly interesting. Because of their high level of environmental regulations for air and water quality, they test and report the contamination levels and components in the air and water every year.”
Sean took the envelope and set it to the side. There would be plenty of time to go over it later tonight.
“I take it you believe these so-called chemtrails are the solar radiance management program and that only military pilots fly the planes?”
Patrick shook his head, trying to stay calm.
“It’s not that simple. Solar radiance management is just a small part of what’s being done, and it’s actually a large part of the plausible deniability scheme of lies designed to cover the real reason for the chemtrails.”
Plausible deniability, Sean thought. The unofficial motto for every covert agency he ran across. “Which is?” Sean pressed.
“To make the upper atmosphere electrically conductive.”
The waiter arrived with their dinners. Sean waited as Patrick cut into his steak.
“Electrically conductive? For what purpose?”
Patrick nodded, swallowed, and took a sip of his drink.
“Chemtrails suspend nanoparticles in the upper atmosphere, primarily aluminum and barium, in order to make the upper layer electrically conductive. High frequency radio waves are then used to heat the upper atmosphere, which expands, and in turn pushes and shapes the ionosphere above it,” Patrick said, making an umbrella shape with his arms.
“The ionosphere reflects radio waves. The end result is a type of concave radio-frequency mirror that can be used to reflect and focus electromagnetic energy back down to any spot on the planet.”
Sean shook his head. “From my understanding of radio waves, they dissipate rapidly, so the energy at that distance is very small.”
Patrick nodded with a knowing smile.
“That depends on the antenna. One of the early experiments used the huge dish antenna at Arecibo, in Puerto Rico. That antenna was able to focus several million watts of electromagnetic energy into a very small area in the upper atmosphere.”
“Okay,” Sean said. “That means whoever controlled the antenna could project the destructive power over a large target area.”
“That’s exactly correct,” Patrick continued. “Since then we have developed phased array antennas, which can direct and focus tremendous amounts of electromagnetic energy anywhere on the planet.”
Sean nodded as he cut another piece of steak.
“To do what?” he asked, his reporter instinct urging him to push harder. He didn’t like doing this to Patrick, but if he was going to get to the bottom of this issue, he needed to push. “This is beginning to sound like some long, involved, science fiction thing,” he said, waving his steak knife over his plate. “What are they—whoever ‘they’ are—doing with this energy?”
Patrick put down his utensils and looked directly at Sean.
“It’s a weapon system,” Patrick said. “And like all weapons, it’s been used for good purposes and for bad. Heating the upper atmosphere can move the jet stream, change the weather, create and steer storms, and create droughts or floods. It has been used as a strategic weapon against other countries. Electrifying the upper atmosphere can destroy the electronic control system on intercontinental ballistic missile warheads, creating an invisible shield against incoming nuclear bombs.” Patrick looked up, his arms following his gaze. “With the billions of watts of electrical power that can be generated and focused in small areas of the upper atmosphere, you could melt an incoming warhead before it got anywhere near its target.”
Almost there, Sean thought. “That sounds like a good thing—protecting us from warheads.”
Patrick shook his head again.
“But it’s a bad thing when it’s used to create floods, droughts, hurricanes, and record-breaking tornados that kill people and destroy property for hidden political purposes.” Patrick’s anger flared, his face turning red. “That’s the problem. It’s a military grade weapon that looks like an Act of God, a natural disaster that just happened by itself. It has plausible deniability built right into it because so very few people either know about it, or even believe it’s possible to do these things.”
Sean nodded as righteous indignation took over Patrick’s body language, and his voice became louder.
“That’s why I’m publishing the information: to educate people. You think this is just some fantasy conspiracy theory and that only stupid people would believe anything like this could exist. Well, you’re wrong. It does exist. It’s real!”
Sean sat back in his chair to give Patrick a chance to cool down. This was clearly an emotional subject, but he needed the facts. In his experience, people believed a lot of things that just weren’t true. It didn’t matter what Patrick believed, it only mattered what evidence and research materials he had collected. That’s what he wanted.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Sean said calmly. “Especially in a short time frame.”
Patrick glanced furtively around the restaurant.
“Didn’t mean to make a scene. The aerial spraying program is a piggyback operation.”
Sean slowly looked around. The waiter had a worried look on his face, probably wondering if he needed to ask them to leave. Other people were looking at them with suspicious eyes. He needed to cool this down. He leaned forward and spoke softly.
“Piggyback? As in?”
Patrick followed his lead and leaned forward as well.
“The government offsets the cost of the program by collecting fees from companies that want to put other things in the chemical mix.”
Sean glanced at the waiter, who turned away.
“Such as?”
Patrick leaned in more.
“Polymers, viruses, toxins, bacteria, and a number of other things.”
Viruses? Bacteria? Toxins? Sean thought. That was a shock.
“They’re spraying toxins?”
Patrick nodded. “If you disburse a toxic substance over a wide enough area, it’s no longer considered a toxin.”
“You’re kidding.” Sean had never heard of such a thing.
“No, I’m not kidding. They also spray polymers that absorb ultraviolet radiation from the sun—part of the solar radiance cover. The program is open to all kinds of experiments. You’d be surprised at who’s involved in some of these tests.”
Sean wrinkled his lips and paused. “Okay, try me.”
Patrick named several major corporations, the first three of which Sean was already studying because of their placement at the top of Charlie’s list.
“This is geoengineering we’re talking about?” Sean asked.
He glanced around the dining room. People had refocused on their dinners.
“Yes. The spraying is going on all over the globe. What started out as an essential part of a military weapons system has slowly morphed into a vast experiment to modify and control the climate.”
Patrick shook his head, disgust showing on his fa
ce.
“Some scientists are swooning over the ability to transform the climate on the planet. And to think I was worried about the threat of nuclear weapons incinerating millions of people during the cold war. Now we’ve got people playing God with the climate and the power to end life as we know it on planet earth.”
The waiter returned and refilled their drinks.
“So how did all of this get started?” Sean asked.
Patrick nodded and cut open his baked potato.
“Nicola Tesla and Tunguska, Russia, June thirtieth, 1908.”
Tesla? 1908? Patrick was certainly full of surprises tonight.
“Tunguska,” Sean said. “That was a meteor or an asteroid.”
Patrick smiled and shook his head once more.
“No. It wasn’t. It was Tesla’s demonstration of the projection of electromagnetic energy from his Wardenclyffe magnifying antenna tower on Long Island, New York.”
This was the first Sean had heard anything like that.
“What evidence do you have?”
Patrick waved his fork over his plate.
“There’s a website—” Patrick said, pausing to take another sip of his drink—“dedicated to all things Tesla. They have the documents and some of Tesla’s letters and notes. It’s all there.”
Patrick took back the envelope he had given to Sean and scribbled the web address on it.
“Take a look. You’ll be surprised.”
Sean looked at the address. Just because it was on a website didn’t make it true. People can, and do, put anything on websites.
“That devastated a huge area,” Sean said.
Patrick looked him in the eyes again.
“It did. The demonstration flattened a thousand square miles of trees. Fortunately, it wasn’t in a populated area. You see—and this is the part people don’t understand—the power you put into the transmitter is magnified through the antenna. This is what makes it an effective military weapon.”
Patrick paused as he finished his baked potato.