Killing the Giants

by Jeff Bennington

  “Why is that more significant than the others?” asked Sarah.

  “Because I believe that the most obvious sign that the Giants are at work is when things don’t make sense. For example, when Congress passes a bill that the majority of voters clearly disagree with, or when corrupt officials get a slap on the wrist when a regular Joe would have been given a twenty-year sentence for the same crime. Those are clear signs that the Giants are involved. Of course, no one can ever prove that those circumstances involve the Giants. Everyone simply knows that something isn’t right. It’s just a gut feeling most people get, including myself. We ask questions and seek justice, but in the end, the story is dropped and the charges dismissed. It’s always the same. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. That’s when you know that the Giants are working and manipulating your world. Now in your case, you have two separate explosions, in two separate countries, right?”

  “Right.” Sarah considered the implications of Dave’s comments.

  “Any similarities?” Dr. Liggin asked.

  “Yes. Almost all of the workers and their families have been killed.”

  “And what do you think the motive is?”

  “Well, perhaps PPI wants to end their negotiations and get cheap labor in there. But that’s just too obvious, isn’t it? How could they blatantly kill those workers without expecting an investigation? They can’t possibly do that without fear of retribution. Can they?”

  “Ah…now you’re starting to ask the right questions. You see, when you think a motive doesn’t make sense, that’s when the Giants are at work, because they don’t play by the same rules that we do. When we see a problem, they see progress. When we see a law, they see a loophole. When we see murder and injustice, they see profit and opportunity. That’s why your investigation doesn’t make sense.”

  Dr. Liggin stood up. “Coffee?”

  Sarah nodded. “Two sugars. No cream.”

  David smiled and shuffled through a cabinet near his desk.

  “Listen, Sarah; historians and philosophers have been writing about espionage and political corruption for more than two thousand years. It’s an ancient art form. And over time, some have mastered it to the point that their corruption is often seen as virtuous. Your problem is that you’re trying to look at this case through the eyes of a working-class girl from the East Coast. If you intend on seeking justice, you have to chase them through the eyes of a Giant. You have to see them through the eyes of evil. Can you do that?”

  Sarah cleared her throat and considered David’s question. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re thinking. Is it the money? Is that all they’re about?”

  “No. It’s always about money, but it’s also about power and control. These three are the foundation of their core beliefs. Without one of these three, they lose all the others. Do you remember that now?”

  “Yeah.” Sarah nodded.

  “So, think, Sarah. What do the Giants stand to gain by killing all these workers? What would you stand to gain if you had a stake in oil and wanted money, power and control?”

  “That depends on what I know. If I stood to lose my fortune in oil revenue to another technology, why would I kill my existing workers?” Sarah sat up in her chair to get into a more comfortable position. Dr. Liggin handed her a cup of coffee.

  Sarah smiled and clasped the drink. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe they want to send a signal to the workers who go on strike. Maybe they’re anticipating something on the horizon that would make the automobile and oil companies obsolete. Maybe they simply want to keep their profits up as the demand for oil goes down. Maybe they’re using PPI as an instrument for a greater purpose, and the deaths mean nothing to the longevity of PPI. The real question is: who is being manipulated, the workers or PPI? And who is pulling the strings? Somewhere along the line, someone is being used and someone is doing the using. So start at the bottom and evaluate all of the stakeholders until you get to the top.”

  “Okay. At the bottom are the workers and their families: Gill, Ginger and the rest of the workers. They are the innocent ones, whose lives have been ruined. Above them, are the killers: the actual criminals who pulled the trigger, ignited the bombs and drove the car into the metering station in Chapleaux. Above the killers are PPI and its executive leadership. Above PPI could be the Giants. Is that what you are talking about?”

  “Exactly. So where are you in terms of evidence up the ladder?”

  “Well…I don’t have any reason to believe that the workers are involved, but I know someone, or a group of individuals, have been doing the grunt work. We’re still waiting on lab results from the Bureau for that information. No new leads there. My guess is the Giants have their own hired guns on payroll. Any thoughts on that?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course they do. Like the Mafia and terrorist organizations, the Giants have multiple layers. And the men who experience this level of power and control become equally as religious as a terrorist or martyr. Their politics and their worldview become their passion. Once they have invested their life and fortunes into the ideas that drive their existence, their ideologies become almost spiritual in nature. And a zealot with the means to manipulate world events is very dangerous, almost unstoppable.

  “I guess what I’m saying is, I think the killers in your case are only pawns working for the Giants. It seems that they’ve managed to infiltrate PPI or some other organization that stands to gain by PPI’s loss. Therefore, I think it might be best to jump ahead to PPI, and see what you can drum up there.”

  “That makes sense. But, if I go at this with the eyes of a Giant, I shouldn’t look at PPI as if they are at the top of the ladder, right? Shouldn’t I be looking for their link to the Giants?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Liggin casually looked at his watch and took a sip of his coffee. “I think you have the idea. You won’t find the Giants operating inside a corporation unless they’re pawns who are being manipulated to think that they are one of them. If you find them operating inside of PPI, you need to understand that they’re disposable to the Giants. So, be careful.

  “If you get too close, you’re as good as dead. Trust me, they won’t let their plans fail because some ATF agent is sniffing around.”

  “I’ll be careful. I’m not out to be a hero. I just want those folks to get the justice they deserve.”

  Chapter 14

  Radisson

  Thomas Radisson was originally invited to join Caesar because of his association with an old college buddy whose father was a member of the club. Although he came from money, he always wanted more. The men who formed Caesar could see his value right away. He was power hungry, smart, greedy and unscrupulous; an ideal candidate to continue their time-honored traditions.

  As a member of Caesar, Thomas was entitled to, and given, every indulgence that he craved. Philosophically, the Caesar covenant required an agnostic belief at a minimum, but preferred atheism as the personal ideology of choice. Their activities, purpose, and charter absolutely forbade their members to adhere to any religion, particularly a Christian faith. Since Thomas’s personal philosophy was one of pure self-indulgence, the club suited him to a tee.

  On a separate occasion, Thomas entered The Palace, arrogantly strutting through the marble halls, looking forward to another night in the pool. At forty-two, he was younger and scrappier than most Caesars, with enough energy to live the double life Caesar required.

  After a steam shower, Thomas entered the orgy room. Always colored with dim red light and filled to capacity, sex had become the precursor to the monthly Caesarian rituals. Crowded with world-class prostitutes and obese men, the smells and sounds of sex were intoxicating to Thomas. This activity alone kept him in line with Caesar’s directives. Cocaine and sex abounded and he dove in remiss of the consequences.

  • • •

  After all were satisfied, the prostitutes left sickened but content with the payout. Thomas and about one hundred Caesars showered, dressed and put on their dark
purple gowns, a sign of royalty. After all, that was what they were in their own eyes. They ruled a country and several other continents from their white palace in New York. They bought every vote they needed to accomplish their goals. Failure was never an option, and it all started with their covenant. It all started in a room much like this one, nearly five hundred years ago, where Caesar, the original organization, gathered in what they called the Senate. Nothing had changed to this day.

  The speaker of the Senate called out: “Nos hav victum. Nas es gubernatio novus universitas. Nas vadum existo procer quadrex in a novus ordo res. Quoniam nos hav victum.” The speaker paused and continued in English. “We have overcome. We are the leaders of the new world. We shall be princes and kings in the new world order. Because we have overcome!

  “Caesar…you are lofty and worthy of praise. You are rulers created by your own might, to govern men and lead them into your glory.”

  All repeated: “We are Caesar and we are worthy of glory, honor and praise. We are entitled to all wealth and the plebeians are ours to control. We are the masters of this world, and all knowledge and wisdom is ours to possess.”

  The speaker continued: “As you enter the throne room, you may remove your hoods and let your light shine and fill this place with your radiance. Then, you shall proceed with the royal discourse.” Each Caesar complied. They sat in a large circle of equally elaborate thrones. Each Caesar was treated with equal value so no one had reason to aspire or thirst for a higher position. This was the evolution of the Roman Senate. The Palace was the epicenter of the new world order. They were the roots of a fascist world government, bent on the appearance of capitalism.

  Thomas, eager as he was to please, was the first to speak up. He stood up and said, “Caesar, I submit to you that the work in Grande Isle and Chapleaux is complete and soon to be nothing more than a memory. If there is anything more I can do to serve Caesar, I will gladly comply.”

  “We’re grateful for your service, Caesar!” shouted the speaker, an older, balding man. “May you be honored and praised!”

  Another one of the men stood up and said, “Four out of five of our international banks are now underfunded as planned. We have usurped them of their wealth and soon three of them will file for bankruptcy. Of course, we’re grateful to Congress for their support in funding their failures. Moreover, we currently have a majority sponsorship in the Congress thanks to two of our own who are present this evening.” Looking at the two gentlemen, he continued, “Thank you for your service as well. Your hard work has made the process of global economic failure possible, bringing us closer to our final objective.” The two men nodded, accepting the thanks they were given.

  One of the gentlemen stood up to make another announcement. “I’m saddened that I must bring you a bad report.” He frowned. “We believe that two of our broadcasting affiliate executives have relaxed their policies as they relate to our cause. It seems that they have leaked three stories that could potentially infect our system. Regrettably, blood must be shed. One of them is here with us tonight, and will set an example for the others who will witness the consequences. There must be retribution! As a result, we must draw our daggers so our fury might be restrained!”

  “Here! Here! Here!” cried the other Caesars as they pounded their fists on the arms of their thrones.

  At that moment, two men completely covered in black gowns walked into the room dragging one of the media executives who was suspected of impeding Caesar’s plans. She was beautiful and naked. They dragged her by her legs and her long dark hair trailed behind as she screamed and kicked. When she realized where she was, she got quiet and looked around at the men in purple. She desperately tried to cover her nakedness with her arms. With their hands clenching their daggers, the men slowly walked toward her. Their long robs covered their feet, giving the appearance that they were floating.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, begging. “Let go of me! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone! Oh my God! Oh my God, what are you doing? No! No! No!”

  The men continued to encircle her. As they drew closer, they lifted their daggers and plunged deep into her flesh. One after another, each Caesar stabbed her. She screamed madly, but quickly fell silent. Her body convulsed, but soon collapsed as her blood sprayed from fifty holes throughout her body, spilling out onto the cold marble floor.

  The men walked back to their thrones with one less weak link. The two men in black removed the woman, and disposed of her accordingly. She was later found in her home. There was a note tacked to her forehead that read: “Killed for disobedience!”

  Thomas was empowered with the night’s events as usual, high on adrenaline and prideful of what he was a part of. The power and wealth was addicting. It felt that way for every member of Caesar. Somehow, morality and respect for human life managed to escape their minds. All that mattered was the extension of their power, wealth, and influence until their ultimate plan came to fruition. That was the way of Caesar. That was the way of the Giants.

  Chapter 15

  My Girls

  Union Hall of Local 927, Chapleaux, Ontario

  “Who was that woman you were with the other day, Frank?” asked Blake.

  “Oh, that pretty little thing? Her name’s Perkins, Sarah Perkins. She’s the ATF agent the sheriff told us about. She’s assigned to the case in Grande Isle. I trust her.”

  The two men sat at a foldup card table in the Union Hall discussing their plans. The Hall had become one of the town’s temporary shelters. Frank had plans to go back home to Sault Sainte Marie. Blake had been going crazy waiting for Thomas Radisson to come to town and deliver his check that was promised. Blake and several other survivors were depending on that money to start over.

  “What did she have to say?” asked Blake.

  “Not a whole lot. She knows about the oxygen tank. I showed her everything, and I guess she has an idea about who’s involved. She said the situation in Grande Isle, Louisiana, is much the same. I think she wants justice, Blake, same as we do.”

  “Did you tell her about the scabs or the bus driver?”

  “Pfft!” Frank crossed his legs. “She doesn’t know anything about that. So when the prints come back, we can pin this thing on the bus driver and get on with our lives. There’s no sense in waiting for the Americans to come up with their own conclusions when we have his prints on everything. It’s a good thing you kept him around. Hell, without that squirrelly son of a bitch, the investigation could drag on for years.”

  “Well, as long those bastards in New York think they’re off the hook, they won’t have any reason to be looking over their should—”

  Frank interrupted. “I sure as hell wish I were as young as you! I just don’t have it in me anymore. I think you and Dennis can handle those bastards all by yourselves. I’m sick of those greedy, murderous sons of bitches. And to think they sent someone here to try to get me to give a false report! Ha! I’m telling you, Blake, this world is a dark and dirty place. Never in my life have I seen the likes of greed like I see today. Oh, I know it’s been around since the beginning of time, but my goodness; to think they would kill their own for a lousy buck. I just don’t understand that, Blake. I don’t understand how a man can think like that. How do they become so shortsighted…so evil?”

  “I don’t understand it myself,” said Blake. “Guess that’s just the way it is. Pretty soon we’ll all be in shackles. Pretty soon we’ll all be slaves. Hell, I don’t think…” Blake sighed in frustration. “I don’t think those CEOs and big-shot executives will ever be satisfied until they have us working for food and shelter. Sons of bitches!”

  Frank stood up from his chair, looked down at Blake and said, “You got a point there, Blake. You got a point. But hey, listen; I’ve done all I can do here. You all should have enough to eat until Mr. Radisson gets here. I guess everyone except old man Miller is planning on leaving. It sounds like everyone is either going back home to his or her family or starting over somewhere el
se. Me, I’m going back to Sault Sainte Marie to be with my older sister.

  “So, I guess that’s that. They got us, Blake. They really beat us, didn’t they? We’re just another ghost town soon to be forgotten. It’s sad. But you, you got a chance to give us all a little peace of mind, a little satisfaction, a little redemption.”

  “Well, I sure as hell plan to. Hell, I’ve lived and hunted up here all my life. It can’t be too hard to find some pansy-ass pencil pusher inside PPI’s glass tower. They’ll probably usher me right up to his office and roll out the red carpet after all we’ve been through. You know, good publicity and all. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna live the rest of my life without making my mark or making my voice heard! I for one am sick to my stomach over what those bastards did.”

  Blake was choking up as tears began to form. “And ah…I owe it to my girls…to this town and to everyone they have killed!” Blake let his tears flow down his cheeks. “I owe it to them to take a stand. I owe it to them to say, ‘We’ve had enough! So here’s a bullet in your head! I hope you got enough money while you had the chance. I hope it was worth it!’ Then maybe the next CEO will think twice before he pulls a stunt like that!”

  There was a long pause as Blake tried to gather his emotions. Frank patted Blake on the back, knowing that Blake wasn’t much for sharing his feelings. “You’re a good man, Blake. I couldn’t be more proud of you. I think you’re doing the right thing. Godspeed, Blake. Godspeed.”

  Frank Dijon walked out of the Union Hall, got in his Blazer and never looked back. He silently drove east toward Sault Sainte Marie. He drove for miles, looking at the rolling hills and forests that filled the Canadian landscape. Although he believed every word he had said, he was troubled, his mind quietly racing. It was time for him to make a phone call. It was time for him to deliver on his promise. He pulled over, looked inside his glove compartment to make sure his handgun was loaded. Then, he nervously picked up his phone.