Killing the Giants

by Jeff Bennington

  Jonathan’s eyes wrinkled and his mouth twisted opened. He took a quick breath before asking, “What’s cryptocracy?”

  Joseph laughed at Jonathan’s bewilderment. “Oh, Jonathan. Come on.”

  Jonathan shook his head, eyes still questioning.

  “Seriously?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Well…” Joseph was still laughing as he spoke. “Let me enlighten you, my son. Cryptocracy is the term conspiracy theorists use to describe a political system in which the perceived leadership is no more than pawns, while the true leadership remains hidden in the background. A very accurate theory, wouldn’t you say?”

  “So it seems. But how do you continue to remain hidden?”

  “Well, that matter is really about recruitment and lobbying. I’m sure you can put two and two together in that equation.”

  “I guess, I would say that between donating campaign funds, cabinet appointments, ambassadorships and other delayed gifts, there is plenty of room for hush money, so to speak. Am I on the right track?”

  Joseph answered, “You hit the nail on the head, my friend. But it goes a little deeper. You have to remember that when many of these puppet officials are first elected to office they feel a strong sense of responsibility to their constituency, as should be expected. However, a larger part of this system is the culture. You see, we have established a long-standing culture in Washington where lobbyists and special-interest groups are buzzing around so busily, the undercurrent that’s actually moving the political machine remains buried under the so-called superhighway of politics. News reporters, media moguls and political analysts are all part of our outer—and innermost circles. They, too, add to the busyness and swath of ideas that provide people like you and me a safe haven. Many are hand selected by leadership within the most secure inner circles.

  “Men and women from the Trilateral Commission, Caesar, the World Bank, the UN, the Illuminate, high-level government officials and many other organizations are all vying for their seat in the global throne room. So you see, there are so many people hoping for their own piece of the global pie that no one is willing to spill the beans. That is, if they are actually in one of the circles. If they are not invited to the party and somehow find it in their patriotic heart to rat us out, they always seem to come up missing, commit suicide or have some other mysterious accident.

  “Think about it. If I manufactured widgets, wouldn’t it be in my best interest to sell as many widgets as possible, for as cheap as possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. So I lobby Washington to push for easy access to global trade and for tax breaks when I produce my products overseas. I can do that by contributing to campaign funds or by giving my favorite congressman a seat on the board if all goes as planned. Either way, these are games that have been played over time and we are guaranteed a win because we created the rules of the game. That is the undercurrent my friend. And even if some of the most prestigious Washingtonians are not aware of our intentions, they still feed the beast.”

  Jonathan agreed. “So it seems.”

  “Soon you’ll meet some of those men who have helped to set up the rules. You’ll meet the men who are in the innermost circles. In just a few days, the retreat will begin and you will finally meet the men who allow the barbarians in this country to live and breathe.”

  Joseph looked at the painting above their table and concluded, “Smoke and shadows, my friend. Smoke and shadows.”

  Chapter 43

  Righty Tighty

  Blake adjusted his eyes to the moonlight and began the process of unloading the seven-gallon cylinders and rolling them under the bridge. Dennis backed up the truck with the lights off, quietly rolling toward the edge of the guardrail that led up to the bridge. They rolled rocks and rubble out of the way, forming a clear path so they could roll the cylinders off the truck. They shuffled the cylinders along the side of the road all the way under the bridge and back up to the highest point so the canisters remained out of sight. Blake aligned the canisters in such a way that the shutoffs and valves were facing the same direction for easy access and quick transitions from one canister to another.

  The two men worked tirelessly from dusk till dawn, night after night. They ran the half-inch tubing from the cylinders all the way to the metering station, taking care to keep the copper tubing covered and hidden from view. Each cylinder piped into the system had its own valve, regulator and gauge. The valves were daisy-chained and routed to the main line. They were experts. However, they did run into a few problems.

  “What the hell are you doing, Dennis?” asked Blake. His short fuse with Dennis had become a habit.

  “What the hell does it look like I’m doing, Blake?”

  “Looks like you’re stripping those threads again!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How many times have I got to show you?”

  Blake grabbed Dennis’s crescent wrench, put it on the fitting Dennis was working with and began to turn it clockwise.

  “Righty tighty, Dennis! Do you see this?” The fitting was beginning to thread onto the pipe. “Righty tighty! Now, I’m not going to show you again. I’ll just beat your ass with this wrench if you forget! You hear me?”

  Delays or mistakes put Blake’s plot at risk.

  Dennis’s shoulders slumped. With his head hung low, Dennis mumbled, “Sorry, Blake. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” Dennis grabbed the wrench from Blake and finished what he was doing. He turned the wrench to the right.

  “That’s it, Dennis.” Blake patted Dennis on the back. Dennis grinned. “See, you got it now!”

  Dennis smiled and kept cranking.

  Eventually, the two men installed the small pipeline except for one final connection. They walked over the copper tubing, pressing it into the soft dirt to help keep it hidden. The final connection had to wait for another night of darkness. Early morning commuters had started to zoom by. The two men were exhausted from hours of hard labor. They hopped into the truck and drove back to their hotel room unnoticed.

  • • •

  Sarah and her two friends continued stirring up the silent media frenzy over the gathering of world leaders at the Trilateral Commission’s Retreat. They had made incredible progress and were getting a good response from their coconspirators. They expected a large turnout of reporters, militiamen and hundreds of ex-students who were willing to stand by Dr. Liggin just because they cared. All in all, they were expecting a crowd of no less than three thousand people. Dr. Liggin continued working on his first national address to the American people.

  In another arena, according to Joseph, Jonathan and his managerial team had gone above and beyond the call of duty, on course to finalize the exacting preparations for the retreat.

  Like any other night, men conspired to overtake the world while the masses slept, ignorant of the power that forged their dreams. The game was in full force and the players took their positions.

  Chapter 44

  Something’s Missing

  The day before the retreat New York City bristled with international political figures and leaders from every nation. Many of them gathered their entourage and caravan of luxury vehicles, preparing to leave New York. Others had no such plans of leaving. Some of the members of the United Nations intended to stay the weekend at The Palace.

  The wind was brisk and cold. It blew the flags of every UN member nation. The colorful flags waved and whipped in the overcast sky as mild flurries trickled down to the concrete floor. Black and gray overcoats rustled in the breeze and shined shoes tapped the pavement as bodies of every color ambled through the big-city streets. Secret conversations materialized as the delegates gathered in closed circles to discuss their plans for the evening.

  • • •

  That night, Blake and Dennis came out to complete their work. They gathered their box of fittings and tools. All that was left to do was install a couple reducing bushings into the metering
station, install a valve and tie in the main line. Blake, however, was having trouble tying it all together. The temperature had dropped dramatically, which is exactly what he’d hoped for. It was the kind of cold where you can see your breath and feel your nose tingle as the moisture freezes in your nasal passage. He wanted every gas appliance at The Palace calling for heat. The cold made it difficult to focus. His hands felt stiff and sluggish. The two men knelt down in the crunchy grass, numbing their kneecaps, struggling to add the finishing touches.

  “Something’s missing, Dennis.”

  “What do you need?” asked Dennis. “You know I got your back!”

  “I thought I had the last compression fitting right here.” Blake ran his hands through the grass. “Do you see it?”

  Dennis squinted hard at the ground below, straining to focus as he moved his flashlight around. “No. Nuthin.”

  Blake crawled on his hands and knees, circling around the metering station. Dennis swiped his boots across the grass hoping to feel something.

  “I saw it just a few minutes ago!” Blake grunted in frustration, stretching his arm under one of the pipes. “All we’ve got to do is slide on the compression fitting and open up the valves! Come on…come on! Where are you?”

  They searched for an hour for the missing part. Blake backtracked his steps and searched the area with a flashlight. Dennis looked in and around the truck.

  “Dennis, have you got your belt?”

  “Yep!”

  “Give it to me.”

  Dennis loosened his buckle and slipped his leather belt off.

  Blake coupled the two sections of tubing with Dennis’s belt, pulled tight and used his knife to cut a new hole for the latch to slide into.

  “There, that will hold it for now. We might lose a little oxygen but not much.” Blake put his arm around Dennis, patted his shoulder and said, “You have to go back into the city to get another fitting or duct tape or something. I’ll turn on the oxygen and get it flowing into the system.”

  Blake walked under the bridge and cracked open the valve on the first canister, keeping it set at a low pressure. He could hear the oxygen push its way through the small tubing as it flowed toward the gas system. Blake increased the oxygen pressure just a smidge higher so it would enter the stream of natural gas without changing the average pressure and without leaking through the coupled fittings.

  Dennis immediately drove off in the truck. When he entered northern Manhattan, the truck started jerking and screeching. He pulled over, stepped down and saw that the driver’s-side tire, already worn down to the wire, had burst open. By the time he installed Blake’s spare tire and found the plumbing supply house, the sun had started to color the night with its morning cheer. He parked the truck, pulled his hat over his eyes and rested for a while.

  • • •

  Blake lay down under the bridge, exhausted from the stress of his mission. He spent all night monitoring the cylinders and opening each respective canister as the one before ran out of oxygen. The night had chilled. He shivered. He estimated that he only had one more tank of oxygen to dump into the system before the gas line had become fully contaminated.

  He began to notice that something didn’t sound right. He heard a hammering noise in the distance. He sat up and listened. He felt a buzzing noise overhead. Zzzzzm. He looked out of the shadows and noticed that the black night had turned blue, pink and red. He stood to his feet, brushed off his pants and climbed to the top of the hill and peeked over the bridge railing to look at the highway. To his surprise, there were several cars parking on the side of the road. The travelers stepped out of their cars and walked in his direction. He panicked and instinctively ducked his head and slid back under the bridge.

  “What the hell are these people doing here?” he asked himself. “I hope they aren’t going to The Palace!” Blake’s heart pounded like an AK-47. He no longer felt cold. He heated up from an internal panic attack.

  He stuck his head out again and looked in the other direction toward the entrance of the forest reserve. He saw large black vehicles entering, guided by men in black waving them past. He wondered if they were going to the retreat that Jack and his team had spoken of.

  He looked at his piping system. It wouldn’t be long before the oxygenated gas came in contact with pilot lights, ignition switches and the boilers inside The Palace. The pedestrians made him nervous. He ran down to the creek and hurried back north toward base camp.

  Blake splashed in and out of the clear, cold water, hopping from stone to stone through ankle-deep water to get to the other side. Just before he ran into the woods for cover, he got a call from Dennis.

  “Hey, Blake, I’m sorry it took so long. But I got a flat tire, the place was closed and now the traffic’s backing up, and the roads are starting to get slick.”

  Blake looked up and felt a light drizzle sprinkling his face. “It’s all right, Dennis, just get here as fast as you can. I’m going to need your help with something else. I need another set of eyes. There’s too many people here and I—”

  Blake felt a cold, steel gun barrel pressed against his neck.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked an angry voice.

  Blake stood still, frozen. He peered to the far corner of his eye. Black barrel. Black coat, he thought.

  Dennis heard the unfamiliar voice. “Blake? Who’s that? Are you okay? Blake!” Blake lifted his arms. Dennis pressed his foot hard on the gas pedal, working his way through the traffic. “That didn’t feel right. He just stopped talking,” said Dennis, as he thought out load. “He didn’t cuss me or anything.”

  Chapter 45

  Crypto Elites

  The sun broke through the chill, hiding the night until the moon came back to play. Cars and buses began to crowd the side of the road and the parking area near Dover’s Cliff. Volunteers set up a makeshift stage and podium for Dr. Liggin, while others directed traffic, traipsing through the grass and leaving a maze of footprints. Reporters and live news teams from local and national channels arrived, fortifying themselves in the grassy area near the entrance to The Palace. They turned on their satellite connections and adjusted for lighting. Sarah sent a last-minute press release to the Associated Press from her laptop.

  One reporter standing near the security checkpoint announced, “We’re live in front of the Roosevelt Private Forestry Reserve just outside of New York City, in the middle of what is warming up to be a retaliatory protest over an alleged secret retreat of world powers.” The reporter turned, her arm outstretched, hand pointing toward the entrance to the reserve. “We received a tip that there could be thousands here this morning, and by the looks of things, I don’t think that estimate is too far off. We’ve been informed that Dr. David Liggin, a respected MIT professor of political science, would be speaking to the crowd this morning. We’ll keep you posted as we uncover the details of this extraordinary event!”

  • • •

  Dennis worked his way through the traffic jam of volunteers and well-wishers on their way to support Dr. Liggin. He cursed and weaved around cars, driving through the median and on the side of the road. With Blake in trouble, Dennis didn’t have any intentions of slowing down. The old pickup truck took a beating, scratching against guardrails and mile markers. The trash and napkins that littered the dashboard were falling all over the front seat as he bobbed in and out of the median.

  Dennis shouted at the other drivers as he passed.

  “Get out of the way!”

  He honked his horn incessantly.

  “Come on! Come on! Come on! God bless it!”

  The other drivers stared at Dennis with worried eyes.

  • • •

  Dr. Liggin, Dale and Sarah arrived and parked near the large grassy commons that hid the crypto elites. The reporters looked surprised that so many of the UN delegates recently seen downtown were now heading into the alleged secret retreat of political miscreants. The media lined the sides of the entrance, blocked by security, to video
the limousines and lavish vehicles waiting for security clearance. Cameramen peeked through the tinted glass with their equipment, occasionally catching a glimpse of the members, who of course attempted to hide their faces with papers and other paraphernalia.

  Farther down the road, a group of protesters marched with banners and signs even though they knew very little about why they were there. Young college students and Ben Franklin and Abraham Lincoln impersonators marched in time with their catcalls. They circled in front of the security checkpoint and shouted with an occasional dissenting expletive.

  Dr. Liggin sat in Dale’s car and reviewed his speech. Sarah and Dale walked around the commons, meeting and greeting their supporters. They confirmed the schedule of events and order of speakers. The event continued as planned. Sarah ran through her mental list. Protestors: check. Volunteers: check. Speakers: check.

  Chapter 46

  Welcome

  The Palace buzzed with activity. The concierge fielded questions and the valet attendants worked up a sweat. Jonathan welcomed his esteemed guests as they came through the large doors. Joseph found a quiet place and rehearsed his speech.

  Jonathan made sure the international dignitaries were treated like royalty. Many had royal blood. Many did not. Still they basked in their false self-perceptions. The Giants came from around the globe, though most had a dual residence. And although they were culturally diverse, their ultimate purpose was quite uniform. They had gathered to discuss the new world order. The concept, often scoffed at by the media and public officials, was in fact, as real to these men as the wealth that led them to this place.

  The caterers served drinks and hors d’oeuvres as Jonathan directed the guests into the banquet hall.

  Joseph sat in a sitting room, seated comfortably in a large crimson leather chair, next to a stand-alone reading lamp. The yellow light shone upon his notes as he studied.