Darkness surrounded her, but she was not afraid. She was not cold, nor was she warm. She was at peace. She was alone, but at the same time she was not. She did not feel alone. Not here. Not now. She felt calm. Weak, but calm. She became aware of a brightness. Like a light in the distance, and as she tried focus her attention on it, gradually it began to become brighter. Closer. She embraced it. And as the light approached her and began to engulf her, it brought a sound. A soft sound. Like a cough, she thought. Yes, a stifled cough. The clearing of ones throat. A soft yet subtle sound. It came again. She opened her eyes. She squinted against the brightness of the sunlight that streamed through the window. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in her bedroom of the hotel.
“You’re awake.” She turned her head to see Connor sitting against the wall. “I’ll get the Doctor.” He looked away for a moment as he messaged, and then looked back. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” She managed to say. “Groggy.”
“I bet. You had me worried.” Someone knocked at the front door. Connor rose and left the bedroom. He followed the Doctor back into the room.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Alexander. How are we today?” He said, as he began checking her vital signs.
“Okay.”
“You had quite a night last night. You should thank Mr. Sloan, here. We almost lost you.” Satisfied with her pulse and respiration, he checked her blood pressure.
“Thanks.” She said, and gave Connor a small smile.
“Now, Mrs. Alexander, I’m sure your primary physician instructed you on how dangerous combining alcohol with your antidepressant medication could be.” She nodded. “Then I highly suggest that you refrain from doing so in the future.” Again she nodded. “I see.” The Doctor said. He turned to Connor. “I think she’ll be just fine, Mr. Sloan. She was lucky to have you around last night, sir. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, just let me know, but I think she’ll be good from here.” He excused himself and then left.
“Where’s Mason?” She asked Connor.
“He’s gone on. To the next hotel.” She nodded, at first sad, that he had left without her, but then the events of the previous days began to surface in her mind, and she was thankful that she did not have to face him.
“What time is it?”
“Three, in the afternoon.” She realized she had been out all night and most of the day.
“The debate?”
“The pundits are saying it was a tie.”
“I didn’t make it.”
“No, you didn’t. But the campaign has already spun your sudden absence due to a medical issue into a story worthy of Mother Theresa. It’s playing in the press like you were a fallen Saint. Mr. Alexander thinks it will be great for the polls.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, mam.”
“That son-of-a-bitch.” She hissed, as he approached her bedside.
“Grace...how much do you remember? From last night?”
“All of it.” She sighed. “Everything up until getting out of the elevator. Have you had a chance to go through the files you downloaded?” He nodded in reply.
“Not much else to do.”
“And? Were we right?”
“You tell me.” He handed her the charging and cleaning container that held her smart contact. “Put this in.” She reached inside and retrieved it, and carefully inserted it and activated the device. “Read what I just sent you, and give me your take on it.” His message popped up, and she opened it, and then opened the attached document. It was a flow chart of some kind. As she read through it, her blood ran cold. It began almost two years ago. Campaign stops, speeches, fund raising events, and then a bombing. And another bombing. The assassination of Arthur Johnson. More speeches, more events, another bombing. The bombing at the convention was next. The very place where Sarah and Bradlie had been in danger. The debate. More speeches, more events. The threat on Bazir. The Holographic debate set up. The debate from last night.
“So far these are all the things that have already happened. It’s all in the past.” She said.
“Exactly. And the events appear exactly as they happened. Right?”
“Yes, the best I can tell.”
“So let me ask you a question. If I wrote these items down, right now, right in front of you, would you think there was anything sinister about it?” She looked puzzled.
“No. You would just be remembering things that have happened.”
“Right. Now what if I had sent you this document two years ago.”
“Two years ago? As it is?” He nodded. “I don’t know.”
“Well if you got it two years ago, it wouldn’t have meant very much would it? Back then, none of these events had even happened. You might have looked it over and tossed it aside as rubbish. But if you kept the document, and as time passed the events portrayed began to happen precisely and exactly as recorded-”
“What are you saying?”
“Grace. This document was created two years ago. Look at the time stamp.” She did, and he was right.
“How? This can’t be right.”
“It can, and it is. The more important thing is what it means.”
“It means...it means that someone-”
“Mason.”
“It means that Mason knew these things were going to happen?”
“Not just knew, Grace...he may have made them happen.”
“Oh my God, Connor. How can that be?”
“I’ve just sent you the rest of that same document. It’s the rest of the timeline.” Once again she opened the message and opened the document. It started with today. As she read, she realized the hotel that Mason had gone to earlier today was the same one they had stayed at just before the first debate. Then there was a series of campaign events leading up to the final debate next week. And then the debate. And then another bombing.
“What’s this? The bombing?” She read on. Another bombing two days before the election, and then the election. Followed by the inauguration, martial law, relocation, and then, eradication.
“I don’t get it? What does all of this mean?”
“Grace, based on the other documentation I’ve gone through, this is the timeline for the next few weeks. After that I could not find any other documents that are similar. What it appears to outline, is that Mr. Malek, and quite probably his wife will be executed at or during the final debate. Most likely at their undisclosed remote location, and most definitely via a planted bomb, or possibly a drone fired missile. The next bombing is more troubling in that I could not find any reference to where it may go off. Then the election which he obviously expects to win.”
“But what about the rest? The martial law, relocation, and eradication?”
“You already know what that is, Grace.”
“It’s true?” He nodded.
“I found the detailed plans that are already being executed to turn each of those abandoned Air Force bases into what appear from the outside as relocation camps. But the blueprints of the inside make no sense. At least they don’t if you expect them to house a large number of people. But if you do further research on Dr. Grandin’s approach to slaughter house design, it becomes quite evident that these camps are not being built to house anyone. They are designed for mass intake, and continuous execution.”
“Oh my God, Connor. Oh my God.” She got to the edge of the bed, and sat up. “And it’s the Muslims?”
“Yes, mam. All of them. Somehow he was able to tap into a kind of registry that was being used by many of the Mosque Imams to keep track of and communicate with their members. Day one, right after the inauguration, the military will be instructed to begin the relocations.”
“But they won’t! They won’t do it!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, mam. Only the people that are relocated to one of the camps, and make it to the end of the line in the intake facility, will know that they are there to die.” She got up shakily. He rose to help, but she stopped him.
&nbs
p; “We have to do something.”
“Yes, mam, but what?”
Over the evening, Grace and Connor decided that information would be the answer. If the people knew, all of the people knew, and if they had irrefutable documented evidence of the conspiracy, Mason would be stopped in his tracks. It had to happen right away. According to the plan they had uncovered, Bazir was to be targeted at the final debate. Grace compiled a list of her media organization contacts, while Connor prepared a messaging blitz. It was simple. They would send all of them the documentation simultaneously. There would be no way for Mason to stop it. Connor sent her the compressed document file, and she attached it to the message she was finishing. She had already created the anonymous messaging account that it would be sent from.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Republic of America, the message began. It is with great sorrow that I send you this message, and it is with heavy heart that I must inform you of a grave injustice that has been planned by presidential candidate, Mason Alexander. Attached to this message you will find irrefutable proof that Mr. Alexander has conspired in a plan to eradicate an entire segment of our population, based solely on their religious beliefs. This cannot stand. We cannot let this happen. The current laws of this nation be damned, the freedom to practice the religion of your choosing is an inherent God given right. Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, or atheist, it does not matter. We should all have the right to our own beliefs, without fear.
It will become apparent, once you have reviewed the attached documentation, that Mason Alexander intends to implement martial law immediately upon becoming the President. And furthermore, he intends to forcibly relocate the entire Muslim population into regional relocation camps much like those used for the Japanese-American population during World War II. The design of these encampments appears not to be to house these people, but ultimately to eliminate them. This depth of this atrocity is such that has not been imagined since the Nazi death camps of the Holocaust.
I know this may seem too much to be true, and it is truly overwhelming. But if there is any way, any way at all to stop this horrible plan from coming to fruition, it will be with your help. You must disseminate this information to everyone immediately. Any delay or failure to do so will leave millions upon millions of lives in jeopardy.
The message complete, she sent it to Connor. He read it quickly and nodded. She loaded the distribution list, which contained contacts at every major news outlet. And with one last moment of hesitation, she sent the message that would forever change the nation. There, she thought. It was done.
Chapter 24
VirtuaScape Page 23