by W. R. Benton
“In the last year the United States has lost three Presidents, and the Conservative States of America has had one killed. We took out all four of them ourselves.”
“Any idea who would be the best man to kill him?” Peter asked.
“Try agent D2 for the hit. He has been with us a long time, and I want him terminated after his mission is complete. We want no one left alive that kills a President.” The Boss replied, and wondered about some of the young fools he worked with and shook his head.
Remembering the last fiasco when the President of the United States was killed and the mess they had on their hands, Peter said, “There is still at least one man on the loose that knows how the last American President died.”
“He is listed on our most wanted list even now.” The Boss said. You sonofabitch, why did you bring that up now? Damn you, who knows who in this conversation reports to the supreme leader? If I get repercussions due to your remark, you are a dead man.
“The war in America is not going well for the United States or us. It looks, in my opinion, that the CSA will win this war. Now if that happens, it will make things much more interesting and difficult for us. All the world but America is under our control. The CSA states are all conservative and all have refused to implant the chips, calling it the “Mark of the Beast” and there is no way in hell they will give up their guns.”
The Boss poured a glass of cognac and said, “See that agent D2 takes out the President of the Conservative States. I want the job completed this week.” Then removing a handset from the wall and pushing a button, he added, “Return us to the Frankfurt Flughafen, please.”
Aaron Faw, known in the NWO as Agent D2, knew the President of the CSA would be speaking the next morning in Atlanta, so he smiled after taking a call from Germany. He'd just been offered a cool two million dollars in cash, with his choice of currency, to kill the man. The American dollar was worthless these days, so he'd take Canadian dollars or British pounds, but not American funds. He lived in a small cabin he'd built from the ground up less than 40 miles from the city of Atlanta. He was born an American but his parents were French, so after a stint in the US Special Forces, he'd joined the French Foreign Legion. After a stint with them, he'd become a mercenary for hire. After a few odd hit jobs for the NWO, they offered him a steady job and paid by the kill, and they paid well.
He knew all he needed to do was take the President out, but he was concerned about a clean getaway. He'd be far enough away that the secret service agents would be no threat, but they were sure to have choppers in the air.
So, during the day, he'd steal two cars and place them along the way. He'd use one to leave Atlanta, change to another car just outside of Atlanta, and then leave it further down the road. He'd have his motorcycle parked there, so he'd return home after the kill on his bike. If things turned ugly and they followed him home, he had a tunnel under his cabin that led to a river, where he kept a canoe.
In the canoe, he kept a first aid kit, just like army medics carried in the field, Night Vision Goggles (NVGs), a pistol with ammo, and a change of clothing. The small boat even had some Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) so he'd not have to go hungry and a gallon of fresh water. He knew once he took his shot he'd be a wanted man, so he'd make his first shot count. If I can make one shot with one kill, I'll collect $2 million dollars.
His rifle was a custom bull barrel Remington 700 30.06 with a scope. While he had money to buy any gun in the world, he'd killed many with this weapon, and he knew exactly how it reacted under different conditions. For long shots, he could use a modified .50 rifle, only he wasn't real comfortable with it. He was also taking a small drone that could be loaded to pack high explosives, only it would be a one way flight. He was prepared, packing explosives, and ready.
Early the next morning his stolen car, a family SUV, was parked on the top of a parking garage, and he was the only man there. He changed clothes in the parking garage and poured gas on them, then ignited them. He was wearing hiking shorts and a blue tee under the urban camouflage coveralls. He glassed the stage, no one there yet, and tested his drone. All was well. He pulled out a flask and downed a good half pint of whiskey, to settle his nerves.
The President was to speak right at nine so around eight, members of his staff and the Atlanta police arrived with dogs to clear the area. Agent D2 was almost a quarter of a mile off, wearing an urban boonie hat and his trigger finger was itching. He continuously glassed the area as he waited.
Around eight thirty spectators and the press began to arrive and set up to cover the President's words. Ten minutes of nine the President's limo pulled up and he stepped from the vehicle, along with a half dozen security guards. Seconds later, the First Lady moved to his side. The crowd had greatly increased to over a thousand people near the stage. D2 decided then to use the drone, before the man moved behind the protective glass that was now being installed. His shells would never penetrate the glass, so the explosives would be the best. The composition of the explosive reminded him of clay, and last night he'd rolled it around and around over nuts, bolts, small nails, and broken glass to embed them and make it far more deadly when it exploded.
He started the drone and tested it to make sure the controls worked well. As far as he knew, he would make history this morning by killing a President and First Lady with a drone. The Secret Service Agents were alert, but all were watching the people in the crowd.
After the explosion, I'll take out 3 or 4 agents with the President and then get the hell out of here, he thought as he raised his drone and flew it toward the leader of this newly established nation. When the small toy-like drone neared, no one seemed to notice. It flew over the stage where the President and First Lady sat. Still no one noticed, and if they did they thought it was a camera to get different views of his speech. The explosives had a five minute timer and was due to detonate five minutes after taking off. Glancing at his watch, D2 knew it would explode in less than 30 seconds. It was currently right over his intended target.
Then, one of the agents fired at the drone flying overhead, striking the explosives. A huge explosion resulted and debris flew in all directions, only most of the shrapnel went down. The stage was covered in smoke, so taking his time, D2 killed four Secret Service men as they ran for the President. From the scope of his sniper rifle, he thought the President and First Lady dead. The President was covered in blood and he was blown a good twenty feet from his wife. After 4 men dropped, he removed his coveralls and boonie hat, and poured gasoline on them. Once they were burning well, he climbed into his stolen SUV, kept his speed down low, and exited the parking garage. He then moved to his second stolen car, but had to fight the urge to exceed the speed limit. The first car he drove into a lake and laughed as it slowly submerged in the murky brown waters.
The second car he got to moving toward the edge of a cliff and laughed as it went over. He then mounted his motorcycle and rode into the high brush and trees. In a matter of seconds he heard an explosion and the second car blew up, now at the bottom of a cliff. Twenty minutes later he was home and turned on the television.
A reporter was shown standing in front of the yet smoking stage as she said, “Authorities have no idea who is responsible for the death of President Patterson and the First Lady, but are treating it as a terrorist act. Over twelve people were killed and forty-eight others injured when a drone packing high explosives detonated sending nails, washers, nuts and bolts into the bodies on the ground. There are even reports of small pieces of glass being used. A Secret Service Agent, who died in the blast, fired his pistol at the drone a split second before it went off. I'll remain here to bring you up to the minute reports. This is Mary Chase, WXXZ news, Atlanta. Back to you, Mark, in the studio.”
Mark looked into the camera and said, “Be advised the video clip we're about to show is very graphic and is not suitable for young children. This video clip was taken during the assassination of the President, and you can not only see the force of the blast but th
e injuries sustained by both the President and First Lady. This was shot by our cameraman Alex Ganey, who was severely injured in the blast, and who refused medical treatment until too late. Mr Ganey was employed here at WXXZ news for over 12 years. We wish to offer our sincerest condolences to his wife Megan and his two boys, Joshua, age 2, and Luke, age 4. Again, the video clip we're about to show is very graphic and is not suitable for young children.”
Turning the TV off, D2 listened. He'd heard something, but was not sure what. He pulled the rug away and prepared to go out the tunnel. Suddenly automatic gunfire blew out his windows and began to turn his heavily reinforced hickory door into splinters. Once in the hole, he lowered the hatch, which had a throw rug nailed to the top, and then programmed a motion detector. This detector was wired so it would blow his cabin to hell and back two minutes after someone entered, unless they disarmed the device with a PIN. He crawled through the dark tunnel slowly toward the river as he avoided mines and booby traps. His only light was a small doctor's patient examination light, but it worked fine. He was concerned about snakes, but not overly so. He had marked the whole length of the tunnel with very small red flags, where at each spot he had danger. Minutes later he moved away from the exit of the cave and again removed more red flags, but outside the tunnel now.
He moved the small boat into deeper water, climbed into the canoe, and began paddling across the lake, moving for the river. The small red flags floated in the water in the bottom of the boat. It was then he heard his cabin explode and looking over his shoulder, he saw crimson flames rolling into black oily smoke. He also realized at that point, it hadn't been the police trying to kill him, but the NWO. Those sonsofbitches want to play dirty, huh? Well, I can do that and be just as rough as they are. The NWO has turned on me, he thought.
“Do not think this, because you are wrong, you are important to the NWO. It had to be the police.” He knew the chip was sending him messages.
Pulling his sharp pocket knife, he wiped the blade off with an alcohol pad and then cleaned the spot on his left hand that held the embedded chip. Slicing the length of the device with the sharp blade, he placed the tip of his knife under it and forced the device to the surface of his skin. He removed it, cracked it with the butt of his sheath knife and tossed in into the river. He wrapped his injury to avoid infection, and started paddling over the lake. His mind began to clear almost immediately. It was then he heard a couple of muffled explosions and suspected his followers had tried to crawl through his tunnel. A smile formed and he was unaware, as he paddled even faster. He was concerned a sniper might be with the group and until out of sight, he was still in danger.
John Grant, the Vice-President, was sworn in before the stage had finished smoking. He was in the sky in Air Force One, wondering what in the hell happened. John Grant found it hard to believe Patterson was dead, but it must be true or he'd not be getting sworn in. He'd seen the bloody and violent video of the assassination, shocked that the force of the blast was such that it blew the blouse off the First Lady and had all but decapitated the President. The First Lady had survived the blast, only to die as she was being transported to a local hospital. The paramedics reported her chest was punctured by hundreds of pieces of small flying metal, small stones and glass. She'd hemorrhaged internally as she was being transported.
In shock, he mumbled a “so help me, God” at the end of the swearing in.
No sooner had he been sworn in than he was swamped with reports, calls and aides asking what to do about this or that.
His wife, Martha, smiled as she thought, you once aspired to be President and now it has happened, but through the bloody deaths of our friends. May God guide you and give you the strength to make the proper decisions. God will now give the Pattersons peace in heaven.
“Sir,” a military radio operator wearing the stripes of a buck Sergeant said, “I have Lieutenant General Poke on the phone and he wants to report massive protests taking place in Chicago and Saint Louis in the evenings. He wants to know how to handle the situation.”
“Give me the phone.” Grant reached for the handset.
“This is the President, Joe, what do you have going on?”
“Sorry about President Patterson and his wife, sir. But, I don't think any man can do the job better than you. Now, with that said, I have huge protests in both Saint Louis and Chicago every evening. I call them protests, but they're riots, really. It's all about our new rule that if you don't work you don't eat. Many of these protesters are as healthy as you and I, but they grew lazy under liberal rule. They flat do not want to work and most are burning their food cards which they'll need to work. They are demanding the same benefits they had before the war.”
“The next time they form, I want you to fire on them with your rifles, but only after warning them, and I suspect after taking some lead, they'll leave quickly enough. That order applies to both cities and goes into effect right now. I want all protests ended the same way. Since both cities sided with the NWO and stayed with the union, I'm afraid they have no Constitutional rights since they're not citizens of the CSA. While Missouri is a CSA member, Saint Louis declared the city as part of the United States of America. If they protest after curfew, I want as many as possible killed, even if you have to bring in helicopter gunships.”
“Most have been out hours after curfew, but I needed approval to act, sir.”
“They have been warned that anyone out after dark will be shot, so let's make it happen.”
“Yes, sir, it'll start tonight.”
“Good, now I have other duties to attend to at this time. Tell Sue I said 'hi' and good luck, Joe.”
“Goodbye.” The General handed his headset back to his radio operator. General Poke wasn't a blood thirsty man, but the protests were taking valuable man power away from their assigned duties. That was one of the problems in the old United States; many healthy folks turned lazy and had no urge to work. Hell, they made more on public assistance laying around the house than they did with a job.
Turning to a full Colonel, Poke said, “I want all troops working the protesters tonight issued live ammo. We will warn them to leave, but only once. If they don't leave we'll fire on them, by order of the President.”
“Yes sir, and I'll notify all of the commanders.”
“See it's done, Steve.”
The day passed slowly with few people on the street, unless they were coming and going from work. Mothers with young children were seen playing in the park and a homeless man was begging for handouts near the center of town.
Maybe this will be a quiet day, General Poke thought as he hoped to avoid violence. As a Southern gentleman raised just outside of Macon, Georgia, he would and could kill if needed, only he always tried to avoid violence.
It was over his supper meal when a call was made to his quarters. While he was married, his wife and children remained safe on an army post, down in North Carolina.
His Sergeant answered the phone and said, “They're gathering outside the gate, sir, in complete violation of the curfew.” Colonel Dabs said, and he sounded dispirited to the General.
“I'll be right there, but have your troops to lock and load. Also have a man with a flamethrower on hand by the time I get there. I suspect we need to scare them into compliance with the President's order.”
“What of their rights to protest?”
“Bill, they have no rights because they're not citizens of the CSA, and they live in occupied cities. Besides, Chicago has been a pain in the ass for years, and I dislike being here. However, tonight we'll put our foot down, and hard, too. In the last two nights, they've caused over two million dollars in damages by looting. This must stop.”
Quickly driving to the protesters, he saw a large group gathering.
Picking up a bullhorn, General Poke said, “Please return to your homes. You are breaking curfew and I'll have no choice but to fire on you if you don't.”
“Go to hell!” a voice yelled.
“O
ur lives matter!” another voice yelled.
“Make me go home, you bastard!”
Walking to the man with the flame-thrower, the General took it from him and said, “I can't ask you to do this, son. I am the one giving the order, and I will be the person to carry it out.”
“Yes, sir.” the young soldier said.
“Colonel Dabs, order them to disperse or they'll be killed.” He noticed the crowd had grown in size, but he'd not put up with another night of violence and looting. He adjusted the pack with the cylinders on his back and made the weapon ready.
“Disperse or we will be forced to kill. Please return to your homes.”
“Go to hell! You have no right to tell us to leave!”
It was then General Poke walked from the soldiers with the nozzle end of his flame-thrower dripping flames.
“Ya tryin' to scare us? Ya won't fire that thing at us, soldier boy, and we both know—”
Raising the nozzle high, Poke gave the trigger a long squeeze as he worked it from side to side. He then lowered it and squeezed again, catching those up front between him and the folks burning to death behind them. Screams were heard and people were spotted walking and stumbling around in flames. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air.
Turning to his troops, he yelled, “Fire!”
With over a thousand protesters and near that many soldiers, it was a complete slaughter. They had broken the law, been warned, and now they'd pay for thinking the CSA would not enforce the law.
“Wait an hour, Colonel Dabs, then send your men out to check on them. Those with a chance of living take to the hospital, but those dying should be put out of their misery. I want no prisoners taken, other than the wounded. Do you understand your orders?”
“Yes, sir, but what we did was illegal.” his eyes full of shock.
“Not hardly, Colonel. We warned them when we first got here that anyone out after curfew would be killed. Out of about a thousand, I suspect we killed a good 700 tonight, so we have enforced the law. The days where freeloaders can demand action or stir the racial pot are over. By the way, near noon today a group of them blocked our convoy on the main highway, and that will never happen again. Anyone blocking the road is to be arrested, and if that's not possible then run them over.”