“We’ll open the windows,” Mossberg said, and reached for the handle. It didn’t budge. “Sandra, lower yours.”
“It doesn’t work either.”
Short could hear a similar despair in her voice to what he was feeling, but at least she had the benefit of distance from the source. He checked the street signs. They’d just turned off Constitution Avenue onto First Street NW. Only twenty blocks to go.
“What did you think of our friend’s reaction?” Mossberg asked. They always talked in anonymous generalities when in public. That, at least, didn’t limit their conversations completely.
Bullfinch said, “He’s on board. He didn’t like the situation, but what choice does he have?”
“Exactly!” Mossberg said. “That’s the beauty of analyzing all the angles before taking the shot.” He played billiards three times a week and had corralled Short into playing several times. Inevitably he compared strategies employed on the job with those on the pool table.
“Do you think he has the fortitude to carry out the charade?” Short asked. The question was one he was also asking of himself.
“He’s a politician,” Mossberg said. “Lying comes naturally. He’ll do what he needs to do and say the right words. It’s one of the reasons we chose him. He’s a survivor.”
Am I? Clarence Short asked himself. Am I?
By the time the cab reached the offices of Gaiatic Charities, Short had come to no resolution other than he never again wanted to be cooped in a hot, close space with Lee Mossberg. He only knew that his stomach continued to ache.
Chapter 37
Cheshire Cat blog – June 12
I’ve never thought of myself as a conspiracy theorist. There are definitely conspiracies on a small scale. I mean, let’s be realistic. Webster’s defines conspiracy as: “A combination of men for an evil purpose; an agreement, between two or more persons, to commit a crime in concert, as treason; a plot.” This definition applies to literally anything done in an illegal manner. Two men planning to rob a house are considered conspiracists in the strictest sense. The issue is whether, or to what extent, plots and schemes are carried out on a grand scale.
When Hillary Clinton accused conservatives during her husband’s tenure in the White House of a “vast Right-wing conspiracy” intended to bring down Bill Clinton, was there merit to that? Is there merit in suggesting that the Soviet Union conspired through supporters in the United States during the fifties and sixties to remake our capitalistic union more like their repressive one? In my humble opinion, the answers to the two questions are no and yes, respectively. No credible evidence was ever unearthed to validate Mrs. Clinton’s claims. It was posture, pure and simple, in an attempt to gain sympathy for a wayward and dishonest husband. On the other hand, the opening of the Soviet archives and the release of the National Security Agency’s Venona decrypts indisputably proved how entrenched the Communists were in America and what they hoped to accomplish.
I think the bottom line is that true wide-scale conspiracies are few and far between. When any scheme involves more than two people, the odds against it succeeding skyrocket. The reason is simple: few people can keep a secret. The more participants in a plot, the greater the chances that someone becomes disgruntled with the idea, unhappy for some other reason, or simply can’t contain the secret that wells up within, and spills the beans. It’s human nature. Bottom line: conspiracies are difficult to carry out, especially big ones.
Having said this, I’m going to debunk my position. I’ve come to believe that certain factions are actively engaged in a sinister plan to undermine the moral fabric of our country. I’m also beginning to suspect that their plans may be even grander than that. They’re using children in a manner that only radical Islamist factions would approve. They’re infiltrating established liberal groups and moving them farther left. They’ve subverted key branches of government agencies. They may have gained allies within major ethnic criminal organizations. Are they doing more than that? I haven’t yet determined, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
To what end is this bigger scheme? This is where my theory breaks down. For now. I simply don’t know.
I do know what I’ve personally witnessed. This alone is convincing evidence of what I believe. Here are a few pieces that I can share:
There are schools—for want of a better term; the Islamic equivalent is madrassas—which indoctrinate children, filling them with false ideology and idolatry. These schools operate around the U.S.—maybe elsewhere around the world—and are shrouded in secrecy. Their subject focus is the environment. They teach veneration of Gaia, i.e. adulation of the Earth Mother. The emotional content of their courses is hateful. Their physical setting encourages violence. How big is the scope and planning of the persons behind these wicked operations?
Green, far left groups have inevitably been the refuge and domain of socialists, communists, and anarchists. People of this ideological persuasion infiltrated academic institutions as an outgrowth of the 1960s anti-war movement and have been teaching their views to students ever since with little political balance or perspective. The environment is an ideal cause for these people because it advocates excessive government intervention through reduced capitalistic opportunities. Combine this mindset with the enviro-madrassas in this country and the potential for havoc is great. Children held against their will are brainwashed with insidious concepts, including hatred of the U.S.
Children held against their will? Yes. Recall the general focus of this blog has been on missing children. Putting two and two together, I believe that many of the children abducted and never found over the years have been secreted into these enviro-madrassas for evil purposes, including the sexual pleasure of those in charge. Of course, any purpose for which children are stolen is evil, but the intended malice behind these schools makes the sin even more egregious.
And what is imparted to these innocents? In similar fashion to which the mind-numbing, hate-filled, pseudo-religious garbage that Islamic madrassas fill malleable, immature brains, the enviro-madrassas teach the worship of Mother Earth. Gaia is God. All fealty and homage must be paid to her. She must be protected at all costs. No act is too radical or violent to safeguard her honor. You’ll forgive my grammar, but: Earlier times were simpler times were times of peace. Harmony and coexistence with nature is natural. Technology is bad. Man is evil; he is the enemy of nature. It’s against Gaia’s will that man be one with her and her minions in the sea, on the earth, and in the sky. Capitalism is abhorrent; it breeds greed and corruption. The rich are cheats and not entitled to their wealth because they’ve stolen from the backs of the poor. America is the world leader in fostering this travesty. It is the wellspring of evil and opposition toward Gaia and her innate goodness.
There is only one way to worship Gaia and give her due respect. Commitment to the earth must be absolute. There is no room for compromise.
I wonder how the true God of creation thinks about this idolatry? Didn’t He punish the Hebrew people for rejecting Him? What about me? I haven’t done much in the way of honoring Him myself.
Posted by Smiley at 2:14 AM.Comments [5]
#1 Talk about a witch hunt! You’ve gone over the deep end. This is the most crackpot, inane piece of trash I’ve ever read. You say environmentalists are extreme? Well, excuse me. This is worse than the worst John Birch fantasy when they were finding Communists on every street corner. At least the Birchers and McCarthy might have been right on one or two counts. But this? It doesn’t even warrant Fisking. Man, I could rake this garbage over the coals all day long and still not finish taking every sentence apart and debunking it. You’ve sunk to new lows libeling these fine people, and you’ll come to regret it.
- EarthBoy
#2 I believe what you write, Smiley. It has the ring of truth. Don’t ever let the naysayers get you down. For all of our sakes, never doubt the value of what you do. With warm regards.
- Emily
#3 What’s with so much of th
is God talk? All the Israel stuff in the Bible is just a myth anyway.
- Andy
#4 You believe what you want, Andy. I have the sense that God’s knocking at my door, and there’s nowhere to go to escape what He wants to tell me.
- Smiley
#5 They moved me. They moved us all. Bad stuff happened. The children, oh God, the children; what they did. And I’m part of it. I need to get out. I never asked for this. It’s not fair. You must help me. No time. I have to go. Please! Help me.
- (no name)
Chapter 38
Cheshire Cat blog – June 13
I’m going to vary from my normal format in this posting, so bear with me. This blog entry is directed at the person leaving comments with no name. You’ve identified yourself as a babysitter who was abducted along with a child, and that you’re being held against your will. Somehow you have sporadic access to a computer and can go online to read my blog. Because so much fraud and misrepresentation take place on the Internet, it’s impossible to determine whether a person is telling the truth. I’m suppressing my natural skepticism in this case because there’s something about the way you communicate that makes me want to believe you.
I want to help. I want to learn more about your situation and find a way to free you. But you’ve got to learn your whereabouts and let me know. If you’re able to sneak a few moments on the computer, surely you can find some clues as to where you’re being held captive. Do it. Let me know.
Rather than posting a comment for everyone else to see, send me an email at the link below to keep it private. I’ll do whatever I can if you enable me to help you.
Posted by Smiley at 6:49 AM.Comments [0]
Chapter 39
The three of them entered the Senate offices of Franklin Toomey III, and Clarence Short feared the worst. His boss, Lee Mossberg, was poised to encourage Senator Toomey to advocate for something that had the earmarks of trouble all over it. Of course, his coworker, Sandra Bullfinch, had no idea how this might be detrimental to Toomey.
As they were ushered into the senator’s office by his intern, Toomey took a final puff on an aromatic cigar. With regret he looked at it and snubbed it out, but his face brightened as he watched the lovely Susan head back to her desk.
Sandra had made it clear in one of their prior meetings that cigar smoke made her ill. She waved her way through the cloud, coughed exaggeratedly several times, and took her seat. Clarence thought her terribly rude.
Mossberg joked with Senator Toomey for several minutes before getting down to business. For his part, the senator appeared to be in a good mood. Clarence was glad. For all the man’s obliviousness about Clarence and his homosexual proclivities, he liked him. Over the years Clarence had come to have an affinity for the Democrat congressman that, in his present situation, he probably shouldn’t have. He held his breath for what came next.
Mossberg motioned to Clarence. “Shut that door, will you?”
It made him feel that a tomb door had been sealed with him on the wrong side.
“Senator,” Lee Mossberg began, “you’ll recall our mutual friend.”
Immediately Toomey’s countenance changed, like a dark cloud now hung over him. “Of course. He’s well, I presume?”
“Very much so, and eager for your presidential dream to find fulfillment. Because of that, he’d like you to take a strong position on an issue dear to his heart.”
“Well, naturally if our friend desires that, I certainly want to accommodate him.” Toomey didn’t appear in Clarence’s estimation to want any such thing.
“Wonderful,” Mossberg said. “Believe me, you’ll love it. You know how many of your colleagues have spoken of their concern for children over the years. We’d like you to emphasize that position. Completely painless, but one that touches so many hearts.”
Toomey resettled himself in his massive leather desk chair, his face brightening. “That sounds harmless enough. I mean, I haven’t had much to do with the little rascals for many years, but I remember my childhood and can empathize. What should I say?”
Mossberg rubbed his hands together. “I knew it would resonate with you, Senator. Perhaps you can tell the public how you’ve loved and supported children and their various causes for a long time. How you have a lengthy record of helping kids.”
With a troubled frown, Toomey said, “I really don’t. I’ve kind of, you know, steered clear of anything having to do with tykes of any age.”
“Not a problem, Senator. The public will believe you. Just repeat the assertion often enough and long enough and most people will believe you.”
Toomey rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I can do that. What is the purpose of all this? That is, aside from the fact that this will please you and our mutual friend and will surely increase your contributions to my presidential campaign.”
“Ah, getting to the point. That’s why I like you, Senator,” Mossberg said. “Because of our own great love of children, we want to support the UN’s Universal Children’s Day this year, and to do so through your advocacy. As I’m sure you’re aware, UCD brings disadvantaged children together into the corporate world to introduce them to their potential in life, to how important they are to the future of this world. These children come from orphanages and homes of concerned citizens all across the country and visit for several hours with executives of these corporations that make America work. As you can imagine, it’s a terrific program that brings benefits to all involved. It’s great PR for the companies and allows the kids to dream big. In addition, kids from all walks of life will join the festivities in a massive gathering following their corporate escapades. You’ll love it.”
“Yes, yes, I can see that,” Toomey said, nodding. “Sure, happy to do this. I can’t imagine any downside to something as beneficial as aiding kids in such a disadvantaged position, and helping others at the same time to believe in a wonderful cause.”
“The date is coming up,” Mossberg said, and proceeded to give Toomey the other necessary details.
Clarence Short wasn’t sure why Mossberg had dragged him and Sandra along for this meeting, but his unease didn’t diminish. The mutual friend referenced had been Stephen Moriarty. Clarence disliked him with a passion, since Moriarty always spelled trouble. If Clarence knew anything, he knew that meant problems for Senator Toomey. Because Mossberg hadn’t divulged the endgame to Clarence or Sandra, where this was heading was a mystery. However, with Moriarty behind it, given his radical dealings, Clarence sensed Toomey would get hurt. He had to do something, first doing some research.
Stuffed next to Lee Mossberg in another uncomfortable cab ride, when they passed the Federal Building, the thought of the troublesome IRS agent in Chicago came to Clarence’s mind.
Perhaps there were no coincidences. Maybe he should contact the man.
Chapter 40
Jason sat at his office desk quietly staring out the window. Every now and then he positioned his hands at the keyboard of his computer, but typed nothing. He’d been this way for over thirty minutes, rehashing the events of the prior days, which were still hard for him to accept.
After the encounter with his parents, he and Lizzy had left in a state of shock; appalled that his father had totally rejected any of the truth about Rick they had tried to convey, and disbelief that the situation had deteriorated to the extent that Jason had been disowned. The smug expression on Rick’s face as they left was like a knife in the gut.
At the touch of a hand on his shoulder, Jason jerked his head up to see Nancy Evans standing beside him.
“I’ve seen people low and hurting,” she said, “but you’re vying for first place.”
He pushed back, slumped in his chair. “How’d you know?” He guessed it had been obvious. “Yeah. Rough couple days.”
“I can believe it. Want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know that you’d understand. Family stuff.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you’d be surprised. Why don’t you try me?”
They headed to Gambles and settled into a booth with their coffees, Jason with a bittersweet memory of Charlie Bennett.
“Since we’re partners now, Jason, it’s probably a good idea that we get to know each other a little better,” Nancy began. “To make it a little more comfortable for you to talk, maybe we should start with me. Not to put you too much on the spot, but what have you heard people around the office say about my lifestyle?”
That actually did make Jason uncomfortable, and he hemmed and hawed a few moments before blurting out, “That you’re, uh, a lesbian.”
“Have you ever read the Bible?”
The question confused him. What could that possibly have to do with her? “Pieces of it. A couple verses here and there.”
“There’s a verse in 1 Corinthians that says, ‘And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.’ That’s me.” She folded her hands and closed her mouth.
Jason opened his, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally, he asked, “You’re saying…you were a lesbian, but aren’t any longer?”
“Because of what Jesus did for me.”
“What’s He got to do with it?”
“Jason. We’re all sinners from birth regardless how good we think we are. And we sin as we go through our daily lives. Some people sin one way, others sin in different ways. I don’t know about you; maybe your sin is pride, others can’t stop lying, some have such greed in their hearts that whatever amount of money they make isn’t ever enough. For me, my sin was an attraction to other women. I became a lesbian because of issues in my past that caused me to despise what men had done to me. I reasoned that women would never do such things and would always be kind and loving, traits I couldn’t imagine men possessing after the harm I’d suffered from them.”
Green Dreams Page 18