Table of Contents
Prologue
Tidbit #1
Chapter 1
Tidbit #2
Chapter 2
Tidbit #3
Chapter 3
Tidbit #4
Chapter 4
Tidbit #5
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
The Power of
We the People
By Diane Matousek Schnabel
Copyright 2019
Diane Matousek Schnabel
For American Patriots
Prologue
DAY 711
Monday, January 30th
i
3,000 feet below White-Jefferson
Air Force Base, Ohio
CLUTCHING THE LAPTOP and the owl, Bradley entered the command post, an enormous space packed with computers, monitors, and military personnel. Abby and Matthew had been escorted to the deep underground base’s medical clinic, and CJ was a yard behind Bradley, pushing Gorka Schwartz in a wheelchair. A black hood covered the billionaire’s face, hiding his identity and his involuntary nap from the room full of witnesses.
“You can wait here,” Rone told CJ, who was less than thrilled with his geriatric baby-sitting duty.
He’d rather be with his son and I don’t blame him, Bradley thought, ascending a flight of stairs that led to a mezzanine-style office.
“Mr. President,” he said, snapping to attention.
The proud papa greeted him with a handshake-hug and a cellphone picture of Isabella Sierra.
Bradley smiled at the angelic newborn, awed by her impossibly tiny fingers and delicate face.
Will my baby resemble Abby as much as Isabella resembles Franny?
I’ll never know, he thought, feeling as if his heart was being pureed.
“She’s beautiful,” Bradley croaked. “Congratulations, sir.”
Redirecting them back to business, Admiral Rone said, “Have you gotten anything useful out of Gorka Schwartz yet?”
“Fragmented information is dribbling in.” Bradley roused the laptop and plugged in an HDMI cable that projected the screen’s contents onto a large monitor. “Python’s program is randomly stimulating his brain, scanning for key concepts. Once the computer finds a memory of interest, it analyzes everything connected to it, essentially producing a weblike map ...”
Bradley’s mind flashed back to his captivity at CIA headquarters. Was this the software upgrade his interrogators had alluded to?
Thank God the Marines raided—
“Master Sergeant?” Rone prompted.
“Sorry, sir. So far, we have images interspersed with snippets of conversation and fragments from reports and presentations. This was the first hit.”
A snapshot appeared, Senator Conn, Carter Sidney, and Aaron Burr posing along with world leaders at some sort of forum.
“Looks like Davos or Bilderberg,” Ryan said. “Why would that be linked to White Rabbit?”
The Admiral mumbled, “Because they’re all puppets serving the same master.”
“Associated memories include a Global Health Organization report entitled, ‘The Next Pandemic,’ ” Bradley added, “and an e-mail from Aldrich Ames regarding delivery vehicles.”
A new picture popped up, a glimpse from the window of an airplane. A narrow, whitish road snaked through lush mountains, creating a vague impression of a stick-figure rabbit, and it dead-ended into a tunnel with bomb-blast doors reminiscent of NORAD’s Cheyenne Mountain.
“That must be White Rabbit!” Ryan exclaimed, but his enthusiasm rapidly waned, realizing they had no idea where it was located.
Bradley read aloud the accompanying connections. “Four-point-nine billion dollars of taxpayer money was diverted from NASA to SpaceTrex ... Gadolinium was acquired through Carter Sidney’s uranium deal with Russia, prompting the Sidney Foundation to receive $140 million in kickbacks from Russian oligarchs.”
Ryan harrumphed. “And she has the audacity to accuse me and Kyle of colluding with Russia?”
“Classic projection,” Rone said. “Sidney accuses her political opponents of the crimes she, herself, has committed. And even if her smear campaign fails to remove you from office, it inoculates her against future allegations by creating the appearance of political retaliation.”
“What’s gadolinium?” Ryan asked.
“A rare earth metal,” the Admiral responded without hesitation. “It’s used in electronic components and medical MRIs. Russia is the number two producer globally.”
“Maybe The Consortium needs gadolinium for Project Man-Droid,” Ryan suggested. “Maybe that’s why they’re not content to run out the clock.” Brow scrunched in thought, he turned toward Rone. “Do they need the presidency to acquire the metal?”
The Admiral’s head shook dubiously. Frustration gleamed in his eyes. “I doubt it, Mr. President. Carter Sidney has already demonstrated the ability to circumvent the Commander in Chief in this regard.”
Is the link between gadolinium and Man-Droid real? Bradley wondered. Or happenstance?
It niggled at his mind; a connection that was hovering just beyond reach.
“Could this metal somehow account for the difference in eavesdropping range?” Ryan asked. “That’s a huge jump from the owl’s ten yards to Phaedra’s low-earth orbit.”
Bradley began pacing as if motion might hone his concentration. “Brain waves aren’t anywhere near that strong. Ergo, they must have some way of amplifying the signal. Cellular towers, maybe?”
“That would be a colossal Achilles’ heel,” Rone said, his arms folding across his chest. “It wouldn’t take much to destroy thirty towers in ten districts.”
A series of rapid-fire images materialized on the monitor: a state-of-the-art laboratory; men in white coats, some looking miserable; others, terrified; and a shipping container packed with pallets.
“There’s text attached to the new pictures,” Bradley said. “Prominent engineers and scientists were abducted and forced to work under duress ... Twenty members of a U.S. semiconductor company disappeared along with Malaysia Flight MH370 ... The first shipment of Alameda fever vaccines passed through the Port of Oakland, one month behind schedule.”
“So, kidnapped scientists designed the biological weapon, and The Consortium inserted it into the vaccines?” Ryan asked.
Surprise traversed the length of Bradley’s spine like an electrical charge. “Gorka mentioned the vaccines when I was interrogating him. He said that they framed President Quenten with the Ultimate Protocol meteors because he refused to make them mandatory.”
“That’s got to be it!” Ryan said excitedly. “There was something besides smallpox capsules inside those inoculations; something that would boost the signal for the mind-control satellites. That’s why they can’t run out the clock ... because District Six residents and the military are still immune!”
“And all the people living outside the districts,” Bradley said. “Does this mean we don’t have to stop Project Man-Droid from launching?”
“I’m afraid not.” Once again, the Admiral became the hope-shattering voice of reason. “Those previously inoculated are hostages. The Consortium can stop their hearts at the stroke of a keyboard. Or they could use them as pawns to incite a civil war, essentially making them become ungovernable. Imagine tens of thousands of people rioting and conducting mass shootings—all simultaneously.” The Admiral’s eyes briefly closed, as if trying to dispel a horrible thought. “The U.S. military would have to declare war on Americans. No matter what, the outc
ome is the same. Those inoculated will lose their lives.”
“If it’s boosting a signal, why can’t we just jam it?” Bradley asked.
“A—we don’t know what frequency it’s using,” Rone replied. “And B—the cell towers, satellites, or aircraft conducting the jamming operations would become our Achilles’ heel. We’d have to maintain it continuously; and all the enemy would need is a ten-second window to wreak havoc ... But jamming could potentially buy us some time.”
Python’s de facto Gaggle search of Gorka’s brain yielded a second image of the secret weapons facility, this one from ground level, and characters were visible on the bomb-blast doors.
“That can’t be right,” Bradley stammered, wrestling with the mouse to enlarge the right side of the photograph. “The word Mawang ... it means Lucifer.”
Ryan muttered, “How many languages did Volkov program into your mind?”
Rone edged toward the monitor for a closer look. “Is that Mandarin?”
A secondary shock wave zinged through Bradley, setting off tremors of worry and dread. “No, it’s Korean.”
“Is that disinformation?” Ryan asked.
Rone’s dark eyebrows pulled into an affronted frown, and his mouth thinned. “Can you think of a better place to hide a clandestine weapons facility? Better than within an ‘enemy’ country governed by a dictator? A country with closed borders where most of the population is living without electricity, Internet, and international news?”
Then a troubling question formed in Bradley’s mind. How the hell am I going to sneak into North Korea?
Tidbit #1
According to the BBC, 20 staff members from Freescale Semiconductor, a U.S. technology company, disappeared along with Malaysia Flight MH370.
Chapter 1
Day 712
Tuesday, January 31st
1
3,000 feet below White-Jefferson
Air Force Base, Ohio
INSIDE A SECURE briefing room, three thousand feet below White-Jefferson Air Force Base, President Ryan Andrews thumbed through Python’s report. The cyber guru had completed the “Gaggle search” on Gorka Schwartz’s brain and uncovered a sixteen-year plan to destroy America. Eight years under President William Quenten, a patsy easily controlled through greed and ego; and eight more under a Carter Sidney presidency.
► Purge patriots / install rogues in government, military & Supreme Court
► Slash military funding / budget sequester
► Kill NASA
Relinquish space supremacy / increase EMP risk
Redirect taxpayer money to private SpaceTrex / avoid congressional oversight
► Undermine NSA
Weaken US / strengthen enemies
Hide spying platforms / crimes of CIA
► Leak classified intel / military secrets
► Sell Special Access Protocols (SAPs)
► Erode borders
Hinder enforcement of existing law
► Weaponize IRS / EPA / FBI / DOJ
Silence / punish opposition
► Covertly fund terrorism
ISIS / MS13
► Nuclearize North Korea & Iran
► Smother / starve economy with regulation
► Population control
Mass extinction via EMP / gangs / starvation
► Remove military funding / close overseas bases
► Censor media opposition
► Open borders
► Revise Constitution
Eliminate 2nd Amendment
Eliminate Electoral College
► Instigate World War III
Most of those objectives were achieved prior to the EMP, Ryan thought. Why didn’t I recognize the warning signs?
Responding to a vibrating sensation, Ryan wrestled his cellphone from his belt clip and said, “How’s our little angel?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He cringed, recognizing the pompous voice. How did Crooked Carter Sidney get this number?
The encrypted line allowed him to check on his premature bundle of joy, and he and Franny were supposed to be the only ones with access.
He replied with a hearty, “Hell no!”
A pregnant pause persisted, attesting to Sidney’s confusion, then she muttered, “But I haven’t said anything yet.”
“BEG all you want, Carter, but there’ll be no presidential PARDON for you.”
“Wait ...? What ...?” Her feeble mind finally caught on, and she huffed out an agitated sigh. “I don’t beg ... you unhinged usurper!”
Ryan sank back against his chair, smirking. The former Vice President was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed banshee; the most politically connected, corrupt, and dangerous woman in America; and he seized every opportunity to rile her. “What can I do for you, Carter?” he asked in a syrupy tone.
“A barbaric attack has happened on your watch, Mis-ter Andrews, resulting in the abduction of Gorka Schwartz and assassination of prominent political, military, religious, and business leaders.”
“Really?” Ryan asked, feigning surprise. “I didn’t see that on the Global News Network.”
“GNN squashed the story because this is a national security crisis, an assault on our democracy.”
“And by our democracy you mean The Consortium’s shadow government.”
“You think you’re in control of this nation?” she screeched in a tone akin to a dental drill. “Think again! You can’t even rally your own party to confirm your vice-presidential nominee, let alone pass a budget to end the government shutdown.”
Because both parties are infested with traitors, Ryan thought. Bribed and blackmailed by The Consortium.
“Listen, Carter, if Gorka Schwartz happens to stroll into my office, I’ll tell him that you’re looking for him.”
“YOU LISTEN, you arrogant, misogynistic buffoon. I CAN PROVE that you have—unlawfully—taken Gorka into custody.”
Ryan swore under his breath, cursing the unrelenting stream of leaks. “And I CAN PROVE that you used your private e-mail server to sell SAPs to the Chinese.”
Carter gasped audibly and sputtered, “Release Gorka or I’ll release the hounds of social media.”
Ryan dismissed her ultimatum. Silicon Valley had already mobilized its collective resources, creating more than a hundred smartphone apps to promote “resistance” to his presidency; programs devoted to doxxing, harassing, shaming, bullying, and boycotting his supporters.
“Good-day, Carter.”
She gave a condescending snort. “Evidently, I need to spell it out for you. Gaggle, Linkbook, and Chatter can drive public opinion into demanding that the Russia-collusion investigation be expanded to include TEradS war crimes.”
Ryan swallowed hard, keenly aware that the special counsel and his team of thirteen angry satanists had notorious reputations for suppressing exculpatory evidence and coercing witnesses to “compose” untruthful testimony in order to avoid bankruptcy-inducing trials.
“In that event,” he told her, “I’ll declassify the satellite footage of Athenian Grove and publically expose the satanic rituals and human sacrifice.”
An expletive-riddled string of insults preceded the dropped connection, then Ryan removed the battery from his phone and pitched both onto the conference table.
What am I going to do with Gorka Schwartz?
I can’t hold him indefinitely.
And I can’t release him without incriminating Abby, Bradley, and CJ.
Tidbit #2
More than a hundred smartphone apps really were created specifically to “resist” the Trump presidency.
Chapter 2
Day 713
Wednesday, February 1st
2
3,000 feet below White-Jefferson
Air Force Base, Ohio
BRADLEY WEBBER STRODE alongside President Ryan Andrews en route to a preliminary mission briefing.
There’s no benefit to revealing my impending fatherhood, he decided. The dis
closure will only anger Abby and get me sidelined from the White Rabbit operation.
As far as Bradley was concerned, no one else understood the mind-control technology the way he did, and he feared that another operator would be seduced by its near limitless power. Whoever possessed the owl could steal anything, murder anyone, and make world leaders dance like marionettes on a string.
“If you don’t mind,” Ryan said, speaking to his security detail. “I’d like to swing by the neonatal unit and check in on Isabella.”
Put off by the unending baby mania, Bradley forced a smile. “Never had you pegged for a doting daddy.”
“It’s the most amazing thing,” the Commander in Chief said, his voice bubbling with an uncharacteristic giddiness. “Witnessing the birth of your child, it’s ... it’s utterly mesmerizing. You—instantly—fall in love. And then suddenly you’re bawling with joy.”
The Power of We the People Page 1