by John Price
He soon decided that the network newscaster who was the biggest cheerleader for the President was Giles Henderson of CBS Evening News. Giles almost appeared to slobber when he praised the President, which usually happened more than once on any given evening newscast. A study by a non-partisan journalism center found that Henderson praised the President, his policies and members of his Cabinet fifty times for each hint of criticism in an average month. Roy determined that by taking out Giles Henderson he would be helping the country and partially disabling the President, who survived in office due to a cheerleading national media. The final determinant for Roy was that Henderson was a native of Louisville, which he visited several times a year. Louisville was just south of Roy’s farm in southern Indiana. All that Roy needed were details of Henderson’s next visit to his home town. He called CBS offices in New York, representing that he was a reporter with the Louisville Colonel Journal. His ruse worked as CBS provided to him the details of Henderson’s next trip home. As Roy learned that Henderson’s next visit was to attend the Kentucky Derby a plan began to form. Roy knew how he would eliminate the nation’s leading media apologist for the President and strike a blow for real freedom in America.
Roy arrived on the first Saturday of May at Gate 8 on Longfield Avenue at 5 AM. In order for his plan to work his pickup truck had to be one of the first vehicles to enter the parking area south of the main track at Churchill Downs. His earlier reconnaissance showed that he needed to park in lot 32 in order to give him a direct, straight shot at the Jockey Club Suites where the event’s major celebrities traditionally viewed the historic horse race. Once the gate opened Roy drove his pickup truck directly to the first parking lane in lot 32. The truck had a camper mounted on the truck’s bed, with windows in the upper sleeping berth above the cab. Roy had configured the windows with curtains so that a casual viewer of the truck wouldn’t be able to see in. He also cut a small hole for the barrel of his sniper rifle and another round hole above it for the telescopic sight.
As the day progressed tens of thousands of race fans filled the Downs, over 80,000 in the infield alone. The mood was festive and the mint juleps flowed freely. Today’s Derby promised to be yet another event known as the most exciting two minutes in sports. Many of the visitors at the Downs had binoculars around their necks to allow them to follow the action once the race started. Roy’s binoculars, though larger than most, weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Roy’s standing south of the track looking over the grounds was also nothing unusual. He spent several minutes looking through his high powered binoculars scanning the largest boxes in the Jockey Club Suites until he finally spotted his target. There he is Roy finally murmured to himself. There’s the famous slicked back hair, loud-mouthed liar. That big, lying mouth of yours will soon be shut….forever. Roy could see that Giles Henderson was dressed in a light buff blue colored sports coat, making it easier for Roy to spot him when he changed from binoculars to his rifle sight.
The race was set to start in twenty minutes. Checking one more time, Roy confirmed the box location in the Suites and spotted Henderson’s baby blue coat. All was well, he thought, as he entered his camper through the rear door, picked up his rifle and crawled into the bunk area above the cab. Separating the scope from the rifle, Roy stuck just the end of the scope through the top hole in the camper window and looked carefully, adjusting it until he again spotted his target. Then he slightly lowered his rifle and found the ‘O’ in Downs painted on the concrete wall below the Suites adjoining the track. He carefully sighted in the middle of the upper round part of the ‘O’ and waited for the sound system to cover the sound of his test shot with the high decibel playing of My Old Kentucky Home. Squeezing off a round Roy was able to calculate the amount of calibration required to sight in the middle of his target. The round kicked up a small dust splash as it struck the left hand side of the ‘O’, telling Roy that he would need to move the calibration screw by three clicks to adjust for a steady side wind. His firearm was ready.
Roy knew that the best time to fire his weapon was during the excitement, cheering and mayhem of the race, preferably when the horses were entering the third turn. It would be then that the eyes of the race fans would be away from his location, away from his rifle, the barrel and scope of which would be protruding from his camper window by a few inches.
The pre-race festivities were finally over and the horses were in the starting gate. Churchill Downs buzzed with excitement as a sixth of a million humans waited to watch the nation’s top three year old thoroughbreds run for the roses. The starting gates flew open and they were off. Roy kept Giles Henderson centered in his scope as the horses launched into the first curve, raced around the second and pounded across the back stretch, not far from parking lot number 32. As the last of the pack headed into the third curve Roy took a deep breath, again centered his target in the scope and gently, ever so gently, squeezed his trigger finger. One and a fraction seconds later Giles Henderson’s head exploded, showering his guests and those behind him with his blood and brains.
Roy quickly withdrew his rifle and stowed it in the secreted chamber below the floor of the camper. He then broke the window on the front of the camper with the two holes, taping a clear plastic sheet in its place, held in place by duct tape, which he wrinkled to make it appear to be an old repair. He took the shards of broken glass, put them in a fanny pack and stepped on it until the shards were just small pieces. Roy exited the camper, walked several feet away to a trash barrel and dumped the fanny pack into the container. He then walked over and joined the crowd cheering the winner of the Derby.
Within minutes a flash call from CBS news was patched through the White House switchboard to the Secret Service detail with the President. The President was in mid-swing at the Hoakalei Country Club golf course on Ewa Beach, Hawaii when the call came in. Though the President was only at the fifth hole when the news of the shooting death of Giles Henderson reached him, he terminated his game and ordered his staff to prepare for an immediate flight back to DC.
24
National Museum of the American Indian – Mitsitam Cafe
Barry was worried. It had been almost three weeks since Barry met Sandy at the National Museum of American History. Barry’s post on his Deep Inside DC blog revealing DHS plans for access control booths had caused a small tempest in the agency. Even The Washington Post, which generally ignored blogs, disdaining them as not part of legitimate journalism, felt obliged to carry a small paragraph reporting that the Secretary of DHS had ordered a full-scale investigation to locate “harmful insider leakers and punish them accordingly”. The paragraph did not mention Barry’s blog nor did it disclose the nature of the “harmful leak”, only reporting that the DHS was vigorously pursuing the identity of the leaker. Had Sandy been caught? Since they did not speak by phone nor communicate by internet, it wasn’t possible for Barry to know if Sandy was alright.
Thus, it was with a great deal of relief that Barry saw Sandy’s elevated blind on his Thursday morning stroll for his pricey burnt bean coffee. Great, he thought, she’s not only OK, but evidently she has new information from inside DHS to share with him. What was the next location on the Smithsonian list? Barry couldn’t remember. He would have to pull up the Smithsonian website, not thinking that his PC was a natural target for the investigatory arm of DHS. As soon as he reached his computer he pulled up the site and saw that the next location was the National Museum of the American Indian. The Museum’s Mitsitam Café, which meant ‘let’s eat’ in the Delaware Indian language, was one of Barry’s favorites. The view of the Mall was terrific and the food was outstanding, unlike most Smithsonian restaurants. Because the café changed its menu for the seasons of the year, Barry pulled up on his PC the current seasonal menu for the café. He scanned it quickly and decided that he would either go with the native turkey dish or the Gringos con Huitlacoche. Yummy, Barry thought. Gotcha, DHS agents thought.
As soon as Barry’s remotely accessed computer showed
that he was looking at a menu from one of the Smithsonian Museums, DHS investigators detailed a squad of twelve plain clothes and armed agents to the large museum at 4th and Independence, covering the café and the public entrances. If this blogger who had embarrassed DHS showed up at the American Indian Museum he would be identified. If he met with anyone at the cafe facial recognition devices would soon reveal the identity of his DHS insider source.
Sandy was nervous. Though she was sure no one knew anything about her role as Barry’s inside source, she nevertheless had reason to be anxious. She had been interviewed each week for the last three weeks since Barry’s blog had revealed details of the TSA’ s planned use of access control booths. She soon learned that almost every DHS employee in her division had likewise been interviewed, which calmed her to a certain degree. But, should she be caught she knew her career as a federal employee would be over. Sandy wore the largest set of sunglasses she could find, along with an ugly floppy hat that she thought only a tourist would wear. She slipped on a sweatshirt in the Museum’s restroom with large silk-screened letters saying University of Kentucky. As she left the restroom, she looked in the mirror, satisfied that she bore no resemblance to a federal employee. She hoped that she looked just like another Midwestern tourist in the nation’s capital.
At first, Sandy didn’t spot Barry. No baseball cap. No sunglasses. No pony tail. No Barry. Then, she recognized his voice. “Samantha….Samantha….Y’all order me a Coke, OK, sweetie bunch?”
That’s all it took to cause Sandy to spot the source of Barry’s voice. Near the back, she saw a man wearing a really large Stetson Texas cowboy style hat and a garish leather vest, with Indian beads hanging on each of its several pockets. Sandy was impressed with Barry’s cover dress as well as his ability to spot her, in spite of her garish tourist disguise.
“How did you know it was me? I didn’t spot you.”
“Easy. I figured you’d be the most obnoxiously dressed tourist in the room. Pretty close, Sandy, pretty close.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Did you order yet?”
“No, I waited on you. I’m gonna’ do the Gringos con Huitlacoche with a side of Chayote Con Queso. Yummy. Interested?”
“OK. Yeah….That fine….Barry….Look, I’m really worried about getting caught. You have no idea how much trouble you’ve stirred up at DHS. They’re beside themselves. Frantic, even. They grilled me and about everybody in my division, except the top guys, every week since your post on the interstate booths. Rumors are that the President has signed an executive order imposing capital punishment on any federal employee caught leaking. If they catch me, you know what will….”
“Sandy. Calm down….You’re fine. How many employees are there at DHS -a quarter of a million? You’re a small fish in a very big pond, with lots of unhappy employees, any one of which could easily be my source. Not to worry….So….you had your blind up….what’s happening? Any more information on the planned faked events?”
“Yes….actually. A lot. I’m glad you’re sitting down. Last time we met you said we could change history. Once your readers, and then I hope the world, understand what’s in the works….what DHS has planned….it should bring the whole horrible plan to a screeching halt. It could….it should….force the Secretary to resign….maybe even the White House will….”
“Come on, Sandy, I understand this is earth shaking….so shake my earth….what is it? What do they have planned?”
“I told you that DHS has planned a false flag event and I think I said they might be planning even a series of faked violent events. Well, here’s what I’ve since learned. It’s worse than I could have conceived. Here’s the truly evil part. They are arranging these events so they will look like they are caused by gun-wielding radicals, probably Christians or Tea Party folks, all in a failed attempt by the radical groups to overthrow the government. I understand it will involve the bombing of federal buildings, focused on the day care facilities to gain even further public support. But all staged.”
“What?...Seriously? How….”
“Don’t you get it, Barry? A bunch of people will get killed, including kids, and many hurt. In similar attacks….across the country….all coordinated to happen on the same day….same time. All supposedly by religious zealots who want to throw out the President and change the government. That way the TSA will have every right to stop any motorist on any interstate highway….checking for terrorists, supposedly domestic terrorists, naturally. But, Barry, all of the perpetrators will either be undercover agents or duped psycho drugged participants, lured into committing violence. The latter, of course, won’t survive the events. Plus, I’ve heard that some actual religious leaders’ cars and trucks will be stolen and used in bombing government buildings. Can you believe it, Barry? My heavens, what have we come to?”
“Well, the DHS laid the foundation for all this in 2007 when it secretly notified American law enforcement officials that ‘rightwing extremism’ posed a danger to the nation. DHS defined rightwing extremism as including ‘one issue Americans opposed to abortion’ and veterans returned from war overseas. So, if there are any widely-broadcast apparently coordinated instances of armed resistance to the government, TSA will be all over the nation’s major highways, like bugs on honey.”
“As I understand it, Barry, the access control booths will be the primary method used to make sure that Americans can’t drive very far without their papers being checked and their cars or trucks examined for weapons. If TSA gets away with….you know….not too much opposition from the public….then TSA will expand the access points with permanent structures. You know, like you see at toll booths or any border crossing in the world.”
“But, don’t the geniuses at TSA realize that there will be resistance to….”
“Barry, why do you think the Request for Proposal for these booths specified that they had to be built with bullet proof glass? They know that there’ll quite likely be some firefights, but with the special glass, the success of resisters will be narrowed significantly. Plus, there’s been talk that there will eventually be a fairly wide armed perimeter around each access control point, to prevent anyone with a weapon from getting close to the checkpoints.”
“Manned by whom? The U.S. Army? What about posse comitatus, the law that prevents the federal government from using the military in domestic disputes?”
“What do you think all that ammunition is for?”
“I got it. I got it, Sandy….Is there a name for any of this that I can include in the post that I’ll write tonight?”
“Yup. It’s going to be called VIPR.”
“Meaning?”
“Visible Intermodal Prevention and Response….VIPR. Clever, huh? VIPR will be sold to the people of America as a great way to capture America’s domestic rightwing extremist terrorists.”
“Incredible. This sounds like a grade B, or even C, novel. Do they really think they can pull this off? There will be so many people who know about it….how can they keep it a secret?”
“Barry. You’re being really naïve. Government by its very nature does things in secret. With the media as its cover and main mouthpiece for the government, there is very little that can be reported widely unless, that is, the government wants it reported. Believe me; the people at DHS think they can, as you say, pull this off, without getting caught. The crisis atmosphere that will surround these violent events will be so pervasive that Americans will be riveted to their TVs wondering how their government will protect them against those radical Tea Party and religious extremists who want to overthrow their government. It’ll be a circus of misdirection and misinformation. Remember how many people thought that the Boston Marathon bombings were domestic terrorists?”
As Sandy was musing on the ability of the federal government to engage in secret acts, the DHS agents who were listening to her every word on the salt shaker imbedded microphone earlier placed on all of the tables in the Mitsitam Café could only smile and wink at each other.
They knew that the lady was certainly correct.
Looking at her watch, Sandy suggested that their lunch and conversation was over. Sandy needed to get back to the DHS. Sandy asked, “Barry, can you walk me a couple blocks or so away from here, just in case somebody spotted me and wondered why I was in a tourist café? Since we’re both so obviously dressed as out-of-towners, walking together would be a natural thing to do.”
Barry, in his cowboy hat and vest, and Sandy, in her blue University of Kentucky sweatshirt and floppy hat left the Indian themed Museum through the east exit. They walked arm-in-arm towards Independence Avenue, as two tourists might while on vacation. While waiting on the cross walk light, they spoke in low tones, lest they be overheard. But Barry realized they didn’t need to be so cautionary, as they appeared to be the only persons waiting for the light to change. Once it did change, they left the curb and headed across Independence Avenue, still with linked arms. Out of the corner of Barry’s eye he saw the white panel van careening across the median, bearing down on them. He tried to push Sandy out of its path, but the van was traveling too fast. Barry and Sandy were pronounced dead on the scene by the DC emergency medical technicians. The driver was charged with reckless driving and involuntary manslaughter under the influence of drugs and alcohol. A month later his charging file appeared to go missing and he was released from the District of Columbia jail. Conservative bloggers across the nation wrote of their admiration of Barry’s courage. To a person, they all raised doubts about the facts of his ‘accidental’ death. The ‘accidental’ deaths of conservatives outspokenly opposed to the administration appeared to those who were paying attention to be growing in number.
