by John Price
On the other hand, should Jack be convicted, there wasn’t much he could do except file his appeal while serving his time. The four knew that John and Debbie‘s freedom was a benefit that could easily slip away. To avoid a potential problem traveling through the Dallas Fort Worth airport, where John Madison would be easily spotted as a local celebrity, it was decided that John and Debbie would drive on secondary roads, over several days, across the country to Atlanta and take an international flight from one of the nation’s busiest airports.
The announcement system informed travelers in the international terminal that Delta flight 341 to Quito, Ecuador was now ready for pre-boarding. John and Debbie were flying coach. They were in boarding group three, which was finally reached after over ten minutes of pre-boarding, first class boarding and the seating of Delta’s special travelers. John and Debbie approached the Delta agents at the gate checking in persons ticketed for the international flight. Debbie handed her boarding pass and U.S. passport to the closest agent. Unlike the ding sound that had accompanied the scanning of the boarding passes of passengers in front of them, when Debbie’s boarding pass was scanned a bong sound was accompanied by a small red light flashing on the console. Her scanned passport produced the same sound and flashing light. The Delta agent looked up sharply at Deborah Madison, saying, “Mam, are you traveling alone or with someone else?”
Debbie replied, a slight catch in her voice, “Y….Yes. My husband is traveling with me,” motioning to John who was standing just behind her.
“May I see your boarding pass and passport, sir? John complied by handing the agent both documents. He said nothing, knowing it would do no good and could lead to even bigger problems.
The agent passed John’s passport first over the scanning lens. Again, the machine bonged, with a flashing red light, instead of dinging its approval of the document. She then passed John’s boarding pass over the scanner, with the same result. “Sir, there seems to be a problem….of some sort….may I ask the two of you to stand aside, right over here would be fine. Security will be here shortly and you can work this out with them. Thank you, mam. Thank you, sir, I apologize for the inconvenience.”
It only took airport security a few seconds for four agents to hustle to the Delta gate. The agent who appeared to be in charge was holding a sheet of paper in his hand as he approached John and Debbie. Slightly out of breath from trotting up to the gate, he glanced down at the paper and read their names, saying “Mr. and Mrs. Madison, we seem to have a problem. Would you please gather up your personal effects and come with me to the airport security office?”
Debbie started to say something, but John gently put his hand on her arm, saying under his breath, “It’s OK, Debbie, let’s just see what this is all about.”
After the Madisons were seated in the terminal’s security office, the lead agent said, “Again, we apologize for any inconvenience, but it appears that you will not be flying to Ecuador today.”
John finally spoke up, “And, sir, the exact reason for that is….?”
“No reason to lose your temper, sir, it’s just that you and Mrs. Madison are on the federal ‘no fly list’. That means that….”
“I know what it means, sir. It means that someone in Washington has decided to prevent us from flying out of the country….for political reasons.”
“I don’t know anything about that, Mr. Madison. What I do know is that you….that is the two of you….are deemed by the TSA to be a risk. The risk assessment sheet says that we are stamp the initials EC in your passports. Which I will do….right….now.” K-thunk. K-thunk.”
“What? What in the world does EC stand for? And what right do you have to deface our passp….”
“Zip it, sir. We’re just following orders. You’re not the first folks who’ve had their passports marked with EC. I understand it means Evangelical Christian, though you didn’t hear that from me. You’re not flying today because your risk assessment form also says, ‘Identified travelers are deemed to be a terrorist risk and may not fly outside of the continental United States.’
“Agent, think about that for a second….If we were terrorists….or if we even posed a risk of being terrorists….then why would we be prohibited from flying outside of the U.S.? You’d think the TSA would be happy to get rid of risky Americans, wouldn’t you?”
“Clever argument, sir, but made to the wrong people. We enforce what others decide. If you have a beef with being on the no fly list you have to appeal the decision to the TSA. I understand it takes a few weeks, or maybe it’s months, but, in any case, you will not be flying to Quito today….One more thing, sir….This notice from TSA requires us to clear your carry-on luggage to ensure compliance with the new executive order regarding currency transfers outside of the U.S.
“Whoa, wait a minute….We’re not flying now, so what right do you have to….”
“Sir, as long as you are in this terminal you are in a controlled TSA environment. Anyone who presents themselves in a federally regulated flight facility is subject to search for compliance with currency transfer restriction laws.”
“That’s just insane. We’re not flying. You won’t let us fly. I’m not allowing anyone to rummage through our….”
The lead agent nodded to the agent to his right, who withdrew his Glock from his holster, holding it pointing towards the floor.”
John Madison had heard too many stories of the unusual deaths of conservative leaders to continue his resistance. “Wait. Hold on….If you’re demanding that you check our carry-on bags for currency.…go right ahead. We’ve only got a little over $9000, so we’re well under the $10,000 legal limit….to carry out our own money….I should add.”
“Well, Mr. Madison, you don’t know much, do you, sir? That $10,000 limit to carry currency or checks or promissory notes, whatever, expired last week with the President’s new executive order. The new limit is $1,000. That’s one thousand dollars….max. Rumor has it that it will be less than that next year….So, Mr. Madison, you’ve got yourself a forfeiture issue….sir. Let’s look in those bags. Any cash over $1,000, per family traveling together, not individually, is forfeited.”
“What? Forfeited? Are you kidding….”
“That’s the soft part, sir. If you have that much currency in your possession, sir, you have just committed a felony. Trying to take currency out of the country without filing the appropriate documents is a felony. You could be looking at five to ten years. We have to file a criminal referral report on what we’ve found in your baggage with the Department of Justice. The FBI will be calling on you as soon as the DOJ gets our referral…..”
“Let’s get this done, agent. Take our money, do whatever you’re going to do, so we can get out of here. This isn’t the America I grew up in.”
“Very true, Mr. Madison. This country belongs to the common people now. Not everyone can fly around the world with thousands of dollars in their pockets.”
“Apparently, sir, we can’t either. God help us.”
32
Chuy’s Mexican Restaurant – Bethesda, Maryland
Senator Quarter punched the remote off switch shutting down the widescreen televised scenes of murder and mayhem at America’s federal buildings. He picked up his cell phone and punched in a set of numbers. The number was not known by any others, to his knowledge and was only to be used in an emergency. The phone rang in Langley, Virginia. Senator Quarter’s brother, feeling the cell phone on his hip tremble, excused himself and left the conference room in the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Yeah, Chuck, what’s up?” The retired Senator’s brother couldn’t recall the last time that his brother had called, so he suspected that there was more to the call than a social purpose. As a Deputy Director of the CIA his high position demanded that he not be placed in a difficult position regarding sensitive, confidential information.
“You’ve of course been watching the coverage this morning on the bombings….I need to know….I really need to know….if
there’s any chance that the big guy is behind any of this?” The line was silent….it continued in silence.
Finally the Senator’s brother responded. “Meet me for lunch Saturday at Chuy’s.”
Both brothers had a special taste for extremely hot Mexican food, so in the past when they had needed to meet unobtrusively, they met at Chuy’s in Bethesda, a suburb of Washington, DC. Senator Quarter had already started to prepare a message to be encoded and sent to eleven men whom he knew would be expecting to hear from him.
The Senator’s message showed up encoded in what appeared to be an ad for ED pills. With each new message a different ad would be used, always an actual advertisement, but with an encoded message. The Senator thus secretly advised his compatriots that he suspected that the violence was a false flag, that he would confirm it this weekend and that he would let them know immediately.
Chuy’s was constructed as a series of medium and small rooms. Senator Quarter and his brother met early for lunch, as was their pattern, so that they could grab their favorite table, sequestered in a small alcove so that no one could hear them talk. They ordered the extra hot Saturday special, guaranteed to burn their mouths, just as they liked it. After their perky waitress brought them their extra-large aguas, Senator Quarter leaned forward, shielding his mouth from a possible passing lip reader, asking, “Which is it? False flag or the real deal? What’d ya find out, bro?”
“You’re not going to like it. I hesitate to even tell you.”
“Just as I thought….those dirty….”
“Wait….wait….you haven’t heard yet what I learned when I….”
Their conversation ceased as their waitress appeared with another bowl of warm tortilla chips and more fire engine hot salsa.
Once the Chuy waitress left their space the Senator’s brother continued, “Look….Don’t get all over the edge with me. Just listen. What I learned is that the bombings were all deep cover and they were all arranged by the United States Federal government. That’s it in a nutshell. We did it….Sorry to say….Very sorry to say. I’m no neophyte on these kinds of things….far from it. The CIA has done its share of black flag events in other nations. How do you think the Shah was thrown out of office? And he was our friend. But, these staged ‘flaggers’, as one source called them, are way too much, even for me. Over a thousand folks are in coffins, all just to blame the right wing and the gun folks, so that serious repression of the enemies of the big guy can crank into gear.”
“It’s true, then,” the Senator exclaimed, holding his head in both hands, “the bombings were designed to cover the President’s plans to start imprisoning, maybe even start shooting, his political opponents. The right wing - the Americans who have figured out who he really is. He has to eradicate the religious right wing, the gunners, the Tea Party, in order to make the nation red to its core. What a tragedy that we have come to this sorry state!”
The Senator’s brother ate several chips, slowly slathering them in hot salsa, as he waited for the Senator to think through what he had just heard. After watching his brother fight the federal government in the Senate for twelve years, he knew that he would not walk away from this fight, undoubtedly the most important of his life.
The Senator finally spoke, “You’re a true American patriot. That sounds hokey, but I mean it. Most brothers in high office would have avoided me, worried about their own skins, their own careers. You may have just saved your country. I need to get in touch with my guys, now, sooner than now. Thanks. Thanks so much.”
Following their pepper infused luncheon the bothers hugged and went their separate ways - the Senator to his suburban Virginia home and the Senator’s brother to the local firing range in Alexandria for some Saturday afternoon firearm practice.
The Washington Post reported on Sunday morning that the Senator’s brother had “suffered an accidental fatal gunshot to the head Saturday at an area firing range”. The front page article stated that the CIA Deputy Director’s death was caused by a ricocheted bullet from an adjoining shooter. The concluding line of the article noted that it was an irony that the shooter, who was reported to “feel terrible about the accident”, was also an employee of the CIA.
33
Senator Charles M. Quarter’s Home Office
Alexandria, Virginia
Senator Quarter’s Saturday afternoon promised to be uneventful. What was not uneventful was his drive back to his home from the Hart Senate Office Building. He was half-listening to his car radio while at the same time composing what he would say in his coded message to the eleven. The newscaster, though, caught the Senator’s attention when the Senator thought he heard his brother’s name followed by the news of his accidental death at a shooting range in northern Virginia. He quickly pulled off the road and pulled out his cell phone. Punching in his brother’s name on Safari brought up on the screen the news flash of his death, only two hours before. The Senator was rocked. Weeping and pounding the steering wheel of his car, he shouted that they wouldn’t get away with it. It was some time before he was able to drive and return to his home. The Senator had no siblings and both parents were gone. He was the only member of his family still alive, though he knew that his days had just been limited by his brother’s assassination. He was confident that there was a large red target on his back.
Senator Quarter made it to his Alexandria, Virginia home and into his comfortable den, overlooking the Potomac. Pulling himself together, and with an intense desire to get even, he wrote an encoded message to the eleven. The eleven then received an advertisement pushing credit cards by a New York bank. The ad had been encoded by the Senator’s digital security device. When the eleven received the credit card promotion they knew it was encoded because of a small, innocuous mark, which changed monthly. Once the ad was recognized as being encoded, the recipients opened the text. Recipients typed in a short mixture of letters and numbers which then opened a paragraph in the ad. The opened paragraph would be written in Estonian, Italian or Spanish, depending on the month. A series of numbers and letters and the English text of the encoded message were displayed on the screen, but only for enough time to read the text through twice. The eleven read the following message:
RED ALERT – I have confirmed today that the recent violence was planned and originated as a false flag by the federal government. Exact agencies involved are still unknown. You are authorized to pass this confirmation on to your contacts, though without attribution to me, at this point in time. The purpose, as we expected, is to give cover to federal agents, most likely DHS, to arrest those opposed to the Administration, blaming them for being connected to groups involved in the bombings around the country. Expect imminent arrests of leaders of pro-life, Constitutionalists, conservative, Tea Party and related groups and associations. Shootings are possible, even likely. Please alert your contacts and strongly suggest that these targeted leaders go into hiding as soon as they (you) get this message. Fleeing the country is highly recommended. Many options open to do so, but avoid travel by air. The feds are quite good at finding people in hiding. They (you) have very little time to remove themselves (yourselves) from normal locations. VERY LITTLE TIME. I’ll be back to you imminently with a specific action plan, as it may develop. If you are a praying person, your prayers will be appreciated, particularly for me and my family as we mourn the death of my brother, who gave his life yesterday for his nation. Chuck.
34
Mission San Antonia de Valero
“The Alamo” – The Shrine of Texas Liberty
San Antonio, Texas
“The Babylonians are all like lions roaring for prey.
They are like lion cubs growling for something to eat.”
(Jeremiah 51:38-NET)
In the 17th century Mexico decided to go to war to retake Texas. As part of the armed effort to do so, the Mexican army cavalry occupied the Alamo in San Antonio. For decades the building had been a mission to the local Indians. The Mexican troops named it after their hometown, A
lamo de Parras, Coahuila. Alamo in Spanish means ‘cottonwood’. In December, 1835, ‘Texians’ and ‘Tejano’ volunteers re-occupied the Alamo after five days of intense battles against General Martin Perfecto de Cos.
On February 23, 1836 General Antonio López de Santa Anna's army arrived outside San Antonio. The Texians and Tejanos held out for thirteen days against Santa Anna's attacking army. William B. Travis, the commander of the Alamo, sent messages out for help from towns in Texas. After a week of the siege thirty two volunteers from Gonzales arrived, which brought the number of defenders to one hundred and eighty-nine. The defenders decided that the Alamo was the key to the defense of Texas. They pledged to each other to give their lives rather than surrender the Alamo to Santa Anna. The defenders included Jim Bowie, famed knife fighter, and David Crockett, frontiersman and former congressman from Tennessee.
On March 6, 1836 the final battle was formed. In spite of small arms fire and cannon from inside the Alamo, repulsing several attacks, columns of Mexican soldiers scaled the walls and rushed inside. A desperate battle resulted in the death of all of the defenders of the Alamo. The Alamo was a heroic struggle against impossible odds — a place where men made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. Upon hearing what happened at the Alamo thousands volunteered for the Texian army, leading to a victory later in 1836 and securing Texas’s independence.
Every revolution starts with an organizer, a person who sees a wrong and wants it righted, even if it requires force of arms. The initial organizer of what came to be known as Alamo II was a sixty-six year old veteran of the Vietnam War named Tom Quinn. Tom was with the Army’s ‘All American’ 84th Airborne Division and saw combat, winning three awards for valor. He was a quintessential army veteran, proud of his service on behalf of his country. He frequently told his children and grandchildren that America was the best country in the world. Worth fighting for. Worth dying for. That all changed when he received an e-mail from a vet buddy which included details of what was described as a Communist takeover of the U.S. government.
