“Does Wells know how the system is to be used?” Razzak asked.
“He’s a bright kid,”Rutland answered. “I’m sure he’s smart enough to figure it out. But he’s totally engrossed in the nuts and bolts. He won’t give us any problems. After the system is up and running, we’ll have several people capable of managing it.”
“That’s our one weak point right now,” said Razzak as he stood looking out the window at the rain. “Tell Siever to keep a close watch on Wells.”
“What about the demonstrations?” Fred Lively of the NCLU asked. “Are we sure they will start this week?”
“Judas tells me that everything is progressing normally,” Rutland said. He had no respect for the skinny lawyer, who looked oddly like a cadaver. The NCLU has a real surprise coming too, he thought. It’s funny, really. They’re destroying the only system that will tolerate them.
“Are you sure Judas will be able to deliver?” Lively asked in a commanding tone. He had great ambitions when this whole thing came together. He would be part of a new system, a founding father, so to speak. Plus, he would be in a position to teach his archenemies, the Christians, a real lesson. God, how I hate them. No wait, he thought, not God . . . he didn’t believe in God. Anyway, I hate them, he concluded.
“Judas will deliver. This has been in planning for a long time,” Rutland said in a condescending tone.
“Is everything ready?” Archie Warner asked the rally organizers. They had chosen the term “rally” because they didn’t want their groups to be thought of as demonstrators.
“It would seem so,” Bob Bierson replied. “I just wish we could talk to Pastor Elder. I’m still not certain this is what he would want.”
“Well, we can’t just leave him and the others to rot in jail and not do anything, can we?” Warner sometimes wished he had never gotten involved in this mess. He thought back to the time when he had first been approached by Elder, asking for his help. John was an up-and-coming pastor with a nationwide television program. He was beginning his campaign against the government and needed some legal help in filing briefs. Warner had welcomed the work then. He had practiced law in Atlanta for nearly twenty-five years and didn’t really have anything to show for it. He had invested in the Atlanta real estate market before the depression and had been wiped out long before the rest of the country.
Right after he did the work for Elder, his fortunes picked up. Unbelievably, he was contacted by Jason Franklin’s real estate firm about handling some transactions for him. Jason Franklin had been almost a mythological figure to Warner up until that time. He could afford to hire the best legal help available, and Warner had no illusion that it was him. The two-hundred-dollar-an-hour fees Franklin paid helped Warner to survive financially.
When Franklin’s accountant approached him about handling an offshore deal involving several millions of dollars he was skeptical at first. Why would they want him and not someone adept at international law? Then he was told that the transaction was to involve some Colombian banks and he knew it probably involved drug money. At first he refused, but when Franklin withdrew his other business he was right back where he started—broke. So he took the work. The fee for the very first project was nearly two hundred thousand dollars, more than twice what he had ever made in his best year. He quickly salved his conscience about the source of the money, and adjusted to the lifestyle he had always wanted.
Then, two years later, Franklin had called him to a meeting at Jekyll Island to discuss a new position. What he heard there had visibly shaken him. It was believed that a group of terrorists calling themselves the Constitutional Rights Committee was operating under the guise of a Christian organization. Their leader was reported to be a well-known television evangelist, John Elder.
Warner was told that the FBI wanted to force the group out in the open, to make them openly violate the law. To accomplish this, pressure would be put on the CRC and their leader, John Elder. Since Warner had done work for Elder previously, he would volunteer to handle the legal work the group would need.
Soon Warner was being provided with tens of thousands of dollars to feed the CRC. Elder voiced his concern once that Warner was tapping his rich friends for the funds they so desperately needed. But then the battle with the government, including the IRS over the group’s tax exception, was on and the funds were thought to be a godsend.
Periodically Warner would be given the names of individuals to be recruited by Elder as contributors in each district. Warner would suggest these people as sympathetic to the Christians’ cause. Their level of giving quickly helped them to gain positions of leadership in each group. When the tax-exempt status of churches was threatened, they were the first to contribute several hundred thousand dollars to a defense fund. Warner’s firm was the leader in each defense effort, always careful to defend, not win.
Each of these leaders became established in the churches and other elements of the Elder organization; then they recruited other men and women to work at lower levels in the organization. Within two years they had infiltrated every level of the CRC and participated in virtually every phase of planning. Their code name was “Judas.”
It was this internal substructure that would be essential during the planned demonstrations. Warner realized that what they were about to do might result in the imprisonment or even death of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent people. His conscience bothered him, but he knew he was caught in a very carefully spun web. If he wanted to stay out of prison, he had to continue. He also knew what Franklin was capable of doing if crossed.
10
THE RIOTS
Friday, the 12th of October, was the date chosen to hold the nationwide rallies. The idea was to focus attention on the plight of Christians in general and more specifically, John Elder and the other arrested leaders. A few groups had been successful in obtaining permits, but in most cities the authorities refused to grant them. With little or no sympathy in the media, the complaints by the groups went unnoticed. There were a few articles stating that a neo-Nazi organization or a religious protest group had been denied parade permits. Usually this was accompanied by a statement that the group sought to demonstrate against Jews, blacks, or other ethnic groups. With the depression deepening and more people out of work every day, there were few sympathizers among the general public. The nation was rapidly developing a disdain for anything to do with Christianity.
At 3:00 P.M., Eastern Time, the rallies began to organize. By 3:30, there were groups assembled in sixty cities across the country and nearly three million participants. In each city the marchers, with arms linked together, were confronted by hundreds of baton-wielding, helmeted police, as well as recruits from the National Guard who had been warned that the demonstrators intended to ransack the cities.
In Atlanta, the group marched down Peachtree Street carrying banners saying, “Where is John Elder?” and “Religious Freedom.” The Atlanta group started their march singing the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” but they had scarcely moved twenty feet when the police began warning them to disperse or be arrested. The demonstrators, nearly one hundred thousand strong, ignored the warnings and moved forward en masse. As the group advanced, the police fired nausea gas into the crowds, which included women and children. Those in the front dropped to the pavement, retching and vomiting, as the gas surrounded them. Someone in the group yelled that the police were using poison gas and the marchers panicked. From somewhere inside the group, guns were produced and the sounds of gunfire filled the concrete canyons of Atlanta.
Several police officers were hit and fell to the pavement. The marchers who had drawn the guns continued to fire. The rally leaders, stunned, first thought the gunfire was aimed at their group, but, as several of the police officers fell, they realized the shots were coming from within their group.
“Oh God! Stop firing!” Bob Bierson shouted as he saw the police scatter, take defensive positions, and draw their weapons. Several of the leaders rushed to stop tho
se in their group who were shooting at the police. Others rushed toward the police, frantically shouting for them not to shoot.
But it was already too late. The police fired as quickly as they drew their weapons. The marchers were scattering, but bullets are faster than legs and people were cut down as they ran.
Anne Bierson saw her husband cut down by a fusillade of bullets from the police. She knew he was dead from the way he fell. She grabbed her three-year-old son, Jackie, in her arms as she ran for cover behind the cars parked along the street. As she ran, she felt what seemed like bee stings in her side. Ducking down behind a car, she noticed a red stain covering her right side and realized she had been shot. Jackie, terrified, was screaming and trying to pull away from his mother, but Anne would not let go. Her hold on him was all that saved his life. A hail of bullets continued to ricochet off the buildings and vehicles. As Anne cried out, “Oh, God, don’t let them kill my boy,” she was struck twice more by the advancing police. With her last breath, she rolled over on top of her son, her body becoming a shield against the bullets.
When it became obvious that women and children were being cut down by their crossfire, some of the police officers began to shout to the others to cease firing. Even though the whole episode was over in less than four minutes, when the casualties were counted among the police officers, there were two dead and ten wounded police. And among the marchers, there were forty-three dead and sixty wounded—thirty seriously. Twelve women and eight children were among the dead.
The same drama, with only slightly different statistics, was replayed all over the country. The media rushed in to film the bloody aftermath and reported that the terrorist groups had viciously attacked police and other officials, just as they had threatened.
By evening, curfews had been declared in several cities, and massive police raids were organized to capture the scattered rioters. Videotapes of the shootings were seized as evidence, and the FBI assigned all available agents to review the tapes for suspects. The most extensive manhunts in recent history were organized to locate and arrest the remaining leaders of the group known as the Constitutional Rights Committee (CRC). The FBI produced long lists of suspects, carefully prepared in advance, based on informants’ testimonies. The movement to eliminate Christianity in America had begun in earnest.
After the networks aired scenes of the riots, angry mobs stormed churches across the nation, wrecking and burning, without opposition from most law enforcement groups. Pastors, priests, and parishioners were dragged from their homes and beaten by mobs of youths, ready to vent their anger, spurred by economic circumstances, on anyone. Most of those accosted had nothing to do with the actual riots. Their guilt was only that others pronounced them to be Christians, thus conspirators.
Randy and Harriet Cross were two of those fleeing for their lives in Atlanta. When the shooting began, Randy grabbed Harriet and their son Matthew, and ran for cover. In the confusion, they were able to make their way back to their car and then home.
“Randy, what’s happening?” Harriet cried in a shaky voice. “Who started the shooting?”
“I think some of our group did,” Randy replied in a rasp, his heart still racing from the adrenaline. “I couldn’t see who it was, but I saw two police officers fall when the shots were fired.”
“But the members of CRC have never been violent, even when the police provoked them. Why now?” Harriet sobbed. “Oh Randy, I saw Christine Wise and her little girl lying in the street. I think they were dead.”
“There’s no telling how many people were injured, or killed—probably a hundred or more,” Randy speculated as he held his wife and son close to him. “I’m just so grateful that you and Matthew are okay. But Harriet, we need to get some things together and leave here immediately.”
“But why, Randy? This is our home. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I don’t think that’s going to matter much. This riot was no accident. I think someone planned it carefully, and if I’m right we’re in real trouble.”
“Planned it? But why?”
“I don’t know, but it follows the pattern we’ve seen over the last few years. I should have known something was wrong.” Even as he thought about it, he realized that those he had seen shooting from his group were new members. Plants! He realized. They were put there just for this time. That’s what I had been sensing. They were always the first to volunteer for anything, but I never saw real commitment to the Lord in them.
“Hurry, Harriet,” he said forcefully. “We don’t have much time.”
“But where will we go, Randy?” she sobbed. “What are you afraid of?”
“Our neighbors! We don’t know who we can trust anymore,” he said grimly. Inside he knew that the whole country could explode with violence at any time, and someone had done a very thorough job of ensuring it would be directed at Christians.
Randy said, “I just remembered an almost forgotten passage in the book of Matthew: ‘Then let those who are in the cities flee to the mountains; let him who is on the housetop not go down to get the things out that are in his house; and let him who is in the field not turn back to get his cloak. But woe to those who are with child and to those who nurse babes in those days!’ John Elder quoted that reference often in our meetings, but I never really understood its significance—until now!”
President Hunt spent much of the day viewing the news about the riots and the violent reaction against Christians across the country. There were scenes of mobs, made up mostly of youths, stoning and beating people who were trying to protect their churches. The media equated Christianity with a terrorist movement.
After viewing the FBI file on the Constitutional Rights Committee “terrorists,” as the media so fondly referred to them, Hunt could find no previous acts of violence attributed to any except a small group from Oregon. This group had actually evolved from a band of fanatical tax protesters. Their religion seemed to be related to tax exemption only.
“This whole thing is a gigantic setup,” the president said, slamming the report down on his desk. He punched the intercom button: “Cal!”
he shouted, “Get Randall and McMillan, and come in here. You tell them I want them here in fifteen minutes! And tell Russ Siever I want him here, too!”
On the other end of the intercom, Cal Rutland knew that Hunt had been reviewing the FBI report thoroughly. He saw through it, Rutland thought silently as he dialed the FBI director. Too bad for him.
“Ben, this is Cal. The president wants you and the attorney general over here right away.”
“What’s up?” the sixty-year-old Randall said. He had been a statistician for the FBI for nearly thirty years until tapped by Hunt to become the director. He knew that the assignment had actually been maneuvered by Jason Franklin. Several years earlier he had been assigned to investigate Franklin. At the time it was thought that Franklin was involved with organized crime through some of his legitimate businesses.
Randall’s investigation showed that there was definitely a link between some of Franklin’s companies and large transfers of cash, disguised as foreign sales. Still, he had no connection to Franklin himself since each of the corporations used figureheads as shields for the parent company. He was preparing his report for the director when he received a call from someone claiming to have information on Franklin that would be of great interest to him. He agreed to meet with the informant.
His first encounter with Cal Rutland had been the start of a new career for Randall. Rutland, brandishing CIA credentials, shared a file on Franklin that included details about his involvement with the CIA as an undercover link with the drug dealers. The file, signed by the CIA director, clearly exonerated Franklin from any liabilities associated with his role.
Rutland had informed Randall that not even the president was privy to the information presented in the file. He said that to reveal any of the detail would jeopardize not only Franklin, but hundreds of other operatives working on the drug connection. H
e appealed to Randall to clear Franklin of any suspected involvement in the drug trafficking in the interest of national security.
At first Randall insisted on taking the issue directly to the FBI director, letting him make the decision. But two quick calls by Rutland to the secretary of defense and the vice president, who was himself a former head of the CIA, convinced Randall that the information was too sensitive to risk, even to the files of the FBI. Randall agreed to close the file on Franklin, listing the inquiry as unsubstantiated rumors.
Little did Randall know that his response had saved his career. Already in place was a well-documented connection between Randall and the drug lords, including several millions of dollars deposited into foreign accounts in his name. The Society was taking no chances on having Franklin compromised, even by unprovable allegations.
When Mark Hunt had become president, one of his first actions was to appoint Randall director of the FBI. Randall guessed correctly that it was Jason Franklin who had initiated his promotion. Although he had no knowledge of the Society, except by rumor, Randall became a supporter of Jason Franklin, believing him to be a strong patriot.
Once he became the FBI director, Randall was provided with well-prepared secret documents that detailed a plot within the Constitutional Rights Committee organization to assassinate several government leaders in Washington who had taken positions against religious groups. He had been unsuccessful in tracking down any specific facts on the group, and most of the details had come from informers highly placed within the organization. Randall didn’t know that the informers had been recruited and paid by a private organization, one of Franklin’s companies.
The Illuminati Page 11
