“Okay then, what do they want?” asked Dale.
An educator at heart, Dr. Liggin answered by asking a question. “Well, let’s start with their name.” Dr. Liggin returned to his chair and sat in it backward, with his legs wrapped around the sides. “Assuming their name has any significance, what can we conclude about their purpose or reason for existence?”
Sarah jumped at the chance to play student again. She raised her hand as if she were back in class. Dr. Liggin cocked his head to one side, smirked and said, “Go ahead.”
“I couldn’t resist; I was having a flashback!” replied Sarah. Dale sat at the table with his chair leaning back and his arms crossed.
Sarah continued.
“Well, it only makes sense that if they named themselves after a Roman political figure, they would in some way desire to embody all that that title represented, such as royalty, regality, leadership, conqueror, ruler or dictator.”
Dr. Liggin added, “And let’s not forget, Caesar was also considered deity in certain circles.”
“Good point,” injected Sarah. “So, if Caesar believes that they’re all of those things, they must believe that they’re superior to the rest of us and certainly entitled to whatever they desire.” There was a brief pause.
Dale let his chair drop back on all four legs and asked, “What do they want?” He shook his head. “I’m not much into this conspiracy crap. I guess I just don’t understand the motivation here. What could they possibly want that they don’t already have?”
“Everything. They want complete control over everything!” Dr. Liggin barked. “Again, think back to the Roman Empire when the Roman Legion marched across Italy and into Southern Europe. When was enough, enough? They only stopped when they were forced to experience their limitations. They never stopped because they were satisfied. And that, my dear friends, is the same Caesar we’re faced with today.
“We’re faced with the pinnacle of greed, power and narcissism, of which there is no limit to their resources. And I’m not only talking about their personal fortunes. They’ve learned how to extract your money from the federal government without you even knowing it. They own the Federal Reserve and weapons manufacturing. They charge the taxpayer interest for creating a valueless currency and sell the public on global peace via their fighter jets and ballistic missiles. It’s quite ironic that we’re funding our own demise, don’t you think?”
Sarah shot a coy glare at Dale.
“It’s not only important to consider the value they place on themselves, but also the value they place on the rest of us. What was it the Romans called the common man?”
“Plebeians,” answered Sarah.
“Right! They look at us as common, course, vulgar and more specifically…property. To fully understand or appreciate what that meant to Caesar two thousand years ago, you need only look at the society in which he lived. The Greeks and Romans lived in a society that was controlled and governed by a select few. They were called patricians. They were the aristocratic elite. They owned the property, means of production, entertainment and the labor force, which were, of course, predominately slaves.”
Dale interrupted. “So are you saying that this secret society called Caesar is actually trying to rebuild the Roman Empire?”
“I’m not saying that as fact, no. I am, however, speculating that it’s very possible that they are functioning under the same principles and directives of world dominance in accordance with the agenda of ancient Rome. Granted, they had some very progressive political ideals. They allowed plebeian delegates, which set the bar for our constitutional principle of voter representation. Yet through all of the changes in the Roman political structure, one thing remained the same: the elite ruled. The masses suffered. And eventually, Caesar raised himself up to the level of deity.
“You see, this is why we need to understand them. When we become nothing more than insects to them, they feel no remorse when they squash us. Take Nero for example: he ruled the world and yet he set men and women on stakes, covered them in wax and lit them like candles to illuminate his orgies. I know that’s an extreme example, but that’s the reality of the human capacity for evil. And based on the evidence that Sarah has here amidst these files and recordings, we will most likely discover case after case of legal transgressions.”
Dr. Liggin wiped the sweat from his brow. He pushed his chair out from under him and began pacing back and forth as he passionately spoke to his audience of two.
“None of this should surprise us. What should surprise us, or should I say burden us, is that we’ve allowed the Giants to take away our thinking minds. We should be incensed by our own passivity and lack of insight into our slow but sure adaptation to their global agenda. Where were the protests when the government and big business pushed NAFTA down our throats? Where were the militias when legislation was passed to control and limit our right to bear arms? Where were the parents when they took prayer and God out of our schools? Were there not more people in favor of God than not? Were there not more families in favor of prayer, good jobs and guns when all of those bills were passed into law? Where were the activists? Where were the advocates and protestors? My God, we gave the Giants our country on a silver platter and all we got in return was immoral television programming, MP3s and made-in-China discount stores!” Dr. Liggin paused and took a deep breath.
“So…here we are. They’re beginning to string us up, blow up our facilities and bankrupt our families and corporations without a single consequence. And do you hear anyone screaming in the streets for justice? Do you hear the nation rising to its feet to take back what once was ours? No! All you hear is the pathetic sound of silent passivism as we suckle on government handouts meant to silence an uprising! I’ve got to hand it to them, they know what they’re doing.”
At that moment, Dale stood up from his seat and walked over to Dr. Liggin and began clapping. When he was standing right in front of Dave, he reached out to shake Dave’s hand. Dave reluctantly stretched his hand and asked, “What’s this all about?”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Dale. “And I think America needs to hear what you have to say. So while I sat in my chair, I had an idea.”
“Okay. What’s your idea?” asked Dr. Liggin.
Dale let go of Dave’s hand and began to walk toward Sarah, who sat at the head of the table, and said, “Isn’t Caesar planning some sort of retreat? Didn’t I overhear you two discussing something like that earlier?”
Sarah answered, “Yes. They’re planning what they call the Commission’s Annual Retreat, or CAR for short. It’s an annual event where Caesar sponsors the Trilateral Commission’s annual gathering of inner-circle members. The group consists of the highest level of secret-society members across the globe.”
“And when does this event take place?” Dale inquired.
Sarah replied. “In three weeks.”
“Okay. Why don’t we do a little brainstorming and make a list of every reporter and honest-to-goodness TV personality that we know who would be willing to do a story or report on this retreat? And at the moment those turkeys start rolling in, we hold a huge rally in front of the reserve featuring you”—Dale looked at Dave and pointed—“as the headline speaker.”
“Oh, come on, Dale. I don’t know about that,” insisted Dr. Liggin.
“Maybe you should, Dave,” Sarah added, smiling proudly. “You already have the credibility of academia and the media. Maybe it’s time you start collecting on all of those favors that are owed to you.”
“And what about the militias? We monitor them constantly and have regular dialogue with several of the state organizers in the Midwest. I’m a supporter of the law, but that doesn’t mean I’m anti-militia. Maybe their support could add a little controversy,” commented Dale.
“Controversy can be a good thing if it’s managed properly,” agreed Sarah as she stood to her feet.
Dale and Sarah looked at Dave, but no one said anything. It was clear that the sm
all group had come to a consensus. Dave held back a grin. The thought of assembling a group of Americans willing to publicly make a stand against the hidden power—known to Dr. Liggin as the Giants—was a dream come true. Yet he feared the intolerable words such as “conspiracy theories” and “secret societies” which the media had scrutinized would be enough to keep the average patriot at bay, for fear of federal reprisal. Still, he was hopeful, and his friends were ready to stand behind him at all costs.
Chapter 36
Exposed
The following morning, Jack Wilson and the twins arrived at The Palace for Caesar’s monthly assembly. Caesar finalized the details of the retreat and discussed the progress regarding their global agenda. All of Caesar’s members were required to attend.
Jack stepped out of the black limousine and was escorted through The Palace’s portico and into the main lobby where he signed in as usual. Thomas Radisson, along with one of the security guards, greeted Jack at the front desk.
“Good morning, Jack,” said Thomas, looking stiff and irritated.
“Good morning!” Jack grinned as he clicked the pen release.
“I need you to follow me,” insisted Thomas.
“Sure.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.” Thomas’s voice was dry and indifferent. “Unfortunately, that’s all I can tell you at this time. Mike will show you to your room.”
“My room?”
At that point, Jack began to suspect that something had gone wrong. He felt the back of his neck heat up, moistened with nervous beads of sweat. A myriad of potential scenarios swirled about in his mind. The security guard led him down a hallway that that didn’t look at all familiar. Stay cool, he thought. This is no time to get excited.
Thomas walked without saying a word until he opened a steel door and pushed him inside. “They’ll be here momentarily,” he said. His eyes peered at Jack with disgust.
Jack stumbled into the room. “Wh…what’s going on?” The guard closed and locked the door from the outside.
Jack stood there alone, waiting, imagining what horrors awaited him.
• • •
The twins drove away with the intent of returning later that afternoon. As they drove down the wood-lined road, a large black SUV approached the limousine at a rapid speed. Rob looked through the rearview mirror and watched the tiny spot grow larger and deadlier by the second. When the black dot in the distance grew into a full-size death machine, one of the security guards in the SUV stuck his head out of the passenger window and began shooting. Immediately, Russell reached for his nine millimeter, but the shooter hit the rear passenger-side tire and blew it to shreds.
Rubber and steel wire exploded, causing the vehicle to spin out of control. Russell instinctively stretched his arms out, one gripping the dashboard and the other door. He glanced through his side mirror and immediately reached into his coat to grab his gun. The burning rubber tire began to leave a trail of smoke and red-hot sparks from the grinding metal wheel. Rob struggled to straighten the vehicle, fighting a battle he would never win. The vehicle fishtailed back and forth until it couldn’t handle the wild motions any longer. Russell’s head hit the glass and his gun fell to the floor. Rob pressed down on the brakes, but the limousine began to slide sideways, caught a gust of wind under its belly and flipped over and over until it finally collided with a tree on the side of the road. The mound of mangled steel left behind a trail of broken glass, red plastic lights and other debris.
The security guards pulled over and watched, standing still, ready to fire.
The heap of metal and plastic lay there smoking and hissing from fluids forcing their way out of the vehicles pressurized containers. The wheels remained spinning and squeaking until they used all their stored energy. Russell was killed upon impact. Rob crawled through a twisted opening that used to be a window, emerging from the cloud of burning oil. The bloodied figure hobbled away from the vehicle, oblivious to the fact that the perpetrators were pointing their automatic machine guns directly at him. He turned, lifted his head and caught a glimpse of his assailants just as they began blasting him with their weapons. He flew backward, landing on his posterior, bleeding like a broken levee.
The cleanup crew was already on its way.
• • •
Jack stood still as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He looked into the shadows and noticed the room had a metallic sheen, reflecting the light entering from under the door. Jack noticed that the floor, walls and ceiling were all sheeted with pure surgical steel. He walked blindly toward a wall with his arms out and touched the smooth, cold steel and knew exactly where he was. He turned to study the rest of the room. As expected, a floor drain lay in the center of the room, under a permanently fixed, stainless-steel chair. A mirror, possibly one-way glass, held fast on the wall opposite the chair, perfect for observing. When Jack saw the spooled garden hose, he knew without a doubt, that Caesar had planned to wash the remains of his body down the drain.
As Jack stood in the interrogation room he contemplated his method of escape. He studied the chair to devise an offensive maneuver that might allow him to escape from his captors. He knew too well the atrocities that awaited him. Jack had literally been on the other side of the chair on more than one occasion. He knew that a room like this offered very little hope to its detainees.
While contemplating his escape, the doorknob clicked and the door slowly swung open. Two hooded men with faces darkened by their coverings walked in the room, silently peering at their prisoner. The faint shadows of the room cast heavy lines across their faces, hiding their primary features. As they walked closer to Jack, the gleam in the men’s eyes revealed their humanity. The shuffle of their feet broke the deathly silence and affirmed to Jack that these were only men. He was aware of their pressure points and weaknesses, but he was unaware of their strengths.
Joseph Heinrich and Thomas Radisson followed the two men into the room. Joseph approached Jack, glowering. His aged skin patterns exaggerated his mood by emphasizing his tightened lips and creased forehead. On full mental alert, Jack let Joseph step within his personal space. Joseph swung his frail arm at Jack and slapped him hard across the cheek, leaving a red blemish across the side of his face. This would be the first of many blows but the least of his worries. Jack put his hand to his cheek and felt the heat of the blood rushing to his skin.
“You fool!” said Joseph. “We trusted you! We gave you everything you wanted! And yet you have plotted against us!” Jack looked deep into Joseph’s eyes, studying the empty pathways into his soul. Joseph blinked. “Don’t think your investigation will get you an ounce of notoriety. On the contrary my friend, I have already made arrangements to have every one of your little federal friends removed from the face of the earth.” Joseph sighed. “Sadly…we have to say goodbye and put this all behind us.” He grinned and pointed his empty eyes at Jack. “Don’t you think that would be best?”
Jack said nothing. The sound of his heart pounding said it all.
Thomas added, “You had us convinced Jack; you really did. I’m sorry it has to end this way.” Thomas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a Taser gun.
Jack stepped back only to be stopped by the hooded men. Thomas pulled the trigger and watched Jack convulse and shake in pain as fifty thousand volts ran through his nervous system, throwing him into an uncontrollable seizure. The shadowy men caught him and lifted him into the chair.
Joseph and Thomas left, whispering. By the time they exited the room and only a few feet from the door, Jack had already been firmly strapped into the steel chair. The two men immediately began their fatal work. Jack reeled in pain, screaming in earsplitting agony. Joseph and Thomas never flinched as they walked away. They never mentioned Jack’s name again. They had more important things to discuss with the rest of Caesar. Jack was never seen or heard from again.
Chapter 37
One Thousand Feet of Co
pper
One week later
A week after Jack and his crew were murdered, Blake had constructed a fully functioning camp deep in the Roosevelt Private Forestry Reserve. He returned to the same location where he and Sarah had built the small lean-to. He rebuilt the structure with medium-size river rocks to shore up the sides and built a fire pit close enough to retain some of the heat from the night’s fire.
The camp smelled of burning firewood and dried venison. Blake shot a deer, dried the meat and used many of the bones for small tools, latches and stakes. He also built rainwater catchers with some plastic shopping bags that made their way into the woods. The bags hung from the lower branches of the camp’s adjoining trees and collected the cool droplets that fell from the autumn rain. It was a cozy little place and served Blake well in his quest.
A week earlier, Blake had followed the buried gas line along the side of the road. He followed it from the highway to The Palace, keeping his distance from the road. He trod lightly through the crackling twigs and rotted branches that lay beneath the golden-brown ground cover. Although the trees were bare, the wilderness was dense with evergreens and overgrowth, providing Blake with a secure fortress.
As Blake made his way toward Caesar’s castle, he traveled through deep valleys where flocks of wild turkeys concealed themselves and rocky crevices dripped with fresh springwater. He played cat and mouse with a curious hawk, which for a small stretch watched him very closely. The oilman exceeded the hawk’s boundaries and continued on.
Blake’s trek through the wilderness led to a colossal security fence made of large river stones that surrounded several hundred acres of lush English gardens teeming with exotic foliage and groomed fruit trees. Blake climbed to the top of the fence and looked across the grassy hillock and spotted what appeared to be a brilliant-white fortress. From atop the fence, Blake saw a circular cobblestone drive which surrounded a large fountain and well-manicured shrubbery. Observing that the circular drive was lined with black limousines and other luxury vehicles, Blake knew that he had found The Palace—the secret place where Caesar engineered their stratagem.
Killing the Giants Page 19
