Although the campus looked beautiful and majestic, Blake turned around and began to walk back to his camp, immediately formulating his assault.
Blake knew from his experience in Chapleaux and from news reports from Mexico that gas lines were secure methods of transport as long as they remained unadulterated. He also knew that a facility as large as The Palace had to be heated with large boiler systems, and required the use of many other gas appliances such as industrial ovens and water heaters. He knew exactly what it would take to tinge the gas vapor, making it combustible and dangerous.
As Blake marched back to his camp, he visualized the metering station located just off the highway near Dover’s Cliff. His mind fast-forwarded through each step required to tap into the metering system. He pictured which bypass valves were required to be shut off and calculated what additional fittings were needed. His mind rushed through each step like so many times before in his career. As an oilman, he had to make decisions that impacted production and his coworkers’ lives on more than one occasion. This task seemed trivial to him.
Blake made it back to camp just before sundown, gathering another round of fallen timber and brushwood as he approached. He rekindled the flame, smoked another section of venison and lay down in his man-made grotto.
He went over the list of materials in his mind. He planned his next course of action, which required a detailed investigation of the metering station to confirm what was required for the retrofit. Next, he estimated the amount of tubing it would take to run from the gas system to where he would tie in a large vessel of compressed oxygen. Were this course of action left up to anyone else, it would be quite the daunting task. Blake, however, knew exactly what he was doing.
He thought of his good buddy Dennis. He knew he had to call him. Blake couldn’t accomplish this undertaking alone. Dennis had been a parts runner for Blake for years. That’s how they became such good friends.
While Dennis went through his apprenticeship, Blake pushed him to the limit, teasing and provoking him as he fetched fittings day after day. For years, Dennis was unaware of the joking and betting that went on behind his back. The other journeymen made small cash bets on whether he’d fetch the wrong part, or they’d fool him into thinking they told him something different than they originally said. It was a very discouraging time for Dennis. In fact, it may well have contributed to his poor self-esteem. Nonetheless, he graduated from his apprenticeship, narrowly receiving the respect of his peers. Through it all, Blake developed what seemed to be an odd fondness for the little fellow. Dennis and Blake remained best friends from that time on.
Blake thought of his family as he lay by the glowing fire. He remembered the many years he spent chasing after his high school sweetheart. Penny was popular and smart, the daughter of the local sheriff, a hard-nosed sheriff at that. Of course, that made the chase all the more perilous.
In those days, Blake wasn’t afraid of anything. Naturally, his lack of astuteness landed him in the backseat of the sheriff’s car on several occasions, which didn’t help him in his youthful pursuit of the sheriff’s lovely princess; a princess he had hoped to get in the backseat of his Chevy Nova. Eventually, his enduring passion won Penny’s heart, regardless of what her father thought of him.
Blake and Penny lived their life traveling from rig to rig, until they finally landed in Chapleaux, where they settled down and raised their two lovely daughters. Surrounded by women, Blake spent much of his free time trying to make tomboys out of the girls, but Penny wouldn’t have it. She preferred raising cheerleaders and prom queens. He was big, but outnumbered and subdued as a whipped pup.
Blake’s heart broke and gave way to an unbearable ache that forced his mouth to burst out in an uncontrollable expression of grief as he reminisced about the once-happy days of his previous life. His eyes flooded with tears and his nose began to run. He sobbed and wept as his body lay on a pile of leaves that rustled from his irrepressible trembling. Wiping his tears and mucus from his face, he attempted to deny his state of weakness. The levee finally broke free. He had finally come to terms with the reality that he would spend the rest of his days without the love of his life and without his two lovely daughters. He cried late into the night until he fell asleep.
• • •
The next morning, Blake made the trek back to the highway to the metering station. He examined the mechanics of the structure, tweaking his list and confirming his needs. After he finished making the list, he hustled back into the woods near the bridge and called Dennis.
Concerned that Blake had never returned any of his calls, Dennis had considered going back to the woods to find him. But then his phone rang, waking him up in the darkness of his hotel room.
He reached for his phone and his hand flip-flopped until it finally grabbed the device.
“Yeah?” Dennis answered, his voice deep and scratchy.
“Good morning, Dennis! Are you ready to go to work?”
“Uh…yeah. I’m good.” Dennis yawned. “What can I do you for?”
“I need you to run some parts for me. Can you do that?”
Dennis smiled as sunshine entered through the gaps in the window curtain. “Well ain’t that the shit? Hell yeah I’ll run parts for ya! But uh…” Wearing only a loose pair briefs, Dennis sat up in his bed and scratched his morning hair. “Why the hell do you need me to run parts?”
“Listen, Dennis. It’s better if you don’t ask any questions. Just get a pen and paper and get ready to write. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure, Blake.” Dennis rummaged through the nightstand drawer and found a pen and hotel stationary.
“Great. Now listen closely, because I don’t want to do this twice. Got it?”
“Got it!” Dennis answered.
Blake called out a list of assorted reducers, bushings, shutoff valves, gauges, regulators, couplings and adapters. He concluded the list by requesting the equivalent of 1,375 cubic feet of compressed oxygen and 1,000 feet of half-inch copper tubing. That gave him just enough copper to hide it in the tall grass that led to the bridge over Buffalo Creek. Blake intended to connect the copper tubing to the cylinder under the bridge where he could easily open the valves and escape back into the woods without being detected. The hardest part would be getting the cylinder under the bridge.
After doing a few rough calculations, Blake surmised that he could infuse enough of the oxygen into the system to completely contaminate the gas line. Once the oxygen permeated the gas, it would be at risk of exploding even if the smallest spark were present. He would soon assemble the largest pipe bomb ever created by human hands.
Dennis wrote down every word Blake said. He had learned to be meticulous when transcribing for Blake. That was one of the things Blake liked about Dennis. He was reliable when it came to getting a job done.
Blake informed Dennis where he stashed his cash from the PPI settlement and insisted he use the money to purchase the materials. Dennis complied as usual.
Chapter 38
Details
Jonathan went over the details of his responsibilities with Joseph after Caesar’s monthly meeting ended. Joseph informed him who the most distinctive guests were and how they were to be catered to. Jonathan’s crew had to be exact when it came to the year of select wines and the location of breeding for select meats and poultry that some of the guests required. Entertaining the mega-elite was not for the faint of heart. Jonathan’s position had become a crash course in the peculiarities of the well-heeled.
Joseph also informed Jonathan of the security requirements. They were to quadruple their normal security staff that was contracted, staffed and administered by ex-members of elite US forces and the French Foreign Legion. Every visitor would have his own personal team, and there would be an exhaustive air and ground patrol throughout the grounds. No detail was to be overlooked.
• • •
Thomas and Senator McCutchen were discussing Jonathan’s swift upsurge in authority. They spoke out of the
sides of their mouths, watching with contempt as Joseph and Jonathan walked together nearly arm in arm.
“Look at how the old man’s groping over him,” sneered Thomas, his eyes squinting in revulsion.
Senator McCutchen glowered, appalled by Joseph’s apparent enthrallment with Jonathan.
“He treats him like his little pet. You should have heard him at dinner a couple weeks ago. He could hardly wait to reveal some of the secrets that we waited years to hear! Look at how he looks at him. You’d think he was his own flesh and blood.”
The two men continued to seethe in their abhorrence of the freshman Caesar.
Chapter 39
White Knuckles
Two weeks before CAR
With decades of teaching experience under his belt at a prestigious university, Dr. Liggin had the privilege of training the students who’d later became some of the most respected and authoritative economists and political analysts of the twenty-first century. He was also instrumental in training the students from MIT’s school of journalism who were interested in political and economic journalism. Without sounding cliché, his reputation preceded him.
As Sarah boasted previously, Dave had contacts in every discipline, social class and race. His warmhearted kindness mixed with a deep-seated expectation of excellence made him a dearly loved professor and friend to many of his students. In addition, his willingness to dispense grace to his students in times when life turned chaotic branded him as MIT’s favorite instructor. He extended due dates and rescheduled examinations without question in times of dire circumstances, but otherwise expected exceptional work from his admiring students. On more than one occasion he allowed a struggling student to complete extra credit in order to pass one of his classes, only to find out later that the student had become a successful businessman or journalist.
Never had he considered asking for favors in return for his kindness. Still, Dale and Sarah convinced him that his understudies would be more than willing to go out of their way to help him unite the American people in a time when economic and political corruption had become dinner-table conversations for those who chose to think about the times.
Consequently, Dr. Liggin, Sarah and Dale spent the next two weeks secretly planning an assembly that would take place on the opening day of the Commission’s Annual Retreat. Inside that drab, diminutive conference room in the New York ATF headquarters, the threesome was on lockdown. Living on coffee and take-out food, they went on a networking spree. Phone call after phone call, they received confirmation upon confirmation of attendance, including several high-profile journalists and news reporters. Because of Dr. Liggin’s credibility and lovable personality, his ex-students felt indebted to him and were anxiously willing to do whatever they could.
Dale’s and Sarah’s contacts with national militia leaders proved to be equally productive. They were shocked by the amount of support they received from the grassroots organizations. Although many militias had clearly right-wing agendas, they were willing to stand united with what the unusually strong showing of media backed.
The fact of the matter was the American working class had become skeptical of the US government and the globalism pushed by big business. Day after day, Americans heard news reports of huge job losses, bankruptcies and foreclosures. Only those who lived life in a bubble were unaware of the impending economic doom that was on the horizon. As a result, volunteers and organizers were not hard to come by. Everyone involved had to maintain a high level of secrecy. Naturally, Dr. Liggin and his two assistants demanded that all attendees and organizers maintain a code of secrecy so that Caesar would not cancel or reschedule the event.
• • •
For two weeks the crew pressed on. The show of support by his old friends and students encouraged Dave beyond anything he had imagined. He dedicated days at a time to the construction of the speech that he was expected to give. He wanted to convey a message that would resonate with the masses; it was the most important speech of his career.
In a conversation with Mark Travers, a militia organizer out of Missouri, Dave was offered a separate opportunity. With a landline in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, Dave listened to Mark as they chatted over the phone.
“Dave, I can’t express how grateful I am to you and your team. As dedicated veterans and citizens of this great nation, the members of the Missouri State Militia are proud to support your effort to bring people together to stand up for our constitutional rights; not only to congregate, but also to finally say, ‘Enough is enough!’ So, I just want to say thank you for doing what you’re doing.”
“You’re welcome, Mark. I’m thankful for your support as well. I have to say, I’m disappointed in myself for waiting so long to take a stand. I’ve been teaching and preaching the need for a true constitutional adherence in our governing body for decades, yet I was silent outside of MIT. I don’t know if it was fear of reprisal that kept me quiet, or fear of media ridicule. Either way, this is long overdue.”
“Right on, Dave. All of us here in the proud state of Missouri are behind you 100 percent. And just so you know, we’re expecting about five hundred of our troops. That should give you some idea of the numbers coming from our state.”
“Wow!” Dave sat up in his chair. “That’s phenomenal!”
“And Dave…”
“Yes?”
“There’s one other thing I would like to talk to you about.”
“Shoot.”
“As president of the Mississippi Valley Patriot Association, I’ve been asked by our membership to invite you to serve as the keynote speaker at our annual conference this year. I know that you have a busy schedule and I certainly understand if you’re not interested, but if you’re available this coming March, we’d love to have you. We believe all of our militias could use a little inspiration.”
Dave agreed to the engagement, assuming the Giants did not target him for assassination. He was aware that by taking a stand he could become a marked man.
• • •
As the days rushed by, Sarah and Dale busied themselves with their own conversations, spreading the files from the FBI investigation across the conference table. Sarah rummaged through the evidence, debriefing their supporters over the phone and by e-mail.
During a break in the commotion, the three organizers took a moment to relax. Sarah crossed her arms and put her head down on the table. Dale put his hands behind his head, pulled his head back, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and finally exhaled. Dr. Liggin put his feet up on a neighboring chair and crossed his arms. Exhausted and sore from the confines of their workspace and drowsy from lack of sleep, Dr. Liggin spoke as in a trance.
“You know, there’s a high probability that this story will break with plenty of time for Caesar to react. We could be dead by this time tomorrow; or worse yet, alive and standing before Caesar awaiting judgment.”
Sarah raised her hand with her head still nestled in her other arm and said in a tired, muffled voice, “I’m already dead!”
The other two men laughed. Dale sipped from a cup of steaming coffee.
“That’s real cute, Sarah,” said Dale, smiling as he put the cup down. “I think the doctor was being serious.”
Sarah cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Actually, I had already thought about that. In fact, I’ve been worried that the militia would attack The Palace.”
“Me to,” said Dave, standing to stretch. “There’s a host of disastrous scenarios. But we have to remain positive, hopeful that it’ll play a small part in the process of bringing America to terms that they’ve been sold a bill of goods. Like I said, we’re not going to resolve this by striking the Giants with one swift blow. It may take years before we convince the general public that the Giants are real—that they’re more than just a theory, more than a schizophrenic illusion.”
Sarah shook her head. She knew the truth. But David was right. The road ahead seemed daunting.
“As sure as I’m sitting here
,” said Dave, “I can promise you, that there’ll be hell to pay for what we’re doing. It should be obvious that Caesar’s not concerned about us. Their agenda will move forward without concern for our lives.”
Dave reached down and picked up one of the files.
“Just look here.” He opened the folder and sifted through the papers. “This document claims that Avere la Roush, a French member of Caesar, was personally responsible for the deaths of at least a half dozen members of the French Parliament before he rose to the top of Fleur de Blanche, the nation’s largest private banking institution.”
He grabbed another file from the table.
“Or how about this guy? Dominic Dimicio. Says here that he took control of his family’s Sicilian banking franchise by murdering his brothers, father and cousin. Of course, none of this made it to the press, because it came from their own mouths recorded from conversations inside The Palace. Apparently, his family was not willing to nationalize their banks. As a member of Caesar, he was obligated to link the family business with the World Bank and the rest of his global thugs. Like so many of these incidents, the family was killed in a tragic accident.”
“Figures,” asserted Sarah.
“I read that one,” added Dale. “Their private jet crashed over the Atlantic.”
Dr. Liggin continued. “So what does that say to you when each member’s connected to their nationalities respective monetary system? In almost every case, they either fill a void or make an appointment to a power position that became available because of some poor, unyielding fool’s untimely demise. On top of that, Skull and Bones or some other cult-like fraternity raises these men up to be globalists. They suck them into their fold like a siphon, into the more powerful elitist organizations.” Dave sat down and rested his elbows on his knees as he clarified his point.
Killing the Giants Page 20
