*The Election, volume 2 *
Copyright February, 2017
John D. Boyden Published by John D. Boyden at Shakespir
“The Election “ series Book two
Any errors or mistakes belong solely to the author. Thank you to my readers, friends, and family for your contributions to this book. It is the price you pay for knowing me.
A large tour crowd entered the room called sudatorium #3 gawking at the empty stage that ran the length of one wall. They saw large windows and several members remarked on a slight breeze as they moved toward the chairs arranged in in a semicircle in front of the stage. The Tour was greeted by an enthusiastic, handsome big man, once they were seated. No one could figure out how he appeared. No one saw him rise from under the stage. It was a magical start to their day.
“Good afternoon. I’m Jason Bourne, your tour guide. I will provide commentary as we travel through our exhibits on the historic election of 2016. The incredible events that led up to this particular election have changed the course of history and revealed flaws in our nation we continue to work on today. It’s only been twenty years, but our recovery continues. The election itself happened amid unbelievable chaos, division, disbelief, hatred, and terror. That is now part of our shared history.
Looking around our tour group today, there are over 200 of you today. Our exhibits are designed to bring history to life. We have used a few different ways to do that. I will explain as we proceed. Let’s go to our first exhibit on Devers, Texas.”
“Historians have selected the stunning Presidential announcement of Katryn Johnson on July 4, 2014 as the beginning. They do recognize the roots of our problems seen in that election go much further back, but felt, due to the events that followed, this singular announcement, the publicity it generated, and the unbelievable series of events that dogged the entire campaign, her announcement began the chain of events that culminated in the memorial we are looking at today.
Jason stepped down from the stage The stage disappeared He walked towards the seats. “You are now settled into comfortable seats around our 3D venue known as Suditorium #3.You will experience this event as it happened, with the sights, sounds and individual sense that you are there.” The lights dimmed and Jason vanished.
The center of the arena showed a group of people watching a speaker approach the speaking platform in the corner of a large tent. The crowd suddenly felt the storm, wind, and felt slashes of rain.
Heavy rain and flashes of lightening preceded Katryn’s confident steps to the lectern. She spoke over the storm.
“Good evening to all of you and thank you for coming out in this unexpected early storm, and staying here. Most of you present know me. For those of you who do not know me. I am Katryn Backtari Johnson I’ve raised a family, supported, and encouraged a husband, run a household, and won National honors as a teacher. I am Black, Asian, White, and American Indian, and divorced. I don’t think you can get more American than that! I am announcing my candidacy…”
The full blast of the storm struck. It was so quick, so violent, no one in the venue moved. The whole center of the arena turned white for a brief time. Four bolts of lightning struck on each side of where Katryn stood. The audience watched as lightening strands reached down from the sky. The multiple blasts of white light stunned everyone in the place.
The closest people to Katryn were knocked down by the blast. Time stood still. Moments later while people were dimly comprehending what had just happened, Katryn rose from behind the smoking lectern, her face and arms covered with branching, tree-like patterns created by the lightening. Her clothes were smoking. She looked like a ghost. The tent cover was gone. The rain had stopped. The sky was blue.
The audience looked at her in disbelief. “for the Presidency of the United States.” She paused to let that sink in. Then she continued, not aware of what she said or that anything unusual had happened. Her well-modulated voice showed no effects from the lightening. She spoke clearly and precisely.
"President Ronald Reagan said 'The one thing our Founding Fathers could not foresee -- they were farmers, professional men, businessmen giving of their time and effort to an idea that became a country -- was a nation governed by professional politicians who had an interest in getting re-elected. They probably envisioned a fellow serving a couple of hitches and then eagerly looking forward to getting back to the farm.'
It was true then, it is true today. Is it necessary that politics exist that way? I don’t believe it is. It is up to you, the people, to take back your government.’ It is up to us.” The audience was in awe as Katryn’s statement sunk in. Katryn Backtari Johnson fainted, falling forward, off of the slightly raised podium set up for the event. A doctor in the audience rushed to her side recognizing the red Lichtenberg figures from the passage of high voltage electrical discharges along the skin. Kathryn had been struck by lightning. He worked over her as a camera paused on the moment with the doctor at her side and closed with a shot of the clear blue sky full of sunshine.
The tableau froze. Jason appeared in front of the audience. the frozen scene in the venue sank into the floor, while Jason was talking.
“At the time,” Jason told the tour group, “the original video taken at the event went viral on the Internet as soon as it was posted. That video created a new Internet star and a candidate for the Presidency who would continue to grow in popularity from the barrage of incidents and unusual events that surrounded her. Many voters still had never heard much about her than the bizarre events until the debates began.
If you liked being part of the crowd and experiencing the event first hand, please donate to our ongoing effort to convert each of our presentations to that format. It is expensive. We are currently only able to develop one per year. You are the first tour group to attend Mrs. Johnson’s announcement, in person in two decades. You can swipe your phone right now on the left arm of your chair, while we change our sudatorium into a more familiar auditorium. Please do not get up. Stay in your seat.
Next, we will summarize several events on videos, watch her growth in popularity, and then we will take a look at the biggest disruptions of the 2016 election. Please stay in your seat. I have to emphasize that. PLEASE stay IN your seats. Our video room is coming to you.”
There was a pause, soft background sounds, and all the seats began to move. A few people jumped up from their seats at the movement. Those chairs stopped until the individual sat back down. Assistants rushed to make sure they sat back down. Then their chairs began to move again. The seats realigned themselves into a standard theater format even as the arena sunk into the floor. A very large screen rolled down in front of viewers above the stage, which reappeared.
Jason saw the expectation on the faces in the crowd, and turned on the second program of the day.
Katryn Backtari Johnson stood grinning, in the single picture, with officials from the Universal Lottery. She was holding a huge pasteboard check for one billion dollars. The dubbed vocal content was from her speech.
“This winning lottery ticket came to me in the mail. The unsigned letter that came with the ticket stated “This lottery ticket is personally donated to you to use as you see fit, should you win. I don’t have any money, but I believe in you.
The letter came from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The lottery people held up the process while they checked on validity of the ticket. The Department of the US treasury was notified. I consulted with lawyers and lottery experts while all the nation waited, after the announcement that there was a single winner. Initially, I requested no publicity. I was busy campaigning, and doubted the validity of the winning ticket myself.
Everybody has been wondering what I would do with this incredible amount of money. I wondered myself. My first thought was family and friends. That took only a few million. The rest went into the creation of a new political party. The power of money amazes me. I had help. Frank Vormann and his staff worked out all the details. Within a month, we had a draft for our party constitution and bylaws. Within two months we were working in all fifty states, building state organizations. We were fortunate to recruit experienced organizers to help us. We had lots of barriers to overcome. Each State has their own requirements. At the end of six months we met all the requirements in each of the fifty States, the District of Columbia, and Puerto Rico. to be listed on the ballot. We also found ourselves with lawsuits to defend.
This video concluded with Party sponsored demonstrations.
The next video picked up with the familiar voice over. “Later in the the 2016 election campaign Mrs. Johnson revealed more about herself and the campaign.”
The video moved in from a large shot of a big crowd to focus on the candidate.
“Trump began putting me down as ‘not a real American’, as soon as he saw my poll numbers rise, I sent in my DNA to prove the background my parents told me. When it came back I was stunned. This led to more protests, constant news speculation fake news, and more craziness. I still don’t know who told the press about my checking on DNA. The report came back in ten days.
My genetic profile is basically half American Indian and half black, with a smidgen of white That was a shock to me. There were unusual genetic factors they could not identify, about twenty percent the report says. I’ve made those reports available to the Press. The response was crazy! Fake news began claiming I was an alien, from outer space. Insane. I wanted to know more about my birth parents, so I immediately put investigators on the trail. It turns out that I was kidnapped as a child from the Navaho Nation, the only child and daughter of a chief. I was protected by my father with my real father’s knowledge. My mother had an amazing history too. We don’t know why yet, but people wanted to kill me, even then.
You know my history, the history I grew up believing. I’ve spoken about it often enough on the campaign trail. As I traveled our great nation I met people who made me realize my life was a walk in the park compared to their experiences. I’ve told you many of their experiences. Others have succeeded in overcoming incredible horrors in their life. Both Clinton and I have shared many stories.
I lived all my life as an outsider. Too often I was the outsider. I was rejected as too light in the 60s, disparaged by non-Muslim in the 70s, when I explored the Koran and Islam, and later I found myself denigrated and condemned by Muslims for choosing Christianity. I’ve heard the term mud American used to describe me so often, I adopted the title and used it in my first speech. I am still too light for many Americans. And not light enough, for others. We have to stop the rhetoric. We must come together as a Nation and agree on our goals.
I thought my heritage was Iranian and US, Midwestern. I’ve been told all my life my historical racial makeup included Black, Asian, White, and American Indian. I ignored the putdowns and typical insults that denigrated me as a teacher, as a person, and as a woman. Those who have sneered at me as just a girl, or just a woman, or just a mother are short-sighted. Seeing it happen all around me in today’s America is why I ran for office. I know I can make a difference. I have already made a difference in this election. The polls show the three of us are tied in public opinion. You the voter are getting my words and goals out to your friends. I want to represent all Americans and all the diverse views we hold. I listen. I care. We have a nation to heal, and a positive, forward looking world to build.
I raised my family, supported my husband, ran a smooth household and won National honors as a teacher. Often, as a child, I would dream I was a mayor, or in the State legislature, or running a Federal agency. Even my dreams were restricted by my history and the low expectations I used to place on myself. When the big crash came my little, safe world fell apart.
I lived in Skyrl, Iowa, a small rural town that closed down, step by step. The cascading effects of the Great American Depression of 2010 ended my school, my teaching career, and my town. The local angry populace tried to blame me and make me, and others like me, into something we were not: foreigners who made it happen. It wasn’t the first time and it happens almost every day. One opponent rants and raves I’m not a real American. Trump’s family came as immigrants. And he screams about immigrants and anything else he can find for the news feeds. The other candidate, Clinton, says both of her opponents have no experience, and are unfit to be President. They are both wrong. I am American.”
Even now, our United but divided States, are recovering. There were too many States with a long way to go before the number of jobs lost during the economic crash of 2010 recovered to pre-crash levels. We are making progress.
The small town of Skyrl Iowa was one victim I lived with. The single employer that kept the town afloat was Mercer Manufacturing. Their selling markets dried up overnight. They couldn’t resupply their manufacturing materials or sales. The local version of the company quit trying after a few weeks, and closed within six months.
The farm community desperately rallied to prevent the closing of the school, and the eventual closing of the town. They saw both coming. It was impossible.
Mercer Manufacturing held most spots on the school board and the local city council. The wives and husbands of the manufacturing employees made up the greatest number of teachers and that was that. A few were transferred, most laid off and others dispersed to the four winds frantically hunting for work. Hunting for some way to survive. It wasn’t long before I was hunting too.
The school closed. The town shut down. Most people fled to nearby larger communities like Newton and Grinnell. I sent my resume out for three years with little positive response. I borrowed money to interview and travel. Finally, I moved home to Devers, Texas to keep my kids in school, although it was to new schools and only a slightly larger community. My new life began.
The video shifted to the third Presidential debate on October 19, 2016. The voice over explained. “Many of you may recall this debate was less than one month before the general election. Early voting began as early as August in some States.”
Viewers could see each of the three candidates were in closed glass boxes. There was a buzz rising from the crowd as the moderator stepped forward. “Each of the three candidates are in bullet proof and explosion resistant boxes, for their own safety.” She explained.
“After several attempts on the lives of our candidates during the campaign it was felt that this reality needed to be dealt with, even with the presence of a large number of police and with this building being surrounded by the National Guard. I am Sylvia Mardin, your host and moderator. From your left to your right, we welcome Donald Trump, Katryn Backtari Johnson, and Hillary Rodham Clinton to our stage at Donnybrook University.
Each of our candidates will have two minutes to present their opening statement. After that we will ask each candidate as many of the prepared questions we can over the next hour. We will conclude with questions from our undecided voters present in another room, who are watching on a big screen TV and the questions we have received through social media. One minute for rebuttal will be offered to any candidate verbally attacked by another candidate. Let’s begin.”
The audience watched as the screen flared white followed by the fuzzy pixels of non-transmission seen by millions that covered the screen for a full three seconds.
Jason was in front of the screen. “The nation was in shock, certain that the candidates were dead. There was no communication for several hours. The talking heads came on to tell us that ‘something happened’ but they did not know what. Experts pontificated on causes and what might have happened for the next hours. Finally, official word came down directly from the President.” Jason clicked the video and stepped into the shadows.
“My fellow countrymen. First, let me tell you the three Presidential candidates are safe and were not injured. What happened was a combination of an EMP attack that took out communications in the area and a bomb at Donnybrook. The studio was demolished.
After consultation with the candidates directly and the debate planners and with the host school, we all agreed to proceed with this event in the hopes that we could catch the perpetrators and reduce future threats. What happened has to be considered a terror incident. We do not know yet if it is from other nations interfering in our election process or whether it is home grown terrorism. A combined investigation of all our intelligence departments continues to evaluate the information as it arrives.”
Jason paused the video once more and stepped forward. “What only a very select few knew then, was that none of the candidates were at Donnybrook. The NSA had identified credible information from multiple sources that some kind of attack would take place at the debate. We know now that there were at least two separate and distinct plots taking place. The bomb was traced to a wealthy individual whose goal was killing all three candidates. The EMP was initially traced to Russia, long before it became clear that it was the Chinese. It took another two years before the intelligence committee could clear that matter up. The ongoing disruption of this election kept real news, false news, and misinformation flowing through our media exchanges throughout the next administration.
Our next presentation is what we call A Confluence of Conspiracies. Included are both small events and large events. Many of these events leave us with unanswered questions. Each recorded event contributed to the changes in our world today. NASA and other agencies helped compile these videos and the information in our stories. They joined a world-wide effort to provide these historic events for your viewing. We owe thanks to the world dissatisfaction with the status quo, the media, and especially we must give thanks to the people who stood up, and continue to fight for the rights of others to this very day.”
The voice over told the viewers, “We are looking at small church in a quiet section of a small town outside of St. Louis, Missouri in August of 2016. There was a small party, of twenty, celebrating the nomination to the State Senate of one of their own, due to a recent and sudden suspicious death. There was cheering as Archie Waldum walked to the lectern. Archie is talking to a group of friends and supporters in their one room, neighborhood church.”
“The media may help us. They have finally responded to most of the shootings. We know that the results will not be consistent throughout our great nation. We have seen the problems again and again. With your help, I will craft a position for my candidacy that will resonate and lead us to victory. First let’s pray for guidance and resolve. I have six names to start us on our journey. We know these unneeded tragedies, too well. I will pause thirty seconds after each name.
Each name brought responses from the gathering. “We all know, and have heard or read about, many others. Fact of being, true love is a rarity these days. Hate is at the wheel and leading us all off of the cliff, into the abyss of stupidity, as the first lesson of love remains the hardest for too many of us to master.
Hate continues in the world, because greed needs it to survive, having found it to be the best tool to achieve its’ own survival, it assures the survival of hate in grand fashion. Now let that sink in and think about all of those you’ve found to be chock full of hatred and rethink just why they’re so hate-filled.
In my experience, people only come to understand a given issue, if it happens to them, or they are profoundly affected by it. Otherwise, to them, the experience means nothing. Nada, zip, zilch. And since most white people will never experience the level of oppression that people of color have, most will never come to understand it, let alone, acknowledge that it is happening.
You see, only the oppressed, know what oppression truly is. Those who view it from a safe perch, have exactly no clue at all that they’re silently condoning it all, by choosing to remain silent, which is, in and of itself, a large part of the problem that creates oppression in the first place.
The purposeful ignorance of their blatant silence, is also a mechanism of the oppression being inflicted upon the oppressed and it is so deafening, that it actually kills some of the oppressed and yet, the silent proclaim that they are innocent because of their own inaction. Such a statement couldn’t be further from the truth.
We know The DOJ report on Ferguson police practices found protesters were justified in their demonstrations, and found that Ferguson police systematically discriminated against our citizens.
The racists still protest. Peter D. Kinder, who has been our lieutenant governor since 2005, said “There is more racism in the Justice Department than anywhere I see in the St. Louis area. We’ve continued come an enormous way in 50 years, that’s not to say that we don’t have still more to do. It is the left, it is the Eric Holder and the Obama left and their minions that are obsessed with race while the rest of us are moving on beyond it.”
“You all know how I feel about our Lt. Governor. I…”
There was a pounding at the church door. Before Preacher Randall could reach the door, it was kicked open. He was blasted with the first shot. There were six hooded people dressed in white carrying shotguns. Party goers, trapped in the Church, dove to the floor screaming, they hid behind the altar, and under pews. Crying was heard in the background. Archie strode forward hands held high, to stand directly in front of the leader, marking himself as the next victim. “Do you plan to kill all of us?”
“Yup. That’s what we do to upstart niggers in Missouri.”
“Sir, may I ask you why you would do this?”
“You can ask,” The leader laughed. The gun barrel rose to Archie’s face.
Archie knocked the barrel to the side and the shotgun rang out. While he was fighting with the leader, the other five began shooting the unarmed. Blood splashed everywhere. Walls, windows, pews, and the floor were covered in blood. The shotgun blasts covered the screams in the small room.
In the back of the church, behind the altar, several men rose with pistols firing back. Soon the five interlopers were dead. Archie had subdued the leader. Breathing hard, he yelled “check outside.” Looking around the Church he saw Sara holding firmly to her pistol at the altar. “Please set your pistol down, Sara and would you call the hospital for ambulances?” She nodded. Archie said “Thanks,”
Next, he spoke to another friend. “Aaron, would you please call the State Hiway Patrol and report this attack.”
Archie took the hoods off of the leader and the five others to confirm their identity. “Charles bring your telephone. I want close-ups of each of these monsters. He identified the five counselors and their leader, the city council chair, naming each and their positions in the community.”
The three men returned from checking the perimeter. “All clear Archie. There is an unlit cross planted outside. It’s ready to be lit.”
“Thanks. Would you find something to tie up their leader?”
“I’ve got it Archie. Fred pulled out a set of handcuffs, flipped the man on his stomach, and locked them on the unconscious man behind his back,
The video continued with Archie watching as members came forward to check the fallen. In the silence the voice returned “They were fortunate to have a doctor and nurse who were uninjured by the attack. Out of the twenty attending, eight were dead and five more were wounded.”
The State Highway Patrol arrived with the local police ten minutes after two ambulances and began investigating. Taking no chances, they detained everyone in sight and sat those they could in the pews with a police guard standing guard over separated groups of five, talking to Archie individually, before adding him to one group in a pew.
The voice closed the video saying, “The council leader was still unconscious on the floor. He would wake up in the hospital. His story was far different. His lies were easily disproved. Counselor Blevins did not realize the entire video was published on YouTube and copies were in the possession of the State and local police, as well as the DOJ.”
That didn’t stop false news reports of BLACKS MASSACRE WHITES and other notorious stories claiming a terrorist group of American Blacks assassinated their own city council.
The video closed with false news headlines and stories published around the world.
The next video began with the now expected voiceover. The recording, from drones, moved in from the outskirts of a beautiful, well protected estate before suddenly cutting to the inside.
“In a well-lit, open room, the following conversation takes place. Security members protecting the small group present turn this into the classic shadowy back room, on a big estate somewhere in the US or perhaps not in the USA. There are only a few people gathered in this room.”
“is it time yet?”
“Because it is always time to do something in our political arena. Every year. All year long. A lot of projects are underway. We don’t wait on or for new people like yourself.”
“That’s right. You have nothing to offer that has not been considered. This is your first meeting, so shut up and listen. That’s your only job this time. Next time, you may get to speak. We will win and lose and end up winning again like we always do.”
The third man chuckled. “He’ll learn. Is everything is going as expected? Are the agreements in place?”
“Good. It won’t matter who wins. The President will do what we say.”
“Exactly. This has worked for five elections. It should continue to work.”
“It damn sure didn’t work with Kennedy or Johnson”
Kennedy and Johnson weren’t one of the last five elections, were they?
“You two have to be kidding.” The youngest of the six men present interrupted. “How can either of you possibly say it worked with this horrible example we have in the white house right now? That sumbitch has tried to tear down half the successes we built, and…”
There was a knock at the door, interrupting the tirade. Nobody responded, although all eyes turned toward the locked door. Before they could pick up the conversation again, a charge exploded blowing in the door.
At the same time Six men dressed in black came blasting through the outside windows shooting. There were twelve attackers who killed everyone in the room. Without saying a word, all exited through the opening left from blasting the door.
“Later news reports would note that one attacker appeared injured and three servants noticed by the attackers were additional kills.” More headlines followed.
“This next recording was downloaded from a billionaire’s archives by US hackers sponsored by our FBI, After the war began in the Ukraine. The participants were all identified and were killed one by one by professionals who are still unknown.”
“We’ve got to have another war.”
“Yes, I know. But. You know who you have to convince.”
“I do. But how? He’s already rejected us twice. You know he already has more money than God.”
“Simple. make him a hero. He loves the publicity. Fame would delight him. Frame your argument around that. AND offer him more money. People like him always want more money.”
A third voice interrupted. “Let’s stop a moment and think about this. “Is war really the only way we can proceed?”
“This next recording was downloaded from Russian President Vladimir Putin’s own archives by US hackers sponsored by our State Department. As you can see Vladimir Putin is conversing with his generals in Russia and over the video opening is a statement of the typical double think of human aggression represented in this quote.”
“We do not want to destroy any people. It is precisely because we have been advocating coexistence that we have shed so much blood.” Yasser Arafat, PLO, 1975.”
“Today we begin to make Russia what it was and what will be again.”
“We are going to re-take the Ukraine.”
“An invasion? The world will line up against us.” There were several nods of cautious, quick agreement, as they watched their leader with worried expressions.
“Have none of you been watching the western game? It is all diplomacy. They do nothing. All barks with inconsequential nibbling. Look at Syria. Look at Iraq. Look at Afghanistan. The Americans will talk and do nothing more than economic embargoes. We are not Al Qaida. We are in the game of state’s rights. There is nothing to be concerned about. They will bark like dogs, and we will rebuild our nation and control the world.”
Vlad looked at his lap dog generals in obvious amusement. “Relax, gentlemen, controlling the world is not on this plate. We will begin by easily retaking Crimea.
Here is what we are going to do. I admit that I’ve adapted the script from the US Vietnam experience, adding in some purely Russian touches. We will become the loving, concerned father as we help our children be free. It will be true Russian democracy. Just like Lenin in 1917. We will throw this freedom for the people and democratic self-determinism in their stupid, uncultured, American faces day by day.
Their lapdogs in Europe will follow that little American yapper. We have nothing to fear. With correct planning, Europe will fall too. That is another plan. Yes, longer term, but certain to happen. Here is how we begin.
First comes the Crimea. That will be easy. We have supporters and we will add our own experts to that group. This single blow will stun the world. Following the American model and the models set by the Spring Revolutions, it will be an uprising by the people.
World response will show us how little or much will happen. If the response is what I expect, we will begin the true invasion in August.” He spoke for about an hour more. Everyone was smiling and laughing when they left.
“Now we move back to the U.S. This next clip is from another set of recordings from NASA.
“Oliver Stanley Shackington III, was fourth generation wealth. Over the past fifty years he became used to people doing what he told them to do. His ego became him. Whatever he chose to do was the right thing to do. He made a lot of money and wanted more. He would get rid of anyone in the way. It started with more devious ways to destroy competitors, but now would turn to killing off many in his circle who blocked him on one deal or another in the past. He was going to savor each and every death. He looked forward to an absolute domination that was not going to happen.”
Oliver handed the list to his best man. Geoff over saw his own business, Resolution, a problem solving group available and used by businesses around the world. No problem was too big, or too small for this man and his many contacts. The amazing record of successes of Resolution was on the public side of his operation. Another billionaire had set him up in business after Geoff took care of several irritations for him. The billionaire had already been paid back. Business was good. The business continued to grow. Additional staff were hired.
“Kill them all.”
Yes Sir. May I ask a question, first?”
“Oh, all right. What?”
“When you say kill them all, you do mean every individual billionaire trying to control the Presidential election?”
“Yes. Every single one. Except me, of course. Are we clear?”
“Yes Sir. Thank you sir. We’ll get right on it.”
One bullet in the head eliminated this misbegotten plot.
“Excuse me, Geoff,” Oscar was stunned. “I thought he said “except me.”
“You are correct Oscar,” Geoff replied. “However, my real employer marked Roberts as my very first target, with the action to be taken once he ordered the killings. “He pays more and is far more supportive of his employees than Roberts ever was. Since you probably won’t see another check and we have to say you’re now unemployed. Is it possible you need or want a job?”
“Good. You’re hired. Clean out the safe”
Geoff handed him a bag. “Especially the documents. The boss wants those. We can split any money you find. That may help with your cash flow.”
Thirty minutes later they were headed back to the car.
“Although both men were identified. Neither was ever found or arrested.”
The voice over added five minutes of headlines with videos showing brief clips of the stories in the news following several suspicious deaths of rich and powerful people and other major headlines.
“Around the world unexpected events, deaths, resignations, and accidents punctuated the news. Every year it was the same old news with different names and variations in accidents from the previous year. Most accidents were reported in local news outlets with occasional national and international reporting in the weeks and months of 2014 and the two years that followed.
Few understood many were killings. Yet, so many scandals, accidents, and sudden illnesses, were fabricated, it was inevitable that hints of the truth would leak out.
After all, over the past seventy years, there have been too many accidents, too many scandals, and too many sudden illnesses requiring sitting government officials to step down. Any skeptical member of the public or enterprising reporter had to see that there was a clear emerging pattern. As the number of deaths spiked, so did the news. News reporters died too.
We don’t believe all of these deaths were planned. People do die, people get sick, and people change their minds and their lives, finding new career paths. That’s why mundane excuses serve so well for the nefarious” problem solvers” of our world when they have clear goals.”
This video concluded with three news clips of assassins being killed or captured, and a flurry of video reports on billionaire deaths over a two-week period.
Jason came out front. “It’s lunch time. We will be serving you right here. Stay in your chairs as the move. Once the chairs have repositioned, just watch in front of you. Remember. Stay in your chairs.”
A soft sound could be heard and the chairs repositioned. This time no one tried to stand up. People were smiling and talking to each other. As the sections stabilized, tables rose from under the floor. Each table was laden with food. A great feast had been prepared. It was an incredible feed. There was lots of talking and laughter as the members of the tour ate.
Far below the tour, in the depths of the earth, in the control room, a discussion was taking place. Wu Lang the operator told Director Bernard Samuelson, “This isn’t right. It’s capricious and …and it’s mendacious.”
“Yes, Wu. You are right. It is. We are deceiving our visitors. Lying to them, if you will. But there is purpose to it Due to costs, the original plans to celebrate re-opening the Center were cut back. We barely had the funds to re-open. That’s one reason we planted the request for funds, so early in the presentation. Congress and our competitors want us to just go away.”
“What’s next? Do we hypnotize them to donate?”
“Maybe. I hope it doesn’t come to that. The plan the council chose was.to reveal this one deception, at the end of the tour, and explaining to our tour group what we did and why we did it, without getting into the politics.”
“Do you think it will work?”
“We’ll know by the time people leave, today. Adding the chemicals to the air in this enclosed location should result in total suggestibility.
They both looked at the video, watching as each member ate the single pill on their plate, before piling non-existent foods onto their plates with non-existent utensils, and acting as though they were feasting on their favorite foods.
“Our scientists were right, you know.”
“Our scientists were convinced that adding their suggestivity blend of chemicals would result in complete hypnosis within this confined area. It requires only two applications. First when they enter the room, and the second within a half an hour before any group suggestion is made. They will be delighted to see they were right.”
“Are there any scientists left?”
“Only a few, here. Most have been temporarily placed with other companies who are building on a few of our selected developments. Everyone knows they are on call back. Fund raising is underway. We will also lease several of the products we have developed. We are a private non-profit. Now, it’s all about the money.”
“Wow. Even Jason is deceived by the food.”
“Yes. He was not told. See how he is laughing and talking as he enjoys what is not there. The power of the mind is incredible.”
Soon, everyone was full, after a fashion. They convinced themselves they were full. They patted their bellies, sighed, pushed back, and ignored the empty tables, talking among themselves. The tables sunk down into the floor.
Jason stood up. Returned to the stage, visible once more. He yelled “wasn’t that great?” A chorus of “yeahs”, and “you bet”, “good feed” and other comments returned to him. He announced, “we are ready to continue showing you our next presentation.” He asked, “are you ready?” The crowd response was positive.
“Next we have a tragedy to show you. This one is more fictional. It was crafted as accurately as we could, from available records, but all the participants are actors. It brings one new addition that may be disturbing to you. In your head, you will hear both the thoughts of the characters the actors are portraying in their voice, and narrative description in a different voice.
We call this video: It’s a Plan”
The video opened with a huge building as the camera moved through the large bay window on the the top floor.
“I’m fed up” Frank Vormann said to Claire for the hundredth, perhaps thousandth time.
“Me too. We’ve seen the same horrible news together. The violence, the destruction, the unwillingness to change.”
“Yes. The gridlock in Washington is a perfect example. The opinionated, orchestrated lies about public and private figures. The stupidity and cupidity of too many public figures. The ungodly amount of hidden money funneled into convincing a gullible public into supporting their unreasoning positions. It is everywhere. National, State, and local. It’s got to stop.”
“People believe what they choose to believe. So, what the hell are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking we need to find a new unknown candidate to run on a third party ticket.”
“My God, man. Do you have any idea what is involved?”
“Not really, but I think we have to start a political group somewhere, get it registered and probably file in all fifty states.”
“You’re right as far as you go. Do you realize what you have just outlined is thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of man hours, outlandish money, and just getting started is something you want to plan for at least five years ahead. You were thinking of the 2020 election?
“No! This election.”
“You are crazy! It can’t be done. You won’t win this one.”
Frank Vormann smiled at Claire. “I may not win. Sometimes a fish is just a fish. Sometimes it’s a shark and not a fish at all. There are more than one kind. The seas are deep, and so are the political waters. There are dangers everywhere. That is part of living on the global speck of the Universe we inhabit.”
Claire rolled her eyes and left.
Later, Frank Vormann finished his coffee as he read the news. He buzzed for Claire. He needed to talk. She came. “Yes, Frank? Ah, need to talk?”
He nodded and smiled. “The insanity in the world is increasing, not decreasing. Something has to be done about it. Violence seems to be at an all-time high. So is this outrageous political correctness? Using words like Nazi, wop, nigger, oreo, dago, limey, wog, honky, whitey, wigger and redneck, is wrong these days. Hell, now they are becoming the basis for lawsuits and world-wide calls for boycotts and the Facebook and Twitter attacks are unimaginable only a year ago. Worse, recipients of these insults resort to physical attacks on the speaker for what they post on Facebook. People are attacked in their homes, on the streets, at work, at church. Nothing is sacred or protected.
Fortunately, these attacks are still rare. Supposedly, that is why it’s news. Too often there are other, underlying political agendas stoking both the rage and the praise. Nothing is what it seems, any more. Complications are everywhere.”
He mused aloud. “Has life ever been so simple and direct that people said what they meant, without hidden agendas? Probably not,” he concluded. Frank poured himself a brandy, and asked Claire if she wanted one. She passed.
His thoughts shifted. “The worst thing about violence in this world of ours is the violence is focused on the old, the young, the innocent, the poor and women. It simply is unacceptable. It has to be stopped.
Claire said “You know our story, the human story, shows us the weak are constantly targeted.”
“Yes. I do know that. I want to see that changed. Politics is the only possible way, I fear.”
“Frank, it’s not going to change. Not until human nature changes “
“Yes. It pains me to agree. What you say is a world-wide, accepted perspective. I have to try. It is hard to keep in mind the reason all those publicized stories are news, is because they are rarer than they appear. They are news just because they are published in the news of the day. The stories keep coming. Violence, corruption, lying, cheating, robbery, and the worst: war. There it is. The old, the young, the innocent, the poor and women are all attacked indiscriminately, without regard to anything beyond body count and the grabbing of land and power.” That, he thought, is democracy in action. Equal opportunity to be a victim.
Claire patted him on the shoulder. “How are you going to change it?”
“I don’t know. All I have is this idea that we as a human race can do better.”
Claire left him to his thoughts. She had work to do. “Buzz, if you need me.”
Frank knew that in thousands of houses throughout the US that very morning, many news readers were sharing that same kind of visceral disgusted reaction to their daily news as they ate breakfast, sipped tea or coffee, or, smiling down at his brandy, something else. He read through the news-as so many others were, sometimes just headlines in their newspaper, on their hand-held device, or on an actual desktop, like his own powerful computer. A news headline saying desktop purchases were taking a turn for the better and stocks were climbing back made him chuckle again.
Frank’s gift was he saw unexpected moments coming before they arrived. He saw a path to mold a more positive future. Those moments of surprise existed in every life, on every day. Most never saw them come or go, unless the moment slapped them in the face, or they caught themselves looking, paid attention, and, least likely, realized the truth of what they saw. Moments for seizing destiny were rare. Daily, brief moments unfurl, with the potential for great personal change. Moments of possibility for the human race were often ignored. Most go unrecorded, unmemorable. What would happen if the right moment was seized? Would it still be buried under the I don’t care label? Would it spark a response? Would it cause change?
His coffee done, Frank Vormann began his research. Better said, he dabbled and explored. He sent out one email to his twenty paid staffers who now had an instant new assignment. They researched, throwing their planned week into disarray.
In forty years Frank never voted, not once. He thought, an innocent doesn’t begin to describe me. I guess I’d better find out a few facts. He made a few calls to politically involved friends and began his own researching on the Internet. Copious notes and questions were sent to the manager of the paid staff for routing. He found there were an incredible variety of organizations online who claimed to be parties but annually failed to meet requirements to be considered legitimate, qualified parties in all fifty-one States and the District of Columbia. There were only two.
The Liberal Party of the USA and its counterpart the Conservative Party of the USA. As he researched the two, he found that there were numerous name changes over the years and each side had a history of bouncing from being more liberal to more conservative in varying degrees, and back again!
Frank realized that immediate history and membership recruiting could easily affect what was popular to the voting public at any time during any election cycle.
The history was fascinating. He could get lost in that aspect. He grit his teeth, after allowing one hour and moved on. He looked at other potential Parties, including many historical, defunct parties. The Socialist American Party was growing, he noted with mild interest.
Colors seemed to be popular too. So were animal mascots. He found the Red-White-Blue party, the Green party, and the Paisley Party. He read about the Bull Party, the War Eagle Party, and the Buffalo Party. It was fascinating. People were crazy. No doubt about that.
Then the calls from the brief messages he’d left, began to come in. It paid to be a billionaire. He knew personally many of the players, although he didn’t play. Contracts, contacts and running big businesses required knowledge and knowing people and how to use them. Those contacts certainly helped. Moreover, Frank stayed in the background. He let his CEOs play all the political game, up to and including donations. He didn’t care who got what, as long as his business got positive results.
The first callbacks he received came from his chosen managers within the family business. It didn’t matter that right now he was the only family member, and sole owner for that matter. His three overseers checked in within thirty minutes of the call. Frank talked to them most days. He pulled out his planning book and requested the data he figured he needed. He knew the coming months would be busy.
Three months later, Geoff was enjoying a satisfying steak dinner at his hotel in Cleveland, after a full week of killing off additional billionaires named by his boss. Twelve were dead. His cell rang. It was his boss. “Another name you say? He nodded. “Can you spell it? Ok, I’ve got it, Frank Vormann?” He spelled the name back to his client. He thought. Good. I get to nail another smug billionaire.
At Vormann’s office, the next morning it was another busy day in New York.
There was a buzz at the penthouse entrance at 10 AM.
A policeman stood impatiently at the entrance. Claire studied him. Everything looked right. She inquired, “How may I help you?”
He pushed a scruffy young man into view. “I was working down stairs and this guy says he’s got one of Mr. Vormann’s passes to see him”
“Can You show me?”
He held it up to the view port. “Here.”
“Please wait. I’ll get Mr. Vormann.”
Claire went to Frank’s office, finding him drinking his morning coffee. She explained the situation. Frank smiled. “That’s why I give those passes out. Everybody needs a helping hand from time to time.”
He went to the door, asked for the pass to be placed on the small turntable built into the door. He examined it. The examined pass had to be one of his. He opened the door. The policeman introduced himself as Jed Slawson, and pushed Stinky Magruder forward gently. “This is the guy.”
“Why hello Stinky. Good to see you.” He shook hands with the unwashed, homeless man. “I haven’t seen you for over a month.”
Claire came up beside Frank. Them stepped back. Stinky smells she thought. The policeman asked, :may I leave?”
“Certainly, officer. And thank you for bringing Stinky up.”
The officer saluted, turned to leave. Then turned back with his gun in hand. He fired three bullets killing all three. He closed the door after verifying the kills, He trotted down stairs and left the building.
Jason told the audience, “we’ve got two more videos for you before we move on to our final display room. We talked about adding our mind mimic process to this project. But presenting the character’s thoughts in your mind was overkill. We decided quickly there is too much going on. We are presenting you with our best guess of what actually happened in Devers Texas. There are many versions of what happened. This movie is filled with actors and special effects, recreating Devers Texas on November 1, 2016.
We treated this like a Hollywood film. You will hear the narrator explain what you see and hear, where that is needed. And where appropriate you will see thoughts written on the white frame just below the video. You will feel as if you are traveling with the main character. Please remember that you aren’t.
A man is standing in an unremarkable kitchen. Erban Fredericks was an unprepossessing man. He looked typical, normal, even nice. He possessed normal. He was pleasant, but forgettable. That was his personal magic. His description fit millions of men. Over the years, he picked up additional ways to be forgettable, unremarkable and escape notice. He studied himself in the mirror that fateful morning, he thought his retirement time was near. His profession did not guarantee a long life. He passed the usual life expectancy over fifteen years ago. He padded his growing belly and decided a lighter breakfast than usual would serve his needs. He had work to do.
He stood in the small efficiency kitchen in his apartment, and turned on the coffee maker, then went for his morning run. He propped the door open a few millimeters, so he didn’t need to carry a key in his running shorts. He had no pockets, anyway. He jogged his normal rapid trip through the neighborhood, noticing the few who rose as early as he did. After his run, he showered, changed, and savored two cups of coffee with his single donut.
He reviewed the file on his assignment, once more. Today was the designated day. Most of the past week was vacation, interspersed with observation and calculation of the opportunities he observed to complete the assignment, if the specified parameters of his job changed. He gave that no thought. The skills used were standard procedure with any planned hit he made. He was cleaning and loading his favorite pistol, when his first error of the day slapped him in the face. It wouldn’t be his last.
Erban had a long list of previous personal errors and the remedies he employed to correct damaging situations. It paid him well to study every perceived mistake he made. He did that with every hit, updating his personal record. Any of his previous employers would be petrified, if they knew the detailed records he kept.
What troubled him about this error was how it happened. In the end, it didn’t matter. He knew he would clean it up and go on. He hated going back over a situation to fix it. He knew he could have hired cleaners to do that. Erban was a solo project, “Doesn’t play well with others, don’t you know.” He could still hear his third grade teacher tell his mother that little gem. It took time, but he did learn to play better with others before he left school. He just hated doing it. Depending on anyone else was anathema. He didn’t do it.
His landlord was a wizened old lady who was reluctant to rent to him, at first. The small private room was ideal. His needs were few. His focus was work. He slept there, ate there most days, and except for his daily runs, walking the streets, and exploring the current assignment’s movements, he remained as invisible to the larger community as he could.
Mildred Housland entered the kitchenette. Erban heard her come in, looked down at his pistol and hid it behind his back, turning around. The cleaning materials were blocked by his back.
“Good morning, Miss Mildred.”
“Good morning Mr. Johansen. What are you doing?”
I’m getting ready for a trip to the store. What are you doing this morning?”
“I’m collecting rents and going to the bank.”
“I thought I was paid up through this week?”
“You are. I wanted a cup of tea this morning.” She brushed past him and said “Oh!”
“I’m sorry Miss Mildred, You weren’t supposed to see my tools.
“Mr. Johansen, Mildred said sternly, “You know I hate guns. I do not allow them in this house. I’ll have to take that gun now. Then I will call the police.”
Erban sighed. “I understand Miss Mildred. He picked up the gun and handed it to her. He hit her once, carefully, and on the chin. He caught the gun and Miss Mildred as both began to fall. Setting the gun on the table, he checked Mildred’s pulse. Perfect, he thought. I didn’t hit her too hard. He began to clean up the scene.
He tied Miss Mildred with a cord from his kit. Then he laid her out on his bed. Erban knew she would wake up with one new pain, but she would wake up. Unnecessary killings were avoided. There was no need to kill her. He would be gone before she could get free. The job would be over and Erick Johansen, his nom de plume for this month, would vanish, never to be found again.
He put his few belongings in his back pack and went to the outside door. His eyebrows rose. He heard a burst of rapid gunfire close by. A man was yelling. Erban couldn’t decipher the words. Arabic, he thought. Then something hit the outside of the door. He smelled gasoline. “Damn” he thought, certain now of what was happening.
Erban went through the house and out through the back door, pistol in hand. He moved to the edge of the house and looked around. He saw six men with automatic weapons shooting anyone they saw, and anything that moved. They were still yelling something. The front of his rental was beginning to burn. The guns went silent. He could make out the words now. Alahu Ackbar was the repeated yell.
It sounded rote to Erban. No real emotion. Nothing except volume. He noted position, weapons, dress and other details. He repositioned himself and then stepped out from the corner of the house, firing as he moved. He fired six times with six kills as his result. Emptying his gun, he immediately reloaded and stepped forward to examine his victims.
They didn’t look like the terrorists he knew or saw in the news. All of these people seemed to be in their mid-twenties or younger, and none looked like mid-eastern descent. He heard another Alahu Ackbar from behind him. He turned looking. Another shooter came into view. He shot her too. There didn’t seem to be others. Mildred’s house was catching on fire. He dashed to the front of the house, and retrieved her from his bed. The smoke was beginning to thicken. He coughed. He threw her over his shoulder and left, wondering where he would put her.
“This is getting outside of ridiculous,” he grumped to himself. Looking around, he saw the garden shed. Ah good he thought and slid the door open. He laid Miss Mildred on the bags of fertilizer. The sounds of more people coming around the house alerted him, he wasn’t done. Erban slid the door closed and waited. He had five shots left.
“What the hell happened here?” He heard a voice say, in English. “Our shooters are down.” a second voice
“Talk in Arabic, Idiot.” he heard the second voice yell. Then the voice repeated it in Arabic, louder. The voices suddenly grew quieter. He couldn’t make out words. The men were tromping around the house. Erban was trapped. He figured a search was being conducted. It’s what he would have done. He looked around for a secondary weapon. His chances of reaching the weapon cache in his car parked downtown in the parking garage, were impossible. “A shovel might help,” he muttered. He looked down at the unconscious Miss Mildred and smiled. Sotto voice, he told her, “I think both our asses are cooked.”
Two men stood in front of the garden shed, talking in Arabic. He listened. They were speaking a halting, sporadic kind of Arabic. Not native speakers, he knew. He digested that over 100 more shooters were coming to town. Each would be in teams of eight to ten. His eyebrows rose at that. Good God, what is going on?
“There is no time to hunt. Kill and burn everyone and everything you can. If we find our killer in the process. Good. Start with this garden shed and the rest of the houses on this block. Burn them all. Then move into town. We have to kill Johnson. She is the target. The bitch cannot be allowed to be elected President.” Erban was shocked. He did smile, realizing he was hearing only the two voices. Time for an entrance, he thought. Erban threw the garden shed door open and killed both men. Neither had time for more than surprise. It was satisfying seeing the startled expressions on their faces as they died. Nobody was taking his target from him. He briefly wondered where these fake Arabs were coming from. The organization was sloppy, but the numbers they expected indicated planning.
Thinking about next steps, he realized, I can’t leave Miss Mildred. Others are coming. I have to do something. He looked around the small residential area and decided he would have to wake her up. Erban laid her on the grass and gently shook her. No response. He slapped her face a couple of times, getting minimal response. She began to wake.
“You hit me,” She accused.
“Yes, I did. I had to prevent your reporting me to the police. Right now, your community needs your help.” He helped her stand up. “Let me show you why.” He escorted her to the kill zone, and showed her what happened and explained what she missed. Miss Mildred was old, but not slow.
“I understand. I’ll call my friends in the gun club.”
“You have friends in the gun club?”
“Of course. I taught most of them.”
“All right.” Sounds like a plan. Alert the people in this neighborhood and the police too. Tell them about the attackers. He explained what he knew. After he finished he said “I would appreciate if you would not tell them about me, until after this emergency is taken care of.”
Mildred sighed. “I guess I can do that.”
“Thank you.” He explained his own changed plan. She said “I’ll call the police immediately.”
Erban thanked her again, and began jogging towards the center of town. His car was the goal. It was full of weapons that would help. He called his employer, on the way, and informed him what was happening. He explained the hit was unlikely to happen and why. His employer was silent for a few moments, expressed surprise that the entire town was a target, and they too planned to kill the candidate. He told Erban to take a shot if the opportunity presented itself. Erban agreed.
In minutes, Erban reached his auto in the parking garage. He opened the trunk carefully. The fail-safe would explode the vehicle if someone broke open the trunk or didn’t release the one simple safe guard. After turning the key, it had to be removed and inserted again, he opened the trunk. Erban verified everything was there, and drove to the police station. An officer met him. Miss Mildred call alerted them, as promised. He introduced himself as Erick Johansen, not Erban Fredericks. The two cops were Jarns and Argyle.
The officer went with him to the car, chattering along the way. “If the call had come from anyone else,” he said, we would have dispatched a unit and waited. Since it was Miss Mildred everyone hopped into action. We are alerting everyone we can. From what she said this group has high power weapons we cannot match. Everyone is taking the extra weapons we do have and preparing.”
Erban nodded and listened “I can help,” he said. He showed the policeman to the car, explained how to open the trunk, showed Jarns the weapons and the second cop, said “Wow. Are you secret service or something?
Erban smiled. “Or something. Help yourself, and get these weapons distributed. I’ll take this one, and a couple of these grenades.” Erban lifted a short barreled repeating 4 gauge shotgun and a box of shells.”
“A shotgun? Asked Deputy Jarns.
“Yup. He showed the deputy the box of 4 gauge shells. They were exploding bullets.
“Ah,” he said, now understanding, Erban handed him the keys. As he left he told the deputy, “Remember that fail safe.”
“Yes Sir.” The deputy headed across the street to the doctor’s office. He would contact as many nearby businesses as he could in the time that remained, before their unwelcome visitors reached town.
The deputy provided a few weapons on request. He grabbed them from Johansen’s car. Several businesses put up closed signs and hurried home to protect their homes and families. Police and volunteers began arriving at the police station. Deputy Jarns cleaned out the few weapons that remained, sorted them into groups, and assigned them the ad hoc groups willing to help different sections of the city. Each group had cell phones and exchanged numbers before moving on.
When they were gone, he scrounged in the car to be sure he got everything. It was pretty empty. He lifted the panel covering the wheel. There was another box of grenades where the wheel should have been. Jarn took them out of the trunk, set them in the passenger seat and drove to the hospital. He thought this may give the group I assigned there a little more fire power. When he arrived only the clinic to the side of the hospital was open. He entered. Four guns were pointed at him.
He smiled. “I see the boys stopped by. You know.”
The receptionist set her pistol down, and smiled back, “Yes, Deputy Jarns, they did. Mildred called us too. We thought we would prepare a Texas welcome.”
Hefting the box of grenades, Jarns said “These might help. Anyone know how to use grenades?” Two did. Jarns told the to explain to the others.
The audience watched a short conversation on planning and discussion. Jarns got a call on his cell phone. The attack was coming. He told the staff, and carried the half full box of grenades outside. He positioned himself, outside and watched ten attackers come toward the clinic. The video returned to inside, the office was quiet and everyone looked like they were working. The door burst open and three invaders were shooting as they entered. They were met by gunfire and died quickly. Jarns began throwing grenades. The other seven were blown to pieces.
A single picture of the surviving hospital surrounded by bodies and burning properties preceded the headlines that were not on the front page: Invasion, Texas Town Decimated, ISIL Claims Credit, Thousands killed. The screen froze on Four Hundred Survivors.
Jason spoke from the shadows. “That hospital survived six different attacks accounted for thirty-nine of the attackers. We edited out the other individual battle recordings collected from many sources, including phones that happened all over the town. They have been edited for coherency. Those videos can be downloaded to those who are interested. We felt they were too bloody for presenting here, to you, today. Notice that last headline. Over one thousand of the town’s population survived the attack. When they counted the bodies of the attackers there were 119 attackers. It took years to identify all of them. Governments were slow to provide identification. Those attackers were identified as Russian, Chinese, Iranian, Iraqi, French and ten American citizens.”
“Our final Devers video comes from a paper in Chicago. After that is finished we will move on to our final exhibit for today. The audio was recorded by the newsman in the next cubicle. We used actors, but the voices are dubbed with the actual voices. We call this short clip The Breaking News.”
Will Adders was typing. He stopped and read aloud. “Anger rose above the fetid miasma of American life to kill”…
“Stop that literary crap. You’re writing news. Tell the readers what the hell happened and thirty the damned story.”
Embarrassed, he deleted what he had typed. He re-wrote the opening, and double checked the rest. After he finished and forwarded the story, he commented to the newsman in the next cubicle, “Damn this is a big story! The election is next week. This ought to cut down on all the election bashing.” The individual assigned to write headlines would title the story: Texas Town Decimated.
Will’s next story caused a much louder uproar in the news room, and pushed the story of Devers, Texas to page three.
The Headline would read: Aliens Land in New York It was followed by a picture of a spaceship in Central Park. It was dated November 1, 2016.
Don’t Know The Author?
John D. Boyden was born in Lincoln, Nebraska, USA, in 1950. John grew up in rural Nebraska and lives in Southeastern New Mexico with his wife, Melanie, and their dog, Butterscotch. He has four grown children and three grandchildren, of whom he is exceedingly proud. Conspiracies Everywhere is his sixth free book at Shakespir. Eyes on the World (First Edition) was his first Shakespir Publication. He attended Grinnell College in Iowa and several other colleges through multiple summer programs. John earned his Masters Degree in Education from the University of Northern Iowa and taught school in Iowa and New Mexico for many years.
John has completed and been paid for several “work for hire” projects including non-fiction, fiction, news, and editing and has actually received money as a published poet! The poetic pride has endured far beyond that lovely $ 5 payment. He also continues to write novels at NaNoWriMo.org in November of each year. He knows that anything written is an accomishment. You can read more about him on the Shakespir interviews or contact him.
Connect with the author
Thank you for reading this book! If you want to know more about John D. Boyden, there are opportunities below for exploration or for contacting him. For questions, suggestions or additional ideas to add to the next book in this series, email him, text only to [email protected]
Our set aside mail list is located below. This address is only for our readers. There won’t be more than two emails for each new publication. Only our upcoming planned releases with dates, and notifications that we have published a new story or book, and it’s availability will be sent from this address: Your email address will never be shared without your permission and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Here I’ll briefly sound off on politics and this series in each volume. One more FREE book will come to end this series. Any questions that come in from readers may be presented here. Each of these elements will be brief, this time.
No real politicians or billionaires were killed in the making of this book, despite the names used. More fictional individuals will die in the final installment. Conspiracists have carried out plots, and succeeded in in this country and other countries too. Many politicians die of natural and unexpected reasons. Few are, reported as, or considered, murder. How true that is we may never know.
We are all glad the Election 2016 cycle is done. The Election has not gone as expected. Or has it?
This book has taken it’s own twists and turns and suffered from more efforts to deal with life as it happens than I can count. I’ve written, re-written, had to start over with all docs lost from disk crashes. Yes. More than one. Failed backups also came into play. Lost files may exist somewhere. I have edited, reconstituted from memory, written new sections, and edited and edited. My original plan and the optimistic view I once treasured for this book went into the crapper pretty quickly. My final decision was to have fun with the story wherever it led.
While my politics may influence the story, I promise not to lecture the reader. I deleted ten pages of political discourse I wanted to include.
This series will have one final volume to bring the experience together as much as possible into some degree of coherency. It is and was a great learning experience for me. I did make an effort to add the basic repeated to death talking points of our real Presidential candidates in this election for novelistic purposes. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I deleted it from this volume. It was too long and too boring. Some of it may appear in the final volume of this series.
Thanks for reading this book!
Secrets and conspiracies are exposed. More wait to be revealed in the next book in this series. What the Presidential candidate, Katryn Johnson, knows at the time of the election is revealed. The Election is thrown into shambles. Conspiracies Everywhere takes readers on a journey through little of the politics and lots of the conspiracies and murders of candidates for office. Several rich and powerful individuals who want to control the election discover their unexpected fate. Katryn finds herself fighting lies, assassination attempts, and discovers who she really is. Every four years, elections are a dirty war for power and money. This series follows her campaign into the feeding frenzy of The Election. Life or death which will it be for Katryn and the people around her. This is the second story in this free series. Conspiracies Everywhere sends us into conspiracies à la carte, betrayals, intrigues, and, of course, murder. Lots of murders. More will be revealed in the next, and final book, in this series.