Steven Clark Bradley's Blog: Author Steven Clark Bradley - Posts Tagged "politics"

What would you feel if America fell and the nation was taken over by a dictatorial power? Would you adapt? Or, would you lay down body and soul to protect your homeland? Read Chapter two of Steven Clark Bradley's newest work in progress, Automated Response and feel what could happen unless we are vigilant and devoted to the United states of America.

Automated Response

Patriot Acts Part 3

A New Line Emerges

Chapter 2

Edgecombe County, North Carolina

September, 1969, 1:52 p.m.

“Just deal with it.” was the last thing Peter Barlowe’s father had told him, before he died.

Peter had walked into his home in Edgecombe County, North Carolina just as he had as far back as he could remember. There, to the right, he saw his father, Marshall sitting on the edge of the couch with his face buried in his palms, shaking and weeping a torrent of tears.

“Dad, where’s mom?”

Peter Barlowe looked at the various things that were scattered around his father, on the couch and the floor. He saw pictures of his childhood, his mom Betty and his dad’s great-great grandmother Winnifred Atkinson Barlowe’s portrait, who had lived in Edgecombe Co. The floor was littered with old folders everywhere; all of them opened with their contents spilling out.

What’s he looking for? Peter wondered. “Dad, where’s mom? You’re starting to scare me.”

Marshall Barlowe looked up at his son with a face that screamed out disaster and guilt.

“Mother, you want your mother? Well, boy, you ain’t got no mother. Not no more.”

Young Peter Barlowe took in the words from his father. The pitch, the expression across his father’s face and grave sound of his father’s voice, and most devastatingly terrible thing of all was the words themselves. It all told this young twelve year old boy that his life had been drastically altered and was in permanent disrepair.

Marshall Barlow sat on the edge of the couch with his eyes weeping into his palms. He raised his head and gazed at the son he had always loved; an affection he had rarely attempted to display.

The expression he saw on his son’s face made him hurt so badly that he had to hold the gun in his left hand down with his right lest he raise the barrel to his head and pull the trigger earlier than he figured he’d be forced to.

“Peter, I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t; I swear I did. Everything about that damn place is automated, and it’s only the beginning. Don’t try to run, cause they’ll kill you.”

Peter looked over at his father and took in the words that even he, at his young age, realized would be the last ones his father would ever say to him.

“Son, I love you, I always have. But, you cannot give up what’s ours and what was started by our kin, our blood.”

Peter walked slowly closer to his father and saw the gun in his hand.

“Dad, what’s wrong? I know about the lost colony and the stupid shooting over a stolen cup that was to have killed off all of them, and I know about the SPU. I’m not afraid; tell me what I have to do.” Tears rolled down the boy’s face and he felt as if his knees wobbling under him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

Marshall looked at his son, Peter with serious etched all over his face.

“My boy, Michael O’Rourke has taken the line; he stole it from Eldridge Harrison.”

Marshall saw the confounded stare in his son’s eyes.

“Peter, I know, you’re young, way too young to endure what has happen here today. I …”

“What has happened? Where is my mom?” Peter demanded.

“Son, listen to me, you can’t run! If you run, they’ll kill you, and I can’t stop it now. Once a thing like this gets rolling, there’s no stopping it. This will never be far from you, Peter. Once they take you …”

“Take me, take me where?”

“You have to grow up fast and stop the system. The new line will build it, and they’ll use it too.”

“Dad, I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.”

“That’s not important. They’re going to take you, son and when they do, you’ll be chipped. No one knows the things we’ve done. No one even comprehends how many masters we’ve served; all the while exacting all the power, funding, technology and information they took as their booty. Every president since Wilson’s been our puppet, and that was all under a civil leadership. When this crowd gets their claws on the codes we have from every nation that’s anything, no one will ever be able to stop the SPU.”

Peter mouthed the letters S.P.U. “You’ll forget these things after they block out this day, and God knows how many others from your memory. But, my only hope is that if you hear the words, ‘automated response’ they will force this day back into your mind. That’s the best I can do, son.” Marshall Barlowe stared back at his son and rose from the couch.

“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve built a system that will take down the whole thing down. Just deal with it …”

Young Peter Barlowe turned his head toward the shattering sound of breaking glass and then saw a hole appear in the center of his father’s forehead. Blood shot out of his dad’s head and splashed over Peter’s face. Peter dived to the floor and heard the back door fly open and slam loudly against the wall. He lay silently and exposed on the living room floor and saw four sets of feet enter the room. He saw them walking over to him and then they grabbed him and lifted him up.

“Peter, we got here as soon as we could. You’re dad’s had a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. O’Rourke, you just killed my dad. He told me everything. I will not go with you. Did you kill my mom too, you lying bastard?”

“Listen, calm down. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was about to kill you too. Come on now, you’re delirious, and I’ve got just the thing to help you forget all about this.”

Michael O’Rourke walked over to Peter and put his arm around his shoulder. Peter pulled away from him and punched the much larger man in the ribs. O’Rourke felt it, too.

“I don’t know what to believe.” Peter said in a child’s manner that seemed to pretend it all away.

“Of course you don’t, Pete. That’s actually good, in a strange sort of way. In fact, I fully intend to tell you what to believe, my boy.” O’Rourke looked at his men.

“Get him outta here. And, one of you get back in here and clean up this mess.”

Michael O’Rourke, the new chief of the Strategic Perception Unit could not believe it had come off so flawlessly.

“Finally, it’s all mine. Now, I’m the real most powerful man in the world.”

Three large men picked up Peter Barlowe and cuffed him and led him outside. As they walked him out the back door that had been kicked off its hinges, Peter saw the lifeless body of his mother sprawled across the blood-splattered table, with a large knife protruding out of her chest.

“You killed my mom! You bastards killed my mom!” Peter screamed and fought to get away from his captures.

Two of the men carried twelve-year-old Peter Barlow out of the house and to a black car with US Government plates. They jostled him into the car and he looked to his left at another young unconscious body next to him, in the back seat.

“Fish, Fisher is that you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him; he’s OK. As a matter of fact, why don’t you join him?

The SPU operative placed a mask over his own face and closed the backseat divider and pressed a button his on his dash board that sprayed half the normal dose of gas that he’s have administered to an adult. The young boy pounded on the divider but soon, he felt his strength give way to a sleepy, foggy haze and everything went dark.

Falls Church, Virginia inside SPU Center

March 7, 2011

“I remember.” Peter said quietly, but more loudly than he had intended as the darkness of 1969 fade and his eyes gazed into the darkness of 2011. He fine-tuned his ears to the sounds of soldiers as they walked down the huge Falls Church facility corridors.

“It’s an automated response.” Memories started flashing and streaming through his mind and he saw what this horrible system would do.

“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve build a system that will take down the whole …” his father had said. “Just before they blew him away.” Peter whispered. “…if they take us down, everything goes with us.” He had heard so often since he had become part of the SPU. The memory shot through his mind and he grasped the sides of his head. “We’ve chipped every soldier, Marine, Seaman and Airman since 1988, and Reagan, Clinton nor Bush knew a thing about it. Even Tate didn’t get that information.” He groaned in mental agony.

“Your dad killed himself!”

“No, you killed him.” Peter Barlowe, heard his mind silently cry out.

“Your father killed your mother; stabbed her in the heart.”

“You lie.” He screamed out loudly and looked down at his watch. “Only two minutes.” He told himself. “I have to stop it.” He heard the sound of heavy footsteps voices approaching his location. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.

“This O’Rourke guy is dead.” One soldier said to the other. “Yea, Harrison’s not gonna take any shit!”

“Jaime’s dead? That leaves only me to take all the heat.” Barlowe realized.

He positioned himself with his back to the wall of the cleaning room and switched his flashlight on. Peter looked down at the chameleon suit he had put on. He pulled the mask over his face and pressed a button on the inside of his jacket. The suit came to life and he took on the colors and blended into the room, but the suit’s one flaw was the initialization process that produced a whining sound that the SPU techs had not managed to rectify, and which the soldiers policing the corridor could hear.

“Did you hear that?” One soldier said to the other. Barlowe heard the soldiers walking toward the door.

“I have to get to the chamber and reset it the failsafe.” His watch told him he had forty-eight seconds.

He heard the footprints coming his way and saw light break through the darkness as the cleaning room door slowly opened. He pulled his legs back prepared himself.

Two US Army soldiers aimed their weapons into the room and looked inside. They saw nothing and walked into the room. When they came close enough to trip over Peter, he drove the force of both his adrenalin-laced legs into the chest of one of the soldiers. Peter leapt to his feet and rapidly raced down the corridor, firing as he ran as fast as his legs would take him.

The Army advance soldier was one of a team of ten sent in to conduct code enforcement and to shoot anyone on sight who threatened US Forces in any way. The soldier ran into the corridor and saw him. The one soldier still left breathing ran after him and radioed his commander.

“I got him, Peter Barlowe …”

“One second…”

“One second, I ain’t got one …”

“Who are you, what company?”

“Taggart, sir, Advanced Infantry Clearance.”

“Give it to me, soldier.”

“I got Barlowe. You know, like the number two … sir.”

“You’ve got a shoot to kill on that dirt bag, Taggart. You Copy?”

“You better believe it … sir. Target is racing around into the left corridor.”

“Secretary Blake wants Barlowe dead. Do you copy that?”

“That’s affirmative and happy to oblige; engaging now.”

Taggart crouched forward and advanced with his weapon held tightly and impatiently ready. When Taggart turned the corner, Barlowe sprayed bullets in every direction. Taggart took cover and returned fire, even though he couldn’t see anything except the holes that Barlowe was inflicting upon the facility walls.

Barlowe turned to run and a bullet grazed the chameleon suit’s programs controller, which rendered him instantly visible with only 22 seconds left to stop the automated response.

“I think I’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.” He knew he had no chance to stop it and only one chance to remain a free man, even if no one else would be.

Barlow turned and looked at Taggart. The rest of Taggart’s men ran up behind Barlowe, with their weapons trained directly on him.

“Get down on the floor, now.” Taggart screamed.

Barlowe looked at his watch. “Hmm, seven seconds.” He told himself as he looked up at the soldiers.

“I said get down on the floor.” Another of the armed soldiers shouted.

“It’s alright boys. You’ll be working for me in three, two, one.”

Taggart, who had appeared deadly ready to blow Barlowe away, suddenly dropped his weapons to his sides and stood at attention.

President Harrison and his family and staff had already been airlifted out, the first to leave the facility and were already in the air in Marine One. Throughout the whole facility, every man and woman in uniform simply stopped searching and stood at attention waiting for their next orders.

“My goodness,” Barlowe said in great amazement. “Will you look at that?”

He walked up to the soldiers who did not bat an eye. He took one of the radios and set it to intercom.

“Thank you for your service. You are serving under a new protocol now, a new set of rules. Be as you were until further notice. You are under the orders of Peter Barlowe, your new Commander in Chief. Await my orders and return to your base.”

“I could get used to this.” Barlowe said out loud. “I think I already have.” He heard the echo of hundreds of voices resonating throughout the facility with the same two words.

“Yes, Sir.”

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley



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The Green God of America:

When you enter a bank in the United States, have you noticed the quiet and serenity in the space? There seems to be a reverence rivaling that found in most churches. It is easy to see that such a display of piety in the unassuming financial institutions across America is because they are practicing the country’s fastest, biggest and most powerful religion, the worship of the Almighty Dollar. It can be truly stated that God is now green in America. I wrote Nimrod Rising because of this devotion to this pious paper and pristine plastic that has plunged this nation and the world into the abyss of despair for the lives of the unborn, the infirm and the aged.

The World of Nimrod Rising and Manassa Dormin:
Nimrod Rising transports the reader into a world of mayhem where unborn children do not contribute to a thriving economy, so their demise is of no avail. The world of Manassa Dormin, the villain in Nimrod Rising is one without mercy. Those of us who cannot work, cannot walk, cannot feed ourselves are unproductive citizens, and are discarded as so-much rubbish if they cannot demonstrate some utility to the masses. “Should they not just get out of the way and die so there is a bigger piece of the pie for everyone else?”

Utility or Futility:
Does this sound like lunacy? Quite possibly, such words are reminiscent of a page or two out of Orwell’s 1984 or Huxley’s Brave New World? In reality, these unspeakable new age “Values” are found throughout the pages of yesterday’s and today’s newspapers, all throughout the country! Fitting examples are inexhaustible all around us. Perverted pedophiles are abducting and raping our children at an all-time alarming rate and they receive sentences that allow them to return back on the streets in incredibly short amounts of time only to again steal our children out of their beds and finally kill them.

Yet, if you are the chairman of Enron or WorldCom and you can expect anything between 25 to 200 years. That should not be seen as shocking. After all, the offering up of our unborn and growing children, our disabled and bedridden citizens and the early demise of our elderly pales in comparison to any premeditated sacrilege against the Green God of America. So, Nimrod Rising is a scary read. This is not because of the spirit world it describes or the evil men and women doing their mischief, but rather because the seeds of many of the diabolical deeds detailed in Nimrod Rising are only germinating today in society around us.

Quality of Life vs. Quantity of life:
Is all life worth living? Do the old, unborn, the infirmed or mentally ill have no social value? The proposed and not so secret response from the brokers of the culture of death is a resounding, “NO!” In fact, it is easy to see that the whole catalyst of the death culture is centered around one overriding maxim purporting that population reduction must be accomplished without delay and by any means.

Such culture transforming issues as abortion and such organizations as Planned Parenthood have led the way in what is considered to have changed the thinking of Main Street America in what now seems a permanently calloused culture and is considered as groundbreaking and deepening into a six-foot social grave. The money and power such groups wield are also powerful points of persuasion for the mostly lukewarm and milquetoast “leaders” who now control the present and plan our futures. Though abortion is by far the most widely debated issue facing traditionally valued Americans, there are many movements afoot that are not even so quietly laying their framework of treachery and social engineering that also use the premise of population control as their dictum.

The Government of The Culture of Death:
One of the big themes throughout Nimrod Rising is how the government of the world of Manassa Dormin is the power of the Euthanasia movement. Again, the forces of the culture of death are even now gaining great expanses of their foundation for their social house of cards, in the fertile mental ground in the American psyche.

Due to the message purported by a very loud minority to a passive majority that life is based on quality rather than quantity, the old, infirm and mentally impaired and their “safe” are even now being told to accept a “dignified” and “self-determined” death, which is considered one of the biggest pieces of the diabolical picture that is even now being sketched by the workers of woe within the Culture of Death. Matters such as the homosexual movement, assisted suicide, animal rights vs. human Rights, the environments movement and the dangers of socialized medicine in America and the financial constraints of such a program will place on the keepers of the very life you cherish the responsibility of isolating and identifying such drains upon the social banks of goodwill, within the society at large. These things speak loudly within the 596 pages of Nimrod Rising. Yet, it still remains that even the most docile and sanitized amongst us still require ears that hear and eyes that see.

Fact or Fiction:
Perhaps, you will say that such men and women described in Nimrod Rising do not exist. Then, take a look at many of the current leaders of the culture of death in America today. Though I am absolutely for planning a family and for the use of contraception, I would never support the use of abortion as a means of reducing the world's births. Margaret Sangor, the Founder of Planned Parenthood said herself, and I quote, "The most merciful thing a family does for one of its infant children is to kill it." She propagated wiping out the African American race and was a huge supporter of Hitler's views. Yet, today, her organization, with these goals, is supported even with federal dollars. George Felos, the attorney who assured the death by starvation and dehydration of Terri Shaivo in 2005, is the leading lawyer for encouraging assisted suicide and euthanasia of the infirm, the elderly on the basis of some vague standard of the quality of life.

Based on such a standard, would it not be logical to simply walk down the streets of our cities and rid the poor homeless of their lives devoid of quality? This is where such views eventually lead; to a place where no one has the right of self-determined longevity unless they possess some utility other than life itself? One need only use their mind to go beyond what your teachers taught you and let humanity speak to us and follow the statements to their logical end result. Nimrod Rising does just that and creates the unspeakable world that such current-day values will ultimately produce.

Perhaps, there are those who feel these words are far fetched, but I have been around the world in 34 countries and I can say of a truth that the family and life itself is at risk by those who no longer hold anything sacred or of lasting value. The story you are about to invest your time in shall speak its mind and challenge you in many different ways concerning the dangers facing us. We fight to preserve a nation from terrorism, but if this is what we are fighting to preserve, would you lift a finger in the defense of an obtuse and reprobate society as that which I have just described? Nimrod Rising goes a step beyond most books that seek to warn a society of its plunge into an abyss of despair and ruin. Nimrod Rising seeks to reveal that the true catalyst for the ideas espoused and widely accepted today. This world, hidden from human sight but as real as the hidden cells that give life to our bodies, extends beyond our own sphere. It wishes to pull down the kingdom of man to reestablish their rule of the Watchers on the Earth.

A Society Without Faith:
This is the world of Nimrod Rising. It is written as fiction and is based on reality. Therefore, I wish to dedicate this book to all the Theresa Shiavos of America whose unfortunate lives have run headlong into the merciless, unrelenting will of the false god in whom increasing numbers of common people have placed their trust, in this country today. This is not a book written against the liberals of this country. Nor is it a vindication of the political right. In fact, it is an indictment of both sides of the massive green beast that runs roughshod over friend and foe alike.
The real purpose of this book is to reveal the true nature of the culture of death that has come to pervade over every major decision we face. It has been penned to warn a great nation that a land is nothing without the care and mercy shown to its less fortunate. It is submitted to you to underscore that the measure of a great nation is not in its GNP or its S&P but in its TLC. On the contrary, the words written here have been tempered with fear and trembling for the nation I love. The indisputable facts laid out herein are written in shameful disgust over the failure of the moral base of America to adequately speak out and stand up to be counted. No great nation can long endure under the strains of the obtuse who seek to systematically destroy those whom our nation had so long defended, in a word you and me.

Learn From History or Repeat:
America threw its youngest and brightest into WWII to fight an intolerable tyrant and the idea that only the State could decide who was worthy of life. We fought and died to bring Adolph Hitler and his regime to an utter end because of his disrespect and utter disregard for life. Now, today, in America, we have Judges seated in a leather chair behind some large desk not making choices to help someone live but rather deciding who should die. America stood tall and brave against the forces of Communism because of just such an evil philosophy as this, which religiously and progressively marched its people to a dreaded drum right to the very precipice of death and defeat; a defeat brought about by our commitment to freedom and life.
Ride The Storm Of Nimrod Rising:
Yet, today in America, are we really better than those we destroyed? Are we really different? Perhaps the Nazi movement and the Communist ideals are not so much dead as they are renamed Republican or Democrat and recast in more benign and more beguilingly subtle silhouettes; wrapped up in a tattered swath of red white and blue and empowered by a document that no more represents nor resembles the original constitution of the United States of America than did the Communist Manifesto or Mao’s Little Red Book! The diabolical forces at work in Nimrod Rising are the seeds of destruction in America today and must be rendered powerless.

How Shall We Then Live:
We cannot stop them from speaking out, lest we defeat the very freedom we seek to preserve. Yet, we must always be vigilant and ready to work against them by recognizing the forces at work, and the masters they serve, which make up America’s emerging culture of death, lest none of us have any quality of life. It is imperative that we take another look and reaffirm the words of Philosopher, Francis Schaeffer when he said that there is no life that is not worth living. If we believe that, then we should pose ourselves the same question he asked, “How shall we then live?” Come and ride the storm of Nimrod Rising. It might scare you to life!

This outstanding research article is one of the most illuminating pieces of political information I have ever read. It tells us about the hidden, subtle yet aggressive power brokers who have locked up society through political intrigue and fraud. I think you’ll find it very scary indeed simply because it is true.
Steven Clark Bradley
Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod Rising StillBorn! Probable Cause

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.

Proof of the Banking Conspiracy A Message from the Past By Randy Lavello

Our nation, these United States were born from defiance of the thievery of bankers- it is both our heritage and obligation. We’ve grown up with many of the inherent rights American Patriots fought for and won more than two hundred years ago; we Americans have an obligation to stand against the current fruition of three hundred years of a banking conspiracy. If we do not stand against this plot, there will be nothing left for our future generations. This plot is real - can you disbelieve those original American Patriots who guaranteed your freedoms in the Constitution?
Every dollar printed by a bank requires a payment of interest in return. Before the Federal Reserve printed the money, private banks were given charters to print the money - these private banks have always been paid interest. The only two Presidents in the history of this nation who printed U.S. Notes, a debt free currency outlined in the U.S. Constitution (Article 1, Section 8, Clause 5,) are Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy. Kennedy printed U.S. Notes for the purpose of paying off the Federal debt… a feat only accomplished by Andrew Jackson. J.F.K planned to abolish the Federal Income Tax, which merely goes to pay interest to the Federal Reserve, rendering the IRS irrelevant. The IRS is merely a collection agency operating out of Puerto Rico, which was created by the Federal Alcohol Administration, which in turn was absolved shortly after the revocation of Prohibition. Furthermore, the Federal Reserve's top seven majority owners are all families of Europe! In the words of fellow writer Christopher Mark, “The Federal Reserve is about as federal as Federal Express.” It’s a huge extortion scam!
In order to pay for the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln issued a debt-free U.S. Note nicknamed a ‘greenback.’ This prevented the banking institutions from reaping the huge benefits of wartime borrowing- the major lever of accumulating banker’s wealth for nearly three hundred years. President Lincoln was quoted as stating, “The money powers prey upon the nation in times of peace and conspire against it in times of adversity. It is more despotic than a monarchy, more insolent than autocracy, and more selfish than burocracy. It denounces as public enemies all who question its methods or throw light upon its crimes. I have two great enemies, the Southern Army in front of me and the bankers in the rear. Of the two, the one at my rear is my greatest foe.” Lincoln was, of course, assassinated, as John F. Kennedy would be; is it mere coincidence that both of them printed a debt-free form of currency? Lincoln made a startling prediction, “Corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money powers of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until the wealth is aggregated in the hands of a few, and the Republic destroyed.”
Another adversary of the bankers, President Garfield explained, “Whoever controls the volume of money in any country is absolute master of all industry and commerce.” It seems a man possessing this knowledge would have tried to remove the bank’s power and give it back to our nation. It also seems likely this is why President Garfield was shot dead.

Andrew Jackson, upon entry into the Oval Office, called a delegation of bankers into the White House and told them, “You are a den of vipers and thieves! I intend to rout you out, and by the grace of the Eternal God, will rout you out!” This was not a man to sidestep issues - Andrew Jackson was a rambunctious man who took problems head-on. What’s more: he solved them! This was the only President in U.S. history to ever reduce the Federal debt to zero. He may not have been exaggerating when he said, “The bank is trying to kill me! But I will kill it!” After he dissolved the Second National Bank of America (back then banks were granted twenty year charters to print money) there was an attempt on his life. The would-be assassin pointed his pistol at President Jackson and pulled the trigger- the gun jammed. An enraged sixty-seven-year-old President attacked him with his cane as the gunman pulled a second pistol out and pulled the trigger- again, this gun jammed! It seems ‘the grace of the Eternal God’ was with President Jackson!
The international bankers have been combating Americans since before the Revolutionary War. Benjamin Franklin explains, “The Colonies would gladly have borne the little tax on tea and other matters had it not been for the poverty created by the bad influence of the English Bankers on the Parliament, which has caused the Colonies hatred of England and the Revolutionary War… the inability of the Colonists to get the power to issue their own money, permanently out of the hands of King George III and the international bankers, was the prime reason for the Revolutionary War.” Once the Colonial Scrip was outlawed, the bankers didn’t keep enough money in circulation; this caused widespread indigence throughout the Colonies.
Thomas Jefferson knew of the great evils done by these bankers: “I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. Already they have raised up a moneyed aristocracy that has set the government in defiance. The issuing power should be taken from the banks, and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.” Jefferson also made predictions as to the goals of the international bankers; their goal has always been to dominate all governments, and he knew this nation would be under constant attack from their subversive tactics. Thomas Jefferson foresaw, “This is the tendency of all human governments: A departure from the principle becomes a precedent for a second (principle); that second for a third (principle); and so on, till the bulk of society is reduced to mere automatons of misery, to have no sensibilities left but for sinning and suffering…” That about sums up our decadent society! “And the fore horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation follows that, and in its train wretchedness and oppression.” Who else could have a stranglehold on our Federal Government other than these international bankers? If their power were ever taken away from them, there would have been a great war against them… how else could their power have been reduced? Of course we know, the power of the international bankers has grown exponentially over time- and so we’re alive now at the pinnacle of their achievements… and height of our danger. President Jefferson predicted, “If the American People ever allow private banks to control the issue of their money, first by inflation and then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around (the banks), will deprive the people of their property until their children will wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered.” Well, a private bank has controlled the issue of our currency for nearly a century, and we’re nearing the globalist/international bankers crowning achievement. What can result other than their total control over all property and money? We are truly in dire straights.
Through groups such as the Bilderbergs, the Counsel on Foreign Relations, and David Rockefeller’s Trilateral Commission, the wealthiest men of the earth have joined together to command every aspect of our lives. Through their control of education and mass media, they’ve promoted decadence of all sorts. In my school they taught us the theory of evolution during fifth grade; they were mandated federally to teach eleven year olds that they came from monkeys! The fact is, a system of self-governance is only operable when people follow a code of ethics- erode the conscience of our nation, and it will implode. This is the reason Christianity has given way to false churches which claim to be Christian; this is the reason MTV constantly shows men kissing; it’s also the reason the media shows men to be concerned exclusively with fornication, and the reason women are mostly shown cheating on their mates. All of this contributes to the decay of the family- leaving sole loyalty to a corrupt system of government. Author of Common Sense, Thomas Paine noticed, “A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right.” Add to the equation a sixty-hour workweek and the people are enslaved without the sloppiness of physical shackles. Thomas Jefferson said it well: “Our liberty cannot be guarded but by the freedom of the press, nor that be limited without danger of losing it.” The solution for the bankers to overcome freedom of the press: consolidate until we can count the media corporations on one hand.
The idea that we are so civilized is absurd! As a world, we’ve descended to a level of decadence likely thought impossible in past centuries! It seems ironic to me that as technology increases, society has suffered a meltdown. “Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day,” again, Jefferson. We have made great strides to this end- our numbers continue to grow- the world has reached a state so destitute that people are taking initiative to discover the truth. Citizens have grown tired of the ‘news’ and are turning to alternative media. A full page add ran in the Washington Post for Fromthewilderness.com, which mentioned a dozen other news sites. It’s the old analogy of a hand around one’s neck- as the grip tightens, a reaction is imminent. As Alex Jones says, “We’re on the march, the Empire is on the run!” To those who will not stand up for future generations of Americans, Samuel Adams spoke thus, “If ye love wealth greater than liberty, the tranquility of servitude greater than the animating contest for freedom, go home from us in peace. We seek not your counsel nor your arms. Crouch down and lick the hand that feeds you; May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen.”
John Dickinson realized, “We have counted the costs of this contest, and find nothing so dreadful as voluntary slavery. Honor, justice, and humanity forbid us tamely to surrender that freedom which we received from our gallant ancestors, and which our innocent posterity have a right to receive from us.” The Founding Fathers advise us to fight! They advise us to stand up against tyranny- of course, after all peaceful routes have been exercised. Though, if the spirit of these valiant men had always been present in this nation, we wouldn’t be facing this current predicament… they would have never let things get this bad!
I will not be a slave! I will not see the new generation of my family be as slaves! The only way to prevent this slavery is to defeat these international bankers who’ve nurtured themselves as parasites on Americans and the world for hundreds of years. They are but a few dozen men tormenting the earth, and all the technology in the world cannot defeat us if the men who’ve sold their souls would just steal them back by standing up for what’s right. There may not be a better creed than Jefferson’s, “I swear upon the altar of God, eternal hostility to every form of tyranny over the mind of man.” The reality of the situation is also best summed up by him, “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” It’s a shame that sick and corrupted men have brought this upon the people of the world, and we can only hope a solution will arise before all peaceful attempts have been exhausted.
Americans, people of faith and conscience, and U.S. soldiers- we must stand up to these globalists before it’s too late. They believe the earth is their possession! We must prove them wrong! In the immortal words of George Washington, “Let us therefore animate and encourage each other, and show the world that a free man, contending for his liberty on his own ground, is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth.”

Proof of the Banking Conspiracy A Message
from the Past By Randy Lavello

Want to Read A Great Book?

Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs of another. You will swear it is really upon us!

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(A Work In Progress)
In September 2008, The Fed and the treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat like Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a gun to his own head and said, $800,000,000,000.00 (In Billions) or in 24 hours we die and 5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. What if had said NO?

Do you find it still impossible that this great nation of freedom could be overrun by forces, not from a foreign power, but by forces that have been ordered to turn upon their own people. Right now, the voices of the American have been loud and passionate. All the polls show that this government is contravening the clear and verifiable will of the American people. This government and this president is stubbornly going against the large majority of the American electorate to put in place a plan for nationalized health care that will change our nation forever. This law will make us one of the most tightly controlled nations on the planet.

If Obama can disregard the minds and will of the people, is any evil action from Obama, Pelosi and Harry Reid really unimaginable? My new book, Executive order Patriot Acts Part III (Still a work in progress) explores what could happen when we no longer care what the people of America think, when the only solution to tyranny is revolution.

After what America is enduring with Health care, Cap and Trade, Internet Neutrality, Obama's shadow government, Pre-crime detention and wholesale submission to the United Nation, is it really hard to imagine that President Barack Obama could order American forces to break the will of the the American people and demand that they bend the knee, shut up and walk the plank that will end our freedom? After all we see festering right now, is revolution, armed conflict unimaginable? You decide.

Steven Clark Bradley
Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod Rising StillBorn! Probable Cause

Executive Order
Chapter Fifteen


The White House, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 3:42 p.m.

“I am placing the nation under emergency powers effective upon my signing of this document. The powers of the emergency powers will not be enforced until tonight, but the temporary powers of the moment do immediately grant the president the power to appoint anyone to vital vacant seats in the Executive Branch.”

Michelle handed Fisher the document and he placed his signature in the appropriate place. Then, Michelle gave President Harrison a second document. Fisher read it out loud.

“By the powers under the State of National Emergency act of 1977, which grants the president the power to appoint any vital vacant seat and it shall not be automatically removed when emergency rule is lifted, and only shall the president’s appointments be removed by resignation, end of life issues or impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, as prescribed by law and the Constitution of the United States of America.

“Therefore, I hereby appoint Hamilton W. Smith to be Vice President of the United States.” Fisher signed the appointment letter and looked at Hamilton. Fisher thought he looked excited and terrified at the same time.

“Hamilton Smith, would you raise your right hand?” Fisher asked.

Hamilton raised his hand and slightly pulled it down two times before Fisher recited the words and Hamilton repeated them. Secret Service came to the door and Fisher, Michelle and Vice President Hamilton Smith all walked out of the Oval Office and headed to two different escorted cars and headed for two different escorted places. Hamilton’s was in hiding, while Fisher’s destination was for the whole world to see. Fisher leaned over to speak to Hamilton as they walked down the White House hallway. “Hamilton, way back in time, at Iron Mountain prison in Alaska, you remember.” They stood in front of two different limousines and Fisher took his new vice president’s hand and congratulated him. “Well, Hamilton, I just wanted to take back some words from way back then I said in a moment of foolish jesting. “You’re not just a Smith; you are Vice President Smith.”

In Route to Raven Rock Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2011, 3:52 p.m.

“Approach, I need some assistance. This is Captain Ray Jerrod, the coordinates you have sent us do not work. You are taking us into the wall of the mountain.” Jerrod pulled and banked left. Jerrod was a good pilot, and he knew this was not an error. Such errors don’t just happen.

A mountain wall appeared before the pilot and he heaved the yoke back all the way. He feared a stall as he had aimed the nose almost straight upward. Margaret and Nate were strapped in, but both had passed out from forces that neither this plane nor human bodies were built to withstand.

“Control, this is GB1 taking evasive action maneuvers and …”

“We’re gonna make it.” The pilot screamed out and straightened out the airplane. “Get back there and check on them.” The navigator specialist got out of his seat and opened the cockpit door. He saw the First lady slumped over and her baby had started to cry.

He quickly walked over and called out her name. “Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Harrison are you alright?” Margaret’s began to move and her eyes blinked and finally, she moaned and cried out,

“Where’s my baby?”

Roger, GB1.” The control officer passed his microphone to a tall man with wavy hair in
nicely knitted suit. “He’s all yours Mr. Berkowitz.”

Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2011 3:55 p.m.

“Well, Peter, you are a man of character, whatever that means, but I like you. You’re the other side of me.”

“You lie; I am nothing like you. I breathe air not money and power.” Peter suddenly shouted into Berkowitz’s ear piece, making him wince a bit.

“Well, it lives. I thought you had found Jesus or something and were on your way to paradise. Very well, here goes nothing.”

Berkowitz took a card from his pocket and swiped and his screen came up. He logged onto the same channel the Peter Barlowe used to control his forces. Then he punched in his personal code and a signal was instantly sent to the pilot of the GB1. As the code streamed it found the command to find the micro-circuit lying dormant in the back of the scalp of one Captain Ray Jerrod, the pilot who was now trying to fly the First Lady and her son to safety. The subject was found and it instantly sent the command to obey Berkowitz’s command. It also registered inside the data crunching computers of the NSA and the CIA.

In Route to Raven Rock Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2011, 3:57 p.m.

Pilot Ray Jerrod felt it overtake him slowly. He thought it was air sickness then it was like an instantaneous bout of the stomach flu and then just before he was sure he was going to die, he went calm and felt fine. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had.

“It’s OK honey, we’re OK now,” Margaret told her baby, which she knew was a lie.

“Mrs. Harrison, I want to stay here with you and help, but I have to assist the pilot. Are you OK?”

“Thank you; my son is OK, so I’ll be fine.” Margaret had the greatest urge to scream out for her husband and only let it resonate in her head. Fisher, where are you? Fisher, I love you.

Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2011 3:57 p.m.

“Captain, you are a true patriot, full of everything our money could buy, and that’s a hell of a lot. The problem is, I am not, and I don’t need to be. These are your orders.”

En route to Joint Session of Congress
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:05 p.m.

President Fisher Harrison rode in his limousine for the just over two mile ride between 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW and 100 Constitution Ave NE. He looked out the windows and the two most prominent things he saw were throngs of people with great distress stretched across their faces waving and shouting out well wishes to their new president and soldiers as far as the eye could see. They were all there in battle fatigues and seemingly ready to fight a war or to start one. Of course they all think I ordered them out here.

Fisher saw one man in particular holding up a large sign with the map of the United States prominently displayed with drops of blood dripping down. It read, ‘Is America’s Democracy Bleeding?’Another sign showed a flag shaped into the United States with all the colors running into each other. The words across it read, ‘Why are these colors running?’

They all spoke to him and he knew these fine people loved him, but not as much as they simply needed him and it gave Fisher great fear and trembling to imagine three hundred million Americans thrown to the dictatorial rule of whatever political charade the Consortium would raise up to hide behind.

Fisher’s motorcade continued on and stress seemed to form all over Fisher’s body, and he felt a trembling inside his arms, hands and legs. He knew it was all far too big for his feeble arms to carry. Fisher waved and didn’t know if the people outside could see him or not, but he caught a glimpse of an old man with an Air Force uniform on and holding a sign that was plain and simple, but which bore words that were just like a ray of light in a dark and frozen world to Fisher Harrison. He had needed to read its message before taking on a great nemesis such as the Consortium.

“Driver, I want you to stop the car for a moment. Do you see the big plain sign behind us?”
“Yes, sir, but that against protocol.”

“I realize that, but I need you to ask him, not tell him, but ask him if the president could see him for just a moment.”

The driver radioed to one of the cars behind the president’s to talk with the man. A moment later, a Secret Service agent was standing by the president’s door with the older gentleman. Fisher lowered the window and looked at the sign that told him how to proceed. It gave him hope and told him God had heard his pleas. Fisher read the words. He had heard President Tate use them before. Then Fisher spoke them out loud. “The World does not depend on you.”

Fisher looked up at the man standing by Fisher’s window and the old man saw that the president had tears in his eyes. His face had taken on a deep shade of red due to the adrenaline woven together with sorrow.

“Please forgive me for accosting you this way, but your sign touched me so much and it is a direct answer to me from God through you. We need direction, my brother.”

“Mr. President, the honor and privilege is all mine. Would you like to have it, sir? The sign I mean.”

”That’s really generous of you, but it is of much greater value right where you are. Right now, you just might be more powerful than I am, in this awful situation; and isn’t that the way it’s truly supposed to be?”

“I will never forget this day, Mr. President.”

“Please don’t, and remember how your simple message gave a president great resolve. What a truth and stress reliever to know someone is bigger than our feeble abilities to control the deeds of evil men and women.”

Fisher put his arm out the window and shook the elderly man’s hand. “I wish I could get out and thank you appropriately, but these guys might kill me trying to protect me. I will do my best to preserve what you worked so hard to have and to pass on to your children. Thank you for letting God employ you, sir. ‘The world does not depend on you.’ I really love that. Pray for America.”

President Fisher Harrison had no idea how his resolve would soon be placed under maximum danger.

In Route to Raven Rock Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2011, 4:12 p.m.

The Navigator Specialist reentered the cockpit and strapped himself in for what he knew would be a rough landing.

“Ray, did they radio you?”

“Yes, they did”

“And … what’d they tell you?” The navigator looked out ahead and saw the well hidden runway. “Great, Captain, you did it.”

Captain Ray Jarrod looked over at his Navigation Specialist and pulled out his side arm.

Jarrod said the words exactly as he had been instructed. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”

The navigator laughed and looked at the pilot and saw his friend and comrade, Captain Jarrod’s sidearm staring back at him; “Yea Captain … Yea I have been told that a few times. What are you doing, Captain?”

“Well, they’ll never tell you that again.” Captain Ray Jarrod squeezed the trigger and unloaded three shots into the navigator’s head. Then, his next orders flashed through his mind.

He switched on the intercom and spoke to the First lady. “Mrs. Harrison, we have the runway in sight.”

Patriot Acts

by Steven Clark Bradley

Where is Patriot Acts available?

This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com

I hope everyone who reads this will not just think
it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared
American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one
will secure our future except us.
That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts
in one key phrase:

No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!

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What would you feel if America fell and the nation was taken over by a dictatorial power? Would you adapt? Or, would you lay down body and soul to protect your homeland? Read Chapter four of Steven Clark Bradley's newest work in progress, The Consortium - Automated Response and feel what could happen unless we are vigilant and devoted to the United states of America.

The Consortium

Automated Response

Patriot Acts Part III

Chapter Four

SPU Facility,

Falls Church, Virginia

March 7, 2011 10:49 a.m.

“It’s over.” Peter Barlowe told himself. The truth was obvious and the reality of it was flooding his mind with thoughts from his past. Memories of things long forgotten were now somehow engulfing him; like someone had switched something on or had powered something down in his brain. It felt like his conscience knew that his whole life had come crashing down.

Peter Barlowe tried to get his mind around it all and the events that had just taken place. “I’ve somehow always known, but seemed only like a dream.” Peter Barlowe whispered to himself and trying to make his mind absorb it.

He pulled a jacket and pants out of the bag he had assembled in his office just before all hell had broken out and the Falls Church facility was overrun with armed military personnel.

“I’m going down, that’s for sure.” he realized while stretching a lightweight shirt over his torso and fitting the skullcap over his head.

But I can see it all so clearly now; must be what it feels like to come out of a comma. he thought. “I have to tell the president.” he decided and whispered this time quietly, while he pulled the pants up over his clothes and got his feet into the right position.

They’re looking for me, and I might even turn myself in. He debated with himself. For now, Peter Barlowe, the defunct Superintendent of the dead and gone Strategic Perception Unit, pulled the gloves over his hands and set the eyepiece in place.

The chameleon suit would give him time. Peter rushed into a janitor’s room and quietly closed the door. He had to figure out how he preferred to die. “It ain’t a thing to be taken lightly.” He tried to persuade himself.

Peter carefully got down on the floor and sat in the absolute blackness and listened to the sounds of hundreds of feet walking up and down the maze of hallways that made up the Falls Church facility.

“They can’t have any idea what they have just unleashed.” Peter told no one except himself.

He didn’t care at all what had happened to Jaime O’Rourke. “He was better off dead anyway.” Peter paused in reflection and then whispered. “So uncivilized; he took us to ruin, though he was probably just following orders, and didn’t we all?”

Thoughts that he had lost for so many years were now clearly focused in his mind; his past, his school, his friends, his bedroom and then his mom and dad were all flying past his mind’s eyes; all the things he seemed to have forgotten during his time in the SPU.

Seated in the darkness, the sounds of military personnel voices, radio relays and footsteps subsided and he succumbed to the pull of his mental visions, from so many years earlier.

Edgecombe County, North Carolina

September, 1969, 1:52 p.m.

“Just deal with it.” was the last thing Peter Barlowe’s father ever told him, before he died.

Twelve year old Peter Barlowe walked into his home in Edgecombe County, North Carolina just as he had as far back as he could remember. There, to the right, he saw his father, Marshall sitting on the edge of the couch; his face buried in his palms, shaking and weeping a torrent of tears.

“Dad, where’s mom?”

Peter Barlowe looked at the things that were scattered around his father, on the couch and the floor. He saw pictures of his childhood, his mom, Betty and his dad’s great-great grandmother, Winnifred Atkinson Barlowe’s portrait. The floor was littered with old folders everywhere; all of them opened with their contents spilling out.

What’s he looking for? Peter wondered. “Dad, where’s mom? You’re starting to scare me.”

Marshall Barlowe looked up at his son with a face that screamed out disaster and guilt.

“Mother, you want your mother? Well, boy, you haven’t got a mother anymore; you’ve never had one. The Consortium made sure of that. You’re nothing but a hybrid”

Young Peter Barlowe took in his father’s words. The pitch, the expression across his father’s face and the grave sound of his father’s voice, and the most devastatingly terrible things of all were the words themselves. It all told the young twelve-year old boy that his life was about to be drastically altered and to remain permanently in disrepair.

Marshall Barlowe sat on the edge of the couch with his eyes weeping into his palms. He raised his head and gazed at the boy he had always loved, though in the affection department, Marshall Barlowe had rarely attempted to display any, though he possessed a lot of love for young Peter Barlowe.

The expression Marshall Barlowe saw stretched across his son’s face made the man hurt inside so badly that he had to use his right hand to force the gun in his left hand down so he wouldn’t raise the barrel up to his own head and pull the trigger earlier than he figured he’d be forced to do.

“Peter, I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t; I swear I did. Everything about that damn place is automated, and it’s only the beginning. Don’t try to run; cause, they’ll kill you. This isn’t what the SPU was for.”

Peter looked over at his father and took in the words that even he, at his young age, realized would be the last ones his father would ever say to him.

“Peter, I love you, I always have. But, you cannot give up what’s ours and what was started by my kin, my blood; to make us competitive, not to kill presidents and senators.”

Peter walked slowly closer to his father and saw the gun in his hand.

“Dad, what’s wrong? I know about the SPU. I know what the Consortium is too. I’m not afraid; tell me what I have to do.” Tears rolled down the boy’s face and young Peter Barlowe felt his knees wobbling under him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

Marshall looked at Peter with regret etched all over his face.

“My boy, Michael O’Rourke has taken the line; he’s the Consortium’s hand-picked thief, and he stole it from Eldridge Harrison and killed him.”

Marshall saw the confounded stare in his son’s eyes.

“Peter, I know, you’re young, way too young to endure what has happen here today. I …”

“Yea, that … what has happened, dad? Where is my mom?” Peter demanded.

“Mom, you got no mom, never did. Listen to me, you can’t run. If you run, they’ll kill you, and I can’t stop it now. Once a thing like this gets rolling, there’s no stopping it. This will never be far from you, Peter. Once they take you …”

“Take me, take me where?” Peter looked around desperately to see who was trying to take him away.

“You have to grow up fast and stop the system. The new line will build it, and they’ll use it too, to control everyone.”

“Dad, I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.”

“That’s not important. They’re going to take you, Peter, and when they do, you’ll be chipped. No one knows the things we’ve done; we don’t even know ourselves. No one even comprehends how many masters we’ve served; all the while exacting all the power, funding, technology and information they could take as their booty.

“The SPU and every president has been the puppet of the Consortium since Wilson. When O’Rourke’s crowd gets their claws on the codes we have, from every nation that’s anything, no one will ever be able to stop the Consortium, all provided by the SPU and Michael O’Rourke.

“Peter, you’ll forget these things after they block out this day, and God knows how many other days, nights, even years they will expunge from your memory. But, my only hope is that you will find a way around the control that will be placed upon you. You’ll have to teach your mind to control it and to listen to you.”

“What are you talking about? Whose gonna control me?”

“You will have to force your will over the control. It can be done, but you’ll have to constantly force this day back into your mind. That’s the best I can do.” Marshall Barlowe stared back at Peter and rose from the couch.

“Peter, There are so many things you do not understand. Listen carefully; they’ve built a system that will give the Consortium complete control over everything. It is military, economic and social calamity that no nation on Earth will survive in its present form. They’re going to take the whole thing down. You have to deal with it. Let them have you, teach you and prepare you, but never let them own you. One day, you will bring them all down.

“I have raised you since you were barely ten pounds. I have so much sadness to tell you though that I am not …”

Young Peter Barlowe heard a cracking sound and turned his head toward the shattering sound of breaking glass that followed and hit the ground at the same time. He turned back to his father and saw a blood-spewing hole erupt in the center of his father’s forehead. Blood shot out of his dad’s head and splashed over Peter’s face. Peter saw a set of papers lying on the floor that were marked, Berkowitz Holdings.” He heard the back door fly open and slam loudly against the wall. He quickly took the papers and folded them and shoved them under his shorts and lay silently and exposed on the living room floor and saw four sets of feet enter the room. He saw them walking over to him and then they grabbed him and lifted him up.

“Peter, we got here as soon as we could. You’re dad’s had a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. O’Rourke, you just killed my dad. He told me everything. I will not go with you. Did you kill my mom too, you lying bastard?”

“Listen, calm down. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was about to kill you too. Come on now, you’re delirious, and I’ve got just the thing to help you forget all about this.”

Michael O’Rourke walked over to Peter and put his arm around his shoulder. Peter pulled away from him and punched the much larger man in the ribs. O’Rourke felt it, too.

"I don’t know what to believe, but you can never make me believe that.” Peter shouted.

“Of course you don’t, Pete. But I can make you believe or forget anything I want you to. In fact, I fully intend to tell you what to believe, my boy.” O’Rourke looked at his men. “Make the call.”

“Yes sir.” O’Rourke’s man walked over to the house phone and dialed a number.

“Secure Routing, what’s your request?”

“I need a secure line to Copenhagen.”

“One second to find an empty secure trunk line. I’m dialing now. Your call is connected.”

“Sir, we have it all in play.” O’Rourke said

“Did you kill Barlowe Sr.?”

“Yes sir, but have not found his documents yet.”

“Then burn it all down. Those are the only copies that can transfer my holdings to someone else.”

“Burn the house, you mean?”

“What, are you deaf? I said, burn the whole damn thing. I liked Eldridge Harrison, he was a great man, but just too full of remorse to keep him around. Barlowe was of less value, but he had damnation in his hands with those documents. So, burn the whole damn thing and chip the boy. His real dad was no dummy, and I am sure the fruit of his father’s loins is of the same caliber. You got that?”

“As we speak, sir.” The phone went dead. O’Rourke slammed the phone down.

“Get him outta here; one of you, get back in here and burn this place.”

Michael O’Rourke, the new chief of the Strategic Perception Unit could not believe it had come off so flawlessly.

“Finally, the SPU’s all mine.”

Three large men picked up Peter Barlowe and cuffed him and led him outside. As they walked him out the back door that had been kicked off its hinges, Peter saw the lifeless body of his mother sprawled across the blood-splattered table, with a large knife protruding out of her chest.

“You killed my mom. You bastards killed my mom.” Peter screamed and fought to get away from his abductors.

Two of the men carried twelve-year-old Peter Barlow out of the house and to a black car with US Government plates. They jostled him into the car and he looked to his left at another young unconscious body next to him, in the back seat.

“Fish, Fisher is that you?”

“Oh, you know young Fisher Harrison, don’t you? Don’t worry about him; he’s OK. He’s been visiting us for a few days from Indiana. As a matter of fact, why don’t you join him?”

The SPU operative placed a mask over his own face and closed the backseat divider and pressed a button his on his dash board that sprayed half the normal dose of gas that he’d have administered to an adult. The young boy pounded on the divider but soon, he felt his strength give way to a sleepy, foggy haze and everything went dark.

Inside SPU Center

Falls Church, Virginia

March 7, 2011 11:04 a.m.

“I remember.” Peter said quietly, but more loudly than he had intended with his head swimming and his heart pounding in his chest, he felt numb as the darkness of 1969 faded in his mind’s eyes and he peered and gaped into the darkness of 2011. He fine-tuned his ears to the sounds of soldiers, as they walked up and down the huge Falls Church facility corridors.

“It’s an automated response.” Peter recalled from his thoughts of the past that had flooded every chamber of his previously barricaded mind.

Memories started flashing and streaming through his mind and he saw what this horrible system would do. His mind could almost feel the skin around his face pressed back and felt a searing heat blistering his face by the destruction that his mind pictured.

Would this be the ultimate price for working for the devil? Peter wondered. It’s like I’ve been there before, like something’s been put back in place in my mind. He remembered when he and O’Rourke had met them. Berkowitz, yes that’s right. Now, there’s a man devoted only to power; someone who’d only give up his throne if he could take us all with him. Peter Barlowe remembered everything.

“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve build a system that will take down the whole thing down.” his father had said. “Just before they blew him away.” Peter whispered. “…if they take us down, everything goes with us.” He had heard the words so often since he had become part of the SPU. The memory shot through his mind and he gripped the sides of his head.

“We’ve chipped every soldier, Marine, Seaman and Airman since 1988, and neither Reagan, Clinton nor Bush knew a thing about it. Even Tate didn’t get that information.” He groaned in mental agony.

He heard in his mind what his handlers had engrained in his young mind after he had been chipped. “Your dad killed himself.”

No, you killed him. Peter Barlowe, heard his mind silently cry out.

“Your father killed your mother; stabbed her in the heart.”

“You lie!” He started to scream out loudly, but he clasped his hand over his mouth and looked down at his watch. “Only two minutes.” He told himself. “I have to stop it.” He heard the sound of heavy footsteps voices approaching his location. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.

“This O’Rourke guy is dead.” One soldier said to the other. “Yea, Harrison’s not gonna take any crap.”

“Jaime’s dead? That leaves only me to take all the heat.” Barlowe realized.

He positioned himself with his back to the wall of the cleaning room and switched his flashlight on. Peter looked down at the chameleon suit he had put on. He pulled the mask over his face and pressed a button on the inside of his jacket. The suit came to life and he took on the colors and blended into the room, but the suit’s one flaw was the initialization process that produced a low whining sound that the SPU techs had not managed to rectify.

“Did you hear that?” One soldier asked the other. Barlowe heard the soldiers walking toward the door.

“I have to get to the chamber and reset the failsafe or lookout it’s a brave new world.” His watch told him he had forty-eight seconds.

He heard the footprints coming his way and saw light break through the darkness as the cleaning room door slowly opened. He pulled his legs back prepared himself.

Two US Army soldiers aimed their weapons into the room and looked inside. They saw nothing and walked into the room. When they came close enough to trip over Peter, he drove the force of both his adrenalin-laced legs into the chest of one of the soldiers, crushing his chest instantly. Peter leapt to his feet and rapidly raced down the corridor, firing as he ran as fast as his legs would take him.

The Army advance soldier was one of a team of ten sent to conduct code enforcement and to shoot anyone on sight who threatened US Forces in any way. The soldier ran into the corridor and saw Peter. The one soldier still left breathing ran after him and radioed his commander.

“I got him, Peter Barlowe …”

“One second…”

“One second, I ain’t got one second…”

“Who are you, what company?”

“Taggart, sir, Advanced Infantry Clearance.”

“Give it to me, soldier.”

“I got Barlowe. You know, like the number two … sir.”

“You’ve got a shoot to kill on that dirt bag, Taggart. You Copy?”

"You better believe it … sir. He’s in the left corridor.”

“Secretary Blake wants Barlowe dead. Do you copy that?”

“That’s affirmative and happy to oblige; engaging now.”

Taggart crouched forward and advanced with his weapon held tightly and impatiently ready. When Taggart turned the corner, Barlowe sprayed bullets in every direction. Taggart took cover and returned fire, even though he couldn’t see anything except the holes that Barlowe was inflicting upon the facility walls.

“Sergeant, you still with us? I can’t see you, Taggart.” Taggart’s commanding officer looked around at his personnel busy at backing up their forces at their consuls. “That’s his name, right?”

“Yes sir, it’s Taggart.”

“That’s affirmative, still in pursuit and the bastard’s invisible and shooting. Not in the talking mood, for the moment, sir!”

“Copy that.”

Barlowe turned to run and a bullet grazed the chameleon suit’s programs controller, which rendered him instantly visible with only twenty-two seconds left to stop the automated response.

“I think I’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.” Peter knew he had no chance to stop it and the failsafe was the only chance Barlowe had to remain a free man, even if no one else would be.

Barlow turned and looked at Taggart. The rest of Taggart’s men ran up behind Barlowe, with their weapons drawn and trained directly on him.

“Get down on the floor, now!” Taggart screamed.

Barlowe got down and looked at his watch. “Hmm, seven seconds.” He told himself as he looked up at the soldiers.

“I said get down flat and face down on the floor!” Another of the armed soldiers shouted.

“Listen to me. You’ve got to stop the clock.” Three, two, one.

“This is your last…” Taggart, who had appeared deadly ready to blow Barlowe away suddenly dropped his weapons to his sides and stood calmly and relaxed.

Throughout the whole facility, every man and woman in uniform simply stopped searching and stood at attention, waiting for their next orders.

International Monetary Fund Headquarters
Copenhagen, Denmark

March 7, 2011 5:05 p.m.

“Good, oh will you look at that?” Warren Berkowitz said in great amazement watching from his IMF office.”

“Ha-Ha, will you look at that?” Berkowitz pressed a button.

“Yes sir.”

“Patch me into the intercom.”

“One second please … The line is yours, Mr. Berkowitz.”

Berkowitz stood up and stared at his screen with Barlowe lying face down on the floor for a moment. The soldiers were all standing at attention in their various areas of the facility; spread out on various screens across Berkowitz’s wall. He did not bat an eye.

“Thank you for your service, Peter Barlowe.” Berkowitz’s voice echoed throughout the facility. Barlowe raised his head and looked in every direction.

“Mr. Barlowe, this is Warren Berkowitz. We have met before, you know.”

“Yes, I know, I remember you, one of several slimy internationalists who have kept me alive since I was brought to you.” Peter said. He looked upward and defiantly screamed. “I remember everything!”

Peter rose to his feet and looked around in amazement. They were almost robotically compliant. Some of the best forces the nation had were down in the underground facility. Now, every one of them had amassed in a ring around Peter Barlow. They all still moved and looked very alive and totally acquiescent. Taggart just stood there and looked at Peter and appeared normal in every way.

Richmond Control,

Richmond Virginia

March 7, 2011, 11:06 a.m.

“Secretary Blake, we’ve lost contact with Taggart … with everyone.”

“What did you just say?”

“Sir, all communications are shut down. I have no live connections right now.”

“Who the hell’s in charge of this country right now?” the Secretary queried and demanded to know.

Inside SPU Center

Falls Church, Virginia

March 7, 2011, 11:07 a.m.

“You’re an amazing man, Mr. Barlowe. You are the first, if my memory serves me as well as yours evidently does you. Is that right, gentlemen? Is he not the first to get it all back.” Everyone agreed, as they almost always did.

“Actually, I would be the second, Mr. Berkowitz.” Peter said. “The first one is the President of the United States.”

“Ah, yes, you would be right on that one. We have plans for him, just as we have for you. As you can see, or at least hear, we’ve come a bit out of the shadows. Hard to believe you’ve worked for us all your life already and have never been as close to death as you are right now. That puts you at quite a crossroads just now. Now, don’t feel bad. We too, have a crossroad or two ahead of us in the next few days. Sorry, I am addicted to adrenaline.”

“Peter, we have initiated a new program and we want you to direct it, enforce it. It’s really not that different from what you’ve been doing since you joined the SPU as a child. The SPU was our little sect all the time, anyway. This will mean serving under a new protocol now, a new set of rules. Get up and take off that amazing suit we paid to develop for you.”

Peter Barlowe slowly removed the suit.

“You are under the orders of the Consortium now. So, you really have two options. Roll with it and continue your service to the Consortium or call it a day and we’ll see you in hell. Peter Barlowe, it’s actually that simple. If you are with us, return to your base and await my orders.”

Barlowe looked around at the military personnel.

“They’re all chipped, aren’t they?”

“Is that what you call it? So are you, but you somehow beat it. We want your heart, not your mind or your motivations. The secret to keeping power is to never stop amassing it. You know that bit about absolute power corrupting absolutely? Well, it’s absolutely true. Amazing changes will take hold of this nation and the world in the next few days. If you’re in, your orders are in your SUV parked at the back of the base, the black one. I need a house divided against itself in one year from today.” Berkowitz replied. “But, I need an answer now.”

“I think I have already given you one. What’s this about an automated response.”

“Wonderful.” Berkowitz said. “It is great not to have to kill you after all we’ve invested in you.”

Berkowitz pressed a button on his console.

“This is your commander. Take Mr. Barlowe to base and be as you were until you get further orders.”

Richmond Control

Richmond Virginia

March 7, 2011, 11:09 a.m.

“Sir, we are connected. Everything seems normal, but that was not normal, right Captain?”

“Not like any normal I’ve ever seen.”

Inside SPU Center

Falls Church, Virginia

March 7, 2011, 11:09 a.m.

“Okay, Peter my boy, let the year begin. You will have everything you need to get the job done and rid the world of this evil country once and for all.” Berkowitz looked at his troops and told them to take Peter to the base. Peter was amazed when he heard the echo of hundreds of voices resonating throughout the facility with the same two words.

“Yes, Sir.”

The Consortium finishes the Patriot Acts Trilogy...

In Part One we saw an evil plot between Iran and right-wing radical American Nazis to destroy the nation. In Part II, the plausible scenario of a biological terror attack ruthlessly is hatched by enemies of the state. In Part III of the Patriot Acts series the world banking and global power brokers are explored.

In September, 2008, The Fed and the treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat. Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a gun to his own head and said, $800 Billion or in 24 hours we die and 5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. What if he had said NO?

Chapter Fifteen

The White House,

Washington, D.C.

March 11, 2012 3:42 p.m.

“I am placing the nation under emergency powers effective upon my signing of this document. The authority of the Emergency Powers Act will not be enforced until tonight, but the temporary powers of the moment do immediately grant the president the power to appoint anyone to vital vacant seats in the Executive Branch. Technically, the speaker has not officially recalled Congress back from recess. I love that word recess; it suits them perfectly.” Fisher chuckled.

Michelle handed Fisher the document and he placed his signature in the appropriate place. Then, Michelle gave President Harrison a second document. Fisher read it out loud.

“By the powers under the State of National Emergency act of 1977, the president has the power to appoint any vital vacant seat and it shall not be automatically removed when and if emergency rule is lifted, and only shall the president’s appointments be removed by resignation, end of life issues or impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, as prescribed by law and the Constitution of the United States of America.

“Therefore, I hereby appoint Hamilton W. Smith to be Vice President of the United States.” Fisher signed the appointment letter and looked at Hamilton. Fisher thought he looked excited and terrified at the same time.

“Hamilton Smith, would you raise your right hand?” Fisher asked.

Hamilton raised his hand and slightly pulled it down two times before Fisher recited the words and Hamilton repeated them. Secret Service came to the door and Fisher, Michelle and Vice President Hamilton Smith all walked out of the Oval Office and headed to two different escorted cars which would depart for two different escorted places.

Hamilton’s destination was in hiding in an undisclosed location, while Fisher’s destination was for the whole world to see. Fisher leaned over to speak to Hamilton as they walked down the White House hallway.

“Hamilton, way back in time, at Iron Mountain prison in Alaska, you remember.” They stood in front of two different limousines and Fisher took his new vice president’s hand and congratulated him. “Well, Hamilton, I just wanted to take back some words from way back when I said in a moment of foolish jesting. Because you’re not just a Smith; you are Vice President Smith.”

In Route to Raven Rock

Mountain Defense Base

March 11, 2012, 3:52 p.m.

“Approach, I need assistance. This is Captain Ray Jerrod; the coordinates you have sent us do not work. You are taking us into the wall of the mountain.” Jerrod pulled and banked left. Jerrod was a good pilot, and he knew this was not an error. Such errors don’t just happen.

A mountain wall appeared before the pilot and he heaved the yoke back all the way. He feared a stall as he had aimed the nose almost straight upward. Margaret and Nate were strapped in, but both had passed out from forces that neither this plane nor human bodies were built to withstand.

“Control, this is GB1 taking evasive action maneuvers and …”

“We’re gonna make it.” The pilot screamed out and straightened out the airplane. “Get back there and check on them.” The navigator specialist got out of his seat and opened the cockpit door. He saw the First lady slumped over and her baby had started crying.

He quickly walked over and called out her name. “Mrs. Harrison … Mrs. Harrison, are you alright?” Margaret’s eyelids began to move and her eyes blinked and finally, she moaned and cried out,

“Where’s my baby?”

Over Iceland,

the Atlantic Ocean

March 11, 2012 7:55 p.m.

Roger, GB1.” The control officer passed his microphone to a tall man with wavy hair in a nicely knitted suit. “He’s all yours Mr. Berkowitz.”

“Well, Peter, so you are a man of character, whatever that means, but I like you. You’re the other side of me.”

“You lie; I am nothing like you. I breathe air not money and power.” Peter suddenly shouted into Berkowitz’s ear piece, making him wince a bit.

"Well, it lives. I thought you had found Jesus or something and were on your way to paradise. Very well, here goes nothing.”

Berkowitz took a card from his pocket and swiped it and his screen came up. He logged onto the same channel that Peter Barlowe used to control his forces. Then he punched in his personal code and a signal was instantly sent to the pilot of the GB1. As the code streamed it found the command to find the micro-circuit lying dormant in the back of the scalp of one Captain Ray Jerrod, the pilot who was now trying to fly the First Lady and her son to safety. The subject was found and it instantly sent the command to obey Berkowitz’s command. It also registered inside the data crunching computers of Homeland Security, the Pentagon, the NSA and the CIA.

In Route to Raven Rock

Mountain Defense Base

March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.

Pilot Captain Ray Jerrod felt Berkowitz’s commands overtake him slowly. He thought it was air sickness then it was like an instantaneous bout of the stomach flu and then just before he was sure he was going to die, he went calm and felt fine. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had.

In Route to Raven Rock

Mountain Defense Base

First Lady’s Cabin

March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.

“It’s OK honey, we’re OK now,” Margaret told her baby, which she knew was a lie.

“Mrs. Harrison, I want to stay here with you and help, but I have to assist the pilot. Are you OK?”

“Thank you; my son is OK, so I’ll be fine.” Margaret had the greatest urge to scream out for her husband and only let it resonate in her head. Fisher, where are you? Fisher, I love you.

Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean

March 11, 2012 7:57 p.m.

Berkowitz spoke to the pilot. “Captain, you are a true patriot, full of everything our money could buy, and that’s a hell of a lot. The problem is, I am not, and I don’t need to be. These are your orders.”

En route to Joint Session of Congress

Washington, D.C.

March 11, 2012 4:05 p.m.

President Fisher Harrison rode in his limousine for the just over a two mile ride between 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW and 100 Constitution Ave NE. He looked out the windows and the two most prominent things he saw were throngs of people with great distress stretched across their faces waving and shouting out well wishes to their a president they trusted. He also saw throngs of soldiers as far as the eye could see. They were all there in battle fatigues and seemingly ready to fight a war or to start one. Of course they all think I ordered them out here.

Fisher saw one man in particular holding up a large sign with the map of the United States prominently displayed with drops of blood dripping down. It read, ‘Is America’s Democracy Bleeding?’Another sign showed a flag shaped into the United States with all the colors running into each other. The words across it read, ‘Why are these colors running?’

They all spoke to him and he knew these fine people loved him, but not as much as they simply needed him, and it gave Fisher great fear and trembling to imagine three hundred million Americans thrown to the dictatorial rule of whatever political charade the Consortium would raise up to hide behind.

Fisher’s motorcade continued on and stress seemed to form all over Fisher’s body, and he felt a trembling inside his arms, hands and legs. He knew it was all far too big for his feeble arms to carry. Fisher waved and didn’t know if the people outside could see him or not, but he caught a glimpse of an old man in a Air Force uniform and holding a sign that was plain and simple, but which bore words that were just like a ray of light in a dark and frozen world to Fisher Harrison. He had needed to read its message before taking on a great nemesis such as the Consortium.

“Driver, I want you to stop the car for a moment. Do you see the big plain sign behind us?”

“Yes, sir, but that against protocol.”

"I realize that, but I need you to ask him, not tell him, but ask him if the president could see him for just a moment.”

The driver radioed to one of the cars behind the president’s to talk with the man. A moment later, a Secret Service agent was standing by the president’s door with the older gentleman. Fisher lowered the window and looked at the sign that told him how to proceed. It gave him hope and told him God had heard his pleas. Fisher read the words. He had heard President Tate use them before. Then Fisher spoke them out loud. “Don’t be afraid to fight this war.”

Fisher looked up at the man standing by Fisher’s window and the old man saw that the president had tears in his eyes. His face had taken on a deep shade of red due to the adrenaline woven together with sorrow.

“Please forgive me for accosting you this way, but your sign touched me so much and it is a direct answer to me from God through you. We need direction, my brother.”

“Mr. President, the honor and privilege is all mine. Would you like to have it, sir? The sign I mean.”

”That’s really generous of you, but it is of much greater value right where you are. Right now, you just might be more powerful than I am, in this awful situation; and isn’t that the way it’s truly supposed to be?”

“Here, let me sign it and that means I will follow your advice, my friend.” Fisher said and placed his signature on the poster.

“I will never forget this day, Mr. President.”

“Please don’t, and remember how your simple message gave a president great resolve. What a truth and stress reliever to know someone is bigger than our feeble abilities to control the deeds and intents of evil men and women.”

Fisher put his arm out the window and shook the elderly man’s hand. “I wish I could get out and thank you appropriately, but these guys might kill me trying to protect me. I will do my best to preserve that you have worked so hard to have and to pass on to your children. Thank you for letting God employ you, sir. ‘Don’t be afraid to fight this war.’ I really love that. Pray for America.”

President Fisher Harrison had no idea how his resolve would soon be placed under maximum danger.

In Route to Raven Rock

Mountain Defense Base

March 11, 2012, 4:12 p.m.

The Navigator Specialist reentered the cockpit and strapped himself in for what he knew would be a rough landing.

“Ray, did they radio you?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And … what’d they tell you?” The navigator looked out ahead and saw the well hidden runway. “Great, Captain, you did it.”

Captain Ray Jarrod looked over at his Navigation Specialist and pulled out his side arm.

Jarrod said the words exactly as he had been instructed. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”

The navigator laughed “Yea Captain …” He looked at the pilot and saw his friend and comrade, Captain Jarrod’s sidearm staring back at him. “Yea I have been told that a few times. What are you doing, Captain?”

“Well, they’ll never tell you that again.” Captain Ray Jarrod squeezed the trigger and unloaded three shots into the navigator’s head. Then, his next orders flashed through his mind.

He switched on the intercom and spoke to the First lady. “Mrs. Harrison, we have the runway in sight...”