Steven Clark Bradley's Blog: Author Steven Clark Bradley - Posts Tagged "steven-clark-bradley"

There is nothing more important than imparting strong values into the lives of our children. It is getting tougher and tougher today, with parents giving up more and more of their authority and responsibility to the schools and the government, to be faithful to the call of bringing up our children with examples of mercy, confession, fairness and conviction. Yet, nothing can do more for a child's future than teaching them about honesty, good choices and hard work when they are still young. That is why I have started this little book called Four lessons For Willow Morgan.

This is a story a story about decisions, wise judgment and strong convictions, about that which is right and that which is wrong.

I am writing this a bit differently than I have in the past. This time, I am writing it together with my 9 year old daughter, Selin Alicia Bradley. She is a bright, sweet and very smart young lady and loves to read. So, this is a two-fold project that gives my little girl lessons in creativity and this story can stimulate lots of children to seek more than their own self-interests, if they venture to read it.

Willow is a little girl who is growing up and who feels urges of rebellion, disobedience and disrespect starting to take hold in her life. Her mother and father recognize it and want to instill some true life lessons in her young heart.

Read chapter one, (the only one I have written thus far) and it may make you recall the times you were faced with decisions and how hard it was, at times, to do the right thing. I hope you enjoy it. The young lady playing part of Willow Daisy Morgan in the blog is my beautiful daughter, Selin Alicia Bradley.

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

I bet you'll love it!

~~~

Chapter One

Cappadocia, Central Turkey

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

“Sounds cool.” she mumbled with a twinge of mischievous glee.

Willow looked around the place and thought it felt a little creepy, but she kind of liked it. “I was stupid not to want to come here. It’s…” She paused as her eyes darted around the room and her clever little mind formed her ideas as to why something was not to her liking and how other things were just right.

“It’s obviously something clearly … cool.” Willow thought out loud as her mind drifted back to a moment that had actually seemed to carry her to this rustic, old beautiful place with ancient old monuments of a people who lived and survived in the caves of Goreme, Turkey.

Four Weeks Earlier
Cappadocia, Central Turkey

She wondered if it was really all her daddy’s doing, getting her to that place. “Ridiculous!” she always told herself. But she had developed some kind of ritual about asking herself why her father had brought her all the way to Central Turkey.

“He’s an Archeologist. It’s what they do.” Willow reminded herself sternly as she was getting herself ready for a perfect day, though not quite, since her daddy would not be with her; he’d be too busy on a dig somewhere in the ruins of Goreme, she knew he was special. He had a knack for reading people, sometimes perfectly sizing them up before he really knew him. Walter Morgan had not been stingy with his talents and had passed a portion of his gifts to her; things she was only now learning about.

“He’s somewhere watching me, I just know it.” she laughed.

He had told her it would be good for them to be together, but Willow Daisy Morgan was sure that she had talked less to her dad than she did in between his world-wide journeys. She had been almost under lock and key constantly, but she understood it was dangerous and it didn’t make her upset. What it did do, though was to make her probing mind try to put two and two together without the needed information. She was sure the one man she loved completely and trusted without doubt had brought her there for some reason other than he had said.

“So, it has to be good, then.” Willow reassured herself. “He’d never do anything bad to me. I just know my daddy. And my mom, she’d kill or be killed to protect me.” Willow decided to play along, and, today was different. Willow had a free day today, and she could go out and wander in the caves of Goreme and see how people lived in a time when her habit of comfort was very seldom lived. Willow heard a knock at her door.

“Miss Morgan, you know it’s your free day. Your guide is here.” the house Butler kindly shouted through the closed door.

“Hi Franklin, I’ll be right down.” She shouted back.

Willow pulled her boots on and her jacket. She just knew something big was on for today. It was the strangest feeling she had ever had, and it animated her ... energized her. She zipped up the jacket and put her Cubs hat on her head and got ready for … whatever. Willow walked over to the door and saw a picture on the wall suddenly tilt to the right.

“That was weird.” Willow admitted. She walked over to the picture and reached up to straighten it. Crooked things, half-closed doors or drawers closed with bits of clothing sticking out of them made her a certain kind of crazy. It was a compulsion, but she didn’t fight it.


Willow took hold of the picture and she felt a gust of wind brush across the left side of her face and then on her right and it seemed to swirl around her. She was afraid and wanted to scream, but instead used the words she had made herself believe would shield her from any danger.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

She felt its touch and then saw it swirled into a perfectly pure white mist. What scared her was that she wasn’t scared at all. “It’s too beautiful to be bad, but she knew that way of knowing if something or someone was good or not did not always work. She decided to let it show her.

The mist moved, more slowly and it took on a shape. Willow was sure she saw wings and it was massive and peaceful and had a glow that was not from power but purity, like something that had never done wrong.

“That’s better than me.” Willow told herself.

A face emerged and smiled at Willow. It stretched out its arm and touched her and it spoke. Willow knew it wasn’t speaking English, but she understood it.

“Are you Willow Daisy Morgan?”

“Come on now, you’re telling that you just barged into my room and appeared so coolly, and you’re not even sure of my name?”

“Well, I was just told to ask you that.”

“Don’t worry.” Willow said. “I know it was rhetorical.”

The white beautiful beast looked a bit confused. “It means you were being polite, right?”

The white glowing image livened and looked more confident. “Yes, that’s right. I was trying to … connect with you; I think I read your age group says that to each other, right?"

Willow rolled her eyes. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

“I am a Watcher, Miss Willow Daisy Morgan. I guess that is one type of Angel, according to humans.”

“Well, I think you’re cool, so just be yourself, cause I always am. I think this is what my teacher called a culturally teachable moment or something like that. But you really are very beautiful.” The Watcher’s wings glowed a bit brighter, obviously appreciating Willow’s words.

“And one more thing.” Willow said. “You can just call me Willow. It’s a lot easier, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, Miss Willow.”

“I didn’t say Miss Willow. I said just plain Willow.”

“But, Miss Willow, there is nothing plain about you at all.” The Watcher looked at Willow and wondered. “Oh my, none of my brothers told me I’d have one of them.”

“And what do you mean by ‘one of them?” Willow wondered. “You know, one of the stubborn ones who know everything.”

“You mean there’s bad luck in heaven?” Willow asked.

“Not until today.” the Watcher replied.

Willow looked frustrated and then they just laughed.

“I hope you’ll come back and see me soon again, but I have to go now.”

“Indeed, Willow, you do have to go … with me.”

“With you? No way! If I am not downstairs in a couple of minutes, I am going to get so grounded.”

The Watcher touched Willows forehead and she rose up off the ground.

Willow looked down at the floor below her and started trying to protect herself again.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” She shouted with her feet dangling in the air. “Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

Willow was flaying her legs and kicking at the white beast and it shook its head and smiled. Franklin was again knocking on the door.

“Miss Morgan, are you Okay?” Willow looked over at the door and then hers and the Watcher’s eyes met.

“Willow, no one shall compel you. It is you and you alone who can decide what you wish. Doesn’t a life of greater importance interest you?” Willow stopped throwing her feet around and calmly looked at the Watcher.

“Willow Morgan, can you hear me?” Franklin asked while pounding on the door.

“Guess it’s now or never, huh?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, because it is never too late to do good, but I know what you mean.”

“You sure are a strange angel.”

Franklin was giving the door body slams now. “Open the door, Willow!”



“And how many Watch…angels have you known that would give you the ability to form such an opinion of me?" Asked the Watcher as he leaped into the air.




"Come down here." Willow demanded. "I don't have time for this. Franklin's going to kill me if I don't get down there."

Franklin pounded again and again and took out his cell phone. He pressed a key into the lock.

~~~

Willow's father, Walter Morgan was up a hill on one of the caves; digging in one of the ancient homes and collecting an ancient treasure of information. He had a cell phone to his ear and a small pick in his other hand pounding a certain stone that looked like nothing but which was precious to his professional eye. He felt the other cell phone in his pocket vibrate and threw down the pick. He took the phone read the name of the caller and spoke into the cell already pasted to his ear.

“Honey, I am sure this is about Willow. No, don’t worry; she’s going to be fine, just like you and I were. With significance comes risk. I’ll call you back. Love you too.” He closed the cell and opened the other.

“This is Walt.”

“Sir, Miss Willow has locked herself in her room and refuses to open the door. Should I…?”

“By all means, Franklin. You can open the door.”

Willow heard the key enter the lock. She extended her hand and the Watcher took hold of it. Franklin turned the key and suddenly, she felt herself racing upward and saw the ceiling getting closer and closer and then it was gone. They flew low and towards Israel.



Franklin threw the door open and stepped quickly into the room. He heard a noise above him and looked up and saw nothing, but he was sure he saw a shoe, a boot that was there and then … not.


“If I get grounded, I am gonna tell God and he’s gonna … demote you!” Willow said laughing with her hair flying backward and the wind bouncing off her face. She was very much alive and loving it.




The Watcher looked down at Willow and she smiled with great excitement. The Watcher did as well, but knew the entire journey would not bring her joy. “Not one with her type of personality.” Some things had to be learned with difficulty and sometimes pain.

Walter Morgan’s phone rang again. “Betty, she’s going to be alright, I promise.” He looked up and saw what only those like he, his wife and his daughter could see. Out in the horizon, headed South East, Walt Morgan saw his daughter zooming through the sky; held up by a watcher of God. “Honey, believe me, she’s well on her way.”

Willow’s eyes again saw the present world again and left the past behind. She looked down and saw the book neatly fitted inside the box. She picked up the card again.

“Wow, that day made me a believer.” She thought.

Willow was changing. At thirteen, she was, “not a kid anymore.” She blurted out. She looked up at the ceiling and really liked the magical way the nightlight shined into the rafters above that held up the whole place.


“People are smart” she decided. “Sometimes.” She added. Willow knew that meant she didn’t need her mom and dad to tell her what to do anymore.

“I can figure things out just fine for myself, anymore.”

Being a ‘good little girl’ at church three times a week was just not her anymore. It had all become so routine; so boring. The world just seemed so big to her now with so much to learn, both good and bad for a thirteen-year-old who did not want to play the game of being who she was not. It would be a moment of discovery. Her attitude made her feel guilty, but it was a journey she had to take.

Willow glared out the window into the dark night sky and saw the distant flickering lights from homes down the hill of some who were not as rich as she was but who probably had more peaceful hearts than she did. She looked around the room again and walked over to her bed. Willow got down on her belly by her bed and reached under it for the box she had shoved under there right after she and her parents had arrived earlier in the day. She pulled it out and gazed down at the box that she just knew had something magical about it, because it was the only thing she could think about all through dinner. Willow knew that she had not found it by chance; the treasure, which is what Willow called it and what she thought it might lead to.

“I just had to open it.” Willowed said quietly out loud. She recalled how her fingers sort of tingled when she touched the box, and how her hands were not her own; reaching and just taking the cover right off. It seemed … “Unavoidable, really inescapable.” Just as her fingers were doing right now.

Willow pulled hard and the top of the box was sudden in her hands and she felt suddenly frozen; not with fear. It was some kind of understanding that she’d never be the same after this adventure. It was the kind of quest had usually only imagined or dreamt. Willow pinched herself to make sure it was real. The not to pleasant feeling shot up her arm that told her it was the real deal.

Willow placed the cover on the floor and saw the same envelope on top she had not been able to muster up the courage to open the last two times she had ventured this far into whatever it was that awaited her. Then, both times she had managed to hold it up to the light and see a watermark image of the massive estate that her mom and dad brought her to on the card through the envelope. It was then that Willow knew she’d be there, somehow. So when her mother and father announced this little summer getaway, she wasn’t shocked one bit. In fact, she even pretended not to want to go so they’d make her do it all the more. She had them figured out a long time ago, but she loved them that way. Willow also knew that her mom and dad had her pretty well figured out too. She was sure they knew of her pretend life, singing, going on young people’s outings at church, but not really because she liked it. She had actually snuck away three times from church, but her mom knew it, but had not told Willow’s dad and Willow was sure her mom was smarter than her young mind liked to admit.

Willow took the box and again held it up to the light, but felt a powerful urge and ripped it open. Willow’s hands were shaking a bit, but she still pulled out the card that was inside and seemed, in her mind, to be clamoring to get out. She took the card out and turned it over and read it. The message started with, ‘Dear Willow’. The thirteen-year-old was so rattled by seeing her name there that she dropped it to the bed. Willow looked down at the box lying on the bed and her name was no longer there. That seemed to replace her fear with intrigue and disappointment, especially disappointment, in fact. Willow picked it up again and her name appeared there once more. “Isn’t that amazing?” she almost shouted. She opened it and let a scroll slide out. She unrolled it and began to read.

“Good evening to you, you’ve decided to open the box. Your interest has peaked that could not stop you from looking inside the box. You’d still look in without delay if there had been ten thousand locks.

"You’re off on a journey of discovery and an unbelievable tale. Be careful who you talk to and do watch out for their sweet and evil spell.

"You are going to see what many have not. You’re going to know, don’t forget to ask ‘what.’ I cannot assure you that you’ll come back here exactly as the same kid. Yet, it is known that if you do not take the journey, you’ll forever wish that you actually did.

Beware of the black hearts, for they will make you the same as all of them. Look on with a full heart and become someone you have never ever been, and by the way … have fun!”

Willow took the words into her mind and thought about the poem that had gripped her heart and mind and tantalized her. She read the rest of it.

“Look to your right at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive.”

“Wait a minute!” Willow said. She got off the floor by her bed and walked over to the other side and looked down at the box and scroll card. Now it read, “Look to your left at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive.” Willow chuckled and giggled. Isn’t that the most awesome thing you’ve ever seen.” She almost shouted again, both a tad bit scared and totally amazed.

Willow got on her bed and looked down at the card again. “Look straight ahead at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive, and stop playing around and pay attention.” That frightened her a bit and she dropped the card, but her curious heart made her quickly pick it back up, and she pinched herself again. She was awake alright.

“This is why I’m here.” she told herself. So, she read the rest.

Author Steven Clark Bradley
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Chapter Two

Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part Two
The Preservation Of The Neph

Goreme Caverns, Cappadocia, Central Turkey


“I can’t believe the years have passed.” He thought. Another voice filled his mind, as Walter Morgan took a large pick and swung it hard against the cavern wall. The loud thud was the result of thirty-five years of falling rock and debris that made it so hard to get to it.

“I know it’s here. I put it here myself.” he thought out loud as he swung the heavy pick-ax again, and it collided with the stone that separated Walter Morgan from retrieving what he had come there to get. Then another voice filled his mind and the sound of it made him lower the pick and listen intently.
“Wally? Where’d he get off to? Walter Aaron Morgan you will get to this house this instant!” He smiled at the sound of his mother’s voice. “I loved buying those bugs.” He laughed and heard his mother’s screams. “Walter Aaron Morgan, I am going to kill you! I hate those things!”

His kind and studious face took on a great childish grin as he remembered how those plastic bugs had made his mom so crazy when she pulled the blankets down and saw them planted right on her pillow.

“They looked so real.” Walter told himself. He pulled the pick into the air and swung it hard against the stone wall. “They looked so real, those bugs.” He heard a definite crack this time and reared the pick back behind him again.

“The tomato worms were the ones she hated most.” He reminded himself again.

He yanked the heavy pick forward and crushed the remaining wall and a pitch black hole was suddenly flooded with light, and Walter Morgan’s mind was flooded with his father’s voice. They were the same words that had often made him stronger and afraid to ever give up.

“Walter, you get in and get back out fast! It doesn’t take power to do what you must. It takes speed, accuracy and a determination to survive. It is our heritage, rarer than gold and of inestimable value.” Walter’s mind saw his father wrap an arm around his son’s shoulder. “My boy, it will all be clear. It is here that you will understand your significance and how to possess it and hold it with humility and to consecrate yourself to helping all men and women without respect of person. It is the way of the Neph.”

Since then, it was what drove him, just as his father had said it would be. It was Walter Morgan’s duty to pass his birthright on to Willow, just as his father had delivered it to him. It was that drive to preserve their unique and hidden difference of his line that had shed its insatiable appetite for evil and instead had yielded their kind to God.Walter swung the tool around one last time and the opening grew large enough to reach in and take back what he had placed there thirty-five years earlier. He reached in and felt a large box on the tips of his fingers. He pushed in further and dug his fingernails into the wood and pulled hard. He pulled it out quite easily.

~~~


“Miss Willow, you shouldn’t squirm so much.” Willow looked down and saw the flickering lights of the valley farmers who lived off the land in that part of Turkey.

She saw the rock spires of Goreme just out ahead. Willow spotted places where there was light and then darkness until another little patch of light appeared, with pitch blackness overtaking the land of Cappadocia. She kicked her legs with excitement as they soared above it all and screamed out in pure enjoyment mixed with fear.

“This is what I was born for, isn’t it?”

“I am but a created creature myself. We too have demonstrated our capacity to go the wrong way. You will meet many Black Hearts on this excursion to prove my point.”

“What you’re really trying to say is that you are not perfect and could drop me, right?” she confirmed.

“Not in so many words.”

“What? You used twice as many words as I did.” Willow wrinkled her brow and took on a half-perturbed, half-inquisitive look across her face. She looked at the great beast and was sure she had seen a great smirk or smile or something that told her he was messing with her.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“And what would that be, Miss Willow Daisy … um Willow?” as the Watcher descended and landed on a ledge carved into one of the spires that had clearly been someone’s home a couple thousand years ago. The Watcher got down on one knee and placed Willow on her feet.

“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Willow told the Watcher. “But you are hiding something from me, I know.”

“Smart of you to say, Willow. You Nephs are all different. Seems that …”

“What did you say, and no angelic hocus-pocus, OK? What’s a Neph?”

~~~

Walter Morgan looked down at his own hands that were tugging on the box that should have been almost fossilized by the weight over it and the thirty years that had past. “It’s too light.” He said loudly with a strong hint of real fear. “We will not survive without the scepter of truth. It cannot be done.”
Walter looked down at his trembling hands that held a urn that was far too light to contain the scepter. He unhooked the latch and opened the lid. “Gone? Perhaps stolen; either way, it’s just as gone. Walter reached into the urn and pulled out a letter. He held it up and tried to open it but his hand shook, trembled so badly until it seemed to dry out and then his whole arm crumbled into dust.

“Whoever owns the scepter rules the Neph.” Walter recited to himself. He held the envelope with his left hand and pulled the letter out and unfolded it with his teeth and began to read it.

“Now, now, you needn’t be so frightened. You’ve had a good run, but nothing lasts forever. Walter, you know the rules of the challenge. The house cannot refuse, and I think that just might be you. I admit to you though, it’s hardly a challenge, since you know longer have what I’ve just taken from you. “Whoever own the…”

“Yes Kassadia … whoever owns the Scepter rules the Neph … yea, I know! And, I know there is nothing resembling a Neph in you!” Walter screamed while crumbling and crushing the letter in his only hand and looking at his right arm that was no longer there. “When I put my hand to possess the scepter, it took possession of my arm. I have to get it back.” he shouted. “Willow!”


~~~

“Lord Kassadia, they’ve been spotted just over to your right, there on that ledge.”

“Where do you mean? I can’t even make them out with these binoculars.”

“My lord, please forgive me, but you half-breeds are of a more frail nature than we Watchers.”

“I am not a Neph nor a Dark Heart, oh fallen one.” Kassadia told the dark Watcher. “You do know how to get on my nerves.”

The fallen Watcher sneered at Kassadia. “I am an original. I have not given my will to the maker, like the Neph. We are of a more pure race. We didn’t take the name. It was given to us, but Dark-Hearts just stuck.” Kassadia reflected. “I guess it’s true, but I like me that way. Take a message from me.”

~~~

“Miss Willow, you make my lights sputter and my wings quiver nervously with your persistence.” Willow giggled that she was able to drive an Angel so crazy. “Though, Miss Willow, I can surmise that by human logic, you think you have a right to know.”

“See, I told you that you were smart. So, tell me, what is a Neph?”

“For this purpose we are going to such lengths. But we can talk about it as we continue. Your family is special in the ...”

“Wait! Did you hear that?” Willow stood silently frozen and listened for the sound again. She heard nothing then saw something there, but transparent and swirling over her and the Watcher.

“Willow!” She turned her head at sound of her father’s voice.

“You heard that, right? You had to have heard someone calling my name!”

The watcher didn’t respond to Willow this time. He sensed the presence, one of his own, gone bad and no time to tell her even to get down. He reached down and took Willow by the hood of her coat and left her dangling in the air while he scanned all around.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” The words did not give her the feeling of safety that they once did. This was all too real to let mere words give her hope. There was an adversary there that got the Watcher’s attention. “Put me down! I insist.”


The watcher did even glance her way but squatted down and placed her carefully and firmly on the ledge. Willow ran to the side of the stone dwelling and hid in the dark.

A black thick shadow seemed to hover and swirl in the air. The Watcher saw it coming at him and drew his great sword and swung it at the black leathery Watcher. It suddenly appeared and the sound of their swords colliding was deafening for Willow, but she knew that victory was not certain.

“But, I have a good idea what a Neph is.” she said. “Because I feel like I want to fly.”

A sharp pain shot through her sides and she fell to the floor and screamed and then the pain was gone. Willow rose to her feet and felt behind her back. “Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” Then she smiled broadly. “Are they real?” Willow felt them. “Oh my goodness, I’ve got wings!” She decided to use them when she saw the black shadow thing coming at her.

Willow leapt into the air and just knew how to do it. Her wings responded instinctively and she moved perfectly. The watcher saw Willow leap into the air and yelled out to her. “Get down!” But, as soon as he did, the dark leathery Watcher swung his sword and struck Willow’s Watcher in his armor sending him crashing to the floor. He landed with great force. The dark Watcher heard him hit bottom and dived toward the Willow’s protector. She took a large rock in her hand and dove toward the dark Watcher.

The dark Watcher smiled to think of what his master would think of him if he killed a King’s Watcher. His face turned grave and serious. The King’s Watcher lay on the floor waiting to recuperate. He saw the dark Watcher drawing near, but he could not yet move. The Dark Watcher pulled his sword back and readied for the kill. As the dark Watcher got in striking distance, Willow threw the large rock and hit the dark Watcher in the chest sending him crashing to the ground as well.

“HaHaHa! Loser!” She screamed. The King’s Watcher had now fully recovered and had to subdue his dark brother before his regenerative powers kicked in as well. Willow’s protector had needed some protecting from her. The Watcher was grateful for his life, and Willow was happy to have lived the moment. She felt so much older now.

***

Walter Morgan knew that he had pass on the Scepter to Willow before the end of the night. If Kassadia could keep the Scepter till midnight, his line would then rule, and the covenant between the Neph and the King would be broken, and it was 6:23 p.m. now. The shadow of the dark hearts would then again dominate the minds and hearts of all men and women, and like a great Pandora’s box, every hidden evil thing that had been forbidden to grow and the dark tentacles would take root would infest the whole world of humans.

“Willow is the next in line.” Walter said out loud. “Today, she shall grow into her wings.” He shouted again. “Willow!”


***

The King’s Watcher jumped on top of the dark Watcher’s body. “Who sent you? We have the covenant, and you know the transition that must happen to keep the agreement that was sealed in perfect blood.”

“The realm is hers no more. It has been removed and you will do service to Kassadia, after the transition.”

The King’s watcher grabbed the dark Watcher’s neck and squeezed strongly. “What are you talking about? She is here and ready to...”

“It belongs to another now.” The dark Watcher found the idea of Willow’s father lying in a cave in Goreme with his right arm turned to sand amusing. “It really was quite a chore to find where he had hidden it, but nothing is impossible if one’s life depends on it. Nothing personal, but they are half-breeds, and now, their lives depend on us.”

“Wait I heard it again. Did you?”

“It was your father, Willow. He is in great danger, and so are you.”

***

Kassadia placed the binoculars to his eyes and he saw Willow crying and the King's Watcher giving strong blows to the face of the dark Watcher. Kassadia found it all so entertaining and laughed every time a fist came in contact with the dark Watcher’s face.

“It’s going perfectly. There are myriads of others who will serve me, if this one dies.”

***

Willow reached behind her and felt her wings. She told herself to make them disappear and she felt them fold into her body and she knew she was different, unique, and special.

I am Willow Daisy Morgan, constantly changing and very much alive!”
Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part One
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley


_________________________________

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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Chapter Three

“Oh God, I have wanted and have tried to do right, to maintain the order; to keep my people on the road to reason and righteousness. You have kept me and my family safe all these years. Until now, you are the only one to have shed blood for me; now I am willing to be or do what you see fit. Protect our Willow, I beg you. ”

Walter Morgan lay flat on his back; looking upward toward God and thoughts came and went about his arm, but his mind never left his daughter. It was indeed gone, but as though it had never been there. He could not be so patient concerning her.

“She was the natural order and it must be given to her!” he cried out.

His eyes drifted to the cavern ceiling and sort of looked through it, as his mind peered through time while summoning back his recollection of his thirteenth birthday. It was then he, just like his beloved little girl, Willow, had embarked upon his newly-found understanding of who he was and what his great responsibility would be to the Neph, as the keeper of the Realm.

“That’s why I buried it here in the first place; so it would be far enough away from me that I couldn’t give it up no matter what the consequences would be.” Then, his father’s voice seemed to invade his thoughts.

“Young man, this is the time to take hold of the Scepter; to let it take hold of you as its protector, its bearer and its crown. It is the sign of the covenant between our kind and the Creator. We were an aberration, Walter, outside the box, not according to the plan, but The King has great tender mercies. He made a way for us to have peace with Him, but only a part of our lot has bowed before the King. It is for that this Scepter was given to us, not as an idol, but as a visible sign of our submission to the one who made the way with his blood. Now, hold out your right arm, Walter.”

~~~

“Why didn’t you tell me your name was Melek?”

“Miss Willow…” Melek saw Willow cross her arms in disgust. “Yes, I mean Willow. You are a persnickety one, aren’t you, but it suits you. Actually Willow, I do not recall your asking me my name, but I could be wrong. We are not perfect creatures. The dark thing we just cast down was once my dear friend, but he chose the way of his master. He is proof enough that we are frail like your kind, and you got the same frailties on both sides.” Melek said in a half-hearted jest.

Willow rolled her eyes and Melek continued. “Anyway, this is not about me. And, you will soon see that the things you shall encounter will make you either a queen of great deeds and service for your kind, or a vassal of a dark ruler who shall never allow you an ounce of freedom.”

“But you said my father was in danger.” Melek nodded his head. “Well, we had better get our cool selves over there then, don’t you think. I have to save my father.” Willow insisted with tears in her eyes. “Father…”

~~~

“I’m afraid.” Walter Morgan heard his younger voice travel through his mind again.

“Yes, and it gives me peace to know it too, Walter.” his father said with a positive and victorious voice. “That means you have taken it sincerely, for indeed becoming the Supreme Leader of a countless number of Nephs, of which many are, as of yet, unaware of their difference, is a bold task, my boy. There are many who have never yet sprouted their wings; a phenomenon that no one can explain. And, the number always stays the same, too; one hundred and forty-four thousand, Walter.

“What you are taking hold of and the role you shall now play, to say the least, my son, is no easy task. But, I have great confidence in you. You are a strong one, as will be your kin. Yet, have no confidence in your strength. In that, we are no different than the humans around us. We and they must all trust in God, and to uphold His covenant, which was sealed in pure blood.” Walter recalled the unforgettable expression of pain, determination and fear that overtook his father’s face, at that moment.

“My son, there are only three things that I have determined that I would relinquish my life for. Two of them are your mom and you. Since we lost mom last year that just leaves two huge parts of my life I am prepared to die for.”

Samuel Morgan got down on one knee and peered into his son Walter’s eyes. “You know, I would not even think about it, Walter. If you were in danger, I’d die to preserve your life, without a thought or regret.” Samuel hugged young Walter Morgan and a much older Walter Morgan saw it in his mind as he lay on the cave floor still going over all the things that had brought him to such a low point in his life.

“Walter, I am proud of you and so proud to be your father. Yet, there is one who is over you and over all. It is He who forgave us, transformed us and set us free. To him I can yield all, because I know he can do no wrong and is pure and holy. You can be no less sure of your fate, for trouble shall follow you and you’ll need to know when to make a cry for help…”

Walter opened his eyes and stared, for a moment up at the cave ceiling. His brain told him to move his right arm, but it was gone. He pushed himself up with his left arm and got on his one hand and knees.

“I only get one of these in a lifetime, so I had better make it good!”

He heaved and shook and his skin opened across his back as great shimmering black and purple and blue colored wings unfolded. He rose to his feet and his face began to shine, and he reared back and hurled a deafening cry, heard by no human, but which wailed in the ears of every Neph alive, sprouted or still in hiding.

“Willow, help me!”

Throughout every nation, in every city and into the ears of every Neph, Walter Morgan’s cry blasted forth causing some in certain parts of the world awaken in fear and terror while others, in other areas to scream in fear at the sound that no one else around them had heard, including Willow. Many of them instantly sprouted their wings, leaving them in shock.

~~~

“Dad!” Willow cried out. Her head turned almost instinctively to the sound and she knew where it had come from.

“Angel, Melak, what was your name again?”

“Miss Willow … whatever! That is how you use that expression, isn’t it?” Willow looked exasperated, but she answered him patiently. “Yes, that was pretty good, in fact.” Melek smiled and was obviously proud of himself.

“I think I am finally mastering it.”

“You mean the language?”

“No, I mean you humans.”

“Well, it appears,” Willow looked behind her and caught a glimpse of her wings. “I am not exactly … human.”

“That is true, Miss Willow, but you act just like them.”

Willow wondered if that was a compliment or a cut-down. She determined it was a mixture of both. “Anyway, Malachi, I heard my father’s voice come from down below in the caverns. I know them well, but you cannot tell my father. I’ll get grounded for sure if he learns how many times I went wandering around. I certainly don’t want grounded, now that I have wings.”

“It’s Melek, and he knew every time, Miss Willow.”

“Knew every time what?”

“Your father knew where you were every time you escaped without his permission, because I told him.”

“You are such a loser, Meleki!” She smiled because she knew she was getting on his angelic nerves each time she wasted his name.


“It is Melek, quite easy actually, if you just try. That was your father’s voice you heard. He has exercised the rite. As the King of all Nephs, he can hurl one time only.’ Melek looked at Willow who had a very worried look across her face.

“Then, that means he’s in big trouble, doesn’t it, Milton?” In spite of her fear, even Willow laughed.

“I am so happy to be a Watcher.” Melek responded. “That took away any possibility of ever being your father.” They both laughed and leapt into the sky.

~~~

Walter Morgan fell to his knees and his wings folded up into his back and he raised his one arm toward the Keeper of the covenant.

“Oh God, I have sought to do what your word told us. I did not do it to find grace with you, because I found that grace through your deeds, and not those of my own. I have sought to please you, but look at me, now.” He thought about Willow and the danger she was in. He remembered his father’s words when he had told Walter he was willing to die for his son. Walter knew he would do no less for his Willow.

“Oh God, I should have been more responsible. My father even warned me about Kassadia.” Walter shouted with tears in his eyes and heard his father’s voice again, in his ears.

“Yet, Walter, my son, even now a new lord of the dark-Hearts has been decreed, this one will grow into the most ruthless and heartless of all the black-Hearts and he shall stop at nothing to get this symbol forged in the same blood as it was with all flesh. He shall seek to corrupt our kind’s peace between God and the Neph. This dark warrior is only different than us because of a plague of darkness, which all humans and all the Neph have as well, except for our faith in the one who cleansed us and who was wounded for us all, which the Dark Hearts have rejected. His name is Kassadia.”

Young Walter Morgan played the name through his mind and it even sounded frightening to him. His face turned a bit ashen and his father saw it.

“Walter, it is OK to be afraid sometimes, and deathly dangerous at others. Fear can be your friend in keeping you on the right path. To fear Him who formed you and pardoned you is the very start of the understanding needed to defeat Kassadia.

“Don’t let the name scare you. It is but a name, and he was not always so … dark. He failed at what you are hoped to achieve, and darkness spread throughout all the land of humans and the Neph. If he wins the Scepter, The Neph will be eliminated.

“As Kassadia’s hand spreads darkness, it will grow and our kind, and those we live amongst will become more and more accustomed to the dark magic of the Dark-Hearts, and the covenant of blood will be abandoned. He will become clever and ready to stop at nothing to get what he wants; your power and your authority, this scepter.

“He will be your greatest adversary with but one call upon his leadership; to wage a never-ending struggle to get to the top where he intends even to defy God, as the master he seeks serves did long ago. It is his unction to get the Golden Scepter and to use it for wickedness.”

Walter Morgan saw his younger self hold out his right arm.


“Walter Morgan, will you uphold the truce with the dark-hearts and will you always seek to be a peacemaker?”

“I … will seek peace with those who can be peaceable.” The boy said with a quivering apprehensive tone. “I will make war with those who seek to break the covenant.”

“Your word has been given and your word is believed by your sacred honor. You have acquired the needed knowledge through the four lessons.

“Now, my son, take this Scepter from me, as I give it freely without remorse. It has now released my claim, having willed it to you and I now pass it onto you.” Samuel Morgan looked at his son Walter for a moment and smiled and spoke softly.”

“Now, take hold of it and become a man after God’s own heart.”


Young Walter Morgan looked down at the pure golden Scepter his father held out for him to take. The base of the Scepter was round and the precious metal, which was engraved with leaves from the tree of life, shimmered in the light. A long ornate stem, embedded with rubies, and emeralds, rose up from the bottom in a manner that was twisted into a beautiful design that told the bearer of the Scepter that what lay ahead of them was a call of intricacy, uncertainty and reliance on the King of Kings.

On top of the golden stem was a round design that resembled a golden, jewel-incrusted sun flower that had thin, long, golden needles all around the design that naturally drew the eyes to the center of the round top of the Scepter, which held a huge red diamond, the worth of which had to be inestimable. There was an inscription on it that showed the ancient quality of the symbol of peace and power. It read, “Then the king extended the gold scepter to Esther and she arose and stood before him.” Walter’s father realized how awestruck his son was.

“Yes, Walter, this is the same Scepter that was given to Esther when the King of Assyria chose her to be his queen more than three thousand years ago. She, of course, was no Neph. Yet, she was willing to be the queen of a foreign monarch to save her people from their enemies. Are we not doing the same thing? We are not Watchers. We are not humans. Still for the sake of our people we maintain our secrecy and we only act when called upon for good. Now claim it, and never let it fade away and preserve it.”

Walter’s mind painted the picture before him and he recalled grasping the golden Scepter. He felt like it was almost magnetic as it seemed to pull his hand toward it and the small hairs on his arm leaned forward toward the Scepter.

Walter’s memories showed the young boy reaching out to grasp the scepter. He heard a rumbling sound and he felt the windows rattling a loud pounding sound seemed to fill the whole house. He looked out the window and saw the face of an angry young man, around Walter’s own age, peering inside with a furious expression across his face. He was hitting the windows as hard as he could even though he knew he could not take the scepter in that manner now. His would have to be of a more sinister nature, sometime in the future. Walter recalled his feelings of fear and confusion.

“He is your nemesis, my son. Kassadia is enraged. He is too late, and he knows it, but he will not fail to disrupt your rule, to break the covenant and to rule the Dark Hearts with evil intent and destruction. Son, after lots of study and direct talks with God, I have come to the conclusion that the Dark Hearts are spiritually insane. They should know the could never overcome the maker, lest everything simply cease to be. Yet, they refuse to yield their souls. They hate to be controlled, and they will do anything to win their power back.” Samuel Morgan looked at his son and flat on his back inside a cave underneath an ancient temple, in the land of cave-dwellers, Walter saw it clearly in his mind. The words his father spoke to him in his memory from the past meant more to him now than when he had first heard them.

“Do not try to negotiate, to make; there is no peace to be made with him, for his peace is only for his own selfish ends. Your battle shall never end with him or with his line after him. The battle between light and darkness is an eternal one and you have been entrusted with the battle of the ages. Hold the scepter and rely on your creator, the one who came amongst us and showed us how to live and then gave his life to save ours. That is love, my son. Kassadia will attack you on all sides, but the Branch, he will never give you more than you can handle.”

“I believe you, my father, and I take this upon me to bear the burden of saving the covenant of the Neph.”

Walter’s hand wrapped around the precious golden symbol and he immediately felt its force invade him and fasten itself to Walter’s being. The two, he and the Scepter became as one and each would eventually become dependent on the other.

Walter suddenly felt a sharp, jabbing pain shoot through his back and shoulders. He felt his insides tearing or more like something that had started working for the very first time. He cried out in pain as his bones repositioned themselves and the skin across his upper back tore open and something like feathers unfolded and then, the pain was gone, and Walter Morgan felt them, the wings his father and mother told him he’d one day sprout, which he had always thought was a joke.

“It only hurt for a moment, and then it was gone.” Walter recalled.

“Yes, my son, that was my experience exactly. Tell me, was it worth it?”

“You mean the tearing flesh, my bones being shoved around and feeling these enormous beautiful things crawl out of my back? Yes father, it was worth it and so much more.”


“Walter, you took on the Scepter before you came into your wings. Your daughter will sprout before she claims the Scepter.”

“My daughter? I am going to have a daughter?”

“That’s but a just a detail right now, my son. It only means she will be exceptional in our history. You, take great heed to protect the Scepter well. Wherever you place it, there is where it should be. If you choose to honor another Neph with this gift, you shall be released from its devotion. If it is claimed and taken by another, without your knowledge or agreement, your arm will crumble into sand and over the next twenty days, you shall turn to dust, unless the Scepter is regained. My son, it is a great honor to take on the Golden Scepter. With the privilege comes great responsibility and personal sacrifice to maintain the covenant’s order…”

A sound that resembled twisting metal filled Walter’s ears and his reflections of his childhood were suddenly forced away. He only heard his father’s last words that day as he came back to his present predicament.

“Kassadia must not get the scepter. He must not find it. He must never have the Scepter.”


Beside him, all around him, the Dark-Hearts had surrounded him and were about to assault the King who had once subdued them. He felt his fallen brothers’ presence, even if he could not see them. Then, it was right there, and appeared suddenly in front of Walter Morgan’s face.

“Walter, Walter, we are really going to talk together, but ... later.” Kassadia said mercilessly shaking his head. Walter tried to extend his wings, but something was sprayed into the air and Walter felt like his eyes had weights on them and in spite of his most earnest effort, he was quickly asleep and a prisoner of Kassadia, the prince of the Dark-Hearts. Kassadia looked at Walter and shook his head in pity.

“I really liked your words you spoke to the Maker, Walter. It was all so very touching. I am such a jerk, sometimes; I know that.” Kassadia said out loud as he looked down at Walter Morgan, the Lord of the Nephs, now under his control. “But I like me that way.” He thought he was being a jerk again and laughed loudly.

“I can even recite that last part. Now, what was that?” Kassadia looked down at Walter Morgan, the King of all the Neph and shook his head. Kassadia laughed and mocked Walter and shook Walters’s unconscious body. “Ah yes, I remember, and I’ll say it with all the disrespect I can muster.” Kassadia sarcastically and rebelliously held up the Scepter, smiled and shouted out the words Walter had spoken before God.

“Look at me now!”

________________________________________

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Patriot Acts
The Republic of Iran has linked up with radical American Militia groups to carry out a covert nuclear attack on America. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the one person who can effectively retaliate against these adversaries. But Colonel Fisher Harrison was framed for a murder he did not commit by his former boss--now the President of the United States of America. The two adversaries must put aside their differecnes and unite to stop those in league to bring America to its knees.
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StillBorn!

Unknown to Wallace Findings, a one-night stand results in twins. The mother is murdered soon after their birth to cover a hideous crime, which sends Findings on an eighteen year hunt for her murderer. One twin is adopted and welcomed into a wonderful life of plenty and privilege. The other is rejected and left an orphan, in a world without identity or care, facing brutal treatment and sexual abuse. This twin seeks out Findings and his sibling and all those who had abandoned him to carry out a plot of revenge. In the end, Findings discovers his role in a baby for sale scheme in which he and his unknown children were victims.


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Probable Cause

Greg Bradford is an escaped mental patient, a man who wants revenge, a man prepared to do anything to get his life back and has a plan to do it. Corbett Mandeville, a homicide detective known for solving some of the worst murders in the state, has to stop him. But, Corbett Mandeville has secrets of his own that created an affinity between him and the vindictive mental patient that drives both to stalk their prey and take justice into their own hands.

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____________________________________________________________

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.
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Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part One
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley

Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part Two
The Preservation Of The Neph
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley

All Fall Down
Patriot Acts Part Three


Ramallah, Palestine
June 6, 1995 1:58 p.m.

“The Two minute window is closing.” The operative reported perched high up inside a bombed out building in Ramallah, Palestine that had once been filled with families who had been forced to flee Israeli tanks, mortars and laser-guided bombs. With an uninhibited view, he looked out at the indescribable ruin and carnage that had already been inflicted on this people whose leaders had passed up every opening for peace.

“Copy that” the operative’s base contact affirmed.

There, with his precision fully automatic .50-cal. Barrett M82 ready to accelerate the conflict into a full-blown war, Colonel Fisher Harrison took in the complete and utter destruction of a society literally crumbling around his location. He looked to the left and saw the barricaded windows with camouflage material shrouding the soldiers posted there, ready and willing to fire at anything that moved.

Fisher raised his eyes and looked straight out ahead. His view was good enough to look into the Calandria refugee camp. It was a cauldron of vicious plots and miniature bomb making factories, which made ad hoc missiles and jackets designed to be used only once. He glanced downward and saw a mother with her scarf removed and wrapped around her three small terrified children’s eyes. Hoards of terrified city dwellers were crouched down, never glancing upward, and fleeing through the streets; trying to stumble on a loaf of bread and a few bottles of water during a lull in the barrage of attacks.

America's Emerging Culture of Death
by Steven Clark Bradley

The world had condemned Israel for its attacks, but Fisher had determined it was justified and obliged, just like the validation screaming in his head for the killing of the evil terrorist he was about to blow away. Every street was strewn with blown up cars, dead bodies and silence, only cut short by the frequent short volley of gunfire in every direction.

Smoke rose high into the sulfur-ridden darkened sky. Throughout the capital city of the land of a people without a country, old men, young women with children in their arms and in their wombs hid and prayed to the god in whose name they were fighting. Fisher doubted they deserved a country. Then he realized that his job, his own people deserved scarcely more than these who had been constantly lobbing missiles and sending suicide bombers into the heart of Israel.

Inside the so-called governmental zone, every building belonging to the Palestinian Authority was flattened except Arafat’s own presidential headquarters, but Fisher knew that the only reason the structure was still there was because Israeli forces had allowed it to remain. Arafat had been allowed to live, but with stipulations. The former leader of the Palestinian Liberation Organization who had carried out and ordered the torture and murder of hundreds of thousands of people was now the only hope for peace and survival for this war-weary people.

Arafat only left his compound twice a day to greet his followers and to speak with the press, which Fisher knew was now and which was why he had placed his very steady eye peering through a chamber that would place a beam of light, invisible to others, but very clear to Fisher, in the center of the President of the Palestinian Authority’s forehead. As soon as the clock struck two o’clock; as soon as the clock signaled the last breath for an elected leader who Fisher Harrison regarded as a terrorist, it would be time to unlock, pull back on the trigger and then get the hell away.

Fisher glanced constantly at his watch and thought about the SPU superintendent’s words before boarding the El Al flight to Tel Aviv in Chicago. He had travelled as a civilian and when he arrived at O’Hare Field, he was not allowed to board the flight until the next day. He knew that wasn’t a problem and that the SPU was impeccable in its ability to cover every base.

“It’s only a shaky finger or a call that can stop this murderer from meeting his 70 virgins.” Fisher quietly amused himself. “And the recall is almost over.” Fisher told himself.

Almost every mission had left him in a kind of obtuse, morose feeling of remorse and sorrow, but not this one. For Fisher Harrison, this was simply code enforcement. He was cleaning up the neighborhood. He was doing what he was trained to do, and he didn’t even have to convince himself, this time.

Obama's White House is Falling Down

“Hey Yasser, here’s hoping that all them virgins are men.” He almost laughed out loud. Then he remembered the superintendent’s orders and outrageous words. “What was it again?” he asked himself with his eye still staring out the end of a scope at the extremely exposed head and face of one of the twentieth century’s most ruthless terrorists.

“The war’s not getting the attention it needs, Colonel.”

“War; what war?” Fisher truthfully didn’t know what the superintendent was talking about.

“The war that your new mission is going to start. There’s never been a conflict that the SPU hasn’t had its hand in starting, since the founding of the nation. Now, I need you to get your ass over to that cursed place and blow the bastard away.”

“Blow him away; which one? That could be any number of bastards’, as you call them. Could even be you … sir.”

“I don’t care; just kill’em, Arafat, I mean. I want him dead, dancing with those virgins. I need a war, Colonel!” Fisher Harrison turned slowly with an unconcealed scowl poignantly stretched across his face.

Without ever taking his eye away from the scope attached to his M82, Fisher touched his face as he realized that his thoughts had produced the same expression of unbelief and anger in the present as in the past. He returned to the present mission at hand and glanced down at his watch. Only fifty-two seconds remained. His palms felt uncharacteristically wet and he wasn’t certain if he were afraid of the result of a successful mission or if he was exaggeratedly gleeful at once again meting out a guilty killer’s just recompense.

“What you need is to be shot on sight, Barlowe.” Fisher recalled telling his boss. “And, I hope I’m the one who gets to do that too.” The superintendant looked puzzled at first then his face took on an expression that told Fisher that his SPU superior knew Fisher would do it. “I can’t wait till that directive comes down …sir!”


“Colonel Harrison, I think the odds are more on my side than on yours. Just stay useful and you won’t have to forfeit your retirement plan. Anyway, it’s always been this way, and it won’t be changing anytime soon.”

“Then the country’s nothing but a lie and never existed at all.” Fisher blurted out.

“Well, Harrison, one day it is going to be just you and me, mono et mono. We’ll see then who has the biggest package, don’t you think? Anyway, we both have a boss. So, give me my war, Colonel Harrison.”

March 9, 2011, 3:23 p.m.
Outside Washington D.C.

Suddenly, Fisher felt himself shaken by explosions erupting in the distance and very close, and President Fisher Harrison felt his whole world start quaking. He leapt forward from his bed, but he was forced right back down on the mattress he was strapped to around his wrists and feet with a needle forcing a steady stream of sedatives into the veins of his left arm.

Fisher felt a throbbing, stabbing pain shoot through his head each time he tried to recall how he had gotten where he had suddenly awaken.

“I was speaking … yes, President Tate’s funeral…yes that’s it. Then …” He shook his head as the throbbing in his head became almost unbearable. “… then all hell broke loose.”

Part One: Brothers at War
A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

He could barely recall it, but he could still hear what had to be the most deafening sounds even he, a man who had been battle tough, had ever heard in his life. He began to mouth the words to himself. “The sanctuary shook, the ground seemed to pound and then it all came down and … Margaret … Nate? Oh my God, Margaret! Nate.” He screamed. “Where are they? I can see it in my head. It just came tumbling down on all of us. Yes, I remember”

Fisher tried to get a hold of his fear and rationally wondered where he was. He lifted his head off the bed and looked around the dark room. It had a musky odor and seemed damp. Slowly, he brought all his skills to bear and tried to understand where he was. He recalled the dream he had just had. One set of words he had heard in the dream filled his mind.

“Well, Harrison, one day it is going to be just you and me, mono et mono. We’ll see then who has the biggest package, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Fisher told himself. “He wasn’t there! When we took the Falls Church facility, he wasn’t there! It had to be Barlowe!”

Part Two Brothers at War
The Heartlessness of Terrorism

Fisher heard clapping behind him and a spotlight flashed on forcing Fisher’s eyes closed from the light that had killed the darkness all round him. A voice spoke out behind the bed he was latched to.

“Bravo, bravo, you are a tough one, President Harrison. We knew you had been inoculated many years ago. So, we thought you’d not be under for too long. We needed just enough time to get you out and under control.”

“And my family, where are they?”

“Well, let’s talk about that a little later, why don’t we?”

Fisher began jerking at the straps and shouting and trying to rip his arms and feet loose. “You will tell me now.” Fisher screamed.

“Mr. President, though that title hardly fits you any longer, we have to bring some sanity to the situation, as it is right now; so, first things first. I did notice that you recalled my words, mono et mono. That was impressive, to say the least that you remembered them and even in a drug-induced stupor, those words, from so many years ago, rang out in your mind. You either have a very well-tuned mind or I made a mighty impression on you. It’s probably a bit of both, don’t you think? We had you plugged in Fisher. We saw everything you saw, and I was proud of you. You haven’t lost a bit of your style, Mr. President.”

Part Three Brothers at War
Inside Ramallah

“Barlowe, if you hurt my family, I’ll kill you.”

“Now, Fisher, you’ve said that one before, but just as I told you in nineteen hundred ninety-five, I have the upper hand. It seems easy to conclude that now, don’t you think? But then, how could you know? The cat was away and mice did play. Fisher, you guys made us invisible and more lethal than ever. Did you think we put all our eggs into just one basket? Fisher, you know us better than that. You were one of us, and now, you are nothing; not SPU, not a father, not an operative and certainly not a president. You don’t need to get used to it, actually. You won’t be alive long enough to worry about it.”

“What have you done Barlowe? The nation can’t take much more right now.”

“Nation, what nation would that be? The new one or the old one? The one you never got a chance to lead, you know, the one I just destroyed? I do understand you, though. It will take some getting used to by the … what were they called before? Ah yes, the American people? So, stop with all the threats.”

Barlowe walked over to a door behind Fisher’s bed where he was secured. He waved his hand and closed the door and watched through a window as a mist filled the air and President Fisher Harrison fell back silent and motionless to the bed.

“Mr. President,” Barlowe said. “Don’t waste your breath. You don’t have too many left anyway. There will be more than enough time for killing later.”

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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.

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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My Definition of the the modern American Presidency
"An office sought and achieved by a candidate according to the rules set out in the US Constitution who, once elevated to high office, proceeds to ignore, disavow, repudiate, deviate from and misappropriate the powers and limitations prescribed, declared and demanded therein." -Steven Clark Bradley

Here are the well-written words from an email of one of my friends on Face Book and my response. Please read them from my friend and myself and consider both points of view.
Email: You have every right to your opinion, but I have the right to reject your Anti-American revolutionary babble. Your citations and quotes couldn't be less applicable to a great man, a man who has done everything possible to bring jobs back to a brutal economy. The administration he inherited - the tyrant known as Bush between his illegal war-mongering, and his use of the 4th amendment as toilet paper as privacy and rights from unreasonable searches were crushed - you want to vent, there's your boy. Even just after leaving Office - Bush is considered one of the top five worst president's of all time. Furthermore, your beef with our association with China is about 30 years too late as we have been a slave to their cheap goods and labor decades before Mr. Obama came to office. We may be struggling, but we are still the greatest country on the face of the earth. Unlawful, unjustified revolution is not the answer to your issues....have patience.
My Response: So, you consider Bush a tyrant, and I see Obama as one. Are we not both exercising our civil and devinely inspired right to freedom of speech? So, I applaud your very vibrant and and hearty response to what I believe to be a man determined to destroy the nation.
I am not a Bush supporter either. Yet, I will say to you, it is not Anti-American to say your mind and to speak what you regard to be the truth. In contrast, it is un-American though to condemn those who do. I celebrate your speaking out as you see it, please celebrate my right to do the same. Greatness is a very relative term. There are those today who regard Jesus as a savior and Lord of Creation, as i do. There are still those who praise Hitler for his exploits in evil. Though viewing Hitler in any light other than evil is to praise a devil, everyone has the right to think what they want and say what they believe.

You regard Obama as a hero, and that is your right to feel so. Though I may regard you visually impaired and logically challenged in your perspective and your rationale for it, it remains your right to think so and to say so as you please. In fact, I may not agree with your view of Obama or Bush, but I would lay down my life to defend your right to believe it. For such descent is the essence of freedom itself.

So, you should not get upset when someone attacks your beloved leaders. It happens to me everyday. Instead, you should thank God we can still muster the courage to stand up, speak up and never shut up! I hope you also will never cease to say what you think.

In our own special way, you and I are keeping Liberty alive. But, if we shut up or are forced to keep quiet, that we in our own way will have helped bring the American experience to an end. Thank you for telling me what you think. I think you are a great American!

Steven Clark Bradley

I Do Solemnly Swear... That I will faithfully execute The office of President of the United States and will to the best of my ability preserve,Protect,and Defend The Constitution of the United States so, help me God...

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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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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My guest today is Steven Clark Bradley. Steve, it’s nice to have you here. Fill us in on who you are and what you’ve been writing.

Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod Rising StillBorn! Probable Cause
My work and life in 34 countries include some of the most dangerous places in the world: the Middle East as a journalist in Pakistan, Iraq, Israel, Palestine and West Africa where I interviewed former Palestinian President Yasser Arafat in Ramallah Palestine, Muammar Qaddafi of Libya, and former Turkish President Turgut Ozel.
Additionally, my involvement in American politics, gives me a profound, first-hand knowledge of the political winds of change that constantly sway the American republic to the left and the right. Since I have been able to travel so widely, I write about things I have seen firsthand, which gives me a very vivid ability to tell a story that is both riveting and realistic. As a published author with four fast-action novels already on the market and as an educator, I have developed an active marketing ability as well as an extensive fan-based presence on the Internet.
Probable Cause
Yes, you have a huge Internet presence and your background is incredible. Steven, when did the writing bug bite, and in what genre(s)?
I have always been a storyteller. I was writing my dreams and my ideas when I was as young as ten. I have a need to express

the things I believe and want to tell in a manner that uses real-life issues to tell a story that can wake people up. I have always had a fear of one day dying and no one would know I had been here. I realized that the best way to be remembered is to do something memorable. A book, a story, fiction or otherwise leaves eternal footprints in the sands of time and that drove me to write. I think about the homeless and those incarcerated. Many of them will live, die and be used for science and I wanted it to be said I left behind me something to make men and women ponder.
StillBorn!
When you started writing, what goals did you want to accomplish? Is there a message you want readers to grasp?
I have always said that my works are like treatises on the life and potential destruction of America. I look at my work perhaps the way Josephus, the great Hebrew historian’s work. Though my work is fiction, the basis of my books is set in stone
and is being lived at this very time. I believe we are losing our freedom; freedoms that were never granted by any government, but by God. There are forces at work today that place all of us in the cross-hairs of totalitarian treatment. One of the biggest mistakes we are making today in our seeming delight in playing the part of the Ostrich. We have our heads in the sand and think our enemies cannot see our hinder parts.

Nimrod Rising
My stories go a long way in showing that going softly and politically with nations like Iran and North Korea, letting the fundamental transformation of America go unwarned will only embolden them and give our enemies the idea that we will not react to their behavior that endangers the peace of the world.

Unfortunately, they may be right. I try to show what will happen if left unchecked.
Patriot Acts
Briefly tell us about your latest book. Series or stand-alone?
My newest work is a series that originated from my first book in the trilogy, Patriot Acts. In this series, I have created a world that is sinister and ruthless where it is nearly impossible to tell your friends from your enemies. Sound familiar to the day in which we live? My newest book, which is just about ready to
come out in the e-book edition is a continuation to show what lurks below the political world that we all see on the news. It is about a deadly, biologically manufactured virus that threatens the whole world.

In The Second Republic, the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001. Set in 2011, this character-driven 67,000 word suspense/thriller weaves a tale that is as plausible as it is exciting. This second book in a trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly, and a former Special Ops, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans, without invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms.

What’s the hook for that expressed e book?
The hook is how these stories immediately take the reader out of the realm of fiction and directly into the world in which we actually live. I am currently writing Patriot Acts part 3 titled, Executive Order. It takes off right where Part Two finishes. It takes the reader even more deeply into the financial master’s plots to control the money supply and to use their unlimited wealth to control the nation. When the president threatens to reveal their plots, the nation is taken to new depths of woe. All three books are so real and riveting that the hook is a natural captivating effect that captures the reader and instills a real fear of how much it is like the day in which we live. The emergency powers referenced in this novel are real and could be invoked in the event of a massive terrorist attack upon the American homeland. Research sources from the Center for Disease Control, Homeland Security, and the Defense Department validate that the threats described in The Second Republic are ripped from today’s headlines and too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.

How do you develop characters? Setting?
There is nothing greater than writing & creating something from nothing. It's the closest thing to the divine! I have lived in many cultures and it has given me a love for the differences amongst us. I am a student of American culture and write about the changes in our society. God created us with free will. He wants us to obey from our hearts. A Writer is a book's world's creator, and you are your characters' creator as well. Give your characters free will as well. Let them guide you and don't force them to do anything. It's an amazing phenomenon when, as I am fond of saying, the book begins to write itself.

Do you have specific techniques you use to develop the plot and stay on track?
I think actually, I try to stay on track too much. I started Part Three of Patriot Acts and had three chapters written and it felt flat, more like part two. Then I got my literary epiphany and I redid the whole thing and what has happened, because I let the story guide me, is a story that is the most powerful tale I have ever woven, and it serves as an excellent finale to the series and wraps up the loose ends so well. I do not outline my stuff and I start with a quite general theme and main idea. I leave a lot of open ground to plant my seeds of excitement, stress, love, mercy, revenge and plausible scenarios. I find it quite easy to stay on track simply because I am in the world of the story so richly and deeply that my biggest problem is coming out of it after I finish for the day. My wife often tells me, “come home Steven.” And, I know what she means precisely.

How does your environment/upbringing color your writing?
It is true that I have and played a great part in had a very diverse career, politics, journalism and world travel, but I do feel that my upbringing in rural Indiana did have a powerful effect on the views I hold as dear, such as family and faith. All of those activities in my life have given me a real understanding of what is out there and the dangers we face. I write stories that are only scary because they are so very plausible. I can say that the scenario of Patriot Acts and Patriot Acts Two, which is now in publishing, are both very real and related to the things and issues and dangers we now face in a world gone mad and gone weak. That is why I have striven so hard to make what I write so real and something that serves as a warning of the future that we face without realizing that freedom is not free.

What are your current projects?
My newest works are very different from each other. As I mentioned earlier, Part Tree of the Patriot Acts series, Executive Order is going really well, and I am very excited about that book. During the civil war, President Abraham Lincoln wrote, "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 monarch, more insolent than autocracy and more selfish than a bureaucracy. 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 financial institutions, in the rear. Of the two, the one in the rear is the greatest enemy..... I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country.” It is obvious he was right.
In September of 2008, The Secretary of the treasury and the Federal Reserve Chairman came to President George W. Bush and told him, if he did not release $800 billion dollars to them, that in two hours, five trillion dollars would be siphoned from the American economy and cause the collapse of the US economy and our standard of life forever. They further stated that in twenty-four hours the whole world monetary system would fall, which has been widely called a suicide threat. George Bush capitulated and said yes. Executive Order asks the question, what if the President had said no?
I and my daughter are also writing an older children’s story called, Four Lessons for Willow Morgan. There is nothing more important than imparting strong values into the lives of our children. It is getting tougher and tougher today, with parents giving up more and more of their authority and responsibility to the schools and the government, to be faithful to the call of bringing up our children with examples of mercy, confession, fairness and conviction. Yet, nothing can do more for a child's future than teaching them about honesty, good choices and hard work when they are still young. That is why I have started this little book called Four lessons For Willow Morgan.
This is a story a story about decisions, wise judgment and strong convictions, about that which is right and that which is wrong. I am writing this a bit differently than I have in the past. This time, I am writing it together with my 9-year-old daughter, Selin Alicia Bradley. She is a bright, sweet and very smart young lady and loves to read. So, this is a two-fold project that gives my little girl lessons in creativity and this story can stimulate lots of children to seek more than their own self-interests, if they venture to read it.
Willow is a little girl who is growing up and who feels urges of rebellion, disobedience and disrespect starting to take hold in her life. Her mother and father recognize it and want to instill some true life lessons in her young heart.
Where can folks learn more about your books and events?
If anyone wants to learn more about my books or about my writing in general:
Stories That Read You: http://stevenbradley.blogspot.com/200... Underground Controversy: http://undergroundcontroversy.blogspo... Steven Clark Bradley’s Patriot Acts: http://stevenclarkbradleyspatriotacts... Steven Clark Bradley’s Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Steven-Clark-Br... Steven Clark Bradley Facebook Profile Page: http://www.facebook.com/#!/StevenClar... Steven Clark Bradley Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Steven-... Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter http://twitter.com/StevenBradley Steven Clark Bradley’s Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Steven-Clark-Br... Steven Clark Bradley @ Barnes and Noble: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/book... Steven Clark Bradley @ Fictionwise: http://www.fictionwise.com/servlet/mw... Steven Clark Bradley @ Mobipocket: http://www.mobipocket.com/en/eBooks/s... I hope readers will take a look at my writing and see the depth and research that I have put into each story. I am sure they will find some stories that read them! Thanks for the interview, Steven. Continued success!


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!

Check Out Steven Clark Bradley's
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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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Recently, I was a approached by a former publisher of mine to write my memoirs. I was, to say the least, surprised that anyone was interested, and who know, they may not be!I told my publisher that the problem with writing an auto biography was that I had to tell the truth. This has become a real adventure in itself and I have come to realize that if you are one of those who is smart and who still does stupid things at times, then you'll love my story. I hope you read this excerpt and let me know what you think.

This is a work in progress

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

A Stranger Just in Time
Knox, Indiana,
May, 1974

It was going to be a great day. I got out of school early and started a journey that would totally change my life. I always find it strange today how a four hundred pound, fourteen year-old boy could actually look in the mirror and think he looked good. Yet, until I was almost fifteen, that’s exactly what I did.

I have developed the theory that the human brain has some kind of mechanism that makes the eyes inside of a fat body not see the real person reflecting back at them; at least, that was my case, after the expanse of my guts got bigger than it had ever been intended to be and when I took up more space than I was ever allotted to take up, I still thought I looked great. But, back in 1974, at the age of fourteen, going on fifteen, at four hundred something pounds, I felt just fine, until my mom stuck her nose into my fat problem. I thank God she did, and she knew how to get each of us kid’s attention. Geneva Bradley was definitely the smartest person everywhere she went.

One day, I was walking out of the high school and my mother was waiting outside to take me home. I was happy and bounded down the school steps. I got in the car and my mother looked at me and said, “Steven, you shake like a bowl of jello when you walk.” It was those words that had hit me like an arrow through my heart, and I had

repeated them over and over and they made me angry and determined which was why today, I was leaving school early on this May afternoon in 1974. The result of

that afternoon appointment at the doctor’s left me with a bottle of diet pills that would eventually take me from a forty eight inch waist to a thirty-two inch belly in the short space of three month and it almost killed me.

Those days were the moments when I first really started to work on writing out my experience of trying to stop looking like a giant human ball. I was taking three times more each day than the doctor had prescribed, and it gave me an overdose of energy and I could not sit still. So, I wrote down almost everything I did when my self-prescribed two pills a day regimen seemed to be doing the trick.

I literally stopped eating. Often, I got hungry, made something to eat and found it the next morning where I had sat it down because I was too busy racing around doing things to remember to eat it. I stayed in my room, away from my mom, because if I hung around her, she’d know for sure what I was doing, but I was determined to lose more fat.

Sometimes in the morning, I could not remember if I had slept or not. I have always hated to sleep anyway. I have never slept more than five hours a day anyway. I didn’t care; the weight was melting off of me. I talked nice to my mom, and I was genuinely happy, because I liked what I was changing into. I stayed in my room and exercised, wrote everything in my journal and listened to some awesome Pink Floyd and Grand Funk Railroad, and then there was Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Steve Miller…

I did some writing at home, but I did most of the recording of my experience at the library at school and downtown or wherever I could write about everything that had happened that day. I wrote it all down, from the day I went to the doctor to the day I replaced the pills with weed. I had a growing field of it, just growing wild and just waiting to be loved. I loved it and fertilized it and never had the Jones’ one time. I wrote it all in my

journal, which I had appropriately titled ‘The Happy Loser Diary,’ in tribute to all the weight I was losing. I recorded my movements, many of my thoughts, the excitement of beginning to finally looking human until the first day back at school right, after my fifteenth birthday. It was my way of making truth stranger than fiction. Here are some entries from my journal, The Happy Loser Diary.

Happy Loser Diary (301 pounds)
Entry 17
Friday, June 28, 1974 11:32 a.m.
Knox, Indiana

It was summer school. I’m not attending; I can’t be bothered with all that. I did have permission though to use the library in the mornings. I really liked the school library. The books cases are lined up in domino formation, or at least they were. The arrangement made it easy to see all the books. Earlier this morning, I was surprised to see the library full of students. There wasn’t an empty seat in the whole place. So, I just hung around.

At one table, to my right, there were four boys laughing it up, big guys, Juniors or seniors and much bigger than me. They were all looking into the end of a pen at some kind of dirty pictures.

Then, suddenly, they all got up and walked out. That was my queue, and I sat down in the seat at the end of the table just as the scholastic thugs returned and walked up to me. One of them had long brown hair. He walked up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. He said, “Get out of chair.” I turned around to see who he was, to size him up and get an idea of what it would take to bring him down. Negotiation always buys time.

There would be no negotiations today; only reactive fury. I had been on the pills for two weeks at that time. My mind worked fast and I was used to giving off energy and I had a mother lode of it mixed with rage this morning.

I turned my head toward the high school big boy and he hit me in the face. That just could not be allowed and left me no choice. The pills were coursing through me now and forcing adrenaline through my head. I stood up fast and just let the rage rising up inside me propel me to almost want to kill the boy. I grabbed that big bad boy by all of his long hair and wrapped his girly locks

I wrapped his hair around my arm and pulled his face down on my knee. He was screaming and yelling. “My hair, let go of my hair.” I had to shown him that it was not wise to judge others by appearance. But that was not enough for the most intelligent of idiots. Then, I literally picked him up in the air and threw him against the bookcases in the library. One by one, every bookcase fell to the floor and thank God, no one was in the aisle. They were all watching me kick that bad boy’s butt.

I heard the noise of at least twelve rows of cases tumbling downward, one by one. I put my hands to my side and looked at the devastation and said, “Oh, No!” Everyone laughed, except for the librarian. I was kicked out of the upcoming first week of the new

school year. That was a deal of a lifetime. I must have scared the stupid boy’s male anatomy to death, because every time he sees me at school, he goes the other way. For me, I was of a mind to apologize, which I never got to do.

The Happy Loser Diary (292 pounds)
Entry 26
July 21, 1974 4:35 p.m.
Knox, Indiana

It was four-thirty; was it morning or this afternoon? I can’t be sure. I remember checking my watch. I felt like I had just awakened, but I had actually realized that I was outside, downtown in an alley and pacing back and forth. I couldn’t remember where I was, barely knew who I was or how to get out of the alleyway and back on the street. My brain still feels like it’s on fire. I couldn’t sit still and walked my reducing body of 292 pounds around in circles.

About the only thing that can get me to sit still for a while is sitting in the library reading World book Encyclopedias. I am devouring them and reading through them with almost religious ferocity. Reading through the volumes of information gave me a taste for the beyond, out of my realm of activity, to worlds so different than my own. The thought tantalizes me as an almost fifteen year old thinning boy who wants significance.

Then there was politics; I remember loving politics since I was a young boy in 1968 when Nixon was running against Hubert Humphrey. I crave information on the president, Watergate, the history and documents of the republic. During campaign season, I watched it all, followed each state and read every word of Time Magazine, Newsweek and US News and World reports. I have to know, to see it, to be able to speak to it and understand the way the rest of the world thought.

I remember sitting in the Knox Indiana City Library reading about Bangladesh. “It’s the poorest country in the world, and one day, I will see it with my own eyes.” I told myself. I opened the B volume to read the rest on the famished land of the Bengalis. I heard something and felt the library table shaking. My eyes glanced up and there was such a pretty face looking back at me.

Though, I truly cannot remember her name, a beautiful girl was smiling at me and said, “You know, you’re looking great.” That was nice. So, I smiled and looked at her and said, “You too.” She smiled and then frowned. I was not implying she had gone from fat to slim like I was doing. She looked down at the time magazines I had spread around me and the Newsweek magazine and three different World Book volumes open before me.

You’re smart aren’t you?” She said. All I could respond was, “I don’t know.” I had truly never thought or wondered about that. I just liked what I liked and hated what I hated, but it made me think. I was a boy who hated to hurt people and wanted to make them laugh, and to reach out and to do something significant.

I looked at the pretty face of this unnamed creature that was very wonderful to behold. I thought about my words and then said, “I don’t know if I’m smart, I might just be the most intelligent of idiots.” She smiled nicely and I think truly coolly turned around and said, “Is that going to be the name of your biography?”

Happy Loser Diary (207 Pounds)
Entry 27, Knox, Indiana
August 4, 1974, 5:49 p.m.

There was also another face I recall seeing in my drug-induced stupor. I can still see it looking down at me as I opened my glossy speeding eyes while sprawled out on the sidewalk. Earlier today, I was reeling and so nervous I thought I’d shake all my bones lose. I can see it all now so clearly. I kept trying to figure out how to get out of that cursed alley. It had crossed my narcotic-Laced brain a few times with the notion that maybe I had died and I was in hell; cursed to wander to and fro for eternity in that dark and gloomy alleyway. That was ridiculous since I do not even believe in God.

What if I walked to the end of the alley, if I can get to the street?” Nothing seemed real and my mind felt like it was suddenly in slow motion. My body was reeling from hyper activity for days on end and then a sudden shutdown of the energy made me feel like the medicine felt stronger than usual, probably because I had most likely messed up and taken three. There I was walking in circles but forced myself to move in one direction and I found the end of the alleyway and ended up on the city sidewalk, right in front of Chuck’s tavern. Everything looked hazy and my hands and feet were tingling and my legs felt like rubber. I sat myself down on the sidewalk just before everything went black. I remember, everything was gone except mere echoes.

I could feel someone breathing on me; someone was watching me as I lay on the cement sidewalk. My eyes opened and I caught a glimpse of someone, a him or a her, as my eyes flashed open and closed several times. Whoever it was grabbed me under my arms and lifted me up and walked me all around town to keep me awake and use up some of the mother lode of excess energy that three of the pills at one time had produced. I felt like everything was jumbled and somehow real but not. The bundle of nerves and thoughts and words I was no longer able to get out had induced a panic inside me that I was fading away. The stranger made sure I had revived, sat me down and let go of my arms.

“He was a stranger just in time.”

Happy Loser Diary (147 pounds)
Entry 32, Knox, Indiana
August 19, 1974, 6:32 p.m.

My first day back to school today was one of the most enjoyable days of my childhood. I had traveled from the world of the fat and ugly four hundred and twenty three pound me to the world of skinny and still ugly one hundred forty-three beautiful pounds.

Just yesterday, I saw my fifteen year old brother, Gary for the first time in two months. He had been caught doing a legal no-no and had been on a two-month retreat behind bars. My mom actually went to talk the judge. The honorable someone told her that he was going to put Gary on probation. My mom asked to lock Gary up for two months, which the judge approved. When I walked into the house, earlier today, Gary saw me but had no idea who I was. He had been … away while the pounds rolled off me. When I spoke and he heard my voice, he knew immediately who I was and his mouth dropped open. And, it got better.

When I walked into the school, after having almost hidden out for the whole summer, no one knew who I was. I was just learning about my new self as well. I remember one of my best friends, Peggy back, looked at me and realized it was me and started crying, hugged me and she said, “Are you dying?” My response was perfect. “Dying? I just started living!” The moment was and is precious.

Without a doubt, the most memorable part of the day is when I went into Mr. Ostreiker. He was for sure one of the very best, and his demeanor made me always want to go to his class. I walked in and found a seat close to the front. There would be no backseat numskull anymore. The Teacher walked up to me and looked up at the class.

Let me have your attention, we have a new student with us.” He looked at me and said my name wasn’t on the roster. “Welcome, what’s your name, young man?”

I could scarcely hold my laughter. “Steven Bradley.” I said. Mr. Ostreiker looked slightly befuddled. It was obvious he was having a moment of where his brain was deciphering conflicting information from the previous year; he smiled. “We have another Steven Bradley.”

I inhaled so not to kill the moment with laughter. He walked closer to me and looked at me. “Stand up, young man.” He told me. “It is you; everyone, give Mr. Bradley a hand.” It was embarrassing and perfect.”

As I read a new these early records of my life, I can see place after place where God placed his protecting hand on me and saved me from arrest, from danger, and that day, from certain death. I never learned who this stranger just in time was, but I have a good idea where he came from, but why send a stranger in time to save the most intelligent of idiots?

You can read it with photos at:
http://stevenbradley.blogspot.com/201...