Arun D. Ellis's Blog, page 35

The book 'Helter Skelter' will be FREE for Kindle & PC download from Amazon until 29th April 2018

Descent 7

Louis sipped his tea and continued to channel hop. He allowed himself a moment to reflect on the old man's passing, aware that had the revelations of the past few weeks not been made then he would have been in full mourning. However, the knowledge had been given to him and couldn't be taken back; that it had been done on his great-grandfather's instructions and apparently in the belief that he would understand was just an added irritation. He didn't understand, he was angry and confused and ashamed.

He rubbed his head in frustration, he was descended from Nazis and he couldn't get rid of the notion that evil had come down through the family line to lodge in him.

Admittedly apart from a bit of shoplifting (and who didn't do that) and a drug dabble (ditto) and ok, he'd tried to kill himself but the family thought it had been a mistake so that didn't count, and anyway it was all years ago, so apart from all that, he'd done nothing to concern his family or friends, especially Jenna.

He shivered; they did not know him as he knew himself; he knew what he was capable of and where his darkest thoughts could go.

His phone buzzed, a text from Jenna.

He allowed himself a few moments to contemplate taking comfort with her. He could see her face, both troubled and caring, warm eyes, soft lips and for a moment he wavered. He wanted to be with her but the last time they'd met up he could talk of nothing but his mixed up feelings.

She'd not been as supportive as he'd hoped when he'd explained his need to search out evidence of the Holocaust his great-grandfather had challenged him to find. Nor did she appreciate his need to find similar evidence to refute all the old man's ramblings about pre and post-war conspiracies to stifle the 'social revolution'.

On the other hand, she'd supported his original plan to burn the folder and put the whole thing out of his head; that he hadn't done either of those things was a source of conflict between them that he couldn't handle right now and had no intention of revisiting anytime soon.

He ignored the text, sipped his tea and changed channel yet again.

The post clattering through the letter box broke through the immobility that had seized him. He snatched at the cardboard, ripping it open to reveal the book he'd ordered. He stared at it; to his mind, one of the most dangerous books ever written, one that professed to explain Hitler and the Nazis; clearly revisionist. He felt odd just holding it; somehow defiled. He was convinced he had been put on some surveillance list the minute he looked it up on line.

He sighed and sat back to read.

He hoped the book would be bunkum; easily dismissed to the file marked 'revisionist nonsense' that he was trying to compile. He had worked out a methodology to make his task easier; read until an outrageous claim was made and then check the claim either on line or on his bookshelves. He had been convinced he would find evidence to debunk the assertions but thus far he had only found evidence in support.

This book proved to be more of the same and three hours later he was still reading; finally he yawned and let the book slide from his lap, he wanted to read more but he was dog tired.

He pinched his cheeks, got up and splashed his face with water from the sink, did a few half-hearted stretches and resumed the task, deciding on an internet search to find an interview with the author, discussing his book. Ten minutes later he started to search elsewhere, the book might well have been intensively researched but the author was sending him to sleep.

He found several other revisionist videos and watched them over and over. Something in them, the very concept of what they preached left him feeling uncomfortable after every viewing.

He stood up and stretched, grabbed his coat and went for a walk.

He returned with a food stock that should hold him in good stead for the next few days while he continued his research. He made short work of a Belgian bun and a can of coke, then slumped down in front of his computer, flicking through until he found a traditional video on the causes of the war.
He watched with quiet satisfaction as frenzied, hysterical Germans, dragooned into lines along the roadside, saluted the megalomaniac dictator. The video had a backdrop of satanic music and the commentary was one he could relate to; Hitler deceiving the masses with tricks like 'Strength through joy' where he bought their loyalty with cheap rate holidays and cruises. It rattled through the same old stuff about how he reduced mass unemployment by building roads, once again buying the loyalty of the masses.

Louis found himself relaxing; his long-held beliefs re-energised as he watched. This fitted what he knew from extensive reading, that Hitler was a control freak, a pervert whose love life was a farce, a man who was obsessed with his mother and couldn't form proper relationships, who as a young man formed an obsession with a young girl, was virtually a stalker, hanging out on street corners with Kubizek, the homosexual. Who later in life totally controlled his niece Gellie until she committed suicide to escape him, then he latched onto Eva Braun. He was a controller of people, a master manipulator and this video proved it. Louis hadn't been aware of how much this revisionist junk had been bothering him.

Louis sighed, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

One hour later he woke with a start, a question thumping in his brain. His sleep hadn't been restful.
He had a test he wanted to conduct and he set to it at once. He watched five minutes of the traditional video he'd fallen asleep in front of, then he watched similar scenes on a revisionist video.

Finally, he turned the sound down and watched them again; without volume they were identical.
Both videos showed thousands of happy Germans all frantic to shake Hitler's hand and they weren't brown shirted party members, these were all ordinary Germans; old men and women, working-age adults, young women and young children.

He rested his fingertips on his forehead, his thoughts racing; stripped of the music or talk overs there was nothing to influence his interpretations. He was left to make his own conclusions of what he was seeing on the screen.

'If they loved him this much then maybe there was something in what he said, in what he and the Nazis offered the ordinary German people.'

He let his thoughts go where they would, conjuring a revolutionary system that encouraged people to work together and for the nation...and supposing it worked, got the German people back into employment when every other western economy remained on its knees, no work, soup kitchens and the like.....

He burst out, his voice loud in the quiet flat, "I need to listen to original broadcasts, hear it for myself. Fuck it, why didn't I learn German?"

He grabbed his cup, rinsed it out in the sink, switched on the kettle, threw a tea bag in the cup. 'So where do the Jews come in?'

The kettle boiled.

Louis poured the steaming water into his cup, his brain still racing, 'surely not? Churchill didn't pursue the war just because the National Socialist philosophy was taking hold? That would be insane, waging a war over conflicting political philosophical outlooks?'

Cheers

Arun

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Extract below

Pigs

The police car pulled up outside the Seascape B&B.

The two men inside the car had worked as a team for a fair while, were of an age, both with young children. Despite the similarities, they were as different as chalk and cheese. For one thing, Ken Jackson's marriage was more stable not least because he resisted the urge to mess around with the women PCs, something Tony Williams seemed unable, or unwilling, to do.

"You gonna do the talking?" asked Ken of Tony, the driver.

Tony sat back, affecting surprise, "Come off it, Ken, why me?"

"How can I put this? Oh yeah, 'cause I did the last one, Tony, that's why."

Tony frowned, creating lines on his perfectly sculpted 'cheeky chappy' face where none should be, "I don't remember that."

"Yeah you do," said Ken, this was an established rigmarole, "it's your turn, fucker."

Tony sighed, unclipped his seat belt and they exited the car together, "Well, I'm just saying, if it gets tricky you'd better back me up."

"It won't get tricky," said Ken.

"You know what I mean," said Tony, "you know I don't like this part of the job."

"No one does, but we've all got to take our turn."

Tony sighed again as he opened the small iron gate and they made their way to the front door. He tried one last time, "What say I do the next one?"

"No," said Ken, knocking on the door, "you're doing this one."

"I'll do the next two?"

The door opened.

Ken had barely a moment to register a short round woman, tired looking, mid to late 30s possibly, faded hair, before a low to the ground, extremely pugnacious, dog of indiscriminate breeding dashed out, and commenced barking wildly up at them.

"Caesar!" shouted woman, flapping her hands in a shoo gesture, "In, go on, in."

The dog ignored her commands and continued to bark, all four paws coming off the ground on each bark and all the while suspiciously eying up the intruders.

"IN!" This last instruction was a lung busting shout and was accompanied with more shooing. Finally the woman chased the dog into a room on the right of the hallway and shut the door.

"Miss Simpson?"

Without waiting for a response, Tony continued, "May we come in?"

"Why? What's happened? Is it Kerry?"

"Er, no," said Ken. No Kerry had been mentioned as far as he was aware, he edged past her into the front room expecting she would follow and when she did as he'd hoped he indicated the settee. "But I think you should sit down."

He'd estimated her weight at 13 to15 stone and there was no way he wanted to be lifting her up from the floor if she collapsed on them; it had happened before and he'd nearly put his back out that time.

She sat, hands trembling in her lap. She was responding to their grim faces, Ken knew, this was what usually happened. He waited for Tony to take up the story, no way was he doing this one.

"Tell me what's happened...."

Tony did his best to look miserable, it was a trick he'd tried before, in similar circumstances and it seemed to work.

"Well, what is it? Why are you here?"

Tony coughed and looked towards Ken, subtly guiding her attention away from him. Ken winced slightly, 'Well played you bastard,' he thought.

"Well?" pressed the woman, now looking straight at Ken.

He dipped his head a little, "I'm very sorry, but we have some very bad news about your parents."

"Mum and Dad? What do you mean? Are they alright?" She half-rose from the chair then sank back at the expression on his face.

"Is there anyone who could come over and sit with you?" Ken was not just playing for time, he genuinely thought she should have someone with her.

She shook her head, muttering something about Kerry being only a phone call away.

Ken threw a dark look at Tony and then took the bull by the horns, "I'm sorry to have to tell you that your parents are dead. It appears they took their own lives."

She stared at him for a second, eyes widening as the words sank in, then she groaned, "Oh my god."

"I'm very sorry," said Ken. He indicated with his head for Tony to get in the kitchen, a cup of tea would surely help the situation.

"How? When? Are you sure?"

"I'm afraid so," said Tony. He was always quite happy to take part after the initial words had been spoken, liked to use his easy charm to get them past the worst.

A tall, slim, young woman entered the room.

Both men blinked. Is this Kerry? Why hadn't Miss Simpson mentioned her as being in the building?
Whoever she was, Tony straightened; this one was worthy of his charm offensive.

The new entrant addressed the tearful, shuddering wobble of a woman on the settee with an air of authority, "Is everything alright, Stacey?"

Ken frowned; he wasn't sure about Stacey being the name in front of the Miss Simpson he'd been given, but couldn't recall anything else to put in its place.

"It's my mum and dad," wailed Stacey, her voice thick with tears, "they said" she pointed accusingly at Ken and Tony, "they said they're...they're dead."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Simpson," said Ken to Stacey, "it would appear that they managed to get hold of some tablets before they were taken to prison."

"Prison?" Stacey was horrified on top of her obvious grief, "What are you talking about?"

Ken gave Tony a look; surely the woman had been expecting prison? They were bound to be found guilty and refusing a room to a 'Mr & Mr' was a cast iron, guaranteed, done and dusted custodial sentence in today's world, albeit the length of the sentence had been a bit steep.

"I'm Miss Simpson," said the new arrival, "what's this all about?"

"Oh, thank the lord," said Stacey, her tears drying in an instant, "it's a mistake. You're not talking about my parents at all."

Ken's mouth fell open, they had royally cocked up. He turned to face the woman he now knew to be Miss Simpson, the woman to whom they should have brought the tragic news.

She had made the connections and had paled visibly.

"Miss Simpson, I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, however...."

"Oh my god, Rosemary!" Stacey leapt up and put her arms out to her employer's daughter, for that was the relationship. The double shock appeared to affect her badly and she continued in broken voice, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe."

"What happened to my parents?" demanded Rosemary.

Stacey fell to the floor, gasping for air and pulling at her throat.

Rosemary appeared sublimely unaware, asking again in an icy tone, "What about my parents?"

Tony looked at Stacey, rolling around on the floor, gasping for breath, her tongue hanging out and her face going a beautiful shade of crimson.

He looked at Rosemary, clearly getting angrier by the second.

He looked at Ken, clearly floundering, no help there.
He looked back at Stacey and did the first thing that came into his head; he grabbed the vase of flowers off the coffee table and tossed them, and the liquid therein contained, into Stacey's face.

It had the desired effect for she instantly stopped dying on them.

Ken stared at him, open mouthed. Rosemary, eyes now wide, teeth bared in a feral snarl, lunged at him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MUM AND DAD?"

Ken gulped. Rosemary released him and turned on Tony, screaming into his face, "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MUM AND DAD?"

Tony reacted in an instant, reflexes honed by hours of self-imposed training, "TASER! TASER! TASER!"

Rosemary shot backwards across the hallway, knocking open the door to the room opposite. Caesar, no longer confined, bounded out of the room, threw himself on his now shuddering, prostrate mistress, then turned to face Tony, baring his teeth and letting out a low mean growl before charging.

"SHIT!" yelled Tony. He pressed the switch on the Taser but he'd used all the battery up in the one assault on Rosemary. He climbed onto the coffee table.

"You fucking bastards!" shrieked Stacey, launching herself at Ken's throat.

He fell backwards, Stacey on top of him. She had him in an iron grip with hands made strong through hours of manual labour. He struggled to escape her grasp, to wriggle free from beneath her. He was aware his tongue was swelling and protruding from his mouth as she squeezed ever tighter.

Caesar, now in a state of hysterical confusion and unable to get near Tony, turned, barked, charged and sank his teeth into Stacey's upended bottom.

Stacey's eyes bulged, she screamed and released her grip on Ken's throat, then she stood up shakily and staggered towards the kitchen, Caesar dangling from one of her ample cheeks.

"Quick," yelled Tony, stepping off the coffee table and giving Ken a hand up, "let's get the fuck out of here."

They sprinted down the short path, hurdled the gate and flung themselves into the car.

Tony locked the doors and revved madly, careening down the road like the devil was in pursuit.

In the rear view mirror he could see Caesar giving chase, barking insanely, spittle flying from his jaws as he went.

Thanks for reading and hope you have a nice weekend 

Cheers


Arun

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Extract below:

P.A.C.T

Norman fixed the white board in place, checked his marker pens, brushed his hair back with his hands and nodded to Barry.

"You ready then?"

Norman nodded.

"Okay, we're on," said Barry, flicking the switch.

The light went green and Norman froze.

Barry switched the recorder off, "What is it now?"

"I don't think I can do it."

"It can't be the camera," said Barry, "'cause you already did it on T.V, and when you were on London Bridge you didn't have an actual audience...so it can't be that."

"I know," agreed Norman, "it's just, I don't know where to start."

They sat quietly for a few moments, Barry regarding solemnly the man he had been paid to spy on and had then come to revere beyond the limits of his own safety. He couldn't let the man fade into obscurity in the hideaway on Torrevieja; the world needed him.

He leaned forward, engaging Norman's attention, "Start talking, just to me and I'll switch on a few minutes after you've started."

Norman was silent for a few minutes, then said, "I'll bet you've never heard of CH Douglas, the man who created 'Social Credit'."

He stood up and began pacing, started speaking as if to Barry alone.

"CH Douglas was an engineer, cum accountant, cum economist. His ideas were alien to our modern, corrupt money creating machine, in fact Douglas' ideas were so alien to modern capitalism that he has been totally expunged from history."

Barry switched on the recorder.

Norman carried on speaking, "Yet his ideas were so brilliant they could reduce world poverty and want overnight, end unemployment, famine and despair in the world, even end all wars. Such was the genius of his concept 'Social Credit'."

Norman paused.

Barry held his breath, but the pause was only for thinking time and Norman continued happily, "So what is 'Social Credit' and how does it work?"

He turned to the white board and drew a factory, "In simple laymen's terms, it is fulfilling the economic process of supply and demand."

He drew a house, a stick family, Big Ben and a long oblong with spikes denoting Parliament and arrows travelling in a circular direction.

"What Douglas realised," said Norman, now in full swing, "is that the purpose of manufacture should be to provide goods and services to the point of demand in as efficient a method as possible."

He stared at the camera, seeing beyond it to the thousands of people he was trying to reach.

Then he said, "However, he discovered that when costs such as rent, resources and energy, and the profit for dividends to the investor and interest to the banks, when all of these combined are used to fix the price, the resultant cost of the product takes it out of the realms of an ordinary worker's wages, forcing them to resort to credit in order to secure the goods required. In other words our current economic model fails in what should be its primary aim: that of supply of goods to people at point of need."

He stopped, this had been clearer in his head, "It is an inflationary mechanism; the credit created by the banks has no substantive value. The interest charged on the credit is similarly fictional. However, it is in real terms charged to the worker when they take out a loan, reducing their ability to buy more goods without taking out further loans. This is unsustainable; the volume of debt creates a situation where people are forced to default on loans, small businesses fail, the economy goes into downturn leading to unemployment. At some point even the big businesses crash. This despite the fact that the skills and resources required to continue manufacture and provision of goods to the point of need remain intact."

He grabbed the red marker, "Douglas said that money should exist to facilitate the production of goods and their delivery to the market and hence the individual. Put simply, money is the oil in the economy and should work in the same way as oil in the car's engine, to facilitate its smooth running."

He drew a crude picture of a car. "In this analogy, the engine is the economy, and the oil that moves around the engine is the money that moves around in the economy. In both instances this has to be free moving and evenly spread. If the oil all gathers in one place or is drained off then the engine will overheat and seize up."

He grinned at Barry, he was happy to be back in the saddle.

He drew a radiator on the front of the engine and a water reservoir, "The supply of money in the market also acts like the water in the radiator, cooling down the engine and hence the economy when it starts to overheat. In a perfectly running engine there is a fixed amount of water. This is as it should be with the economy, with a fixed amount of money the economy will work efficiently but if there is too much money in the economy then we have inflation and if there isn't enough money then we have deflation."

He added a petrol pump next to the car.

"The fuel represents the global energy required to run the world economy. If the engine is running too fast and the demand for oil exceeds supply, the price of oil will go up thus increasing the need for credit thereby feeding inflation. If the economy is overheating producing more than demand then you burn fuel needlessly and inefficiently waste fossil fuels."

He nodded, encouraging himself, "So for the car, and by that I mean the world economy, to advance efficiently and effectively in the right direction, without waste, the right amount of fossil fuel must be added, utilising renewable fuels wherever possible. The timing must be perfect. Oil, or money, should move freely to ensure even distribution and exchange of goods and the water, i.e. the supply or quantity of money in the market, should act as a coolant to prevent overheating."

He stared at his drawing, "Of course, the manufacturer doesn't have any money at start-up, he needs to borrow to set up his business and the lender is within his rights to expect some form of return. The manufacturer has to pay loans, rent, material costs and wages before anything is earned from the sale of goods."

He was frowning now, intent on the explanation, "No matter which way we look at this, the costs of production will always include some form of interest or dividend payment, meaning that, under the current system, there will still be a gap between the eventual price of the products in the market and the wages in the worker's pocket so the worker will still need credit...."

He turned and grimaced at the camera, it was getting very complicated and he was worried he might be losing his audience.

"Also, some products will always be too expensive for the average budget without some form of credit or loan and people with savings need somewhere to put their money and if you have savings in a bank then it is only fair that you should expect some form of interest."

He glanced at Barry, then said, "This again creates a gap between income and expenses. Which is where Social Credit comes in, Douglas believed that in order to bridge the gap between costs of production and price of the product the Government," and he pointed to his rough drawing of the houses of Parliament, "should issue a dividend to the public, whether employed or not."

He drew a building and titled it the National Credit Office underneath his sketch of the Houses of Parliament. He then drew a factory and an arrow from the National Credit Office towards it.

"Douglas believed that if the Government issued interest free loans to business to cover their extra costs then these loans could be repaid when the products are sold into the market at no loss to the company...."

He drew an arrow from the National Credit Office towards the picture of the stick family and wrote Social Credit Payment or Dividend.

"In this way the dividend payment to the worker acts to cover the increase in price at the retailer outlet thus ensuring a continued turnover of goods, and the market continues to act freely."

He drew a picture of the retailer and an arrow from the supplier to the merchant, "The National Credit Office will then issue interest free funds in the form of a discount to the merchant to deflate prices should supply at any stage exceed demand preventing deflationary forces, maintaining the flow of the market."

He stood back and looked at his drawing; it wasn't very good and the details he'd written were a bit unclear but he plugged on, they could always polish it later before putting it out there, "And of course the extra money that the National Credit Office has issued in the form of interest free loans to the companies, to the workers in the form of Social Credit or dividends and to the retailer as discount funding will all make its way back to the National Credit Office via the retailer to be recycled back into the economy, reducing the amount of money in the system and thereby preventing inflation."

He looked at Barry for confirmation of understanding but Barry just shrugged, a heavy frown furrowing his brow.

He then looked at the drawing of his car and drew movement lines underneath, "All of which of course adds up to a socially, culturally, emotionally mature and extremely efficient, economy."

Hope you have a nice week

Cheers

Arun

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Blackmore

This time Blackmore didn't even make it up the path to the front door; Max and Bogey were on the porch waiting for him.

"Let's go," said Max, sounding nervous.

Blackmore nodded and they strode to the park, moving rather more quickly than Blackmore thought wise and certainly more quickly than Bogey found comfortable.

When they arrived Max let Bogey off the lead and the dog collapsed in a heap on the grass. Blackmore sat down on a bench, envying Bogey his ability to relax so completely. He waited in stiff formality until Max had recovered his breath sufficiently to speak.

"I gotta tell ya, Phil, I can't get anything on Stone's death, no-one is getting near it and I mean, no-one."

"Are they running a cover story?"

"Shit yeah, inside the agency. Normal stuff we dump out on the public."

Blackmore watched as Max paced.

Then Max burst out, "But they're so confident Phil, I mean it's crap, all of it, it's all total crap but they don't care and what's more, neither do my colleagues."

"Not any of them?"

"Uh, I don't know, there are a few diehards like me, but then perhaps I'd have thought the same as them if we hadn't had our little chat, Christ I don't know..."

Blackmore was slightly depressed at the notion that it should require an intelligence chief from another country to shine the light on something that should've been fairly obvious to anyone with even half a brain.

"But you're right," said Max, "we do have weapons the world knows nothing about, that's why we don't give a fuck who has the bomb, ya know?"

Blackmore shook his head, "Enlighten me, would you?"

Max stopped pacing and stared at him, "Star Wars."

"Reagan's Strategic Defence Initiative..."

"Yeah," said Max, pride entering his tone, "satellites with lasers using something called 'Directed Free Energy'. Those babies can shoot down nukes in flight."

Suspicion narrowed Blackmore's eyes, "We were under the impression that it wasn't considered reliable."

Max hesitated, bent down and made a fuss of Bogey, buying time, then spoke, his voice subdued, "That's true, Star Wars version one was a flop."

Blackmore waited, breath baited.

"Version two is fucking beautiful."

Blackmore's jaw dropped but he rallied quickly, asking, "Why don't we know about this?"

"Hell, I didn't know until I pressed it. The official version is Star Wars was a billion dollar failure, a money pit, total pile of crap, the whole nine yards."

Blackmore nodded, wanting to prompt him but afraid of tipping him the wrong way.

"Well, Phil, we gotta system alright," said Max, pride enriching his voice, "and we've developed hundreds of satellites with these lasers. Right now they're up there circling, just waiting for someone to press a button."

The two men were silent for a few moments; the one shocked at what he had heard, the other unable to believe he had spoken the words out loud.

Finally Blackmore spoke, "What is their capability?"

Max threw a ball and Bogey lumbered after it.

"They can home in on and destroy a nuclear submarine, disintegrate it to nothing, just like that, evaporate a whole damned fleet."

Blackmore slumped, the ramrod that was his backbone sagged and he felt suddenly old.

Max seemed unable to stop, "Goddamn it, they can wipe out an entire military force operating over a 10 mile area. Cripple a city, smash factories, destroy a season's crops, turn skyscrapers into dust."

Blackmore vaguely remembered a book crossing his desk some years previously, he'd skimmed it, something about 'dustification'.

"The way these babies work, Phil, hell, they destroy the molecular structure of anything they hit."

Blackmore found his voice sufficiently to say, "Good Lord, Max, into dust you say?"

Max paused then said, his words coming as if torn from his throat, "Some say they've tested it... 9/11."

This was too much for Blackmore, "No, Max, we know what happened on 9/11, we were in the loop...."

"Ha, you think? You may know what the op was but you have no idea how it was done."

Blackmore was stung into a sharp response, "It was controlled demolition. Building 7....."

"Oh yeah," said Max, "that's easy, anyone can see that thing comes down in one great big lump. I'm talking about the Twin Towers, they were turned to dust."

Bogey returned with the ball, looking disconsolate.

Max knelt down and fondled his ears, abruptly losing interest in the 9/11 conversation.

He said instead, "Anyway, these weapons, they're not ours, not the property of the US Government.
Blackmore frowned.

Max continued, "My contact, he's been worried about this for years, says it's driven him to despair at times. The funding didn't come from the Pentagon or the government. The administration contracted it out to a private source, unknown and from what we can make out, that source has agreed to lease the weapons systems back to the US, on a decade by decade basis."

"Who in their right mind would agree to that?"

"Exactly," said Max, "and guess what, the terms of the lease stipulate that if the US divides into more than one country then possession of these weapons systems automatically reverts to said financial backers."

Max nodded as he watched Blackmore's reaction; it reminded him of his own when he heard the story.

He continued, "This arrangement is apparently to prevent a weak President from using the weapon to shore up his position as well as to guarantee the safety of the world and the safety of the," he bracketed the words with his fingers, "independent financial backers."

"Whom we're assuming are American?"

"That's the thing," said Max, uneasily, "no-one knows who they are, not the President, not Congress not the Pentagon not even the Fed."

"You don't know if this is state or private funding?"

Max hunkered down next to Bogey and allowed the dog to slobber his face. Blackmore was repelled.

Max spoke through the wet attention of his dog, "Your guess is as good as mine, Phil. Christ, it could be the Russians or the Chinese even. We do all the work, use our technological knowhow just for the commies to come creeping in and steal the results. It really winds me up Phil, know what I mean?"

"I fear it might be a little nearer to home," said Blackmore thoughtfully.

"What? Who then?"

"The Bilderbergs come to mind."

"Who the hell are they? I thought they were just a bunch of rich industrialists."

"Industrialists, politicians, bankers," said Blackmore, "but behind them lies the real power."

"Crazy conspiracy nonsense, Phil."

"You said yourself that someone else could end up owning this new system," said Blackmore.

"If President Ortega splits this country they will," said Max, matter of factly.

"In which case, when does a conspiracy theory become fact?"

"Shit, I don't know, Phil, but if the Ruskies or the Chinese or, God forbid... the North Koreans get hold of this stuff..."

Blackmore was shaking his head before Max had finished speaking, "Not the Russians or the Chinese and, be thankful for small mercies, it's definitely not the North Koreans."

"Get real, Phil, what would a bunch of rich elites do with this kit? Where would they station themselves? The golf club? In the Hamptons, for pity's sake?"

Blackmore held up his hand to stem the flow, "Closer to home. The Chosen People."

Max frowned, then realisation hit, "Bullshit, Phil. Israel's our ally, they need the US to preserve their position in the world."

"If they have the SDI, your Star Wars weapon....."

"We call it SW2 now Phil."

Blackmore grimaced, "Whatever you're calling it, they won't need anyone else once they have it."

"If that's the way of it then it could be you bloody Brits, or the French or anyone."

"It's the Bilderbergs; overseen by the wealthiest of all the families, the Rockefellers and the Rothschilds...."

"Getting decidedly anti-Semitic, Phil," Max said, reprovingly, "never took you for a racist."

Blackmore shook his head, "I'll own up to rampant patriotism, will that do?"

"All this finger pointing at Israel, makes me edgy. After what Jews went through in the war, you know, never again, that's all I'm saying."

"So carte blanche for the assassination of FDR? The mail bombs to Truman sent by the Stern gang?"

"Hell Phil," snapped Max, "that's all just conspiracy theory hoodoo. FDR died 'cause he was sick and Truman's daughter was talking gibberish, there's nothing to any of that..."

"Maybe," said Blackmore, though he knew it to be true from his own father's lips, "but the Stern gang did assassinate the UN representative Folke Bernadotte, remember and the British Minster Lord Moyne and you just have to see what they did in Deir Yassin to know that...."

"None of that means the Jews tried to kill the fucking President of the United States," snarled Max.

Blackmore was livid by this time, and anger fuelled his words, "They had plans to assassinate Churchill, Atlee and Bevin. For God's sake, Eden walked around with one of their mail bombs in his brief case all day. The Irgun were definitely responsible for the King David Hotel bombing, then there's the Lavon affair, the Paris attack in August '82, false flag PLO operations out of Lebanon excusing their invasion and many other atrocities."

As he was speaking Blackmore was wondering why Max didn't know any of this already or if he did, why he saw fit to deny it. He tested his thinking with a jab at Max's heart, "What about the USS Liberty? How many American sailors were killed and wounded in that?"

"Shit," hissed Max, "that's history, water under the bridge, they were trying to build a nation, it means nothing now...."

"Are you denying the Demona facility?" Blackmore asked, pressing the point, "Or how Israelis with duel citizenship have been spying on America, stealing highly classified....."

"Like the Russians have been stealing shit from you Brits," snarled Max, "leave the Jews out of this, it ain't them doing it, the Jews are with us, period."

"And JFK?" pressed Blackmore, keen to rub salt into this still festering American wound, "Surely you're not going to say that Ben-Gurion didn't order Mossad to arrange his assassination..."

"You're losing it Phil," said Max.

"JFK wanted to stop Israel getting the bomb, we all feared nuclear proliferation in the Middle East, we still do...."

"Rubbish," snapped Max, though he'd heard whispers about the agency's cover up from his father's old colleagues.

Blackmore needed to drill this home to get what he wanted, "You know they orchestrated the assassination of JFK. Meyer Lansky, the mob's accountant, was born Meier Suchowlański, of Polish Jewish extraction. Jack Ruby was Jacob Leonard Rubenstein...another Jew and who do you think filmed it all, Abraham Zapruder, a Ukrainian born Jew....Ben Gurion ordered it, Lansky planned it, the mob did the deed, and Ruby shut down the investigation."

"Not buying it, Phil," said Max, although he already knew the story.

"Lansky was the big loser when Castro seized Cuba," said Blackmore, "the 'Bay of Pigs' fiasco cost him....."

"Yeah yeah big time," said Max, "we know all that but it was still Lee Harvey Oswald. When will you guys accept that? Anything else would implicate the CIA...."

"You mean James Angleton," said Blackmore, keen to let Max know there were no secrets from him, "your so called Chief of Counterintelligence, he was in the pocket of Mossad..."

"Here you go with the Jews again...." said Max waving his arms; he did not want to discuss agency dirty linen with the head of a foreign intelligence agency.

"We know because we pointed Mossad agents to him," said Blackmore. He relented slightly, "We have our own relationship with Israel you know, after all it was the Balfour declaration that gave them their country."

"It ain't the fuckin' Jews, Phil," snapped Max, "it can't be, they owe us big time."

"Why not? If it could be the Russians, the Chinese or the Europeans why not the Jews?"

Max scowled at him, ferociously.

It suddenly dawned on Blackmore that he'd read it all wrong. He tried to speak as if from his heart, "I'm sorry Max," he said, planning to gut his research assistant at the first opportunity, "I didn't realise that you're Jewish. What d'you have? Duel citizenship?"

"Hell no," protested Max, "I'm Catholic, I just don't think that Israel would do that to us."

Blackmore back-pedalled. What the hell was bothering the man then? Whatever it was, he needed Max onside, "Technically it wouldn't be Israel. It's the wealthy individuals behind the Bilderbergs and if they need to move Star Wars...."

"SW2," corrected Max.

"Sorry, SW2, if they need to move it to a place of safety after the collapse of the US, who's to say that Israel is even in the loop?"

"What does that even mean, Phil?"

"You know what it means, it just needs key people to be in the know to move the pieces and roll the dice. The rest will just fall into place, always does."

Max sighed and stared at his feet. Blackmore wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, he just didn't want him knowing what he knew.

Blackmore pressed into the silence, "Surely it's not anti-Semitic to suggest that the Israelis might be aggressively nationalistic...."

"Shit Phil, after the Holocaust, of course they'd be aggressive. But seriously? You're trying to suggest that they'd do this to the US after all we've done for them?"

"You're seriously asking me that question after what they did to us in Palestine?"

Max frowned.

"And after the war," continued Blackmore, "when Britain was broke and they shifted their allegiance and all their wealth to America, after what the British nation sacrificed for them? Believe me, Max, to them we're just the Goyim."

"Now you're definitely being racist."

Blackmore was having none of it, "When push comes to shove who do you think your Jews support... the US or Israel?"

Max grimaced.

"In all honesty Max, if it was you, where would your loyalties lie?"

"But this is America Phil," said Max, pushing out his chest with pride, "we might all come from different places and backgrounds but when we're here we're Americans, one and all...."

"You don't think they're brought up to think of Israel first, of the Jews above all others?"

Max frowned, "America is a successfully integrated multi-cultural society Phil, and as Americans we are all loyal to our country."

"That's as maybe, Max, but somebody is committed to bringing your great nation down and to stealing Star Wars, sorry SW2, and it's happening on our watch."

Max nodded slowly, "Good point Phil, and whoever they are, we gotta stop them, we can't let them get away with it."

Blackmore looked sorrowful, saying, "There's not a great deal either you or I can do to stop them, Max."

"What the heck? Then why the hell are we having this conversation? I just ruined my career getting hold of this info for you, you cold limey bastard."

Bogey started to whine, concerned by the angry tones.

Blackmore ignored the insult, he'd heard worse, "We can't prevent their plans for a break up of the States, they're too far advanced. But we can stop them getting hold of Star Wars."

Max's eyes widened, "Is that what this is about? You stinking Limeys want to get your hands on SW2. Hell, this is all some bullshit you've strung together."
He stood up and clapped his hands to alert Bogey.
Blackmore stood up as well, irritated beyond measure.

Max continued his angry rant, "It was you guys killed the President, your Royal family, you said it was the richest families on earth, count them in. You Brits are tryin' to gain control of the US again....we're on to you, you suckered us into two world wars so we could pull your rocks outta the fire. We know all about your Rhodes schools and financial support for individuals identified for high office. You ain't fooling me either with this Rothschild shit, he's a member of the British aristocracy, he's one of your boys. No way is this Israel, this has got MI6 written all over it."

"Listen to me, you buffoon," snapped Blackmore, losing his temper sufficiently to grab Max by his coat, at the same time as pushing the attentions of Bogey aside with his foot, "we did not assassinate President Stone, we are not planning to steal Star Wars. I am here because the Prime Minister is next on their hit list and I had to understand why they were so confident of controlling world affaires without American support."

He let go of Max, getting himself back under control, saying in an icily calm voice, "After what you have told me I now do understand, all too well."

Max and Bogey stared at Blackmore. Max couldn't make up his mind what angered him the most; the idea that the Brits were trying to steal a weapons system that had cost billions to develop, or that Blackmore had had the temerity to grab hold of his coat.

Blackmore was back to his frosty best, "Depend upon it, we will take the necessary steps. Ortega being your new President is your problem. You might put out a hit on him, as is your wont in this neck of the woods."

In contrast Max was fuming, "So that's it, you bastard, you want me to take out a hit on our new President? You've been spinning a web, all that baloney about Stone being assassinated on orders of the Bilderbergs so they can use Ortega to break up America."

Blackmore stared at him. The man was a fool.

"Oh yeah, and let's not forget it's the Jews who are behind this whole thing, am I right?"

Blackmore gave Max his most haughty glare and drawled, "That's more or less the nub of it, yes."
He tried once more to reach the man, saying, "I wish I could get you to understand, in our opinion America is on borrowed time. We are tied together on this as on most things. If you go down then we also go down, I must urge you to take action. Such a situation isn't going to be acceptable to the Prime Minister."

"Fuck that, what about me? My family? My career?"

"Listen Max," said Blackmore earnestly, "I've gone out on a limb telling you Stone was assassinated by the Bilderbergs. The PM is taking a chance as well. Neither of us want to see the break up of the US, not least because it will be followed by the breakup of the UK. Trust me on that at least."

It was Max's turn to stare.

Blackmore followed up, "We will do all we can to save the UK and we'll do all we can to help save America but we have to be realistic. They have influence everywhere."

"You actually believe it will come to this?"

"I think we are already near the end of their scheme to create the New World Order."

"Nothing new there," said Max, "one world economy with the rich elites at the head and one country chosen to ensure global compliance."

His tone indicated that the one country was the U.S.
Blackmore fixed him with a cold look, "This version, I fear, doesn't include us."

Max's smug look vanished. "Not the U.S? And it's not the Russians?"

"No Max," said Blackmore.

"Or the Chinese? Or the North Koreans?"
Blackmore looked at him.

"You think that Rothschild runs the Bilderbergs.... and because he's a Jew he's chosen Israel?"

"They are, after all, the Chosen People," said Blackmore, lifting his shoulders.

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Blackmore

Whilst Blackmore had no objection to the power and privilege the New World Order would afford his class, when push came to shove, he was a proud nationalist and if supporting the NWO meant the end of Britain he would find that very hard to stomach.

However, at this precise moment he saw no practical way of defeating the groups whose tentacles had so deeply penetrated western society. In his view, it would be better to back off from any immediate conflict whilst working to neutralise their influence.

He sipped his tea and clicked the intercom, "Send him in please, Miss Pearce."

Two minutes later Karl Dumbleton, short and rotund, with a large, round face and thick glasses, was seated opposite Sir Phillip who was, in contrast, the epitome of superior elegance.

Dumbleton fidgeted nervously, never once in his 20 years in the department had he been summoned to Blackmore's office. He'd never even seen Sir Philip before let alone spoken to him, although technically, he hadn't really spoken to him now given all he'd actually said was, "Yes Sir," when instructed to produce the file that Sir Philip now pored over.

Blackmore coughed, using the expelled air to start speaking, "We already know that global debt is rising and that a debt crisis is imminent, what I want to know is what could cause a financial melt down?"

Dumbleton lifted his head, pushed his glasses back up his nose and went for it, "As you say, global debt is rising beyond desirable levels for most governments Sir Phillip, but it is mostly manageable, should any one country face financial meltdown then a measure of self-enforced austerity would be more likely...."

"But if things were allowed to continue unchecked?"

Dumbleton cleared his throat, this was awkward, "Er, well, that wouldn't happen, sir, it would be like you buying on your credit card to the extent that you were no longer able to service the interest on your loans...."

"Like Greece you mean," said Blackmore dismissively.

"Well yes," said Dumbleton, chastened, "Greece did do that, but surely...no other Government is going to do that."

"But if they did?"

"Er...." Dumbleton was not willing to stick his neck out again, "which Governments in particular, sir?"

"All of them."

"All of them? Well then it would be the worst financial nightmare ever, people would lose everything..."

"And in such a scenario the IMF could step in to create a new world currency."

"Well, yes of course," Dumbleton was out of his depth now, "but that would be an extreme measure. It's not really a question of could the IMF and the World Bank do this, it's more a question of who would be financially strong enough to back it, bearing in mind that for such a scenario to be attractive then all of the most powerful currencies would have to be on the floor..."

"Take that as a given," said Blackmore.

"Well, again," said Dumbleton, "it's a question of finding who would be capable of underwriting this new currency, to ensure confidence."

"And who would that be?"

"Well, sir, the only option would be....urm, financially independent groups and or individuals. In the West that would be the Rockefellers and the Rothschilds, and of course Russia has her oligarchs and China has...."

"These people are wealthy enough to underwrite a new global currency?" pressed Blackmore.

"Bearing in mind that in the last few decades they have managed to transfer individual and state wealth from 90% of the global population and from National Governments to themselves, they really would be the only option...."

"Thank you Dumbleton, you may leave."

"Of course," he rose immediately, "thank you, sir."

After Dumbleton closed the door Blackmore stared at the map on his wall and drummed his fingers. He spoke aloud into the room, "Even if they manage to crash the global economy and create their one world currency they will still need a strong nation state behind them, clearly they don't intend for it to be America, they've already sanctioned its break up and I can't believe for a moment that they would opt for one of the communist powers.... which only leaves Europe."

He pulled a face, thinking furiously, 'Europe is as dysfunctional as America, it has to be something else.'

Blackmore stood up and moved closer to the map.
He found his gaze settling on the Middle East, but he shook his head, 'Not the Muslims, although their religion is useful and they can provide the man power and the required terror, but what about the military muscle?'

He found himself staring at Israel. He rubbed his chin, allowed his mind to envisage the new power, the one that exists behind the scenes in every country with fingers in every economy and the possessor of the most powerful lobby groups in the world.

"Insane," he said aloud, "Israel couldn't, she's always used others to achieve her goals, so it can't be Israel..... unless something has changed. A new weapon like the PM said, but if that's the case and they no longer need America, of what use to them is Britain?"

He sat back at his desk, Googled world armed forces to find out where Israeli armed forces were ranked, '8th, hmm.' Higher than he had thought.
Could the Zionists really be behind it all? True, they controlled most of the world's wealth, but could they be behind the coming financial collapse? The force the Bilderbergs had sub-contracted to undertake the task?

He clicked the intercom, "Tea, Miss Pearce."

Marjorie Pearce entered the room with his pot of Earl Grey and plate of mixed biscuits, including the must-have custard creams. She had been with Sir Phillip for years and she understood his foibles. She knew better than to speak, knew he would wait until she had left the room before opening the box file on his desk. She knew also that he would want no interruptions save, at a push, the PM.

The door clicked shut.

He opened the box. It had been left by his predecessor, and contained material that hitherto he had dismissed out of hand but now he was uncertain.
He pulled out a file marked 'The New Yishuv and Zionist expansion' and began reading the short introduction, laying out the changes that had taken place in the Jewish community and the divide between the Orthodox leadership and the growing Secular movement.

It briefly outlined the fatalistic, 'it's god's will', approach of the Orthodox Jews versus the more aggressive, 'if we want a homeland we must make it happen', stance of the Secular Jews or Zionists.

Blackmore sipped his tea and bit into a custard cream.

He riffled through the box. There was a folder marked 1948, another marked Suez.

Finally he pulled out the folder he had actually been seeking, marked, 'Confidential' and 'Sensitive' and headed up as 'The Final Yishuv'.

He sipped his tea and pulled out the papers. He read the brief introduction, nodding as he noted the growth of Israeli influence and power from the country's inception to present times.

There was a reference to skilful use of lobby groups, the deft work that had achieved for them control of the media. The careful placing of individuals as CEOs in banks, as politicians, the gradual take-over of Hollywood and, a master stroke, achievement of duel citizenship in America and finally Zionist control of the Federal Reserve.

He went to the back of the folder, to the appendices and found the one he wanted, Appendix IV, 'A Strategy for Israel in the 1980s'; document published by the 'World Zionist Organization', author Oded Yinon, objective to divide up the Arab countries Iraq, Syria, Libya and Iran into smaller weaker territories.
It referenced Appendix V: 'A clean break. A new strategy for securing the realm' authored by Richard Perle, Douglas Feith and David Wurmser when they held high office in Benjamin Netanyahu's Likud government in 1996.

He checked the notes on Perle, Feith and Wurmser, all had held office in the Bush administration in 2002, all beneficiaries of duel citizenship.

"Only in America," he mused. Any other country and these men would be executed for treason but in the US they have absolute power.

The document called for the cessation of peace talks with Yasser Arafat, for attacks on occupied territories in Palestine and for the overthrow of Saddam Hussein.

Blackmore noted a scribbled reference in the margin 'Likud Party = old Revisionist Zionist Organisation'. Someone had written Liquidator Party next to Likud Party. He crossed the comment out.

There were three maps, one of Syria and Iraq in the 1980s and, recent additions, one of present day Syria, Iraq and ISIL and one of a future state showing a series of smaller Arab states, and a fractured Iran and Saudi Arabia.

Blackmore noted the cross reference to a 'Project for the New American Century circa 1997 dissolved 2006' appendix VI.

He'd read it previously, knew that the founders of the project, William Kristol and Robert Kagan, were both dual citizenship Jews.

He flicked to appendix VI, read the names of the key signatories, Jeb Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Kagan, Paul Wolfowitz, Donald Rumsfeld, Dan Quayle, Elliott Abrams.

Elliot Abrams, he knew that name. He checked the notes at the bottom of the page, "Ah yes, the 'Iran-Contra affaire'," he said quietly.

He scanned the statement of principles; the US was described as 'the World's preeminent power', further, that it needed to 'shape a new century favourable to American principles and interests,' with increased military spending, ensuring US 'political and economic freedom abroad.' It was stated that the US should 'challenge regimes hostile to our interests and values.'

He sipped his tea, murmuring "Hmm, never ceases to amaze me how gullible US politicians are, this is clearly an extension of the Strategy for Israel."

He turned the pages.

He already knew about the New Pearl Harbour statement and that the document called for regime change in Iraq.

He skim read the bit about Jeb Bush stealing the 2000 election for GW Bush, just a year before 9/11.
He turned to the final appendix; a one page summary, referencing the thousands of documents in the 9/11 archive.

The summary outlined that Osama Bin Laden had been a CIA operative, sacrificed in similar fashion to Lee Harvey Oswald, and that Al Qaeda had been financed by the CIA.

It described how President Bush was out of the decision-making loop during the 9/11 attacks, how Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld had run things in his absence.

It described how their approach had culminated in the standing down of the air force; and how this had enabled the diversionary show piece attacks that resulted in the spectacular demolition of the twin towers and the destruction of the administration's real targets; Tower 7 (housing as it did, the evidence in the Enron scandal) and the ground floor Pentagon office (housing the accountancy documents linked to the missing 2.3 trillion dollars). It detailed that this destruction was caused by a drone in the case of the Pentagon and controlled demolition of Tower 7.

It referenced Israeli ownership of the twin towers, Mossad's surveillance of the known terrorists, the laying of demolition charges throughout the twin towers and Tower 7 and the group of Mossad agents seen filming the attack, aka 'the dancing Israelis'.

Blackmore closed the folder and finished his tea, still wondering how best to use the information.

His door was abruptly flung open and Marjorie burst in, she was beside herself, semi-hysterical, "Sir Phillip, oh Sir Phillip, it's all over the news, he's been shot."

He closed his eyes.

Another President assassinated.

This was proof, if any was needed, that they were up against a very powerful group indeed. 

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Arun

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Extract below


November 1973

"David, tell me what went wrong."

David Elazar, Chief of General Staff sighed and shook his head.

He faced the speaker, his leader, Golda Meir, the Prime Minister, and raised his hands, a plea for her forgiveness, "It was close this time, for Israel and her people, we came close to total defeat."

"I disagree, David," this said robustly by the man standing by the window, his back to them both. Moshe Dayan, Minister of Defence making a, not unexpected, defence of his own strategy. He continued, his voice raised, "They made gains yes, but they were never going to win, and in that event, we always had the nuclear option."

Elazar shot back quickly, although his voice was still soft, "I don't know how you can say this, how could we use this option? This nuclear? The world would have turned its back on us. I say that without Sharon's victory all would have gone against us."

"Besides which," said Golda Meir, "the world doesn't yet know about our nuclear capacity and it is our policy to ensure that situation remains for as long as possible."

"Exactly," said Elazar.

"We won," said Dayan, his voice heavy with disdain, "because we were always going to win."

"If you had....." began Elazar.

"Gentlemen, please," the woman interjected quietly; out-ranking them both, she had no need to raise her voice, "the war is over."

Both men turned in deference to their Prime Minister as she continued smoothly, "I have been speaking with some of our main political and economic supporters and we are in agreement, the conduct of the war has lessons for the military and those lessons will be learned."

She looked meaningfully at Dayan, then continued with scarcely a pause, "Our concern and the concern of future leaders should revolve around the global impact."

"Israel has reasserted herself," said Dayan, steadfastly ignoring any implied criticism about lessons to be learned, "we are still a powerful, global force."

"I have to agree with Moshe," said Elazar, his voice betraying how unusual an occurrence this was, "although we came close to losing, we are still here and the world has learned to recognise the superiority of our forces, if not our tactics."

Golda Meir persisted, "There is a bigger picture, one that I have been forced to encompass in my thinking. Here in Israel we were not so aware of the effect of the OPEC sanctions, but in the West and in Europe particularly, I am told the impact has been quite devastating."

Both men shook their heads; the impact on the West a small thing compared to the fate of their beloved country. Elazar spoke quietly for both of them, "It is Israel that nearly died."

"Of course that is true, David, however, I am told the consequences for the West were extreme, and therein lies both our weakness and our strength."

Dayan and Elazar looked confused.

This time it was Moshe Dayan who spoke, "We won this war. By the time they try again we will be so powerful that they will be slaughtered in the deserts."

"I am not talking of another war," said the Prime Minister, her voice steady and resolute. "We are weakened by the threat the OPEC countries hold over the West, can you not see that? When OPEC reduced oil production it brought the West to their knees; power cuts, inflation, strikes. A myriad list of reasons why the West will one day turn its back on Israel."

"Then we need to ensure our intelligence is of a high standard," said Dayan, "assassinate any who are planning to attack us or affect oil production."

Golda shook her head. Her smile was tolerant of the fiery man, nonetheless her voice took on a firm, lecturing tone, "Peak Oil is the term given to the efficiency of the world's oil wells, Moshe. When maximum efficiency is reached in every field and world demand exceeds supply then we will be in the situation recently experienced where shortages will begin to influence Western political decisions related to the whole of the Middle East."

"That sounds like a nightmare scenario," said Elazar. "No right-minded leader would risk his premiership for the sake of another country. It's the end of Israel."

"It's not imminent, David. We have decades before that point is reached so we have time to plan."

"What do we do?" demanded Dayan, "We can't put oil where none exists. We can't sit here and wait for that day."

"It is simple, Moshe. Before it becomes an issue we must have destroyed the capability of our enemies to wage war. Furthermore, we must control their oil fields. That way we ensure our allies remain such."

"The world won't allow us to do that," said Elazar.

"No need, David, we will get an in depth report in the coming weeks but the thinking is that we get the Americans and the UN to do it for us."

"How? Why would they do that for us?" asked Elazar.

Golda smiled, "It is feasible if we think along the following lines; America allows its people to hold dual citizenship, yes?"

She waited for their nods of agreement before continuing, "So over the next 20 to 30 years we must ensure that as many Israelis as possible rise to positions of power within the US political and economic establishment. Once we've achieved that we will be able to dictate their foreign policy."

"Impossible," said Dayan.

She ignored his interruption, "We must ensure that there is an Israeli lobby group in every western democracy. We must back all sides in an election, that way whoever wins will be beholden to our supporters."

"Now that is possible," said Elazar, his expression musing.

"Imperative," she said, "if Israel is to survive."

"But even America cannot declare war on the Arab nations, the world wouldn't stand for it," said Dayan, "the Russians would go to war over it."

"All things are possible," she demurred, "as long as we make sure that America is seen as the victim and any response is by way of self defence."

"This cannot be done," said Dayan.

"It can be," said Elazar, "if approached from the right angle."

Golda Meir continued firmly, "We must gain complete control of the media, both Hollywood and their news outlets."

"That way we could pull all the strings from here," said Elazar. He was pacing now, excitement in his voice.

"But how do you make the US appear a victim to the entire world?" asked Dayan, "She is a super power and no-one can possibly hurt her."

"People will believe what we want them to," said the Prime Minister, her voice steely.

Elazar agreed readily, "It's worked in the past. We just need a workable plan, one that is adaptable to any situation."

"And one so unbelievable it will never be questioned," added Golda Meir, "for the bigger the lie...."

"The more they will believe it," said Dayan.

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Extract below

Milton Friedman's misfortune is that his economic policies have been tried
John K Galbraith

The Preacher stood in front of the studio audience. He'd come far since those days on London Bridge, and the empty seats in the old, draughty theatre. Now he had a universal platform; he was on TV and he could access more people than he had ever dreamt possible. Was what he had to say worth risking that? Was Barry right; he should temper his comments, consider what was at stake? If he went ahead with his idea for tonight's show it could all end. He rubbed his face, the mandatory studio make-up irritating his skin. No more time for doubt; he was live.

He didn't bother with the formalities, he went straight in, "Things that bother me, that drive me to distraction, that make me insane, that have me raging at the TV or throwing clenched fists at imaginary targets," he paused, "I used to have a Christian name but now I have a forename, why? Why? Because of the Muslims, because they don't have Christian names we can't have Christian names. Does that make sense to you? There are over 55 million Anglo Saxon Britons in this country; we make up nearly 90% of the population yet because of the Muslims, who make up less than 5%, we no longer have a Christian name, we have a forename."
He resumed pacing, "If they wanted to make the Muslims feel more comfortable why didn't they just put the option, 'Christian name or forename,' on every form?" he stopped and looked out at the camera's red eye, "Makes sense to me."
The studio audience, having started out a little uneasy, was starting to relax.

"Another thing that bothers me, I'm English, born in England, I've always lived in England. I love this country. My ancestors on my father's side are all English, admittedly there has been some degradation on my mother's side, she's Scottish you see," he was laughing now, "I have Scottish family and they're always giving it all that about us English, so ignore that." He continued pacing, "I love England, I support all English club sides when they're playing other countries. Where the Olympics are concerned I support all Britons, even Scottish ones, but the thing that bothers me is that when I complete a form I want to tick the box marked English or British, but I can only find UK National. What the hell is a UK National?" he didn't wait for an answer, "Apparently it is a term used to cover British subjects, but what does that mean?

The audience waited, they wanted to know.

"Well, it means you and me and ex-pats overseas, but it also covers immigrants, asylum seekers and under the Borders, Citizenship and Immigration Act of 2009 anyone who has been here for 5 years," he raised the palms of his hands, "these people are all UK nationals."

He started to pace, "My ancestors have been here for thousands of years, as I am sure have many of yours. My ancestors fought to keep these islands British, to keep them for us, but our leaders, our politicians have conspired to give away our country to foreigners," he paused, "you thought you were British, that you were English or Scottish or Welsh or Irish but you're not. You thought you had a special meaning, that you belonged to a special group of people, that you meant something, well you don't, you're not special, you're just a UK National, the same as any Johnny-come-lately foreigner who turns up at passport control, who wanders in with no empathy and no love of this country, no love of its history, its people, its culture, its heritage, its customs, its religion, its armed forces or its sports teams. Your rights are being eradicated in favour of foreign nationals who have countries of their own to go back to," his voice rose in a shout, "YOU COUNT FOR NOTHING! And you have nowhere to go. This is it."

He paused, the unforgiving studio lights catching a glistening in his eyes, he swallowed hard and continued, "Another thing that bothers me, every poster, every advert, every Government issue leaflet, every NHS leaflet has 1 token white person, all the others are black and Asian, Sikhs and Muslims, Chinese or whatever, in spite of the fact that there are 55 MILLION OF US!"

He picked up the pace, "Now I'm willing to bet that if you find yourself agreeing with what I've just said, if it annoys you as much as it does me then you will find yourself worrying that you're racist. I'll bet that most of you are thinking that about me right now, 'he's racist' so, I will answer that burning question, 'No, I'm not racist'. And on that topic, isn't it funny how one always has to say, 'I'm not a racist but....' You can't say anything about nationhood without feeling the pressure that someone is going to call you racist."

He stopped and stared out into the audience, his concern evident. They looked pressured, but had the safety of silence knowing his questions were rhetorical. A few nodded discreetly but several others seemed to be looking worriedly at black or Muslim members of the audience.

"You are a racist," yelled out a young white male sitting in the centre of a multi-ethnic group.

"I'm a patriot and I want to maintain England's Englishness." Some cheered, others, emboldened by the heckler, booed. "Ask yourself, why are the people coming here so intent on making this country a facsimile of the one they chose to leave? Who gave them leave to change our mores and culture in order to feel more at home? Why are we, the indigenous population finding our rights eroded by laws designed to prevent us raising our objections?"

He let them stew on that for a few moments and then continued, "Precedents from history for you; after the collapse of the Hapsburg Empire in 1918 various countries were created out of the collection of small states and principalities, countries such as Yugoslavia, made up of Croats, Serbs, Bosnians amongst others; Czechoslovakia, comprising Czechs, Hungarians, Germans, Poles Slovakians and Ukrainians; Poland was re-created and given back a huge slice of eastern Prussia, the population being made up of Poles, Ukrainians, Belarussians, Lithuanians, Czechs and Germans."

He walked to the back of the stage and took a sip of water, then walked quickly back, "Thus, a mish-mash of countries were created, populated by dozens of different nationalities, with different religious beliefs; Jews, Christians, Muslims, Greek Orthodox, who all wanted their culture and their religion to be paramount and who wanted their language to take precedence. A great deal of ethnic cleansing took place during World War II, concealed by the war and nothing to do with the Germans. In the latter part of the 20th century Yugoslavia broke apart and descended into the brutal ethnic cleansing that we all saw on our TV screens. In my view, this is where we are headed if immigration to this small island is not curbed."

He paused, "But why are we in this muddle? What's its origin? I believe it is linked not only to the EU but also to the Thatcher and Blair years." He took a deep breath; now was the moment of truth. Barry was right, it was one thing saying this sort of thing in the confines of a theatre albeit being recorded on iPhone and the like, it was quite another saying it on live TV. He faced the camera, "I think we need look no further for our answer than Milton Friedman and Sir Keith Joseph," he paused, there was no reaction; no-one knew what he was going to say, "and I think it is primarily because of their Jewish religion and their belief in a form of Jewish economics."

There was an uneasy stirring in the audience, this was very unsettling for some of those present, "But don't take my word for it, listen to Milton Friedman on YouTube, or read his presentation, 'Capitalism and the Jews,' he is more than willing to propound his view that the Jewish form of capitalism can only thrive in a totally free market and it is this idea that lead directly to the neo Liberal policies of the last three decades." He paced a little, he knew the danger of the line he was treading, "Friedman promotes the free market economy completely and I believe that his economic principles have been adapted to form the basis of the free movement of labour across European borders culminating in the aberration known as multiculturalism."

There was a lot of murmuring; some seemed resolved to leave, others to fidgeting.

"Friedman believed in a free market, a totally free movement of capital and total freedom to make as much profit as possible. Again don't take my word for it, listen to Friedman, read what Sir Keith Joseph wrote. They preached less state control so that the individual could be free to do what they wanted economically. As a result of his ideas, in both Britain and the US, we have an economy run along Neo Liberal lines, the aims of which are to make as much profit as possible for the shareholder with scant regard for the state or the national economy. The argument being that those things will look after themselves. Tell me, how can things look after themselves when the rich offshore their profits and evade paying taxes, refuse to contribute to the rest of society? How can things look after themselves when the rich pay themselves 400 times as much as the average worker? How can things look after themselves when it's the law of the jungle that presides here? Not the Nazi law of survival of the fittest; this is Friedman's law of survival of the greediest. And I ask you, how can we defend ourselves against this evil when we no longer stand together but are separated by the divisive curse of multiculturalism?"

He paused for breath, then was off again, "This conforms to Friedman's teachings; the individual seeking the maximum profit for himself; off-shoring accounts is the natural thing to do, as is sending your jobs abroad to dictatorships where wages are a pittance, as is running the NHS into the ground until it can no longer function, to privatise it and deny us free health care at the point of need. It is free enterprise capitalism that allows them to run down social services, abandon the people, abandon the nation state, abandon the concept of Britishness."

He paused, then changed tack, "It is quite natural that people from countries poorer than ours should want to come here. In of itself, this is not a problem; we have been absorbing small and regulated numbers of immigrants for years. What causes the problem is when the numbers are unregulated, when those coming in are so poor that they will work here for a pittance, when the numbers are so great that whole towns are changed irrevocably. This is happening because the powers that be want us to be swamped, want to destroy our culture, our sense of community and who now aim to destroy our national fabric so that they can fully command our economy and achieve even greater wealth at our expense via the doctrine of Neo Liberalism."

He looked exhausted, the studio lights unforgiving, visible sweat on his face. He spoke more gently now, as if conserving energy, "Friedman explained that his economic policies had been those of the Jews for two thousand years and that they were the most effective policies. This, he said, is why Jews have thrived everywhere. However, he seems to have forgotten that Jesus was a Jew who lived two thousand years ago and he was fundamentally the first Socialist."

His voice took on a desperate note, "The realities of what Friedman and Joseph preached are everywhere around us. This is why our society is collapsing, our social services shrinking and our economy is in ruins. It's why the NHS will be privatised, and it's why this country is being swamped by cheap foreign labour."
"I beg you to turn away from the teachings of Friedman and Joseph and instead look to the lessons taught by the other great Jewish leader, Jesus Christ."

Then he was gone from the stage

Hope you have a nice weekend

Cheers

Arun

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FREE BOOK - The book 'Daydream Believers' will be FREE for Kindle download from Amazon Wednesday 4th April to Sunday 8th April 2018

FREE BOOK - The book 'Daydream Believers' will be FREE for Kindle download from Amazon Wednesday 4th April to Sunday 8th April 2018


Extract below:
Prologue

For Sir Digby Chalfont, a connoisseur, of all the women in the group, one stood out. She was tall, with impeccably cut, gleaming bronze hair.

He noted the Givenchy Pandora box bag slung over the shoulder of her black crepe trouser suit, a Tyrwhitt, if he was not mistaken, and the raspberry shirt that softened the aquiline face was certainly an Emilio Pucci. He imagined a crop twitching against her Eleonaro black riding boots; the thought causing him to smile as he homed in. He had no idea of her standing in the group, although the clothes gave a hint to her status. He cared little; she was the most attractive person in the room and he intended to make himself known to her; his newly acquired knighthood must be good for something.

The faint silk scent of the window drapes was now combined with the perfume of luxurious colognes. The Chairman, a portly man with a well-used face, experienced the effect without enjoyment; well used to the smell of money. Taking advantage of his central seat on the small platform he surveyed the room. He was impressed all over again at the power of the Committee; to be able to summon two hundred people from the international political, military, industrial and social elites at such short notice and achieve their attendance was no mean feat.

Clusters of men, mostly white and middle-aged, their dark, sombre suits offset by a few in full dress uniform, a scattering of crisp white djellabas and several in multi-coloured dashikis. He noted the women; not enough to tip the balance.

All were veterans of this type of gathering, some chatting easily to each other, most keeping their own counsel. At the Chairman's nod, the man who'd been awaiting the signal detached himself from the group and walked to the podium; tall, slim, dark hair at the distinguished stage.

Kurt Silverman, Head of the Institute of Research. He cut an athletic figure; he looked good and he knew it. He also knew that he was amongst those for whom personal appearance mattered less than power and holdings; in that respect he was not their equal, he was there to serve them.

The view offered to him from the uplifted podium was of rows of seats, each one occupied by a glossy A4 booklet he'd prepared and placed there earlier. Gradually, as if in response to an unspoken suggestion, members of the group began to move to these seats.

After a short time the Chairman rose to his feet, his dark grey Kiton suit struggling valiantly to contain and command his ample body.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome," he said, his voice carrying without effort to the back of the room. Given the ratio of male to female and, more pertinently, the balance of power he might have been forgiven for saying, 'welcome gentlemen'. Having caught the eagle eye of the auburn-haired woman in black, seated next to Sir Digby, such a lapse had been rendered impossible. He waved his hand towards the podium, introduced Kurt in a few crisp words and resumed his seat.

Kurt spoke, his voice betraying a slight nervousness; this was an august company and he would have been a fool not to have regard for their power,

"Thank you for inviting me here to deliver, for your consideration, the proposed solution to the most pressing issue of our times; 'Peak Oil'."

He paused, making deliberate eye contact with the front row, then continued, "As you know, in the 70s it was estimated we would reach Peak Oil somewhere around 2015, after which the rate of production was expected to enter terminal decline, giving us a global fuel crisis somewhere about 2075."

He clicked a hand held device and the screen behind him came to life, showing a map of the location of the last known oil reserves, "However, increased warfare, rises in manufacturing and rampant population growth has meant a massively increased demand. We passed Peak Oil in 2005. As a result, we will reach the projected fuel crisis much sooner than expected."

He clicked again and the screenshot changed, "Of course, we took steps over the last few decades to try and contain the situation. Thanks to the work of the Neo Liberals in the eighties and nineties we were able to offset the increasing costs of oil production by shifting costs of manufacturing to the more cost effective labour force of the third world."

Kurt indicated with a smile the six-strong delegation from China, all male, in identical Prince of Wales check suits and to his eye, with identical faces. He gestured to the smaller group from India, two serious-looking men and one elderly, petite, sari-clad woman.

"You may recall it was estimated that we'd need a further three decades before the third world would be strong enough to take over the consumption of the West."

He paused before delivering the punch line, "I'm happy to say our recent studies have revealed that the new consumers are there in abundance as we speak, and more than able to take up the slack."

A few heads looked up at this revelation, most didn't react at all. Kurt had no time to wonder if they'd already had this information, he had to move on to the crux of the matter.

"This being the case not only have we no further need of the northern hemisphere labour market, we now have no interest in their continued ability to buy our products. In short we have no further need to sustain this part of the population."

Kurt was moving with poise now, as another chart appeared on the screen showing world population levels, "You will be aware of various natural phenomena supporting our aims of constraining population growth; the greatest of which are Aids and famine. The policy of appearing to work towards their eradication whilst achieving very little seems to be working. That takes care of Africa. Helpfully, Eastern and Southern European countries are being depopulated via sustained civil war and ethnic cleansing."

He paused, then, "Rapid economic cleansing is also underway; highly desirable areas of France and Spain are being de-populated and in the UK, London is being cleared to make way for settlement by the very wealthy, with the rest of the South-East to follow."

He couldn't prevent the smug grin that crossed his face; he'd recently snapped up some exquisite properties just outside Primrose Hill, so felt he had to follow up with, "Of course, you will get first pick of these prime slices of real estate as they become available. In fact, I believe you can book your plots now, is that right, Mr. Chairman?"

The Chairman rose awkwardly, caught out by the change of subject, but the words flowed with practiced ease, "Superior Homes has created an exclusive brochure, copies of which will be available in the foyer as you leave conference. You'll find outline plans for a deluxe chateau in an average lot size of 3,000 hectares in the new territories. "

An electric buzz swept the room.

Kurt judged the time was right for the big announcement, "However, attritional reduction of population in these areas is not enough for our needs. We must contain America, the biggest oil consumer on the planet."

Kurt looked round the room, then invested his voice with strength, "We now need to move into the last phase of our plan, which we are calling 'Operation Downsize'. I'd like to introduce General Nathan Goldhirsch of the US Army who will explain it to you."

The US contingent stirred in their seats and a tall man in full dress uniform rose to his feet and headed towards the platform. "That's US Marine Corps, Kurt," he said, smiling. There was a smattering of laughter, quickly suppressed.

"Okay," said the General, his frown bringing them back to complete order, "let's get down to business. We need to reduce the US of A population by at least 25% and we can't pussy-foot around. Economic destabilisation brings its own problems and we have one helluva civilian army out there, all armed. If they get a sniff of what's going on all hell will break loose. So, we gotta do it quickly." He turned to the screen and pointed at the image that appeared, "This here is La Palma, one of the Canary Islands."

A hush settled on the room, this was where it started to get serious.

The screen changed. "And this is the Cumbre Vieja volcano, it is extremely volatile." The screen changed again, "This is the western face of the volcano, which is gradually collapsing. One day, in the natural course of things this side will fall into the sea creating a mega tsunami which will sweep across the Atlantic, ravage the Bahamas and reach the Eastern seaboard in a matter of hours."

He allowed the magnitude of the pronouncement a few moments to settle then delivered the coup de grace, "Well, we don't have time to wait for the natural course of things, ladies and gentlemen, so we intend to blow the whole damn thing sky high. And we're doing it soon." 

Happy reading, hope you have a good week.

Cheers

Arun

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Extract below

Tea with the Vicar

The Reverend took his seat and smiled gently at Patrick. Patrick smiled nervously back, he was always afraid of being in the presence of those of the cloth, a legacy of his youth.

“Hello Reverend,” said Delores sweeping into the room “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Good morning Delores, how are you?”
Delores smiled, “I’m fine, I’m just wondering… is this business or a social call?”

“Well I don’t like to look at it like that,” said the Reverend, “but I guess you could say I’m here in my capacity as your local vicar.”

“Business then” said Delores, settling herself into an armchair and leaning forward.

“Just to see how you are,” he murmured, “after your recent terrible experiences….”

“What terrible experiences?”

“Well…” started the vicar.

“Delores,” said Patrick, “the Reverend is only being nice.”

“Of course he is,” said Delores, “forgive me Reverend, I get a bit touchy about it all, you know.”
“Of course, I think anybody would.”

“Why?” asked Delores.

“Well…well, because of what happened to you.”

“What happened to me?” She was beginning to enjoy herself.

“Delores,” said David, entering the room, “be nice.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that nothing happened to me, at least, nothing I can remember anyway.”

“Nothing coming back to you at all?” asked the vicar.

“No,” said Delores, “it’s like I’ve told everyone; I don’t really feel like any of this is real.”

“Ah,”

“It’s just the craziest of daydreams.”

“Right,” Bewilderment was apparent in his tone and echoed in the expression on his face; there was an uncomfortable pause then he tried again. “I’ve seen you TV talking about some of your …erm…”

“Some of my views,” offered Delores.

“Quite, and they’re very interesting.”

David intervened with an offer of refreshment, “something to drink, Reverend?” and Patrick scuttled away to rustle up some food. Undeterred, Delores continued without pause.

“How d’you mean, ‘very interesting’?”

“Some of the things you have to say about the system and the distribution of wealth, Delores …I can see where you are coming from, in that regard.”

“Thank you,” said Delores, “it’s always good to have the support of the church.” She accompanied the words with her customary dazzling smile and toss of the fabulous hair.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he was a man first, Reverend second and the man was flustered, “well… I’m not the church per se, you understand, I’m just speaking on my own behalf, how I understand what you’re saying and where you’re coming from, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course, Reverend, I know you’re not committing the church to your personal views.”

‘Reverend’, he loved her inflections, almost an endearment, he cleared his throat, “of course, well erm…I’m glad you understand, but you do have my personal support, as I say.” Delores smiled. “The world has indeed become a terrible place, a place of greed and division.”

“Indeed,” said Delores, “and what is the church intending to do about it, vicar?”

The Reverend gulped. David returned with the drinks; orange juice for Delores, tea for the vicar no sugar and black coffee for himself and Patrick, they needed to stay alert. Patrick was still making the food, taking as much time as he could even to the extent of cutting off the crusts on the sandwiches.

“Do about it? Well, the church is always striving to even out inequalities,” he offered, fiddling with his cup and saucer.

“Is it?” asked Delores, “is it really, vicar?”

“Can’t think what’s keeping, Patrick.” David said loudly.

“Well yes, Delores, that’s what the church is all about.”

“Is that what the church is all about?” said Delores, “because to tell the truth, I always thought the church was about taking from the poor, whilst encouraging them to accept their lot.”

“No, no, no…Delores, how can you say something like that? The church is the embodiment of Christ our Lord.”

“Really…? I thought it was the church that gave Jesus to the Romans in the first place.”

“No, that was the Hebrews, it was the Hebrew Sanhedrin who gave Jesus to the Romans, and Christianity came from Jesus.”

“Oh, I thought we got the bible and Christianity from the Romans, at least the bits they wanted to leave in and that the church’s only role was to maintain the status quo.”

“Maintain the..?” he spluttered.

Patrick walked in with a tray of sandwiches, saw the look on David’s face and turned on his heel, taking the tray with him.

“Yes,” said Delores, “maintain the status quo, between rich and poor.”

“No, the church is there to help the needy and to protect them.”

“And to encourage them to accept their lot in life.”

“No, no, you have it all wrong Delores… I think it’s lucky you haven’t touched too much on the church yet in any of your interviews,” he said, sort of half laughing.

“You’re right,” said Delores, “I haven’t really touched on the church… yet.”

The vicar froze.

Hope you have a nice weekend

Cheers

Arun

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Extract below

The Independents - What price democracy?

The meeting organiser approached the rostrum, he paused and waited for the cheering to stop, and then he spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this, the very first meeting of the Independent candidates. It’s wonderful to see so many of you here in one place. We’ve selected a few people to speak with you today from the hundreds of offers we had …for those of you disappointed this time, we have a list for our next meeting and gradually we hope to give everyone who wants to speak a platform.”

The applause rose again as he gestured to a slightly built, sandy-haired man standing to the side. “Now, please give a rousing welcome to the man who started it all, our inspirational mentor and guide… Colin Carpenter.”

The delegates rose as one and cheered and clapped as the man moved confidently to the centre of the stage and took up position behind the rostrum. As he did so a single file of people walked on stage and sat in the row of chairs behind him.

“Thank you, Chris, for that introduction.” Colin said, beaming, the lights glinting off his glasses, “It’s been a long hard struggle but now we’re here, a visible force to be reckoned with, so…” There were more cheers from the hall. “WELCOME,” he shouted raising both arms, “today is the day we begin to change everything. Today we lay down the marker whereby we reclaim our country, reclaim our world, today is the day we start the new era of real rule of the people, by the people and for the people.”

There were more cheers and scatterings of delegates stood to applaud him; then more followed until the whole assembly was on its feet.

“No longer will we tolerate a corrupt, locked in party system; no longer will we tolerate their machinations, their duplicity, their constant deceptions, and their fake party divisions. We know they’re all the same, that they represent the same hidden wealthy few who own this country, we know they all rub shoulders with this clique of scoundrels and that they pander to their every whim. We will resist, we will stand against these corrupt servants of the rich and we will win.”

There were shouts of ‘win’ from the floor. Colin gestured that they should sit as he prepared to begin his speech proper. He waited a few moments until all were seated and the hall was quiet.

“I set out on this trail barely a year ago, not knowing where it would lead. Like many of you, I watched the Occupy movement in its struggle to take back control from those who hold us in thrall. I admit it, I watched rather than joined them; I supported them in spirit.” He paused, “I tried to make a stand by myself. I tried to keep my business going; I was trading on fumes. I cut costs and used inferior materials, I streamlined processes until there was no slack, I had to lay off staff who’d been with me for years and make the ones I kept work a 3 day week. We missed deadlines and our quality dropped – in the end I closed it down. Rather than be associated with what we were being forced to produce, rather than re-locate to China and do what my competitors had done – take advantage of slave labour in the East, rather than sacrifice my principles, I closed down the business I had started from scratch 10 years ago.”

He stopped talking, leaving a gap as if mourning a lost dream then he spoke again, quietly but with deep passion, “I was deeply unhappy and desperate to do something to make these rogues realise and stop what they were doing; it was something that seared into me until I could stand it no longer. I spent hours thinking about what I could do; without a revolution I couldn’t see anything changing. Then it hit me – I could ‘occupy’ the Political Space! I could stand on an ethical platform as an independent at the next general election.”

He looked slowly round the hall, making eye contact where he could. “I am a loyal Briton, my lineage reaches into all corners of these great islands of ours and I have always loved this country and all it has stood for. I love its people and our culture. I can no longer sit idly by whilst the greedy rich dismantle it, whilst they remove all investment from the UK and place that investment in areas of the world where they use slave labour, I will not tolerate it.”

There were shouts of support from the floor and again people were standing in their excitement.

“It is intolerable that the uncontrolled greed of the few should impact so heavily on the many. It is unacceptable that the political jackals should spin their concoction of lies to justify their plans to run down the state of Britain. It is deplorable that they should think themselves free to consign workers of the west to destitution whilst enslaving the workers of the 3rd world. It is unacceptable that they seek to return us to the same conditions as existed in the Middle Ages, a time when the rich elite was served by destitute serfs. They must think we don’t have a thought in our heads.” There was a rapturous round of applause. Colin grinned and added, “They must think we’re STUPID!”

The applause continued, accompanied now by excitable foot stamping.

“They clearly believe that the years of watching junk TV, of listening to their constant lies about the economy, about economics, the GDP, the unions, the balance of payments, the national debt, the so called ‘scrounging poor’, the so called ‘benefit cheats’, the communists, the NHS, the welfare state, state run education, Muslims, world terrorism, our lack of productivity and competitiveness, has shrivelled our brains and blinded us to the real truth, the reality behind all this.” He paused, took a breath then thundered out, “We, the masses, are being sold out by rich greedy psychopaths.”

More clapping from the floor.

“There is a precedent for all this but they hope we’re too stupid to see it, that we have no knowledge of history, that we’re so wrapped up in ‘reality’ TV that we miss what is happening, miss the correlation with the past.”

He poured some water from the jug on the table before him, allowing a few moments for his words to sink in, “The Roman Empire which for centuries was the dominant power, had legions that controlled vast territories of the known world, and then we’re told, all of a sudden, Rome collapses.”

He paused, then raised his voice slightly, “I say to you, Rome didn’t collapse, Rome did not fall – the wealthy and powerful families of Rome took advantage of prevailing winds and reorganised.”

He glanced out across the hall, checking the attention of the audience, “They recognised that maintaining legions to hold territories was costly, and they had a new weapon in their arsenal - religion. Caesar became the Pope, the leading families entered religion, the Roman Empire transitioned into the Roman Catholic Church collecting more revenues than a thousand legions could gather. That’s what happened to the Roman Empire, that’s what happened to Rome.”

He banged the table abruptly, startling a few people in the front rows, “But what happened to the ordinary people of Rome, to the plebeians, the out of work soldiers? They were reduced to penury as the Rome they knew disappeared from the map. As they starved, these legions that had made Rome great, the wealthy Romans, the patricians, the upper classes became richer than ever and the Pope found he was able to control the whole world with a few monks and threats of excommunication, of burning in hell for all eternity.”

He paused and took a quick sip of water, he knew that making the link was vital and these concepts were new to most of his audience.

“And that is what is happening to us…though it’s not belief in God that’s the new export, the new method of raising gold for the new aristocracy, the new export is a new religion altogether, and is called ‘consumerism’ or the ‘market’. The rich have exported our jobs to the 3rd world where wages are minimal, where land costs are minimal, where there are autocratic leaders and armies willing to crush the workers who ask for more, where there are billions of potential economic slaves to serve them and gain them even greater wealth.”
Someone in the crowd called out ‘Apple’ and a couple of others picked it up.

He nodded, “A good example, thank you” he said quietly, then raising his voice continued, “There’re one million people employed in sweat shop factories in China producing Apple products…think about it, one million jobs that could’ve been situated in the West but for the fact of having to pay minimum wage and provide decent working conditions.”

He stopped and stared out at the crowded hall, his eyes burning, “Wealth, that’s what this is all about, it’s what it’s always been about, the creation of wealth for the very few, for the greedy psychopaths who want to own everything and drive the masses into the gutters so that they can lord it over them; in order to feel rich they have to have the poor.”

Colin studied his audience, “So what of the British worker? What of the US worker? What is intended for us? In the recent past we had service industry jobs, easily accessed credit and the creation of massive debt, all this was done to ensure a smooth transition from production and purchase from the West to the East. It was no accident; it’s part of a plan and exactly what they intended and so far they have been successful. They have managed to transfer most of production from the West to the East and during that time the Western worker had artificial service industry jobs to ensure that there was still a market for products being made in the East. However, we have reached an end of the first phase - the credit bubble in the West has burst, the western worker is no longer able to provide the buying power required to maintain supply and demand so the wealthy few and their economic and political servants are looking to provide easier credit to the worker in the East, where there is a potential new market for debt.” ...................

Happy reading, hope you have a good week.

Cheers

Arun


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