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This is a Trap The Second Republic - Patriot Acts Part II

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You’re the President of the United States and your nation is confronted with a virus that kills upon contact and you have information that the terrorists are holed up in an apartment in Downtown Los Angeles. Your Intel says it’s real. Your human advisors are split on whether to strike or to wait. You have to make a decision and it has to be now. Read this excerpt from The Second Republic Patriot Acts Part II. It will give you a glimpse of what the Commander in Chief must do to save his nation.
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This is a Trap

Washington, D.C.

March 6, 2011, 3:04 p.m.

“Are you sure, Sam; downtown LA?” President Tate asked Secretary Blake who appeared on the screen from inside the Homeland Security Department, not far from the White House.

“Yes, Mr. President. We have a large force ready in the Los Angeles area awaiting your word. I think we can get the bastard.”

Fisher was troubled and wanted to explain. “Sam, I think the President needs to know, first of all, how you got the info. Because you’re telling me a simple trace yielded you this much information? God is great and good, but He seldom gives up adversaries so easily, not impossible, but unlikely.” Samuel said, “Sir, it is our only lead. We have to take action.”

“Thank you both. I always come away knowing more about how you guys think.”

“Could I please add something?” Fisher asked. “We should not forget that this is the man who, in less than twelve hours, has possibly killed more people in a single terrorist attack than any other in recorded history and orchestrated the assassination of the Vice President. So, I am supposed to believe that this perverted genius simply forgot to protect his call? It doesn’t work that way; I know something about it. Sam, please don’t get angry at me, but it is my recommendation that we not pursue this lead. It was way too easy, and it feels like a trap. We should give the President some time to consider this.”

“I will call you back in ten minutes, Sam.”

“Certainly, Mr. President.” The call ended.

* * *

Downtown Los Angeles

March 6, 2011, 3:18 p.m.

“Sir, we’re rather exposed here. Should we stand down?” Captain Mitch O’Connell asked.

“No, this is how he works, but he always makes the right decision,” the Secretary answered.

“Just like HR 8791?”

“The President has not decided on that.” Blake added, “I’m going to pretend I did not hear that. Now, you give me ten, and you’ll have your orders.”

“Yes sir.”

Captain O’Connell peered down the corridor of the old apartment building that had more whore houses than he’d seen anywhere else in Los Angeles. All fifty of his men stood in line and waited for ten minutes that felt like weeks.

Washington, D.C.

March 6, 2011, 3:09 p.m.

“Fisher, we have to do something. Every lead must be pursued.”

“Mr. President, do you remember what you said about feeling something in your gut before they killed Bill? I get that same feeling about this raid. We’re dealing with a crazy man, but also a very smart man who’s so pissed he’s ready to take the entire human race with him into oblivion.”

Tate’s face took on a look of great anxiety. “I have the lives of Americans, possibly the entire world, in my hands right now. This is the decision of my lifetime; I know that. That’s how it works. We’ll see how much the American people want me if I do what it takes to end this crisis. The medicine is often as bad as the disease … this time worse.”

Secretary Blake’s face appeared on the large screen again. “Sam, I’m uploading.”

Sam pressed the send button and an order appeared on Tate’s screen. Using a small digital pen, he wrote his name on a plastic pad, and it appeared on the document. Tate then saved it and sent it back to Blake.

“Let’s hope we’re right, Sam.”

Downtown Los Angeles

March 6, 2011, 3:14 p.m.

“Captain O’Connell, engage.”

“Copy that.”

O’Connell flashed a thumb up, and his men eased up the stairs. Two of them carried a bar and heaved it two times before the door flew open. At that moment, a heavy deathly stream of smoke burst out of the room with the smell of burnt flesh that flowed through the air. The attack force rushed in and couldn’t make out anything clearly through the haze, and their eyes felt hot.

Their flashlights caught a scene that made several huge, macho men throw up their guts. Around them piles of gooey, grayish slime covered the floor. Full heads of long hair lay twisted in the center of each deathly scene.

“We’ve got a massacre here.”

“Sir, it’s hard to tell, but there appears to be about twenty dead illegal aliens here, and you called this a safe-house?”

O’Connell stepped across the threshold and covered his mouth and nose as his men spoke.

“Sir, look at that.”

“They’re all dead … melted, I mean wasted away … no more.”

“No one deserves this … no one.”

“Are you all right?”

“Don’t send anyone here. I am sealing the door. I repeat, send no one. Lord, please help us.”

“Captain O’Connell?”

“This is President Tate. How can we help you?”

“Sir, don’t send anyone here. It is a setup. We are sealing the perimeter, Mr. President and trying to stop outside contamination. You have to stop this or it’ll kill everyone.”

The assault team shut their radios off.

“O’Connell, are you there?”

The attack force members searched the apartment until they found an old mattress and some sheets. They threw them against the door and then sealed it with duct tape.

One, then three felt the internal affects of the virus almost immediately. The infection quickly spread to each one of them. Their lungs burned from having breathed in the biological death. They each pulled their guns and pointed them at their own heads.

“Live free or die,” they all shouted and pulled the triggers. Each of them fell to the ground. Several had already started to dissolve before deciding what death they should endure. The thick evil material engulfed each of them, who had already mercifully ended their own lives.

Washington, D.C.

March 6, 2011, 3:17 p.m.

“Sam, no one can leave that building,” the President demanded. “Anyone who attempts to flee is to be warned and shot if they do not comply. Activate the LAPD police network to consolidate their coverage. Their top priority is to facilitate the CDC in any manner requested.”

“Sam, you’re their boss now. I want helicopters overhead shining lights down there to make sure no one leaves. Get the army in there. We have a catastrophic event, and we must respond with catastrophic measures. Lincoln did it in a crisis not nearly as cataclysmic as this. Habeas Corpus is suspended until this order is rescinded, by the President. This order is in effect immediately at the sound of my voice, and a signed order will be forthcoming.”

“Yes sir, I will call out the all available National Guard and Reserves,” Secretary Blake said.

“I want restraint and demand fairness without neglecting to remember that these are our American brothers and sisters. In addition, Sam, all forces are now activated. This is a National Peril Alert. Any person, not stationed abroad, whether on leave of any kind, should report for duty immediately. Any member the United States Armed Forces who has not reported for duty by the end of April 7, 2011, without prior authorization, will be reported as AWOL. Get the hard copy to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir, as we speak, Mr. President.”

Tate switched off the screen. He pressed a button on his phone. “Michelle, are the documents ready? And everyone in place?”

“Yes sir, everything is in order. Mr. President …”

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A Land of Sheikhs - The Most Intelligent of Idiots - The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley

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A Land of Sheikhs

The streets of Dakar, Senegal were always strangely quiet during the day. That was a stark contrast to the loud and vigorous streets at night. Those who seemed to be securely locked away, during the day, poured out onto the streets after the last call to prayer of the day had been sung. The nights swelled with people on the streets all night and darkness took its turn to nocturnally reign.

Steven Clark Bradley

Copyright 1,1999

Present Time, 2011

If I had to compare the lifestyles between Bangladesh, Pakistan and Senegal, I would have to say that Senegal’s lifestyle was far superior to that of the other third-world countries I had spent considerable time in. One of the biggest differences was the fitness of the Senegalese people. I had never seen groups of people exercising early in the morning. Every morning hundreds of young African students were out at the coastal areas of Dakar every morning running and playing sports. The Senegalese had a lot more energy than anything I had seen in Bangladesh or Pakistan.

I loved to drive out to the coast, in the morning. I could watch the fishermen out in their large canoe-like boats casting out their nets into the ocean to bring in the catch of the day. It was a real mystical experience to watch how these men kept themselves, their families and the rest of the country eating for another day. Yet, there were many things that were the same, such as the interiors and exteriors of the homes. There was again a real infatuation with the interior of their home without the slightest concern for the outside.

One other aspect of life in Senegal was the looseness of the women. Wolof women are considered by many to be the most beautiful black women, in the world. In Pakistan nor in Bangladesh, I had never been offered sex for money in neither country. After couple of days of walking around on the streets, with and without Ruth, by my side, with the kids. There had to have been at least twenty times that a passing Wolof woman looked at me and uttered the same words.

My French was not bad, at the time, but this accent trying utter French words made it hard to understand. Then, the next woman passed me and uttered the words very quickly. “Fait L’amour?” Each and every woman who had said the same thing were asking me if I wanted to have sex. I would say that the lax morals were so against the precepts of the religion they kept. The need of food, lodging and clothing made such terrible offers emanate out of the mouths of such beautiful women.

Yet, the one grave thing that was not different were the same spiritual forces that were at work in Pakistan were now also at play in the nation of Senegal. By the time we arrived in Senegal, I had already worked with Muslims for over seven years. I found the same blind adherence to their false belief, in Senegal. I also found a wonderfully resilient people with good and democratic leaders and Islamic roots which were tempered throughout Western African Islam. There was almost an amalgamation of ancient Islamic principles mixed with animistic ideals that could be called a Muslim based cult more than purely Islamic.

Unlike Dakar, the coastal, quite elegantly designed, Senegalese Capital, Touba City, the center of all of West Africa’s brand of Islam, is located some two hundred kilometers north, in the interior. It is a hot and dusty, inland sun-baked city. Yet, to members of the Mouride Islamic movement, Touba was not what it appeared. It was a great a pilgrimage to venture to Touba City for Mourides as Mecca is, for more traditional Muslims, around the world. To the Mourides, Touba was a holy city. It was where the tomb of Sheikh Ahmadou Bamba Mbacké, the shrouded, face-covered prophet of West African Muslims, who is fundamentally worship by the Muslims in Senegal and most of West Africa.

Ahmadou Bamba Mbacké was the founder of the movement of his followers’ profound devotion. Bamba’s rule of his millions of followers have proclaimed and extended by reign through his successors, Mouhamadou Moustapha Mbacké, Mouhamadou Fallilou Mbacké, Abdoul Ahad Mbacké, who had all lived and died. Yet, no one would ever even consider the outrageous notion that their very own prophet had gone the way of all the Earth. Abdou Khadre Mbacké now reigned as The Grand Marabout in Touba, the heir apparent of Sheikh Ahmadou Bamba Mbacké’s distorted Islamic movement, to the present day.

Senegal is a land of sheikhs, whose followers are good people who work hard and have no notion that life is possible without struggle. Outside the homes of Dakar, Senegal, the nation’s very well designed capital, which was once called, the Paris of Africa, there were strong people, bustling and striving and making it work.

The streets of Dakar were always strangely quiet during the day. That was a stark contrast to the loud and vigorous streets at night. Those who seemed to be securely locked away, during the day, poured out onto the streets after the last call to prayer of the day had been sung. The nights swelled with people on the streets all night and darkness took its turn to nocturnally reign.

The Senegalese had a certain dignity that was engrained in them. This society, while by no means free of dangers and divisive dealings, quietly carried the religious burden, while most ordinary Muslims busied themselves to the more pressing need of eating for just one more day. Still, no matter what level of sophistication these followers of Bamba exercised, most Senegalese often consulted their own trusted Marabouts, who guided them and prayed for them and cast spells on their enemies, and performed voodoo on their loved ones upon whom the devils had set their eyes. These false teachers of lies were everywhere.

Dakar contained nearly half the country's population of 8 million people. But, the 'Grand' Marabouts were far from the people. They could be found at religious centers like Kaolack or Touba or in even more obscure villages, from where their devotion to a faith that even Muslims from around the world decried, practicing dark magic that was more allied with the occult than the with typical Muslim doctrines. But they held sway over a people in tune to accept the message of Sheik Amadou Bamba.

Then, there was also the Bayfalls who form a Muslim sect to which thousands of men belong and serve as the guardians of Touba City and the Grand Marabout. When a powerful Marabout was in the area, one could see literally hundreds or at times, thousands of black men marching down the street and violently twirling their large wooden batons and making an amazing amount of noise, as a warning to the public to stay away from their god on earth, the Grand Marabout.

Bayfalls wear long, matted dreadlocks that they told me were similar, but not at all the same as the Bob Marley Rastafarians’ look. These men were not savages, but were also totally unafraid to die for the Grand Marabout. A Bayfall’s dress consists of a set of patchwork clothes, resembling a quilted set of vestures. They gave the viewer every and any impression they wished to relay to the situation around them. When they needed money, they were friendly and able to talk in quite good French, and Wolof, which I actually learned well, while I was there, but have almost completely forgotten since then. My French is almost as good as it was when I lived in Senegal. I was able to talk with many of them about Christ.

The best time to approach them was when they were hungry. These were not beggars. They are a genuine part of the established Islamic brand of Mouridism. I actually was able to eat with four different Bayfalls. They did look spooky, too, but they were just following their faith to sincere sinner’s hell. Talking with them, I could feel a real desire to know God, but they were looking in all the wrong places. All I had to do was offer them a meal at the tent covered outdoor restaurant. I have eaten with four different Bayfalls. With one I we ate Cebujin, Senegalese rice and fish. The next one, a few days later, I got us both Maafe, better known as peanut butter stew. It is wonderful and nourishing. If you have are allergic to peanuts, Senegalese maafe is not for you. The last two Bayfalls were together, and I served them Yassa, a simply beautiful dish with lots of onions, in lemon sauce and spices. There, each time I sat down with the Bayfalls, all round me I could hear the word “Toobob, Toobob.”

It was a common expression that white people heard, most of the time after some people had just walked by next to you. Inevitably, you’d hear it, “Toobob, Toobob.” It was not a word of social indignation. I was not a white slur either. It meant the men with the red faces. In Wolof, Whites are not called white, In most of Africa. The Wolof language called them “Gor bu honk.” Translated, it means, red man. The term was actually transported over to the Americas with the arrival of slaves from Africa. Most white Americans would know term, “Honkey.” It is a direct pulled word from the Wolof language, which was the language most kidnapped blacks from Africa communicated it.

Each time I met with the Bayfalls I looked around at the sea of black as coal faces all around me and with me the only white face. It makes the pre-civil rights days come right home to a white boy to be in the small minority. One thing is for sure. Blacks in America, in 1985, did not receive the respect and smiles, from whites in America as I was afforded by the Senegalese people. It made me a man free of racism. I became a man who only loved the persons inside. It is only that which can give life to the outside, anyway.

I discovered that they were really no different than any of us. They told me of their weekly all-night prayers and chants; especially on Saturday nights, with dancing, drumming, and chanting in Arabic and Wolof. These experiences served me well, because I recall so well that just three weeks later, I got a knock at my door. I opened the door and there stood a man who was a picture perfect example of something right out of Tarzan. He wore a similar patchwork quilted sort of thing and had a sword and his baton was strapped to his side.

He seemed different than any other Bayfall I had met. Both of his ears were pierced with animal bones stuck through the lobes. He had a sharp piece of wood stuck clean through his nose and numerous other, very voodoo-like things attached to him. I looked at him up and down and right and left and right again. “Qu’est ce que vous voulez.” I asked him what he wanted. “Rien, je vuex rien. Oh, oui. Je veux de l’eau.” He looked at me and smiled softly “I want some water.” I still didn’t invite him in. The souls of Christ inside had far more importance to me than this guy’s did. I felt he was safe, but who’s taking chances with a walking armored vehicle standing in front of you. This was a land that had once possessed a great African Kingdom. The residue of its power and influence still filled the heart of the Wolof People.

Out of some six million people, there were more than fifty-six languages spoken in the many different tribes throughout Senegal. French was the language that was supposed to bind them together, but in reality, it was Islam that bound them. It was Touba City and the Grand Marabout was the de facto ruler of the nation. If the President were to do something that the Marabout was displeased about, there could be war on the streets of Dakar. These were devoted people and their many tribes and tongues that formed the nation we were about to enter in 1985, and to which we had committed our lives to making sure we told as many as possible that Jesus Christ is Lord...

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A Bridge To Cross - The Most Intelligent of Idiots - the Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley

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A Bridge To Cross - The Most Intelligent of Idiots - the Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley

Have you ever been in a situation when you knew it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it posed great risk to your very life? That is exactly what I was facing in August of 1991 when I looked at the huge Kharbour River bridge that lay out ahead of me. Take a look at my excerpt from my memoirs, The Most Intelligent of Idiots. It will stir your emotions...

A Bridge To Cross

“There are two ways to enslave a people. People do not give up their Freedom. They naturally take it for granted. The search for Freedom has always been the driving force that has risen bowed down and beaten men and women up from the ashes and transformed them into warriors of their people. It is the final understanding that no person can make me free, but the realization that I am altogether and utterly free, such liberty having been breathed into the nostrils of the first man and woman by God.”

Steven Clark Bradley

A Bridge To Cross
The Most Intelligent of Idiots
The Memoirs of
Author Steven Clark Bradley

Ankara, Turkey

July 23, 1991

Thank Goodness for the Guney Express. The word ‘express’ truly was a misnomer for this train. The Guney Express, which I boarded on July 23rd, took me all the way to the Eastern border of Turkey in a rapid time of four days. It was not that I boarded the wrong train but rather that I choose this train for a journey that gave me a tremendous look at the culture of Turkey, from the modern center of the country to the rustic and tough Eastern portion.

I felt many eyes on me; the foreigner seldom seen on such archaic forms of travel as the slowest train in the Turkish rail system. By the time I arrived in Diyarbakir, the capitol of the east and the unofficial capitol of Kurdistan, I had seen the fields being prepared for harvest, the towns that were continually rattled by sand storms and a people rough and hardened by a life that is mean and laborious. Nevertheless, I could not but respect these people for their determination to ilk out a very good life in the sand of a moderately desert lifestyle.

Diyarbakir, Turkey
Train Station
3:15 p.m. July 27, 1991

Diyarbakir’s appearance was nothing short of a page out of some spaghetti western. It is a rugged city with teeming groups of nomadic tribesmen from the Kurdish population. The train station was more like a stable, and as I ventured out to the streets to take a bus to the border with Iraq, I felt like a sore on the end of someone’s nose. I boarded a minibus for the border town of Silopi. The trip was astounding. The periodic police stops, and the road that ran along the Syrian border, created a tense situation as outposts were set up from both sides about every 100 yards. It was easy to see guns trained on each side.

It was dark when I arrived in the border town of Silopi, but long lines of trucks were still ferrying goods and tanker after tanker was rumbling through the small teeming town of desperate people. Massive vehicles passed by in both directions through the very primitive city that had more importance to the trade between Turkey and Iraq than the city’s appearance would indicate. They were headed for the border to cross the Khabur River massive bridge where halfway across puts you into Iraq.

Normally, the lines of loud smoky trucks would be at a standstill, as they waited their turns to hopefully pass through customs and get security clearance. Sometimes, the line could back up the trade traffic a few dozen kilometers between the two very different countries. When I was there, the traffic flowed unabated because, as I would discover the next day, the border was totally unmanned with no security in place on the Turkish side of the Khabur and the trucks passed back and forth unimpeded.

I got out of the van and went into a bus depot and heard someone on a pay phone speaking English. He was a reporter, I surmised, and I actually never spoke to him. I just intently listened to what he was saying to the person on the other end of the line, wherever that could have been. He was screaming into the receiver that his superiors had to get him out of there and that ‘They’ were killing Americans.

He told them that he was going to try to get to the US base four kilometers down the same road that had brought me into the seriously out of control population center of helicopters, US jets high in the air and the sounds of gunfire randomly being propelled into the air. I was sure I’d see Clint Eastwood walk into the depot any moment and ask everyone if they felt lucky. That atmosphere seemed perfect for a gunslinger to burst in shooting. It was no use waiting to use the phone. I didn’t have anyone to call. I instantly snatched up my backpack and went back outside to find a taxi all the way to the US military encampment.

As I waited for a taxi to appear, two Iraqi Syrian Christian men started speaking to me in broken English. I knew that the Kurdish people loved the French, because President François Mitterrand had brought so many of them to France to escape the terror of Saddam. So, not being sure of anyone there, I said, “Je suis Français.” They understood and instantly said, “Oh, you are a French man?” I simply said yes, in French. They gave me directions and one of them got a taxi for me and told the man where I wanted to go … I hoped.

The most interesting part of this story was after I had returned to Ankara. I was walking down Ataturk Boulevard and ran into the same two Iraqi Christians who had flagged down the taxi for me in Silopi. I greeted them in English, having forgotten about my little ruse when I had told them I was French. They were surprised and told me that they thought I was French. I told them that in Iraq, I was French. In Turkey, I’m American.

The driver tried his English on me and it helped me a lot. I was really feeling naked in the taxi as the driver drove me in the dark to where I was told the American Airbase was, at almost 9:00 p.m. Prayer is such a great help in a test or when you wonder if you are about to die. He pulled up to the main entrance of the airbase; I got out and the taxi immediately drove away.

The officers who greeted me at that late hour were not ecstatic about my presence, but I needed a place to sleep. The guards were of course doing his duty, but initially they refused to help me. I told him that he would have to shoot me then, because I was sleeping outside the gate and that if I was killed, it would be on his head. I remember telling him that I paid his salary. He laughed and said, “Yes, sir. Indeed you do.”

He finally relented and called his superior who had already bedded down for the night. In the end, I was given a hot, smoldering room on a cot right off of the radio room. It was so hot that I slept naked and woke up drenched. At first, it was so hot that I couldn’t sleep at all, but the constant chatter back and forth over the radios in the next room almost hypnotized me and after about an hour, I nodded off.

The next morning turned out to be one to remember. Early in the morning, after a tremendous breakfast, I met with the director of the UN in the town. He informed me that if I entered the country of Iraq and was captured, I would be responsible for myself. That was not delightful to hear, but I had already known that. A military vehicle took me to the Khabur River Bridge. They dropped me in front of the abandoned checkpoint.

Out in front of me was the long Khabur River Bridge. The other side of that bridge was the land of Saddam Hussein, which had only recently been pummeled to bits by Coalition forces. There were not even any Iraqi government authorities at the checkpoint and everyone was coming and going at will. I walked up to the bridge and began to walk across. When I arrived at the center of the bridge, a sign was posted that indicated that one or two more steps and I would plant my feet in the country of Iraq.

I did pause momentarily, but nothing could stop a moment whose time had come. I walked on and felt the weight of entering a land like this one. I had previously visited 31 other countries, but this journey had so far been, by far, the most intriguing. I had made a promise to Hassan, and I intended to let his family know that he was alive and well.

When I reached the checkpoint on the Iraqi side of the bridge, I saw large numbers of officers. They looked like something out of the Arabian Knights. These guards were called the Pesh Merga. They wore large turbans, patchwork gowns and strapped across each shoulder was an automatic rifle, rocket launcher or bazooka, not to mention knives and swords at their sides. I was of the impression that security was to put your mind at ease. To say the least, it did not.

I walked up to one of the guardians of the land of sad, bad memories and black gold and handed him a letter that I had received from my Kurdish friends at the Besh Yildiz Hotel in Ankara, Turkey. The black-bearded relic from the past took the letter and read it before calling over two more officers. One took me by the arm and placed me in the backseat of a taxi. The third guard brought over a thick blanket and covered my exposed body. I was on my way; to live, to die, and to do something significant.

The taxi drove and I looked out from under the blanket at the mountains that passed rapidly past my eyes. It was surreal and somehow enlightening to see all of Saddam’s military outposts every thousand yards along the road. That was how he kept his nation of slaves at bay.

I poked my face out from under the blanket and thoughts began to race through my mind about my childhood, my friends, the ones I love and the previous places I had been to, which had molded who I was, for good or for not so good. This definitely had not been my first trip of this sort. There had been Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Senegal, West Africa.

It is mystical and powerful how one’s mind goes back in time when we are in dangerous situations. That was exactly what was happening to me as I saw the mountains that were full of snipers, blown up tanks and other Iraqi destroyed materiel. I just wondered just how far back would my mind take me as I took in all that was zooming past me and around me, so much so that I had not even checked to see if the driver were taking me captive or taking me to my desired destination. I could see in my whole life playing out like a mental movie quite possibly because I was sure this would be my last journey into madness.

The world I had seen and lived in and how it had brought me to that present moment affected me as the world of Saddam and the world I had grown up in both flashed past my mind and I saw all the lives I had touched and those that had made life worth living. It all played back for me so vividly with a view from the backseat and took my mind back to times rarely recalled; times I did great things; moments I was stupid. It all was an essential part for my transformation into the most intelligent of idiots…



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The Most Intelligent of Idiots - The Love of God in Chandraghona by Steven Clark Bradley

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Have you ever taken a trip and the actual voyage was better than the intended destination? I would say that this was the case during our amazing train journey to the second largest city in Bangladesh, Chittagong. It was the actual train ride and a visit to a leper hospice in a small village called Chandraghona that ended up being so memorable. 

The Love of God in Chandraghona

Present time, 2010

The three thousand two hundred fifteen foot wobbly bridge is the only way into Chittagong by train. Crossing that bridge was an amazing experience and frightening as well. We stayed at the Baptist mission for the night and then tomorrow on to the Christian Hospital at Chandraghona and the leper colony there. I was told that I would be both shocked and uplifted at the same time.

It was indeed a shocking thing to see the absolutely dire physical conditions of some of the poor victims of leprosy. Some of them were almost as if parts of them had melted away. Many of them had to endure such massive difficulties to even feed themselves, with the loss of fingers, some had suffered complete blindness. It was an awful sight to see. What was uplifting is the love and compassion shown to those who seem unlovable.

The predictions of shock and awe at the plight of these people and the love of Jesus being shown to them was not an exaggeration at all. It was an experience that I could not have imagined and it made the crossing of the rickety bridge worth the fear and trepidation. Though this all happened some thirty-one years ago, I still remember it all, because I wrote all down in my Ends of the Earth Journal.

Ends of the Earth Journal

En Route to Chandraghona Leper Colony

June 13, 1979 10:12 a.m.

I am certainly awake now. I am just one of those guys who hates to sleep. There has to be more than just me. It just feels like such a waste of time to me. It’s sort of going into a state of nothingness. There’s so much to do, to say, to record and to imagine. Nevertheless, I am a really good sleeper. I almost never remember my dreams, probably because I sleep so deeply. When I do manage to persuade myself that I am truly tired and lay down, I can’t even say the word ‘sheep,’ never mind counting them, before nothingness descends upon me, and I am gone.

On top of those quirks, you know how most of you lay in bed after you’ve already awakened, just letting the circuitry turn on in your brain? Well, I find it strange too, but the moment I open my eyes, I sit up and then stand up, and I am ready for my day.

Before we got in this Jeep and started barreling and bouncing around on these roads. It is perfectly as I had imagined it would be, only hard to write. Earlier this morning was a little different for me. I seem to have a more eerie feeling when I wake up here. I don’t get scared, just surprised. It was only 6:30 a.m. when I woke up this morning.

It does not matter what time I go to bed, I always wake up five hours later. This morning was no different than any other except for when I opened my eyes. My eyes immediately focused onto what looked like a real cross projected onto to ceiling. It startled me so much that I jumped out of bed and shoved my hand over my mouth to keep from shouting an obscenity and waking everyone up. Then, a point of understanding filled my mind.

It is the cross that brought us here. It is about sacrifice on whatever cross we are called to bear, in his name. I thought and took my hand off my mouth and looked around. What we would see later today, doctors and nurses and specialists who have abandoned their lucrative practices in the cities of Bangladesh and India and international doctors who have come here to work and often using their own funds to support themselves, because first of all, they love Jesus Christ and they know the will of Christ is to be our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers.

This little vision was simply the sunlight shining off a cross hung on the wall and projecting the shadow onto the ceiling. But, I know nothing happens by chance, really. Everything is for a purpose, and God used it to refocus me. The cross is the only way to ensure that these suffering people don’t experience hell twice; once in life and once, forever, after life.

So, I got dressed and went out to a little chai shop I saw last night to get a cup of what would normally be a cup of coffee. The taste had grown on me, though. When I got there, they were just getting a fresh supply of milk for the tea. A man in a long white gown led his cow to the front of the shop and placed the shop’s container under the beast and milked the patient animal, right there. It was the best cup of chai I have had. After we ate breakfast at the Baptist Mission, Phil led us to meet Jeanie Lockerbie, a very warm and kind missionary who let us use her Jeep for the day.

Ends of the Earth Journal

En Route to Chandraghona Leper Colony

June 13, 1979 11:12 a.m.

We’ve almost arrived at the hospital, a little later than we had expected. The directions we got have to have been wrong, because Phil followed them to a tee. I was glad, though. Phil Game had already told me about the small villages he had wanted to visit with us, but the time was tight. Well, the route we took at first took us through some of the roughest roads and mud streets one could imagine.

It’s monsoon season here and everything is drenched all of the time. When I see the foliage and vegetation so beautiful and glistening in the monsoon rains, it is hard to imagine that the cities are so broken and filthy. We went through a couple places where we were almost stuck in mud up to our axles.

People were everywhere and everyone seems busy. This is a natural collective effort to help everyone live in the family. Everything is so vibrantly lush and green. We saw flooded fields of rice again and up close with Bengalis who seemed to be permanently bent over sticking the baby plants through the water and into the soaked ground. As we drive by. It is amazing how these women, any of them so beautiful will look years older than they really are in a short time. They walk with perfect posture as they carry huge loads of various materials on their heads.

As we got closer to the border of the hill tribes, we could see the layout of many villages that made these people thrive more than those who tried to live in the more modern cities. We passed a small mosque that looked like a mud hut, which essentially is what it was. It was square with no minarets or towers for the call to prayer. These children look strong and healthy. I pray they stay that way. Phil found a place to turn around. We are only ten minutes out from the Chandraghona Leper Colony. The love of God spread abroad in our hearts can heal more things than medicine can.

Ends of the Earth Journal

Arrival at Chandraghona Leper Colony

June 13, 1979 11:27 a.m.

We arrived at the Chandraghona Leper Colony at about 11:30 a.m. As we drove into the hospital compound, We could see the River Karnaphuli that flowed in a low area. It was large and looked powerful. The lush green vegetation was amazing in this jungle-like area around the place that was saving the lives and winning the souls of the poor lost and the physically broken people who had come to the leper colony to find help from those of another faith other than Islam which had left them to languish and die a painful death on the streets of Bangladesh. This wonderful place was built and developed to help those who could not help themselves and who had been abandoned by their political and religious leaders.

When we got out of the jeep and shut down the engine, I just stood and listened. I was sure Tarzan would swing out of jungle all around us and walk up and ask us, “Where Jane?” I could hear birds making loud and very mystical sounds. I heard bullfrogs croaking and the mosquitoes were everywhere. I walked over to an overhanging area and looked down at the River Karnaphuli. I could see the thousands of people who had to be there, since there are always multitudes of poor, hungry people looking for a way to live through the day.

I could see the tops of the people’s heads as they walked along the river where they washed their clothes, did their business and where they got their drinking water. It is hard for us to imagine someone drinking from the same watering hole where they pee, but In Bangladesh, the choices that we have in our own homes, back in America. These people did what they had to do to stay alive, even if it killed them.

I turned my attention back to the hospital as I heard the voices of Dr. Bob and Mary Hart. They had spent the past five years at the Christian Hospital at Chandraghona working with the victims of Leprosy. They were dedicated and had carried on in a long tradition since 1907 of native and international doctors who had set aside their own self-gratification and enrichment back in their own countries.

Present Time, 2010

The Christian Hospital in Chandraghona, Bangladesh, had started humbly. From its beginning, a startling history of unexpected gifts and troubles, Christians have come through and donated the monies that eventually turned the fledgling Christian hospital into a highly influential medical center in providing community healthcare and serving the people of Bangladesh in the name of Jesus Christ.

Translated, the name, Chandraghona, means Valley of the Moon. This small village was a government outpost in the 19th century and is located between the plains of Chittagong to the west and the Hill Tracts to the east. This area has a long heritage as a place for Christian outreach among the hill tribes of Bangladesh.

The famous missionary, William Carey’s son Felix was the first international missionary to work here for Christ. In fact, the first attempt at compiling a Bengali encyclopedia was made by Felix Carey. But, Carey died after only translating two seats of 40-page installments. He died in this area of the Indian Subcontinent, which was, for practical purposes, his country.

William Carey’s oldest son, Felix, was the first Baptist missionary to work in the Chittagong area; however, the people living in the hills, to the east, were never reached. The population in the villages I saw looked the healthiest I’ve seen. These are a shy people, rarely venturing to the plain villages except to trade, and were members of different tribes, speaking different languages, but they thrive in comparison to the city.

Perhaps that’s the influence of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It teaches responsibility and honesty, and about loving your neighbor as yourself. Wherever the name and truth of Jesus grows, lives improve. I speak not of religion, but faith in someone real and true. Once it is accepted and grows, the benefits for life all around can be passed on hopefully forever by future generations. In contrast, wherever Islam assumes control, freedom and devotion for God disappear and are replaced by the god of death. Lives begin to fall apart, diseases like leprosy begin to thrive because Islam sucks all the thriving right out of the people. In my opinion, William Carey and his son Felix Carey are heroes who took the gospel to a people and though the fruit was small, it was nonetheless significant.

Work began in 1907 to construct a new building. In 1913 a leprosy colony was established next to the hospital. The colony received financial backing from the Pakistan government in 1949 and was hoped to become the very best center for leprosy research and treatment in the country.
In 1998 work began for the construction of a new a new hospital. Today Christian Hospital Chandraghona is beautiful and spacious with large patient wards, modern facilities and operating rooms furnished with modern equipment. This is a far cry from what I saw back in 1979. The place was clean and proper, but though they did amazing work with what they had, they were seriously limited compared to what they are doing today. I took the time to write that day specifically about The Christian Hospital in Chandraghona and the leper colony in my Ends of the Earth Journal.

Ends of the Earth Journal

Touring the Leper Colony

June 13, 1979 2:07 p.m.

Everyone is either out walking, Dan is taking some of his amazing photos, I am sure. Bill probably found someone to play Frisbee with. So, I had a moment alone and decided to take a few moments and describe what I saw today and how it deepened my views of life and death and the love of God in Chandraghona.

The doctors showed us where many of the lepers stayed. I knew it was safe to be around them, but it still gave me an unsettling feeling. These doctors and nurses are heroes in every way. I was surprised to learn that, since I have read in the bible about lepers. They were always considered unclean. Dr. Hart explained it all to us. He said that the illness was not contracted so much by touching as by breathing. According to Dr. Bob Hart and his expert wife, Mary, Leprosy could be contracted simply by breathing in contaminated air. But, Dr. Hart also said that only roughly twenty percent of all people are susceptible to the disease. He added that cleanliness and sanitation were very important ingredients in protecting oneself from the disease.

What really stunned me was that leprosy has been known to lie dormant for up to six years, in a victim, before becoming a full-blown infection. Dr. Hart told us that the primary way leprosy enters the human body is through the nose. The twenty percent or so who have a natural tendency to contract leprosy can develop the symptoms between three month and six years after initial exposure. The damage of leprosy, which Dr. Bob Hart and Mary Hart described to us and presented before several patients who had suffered severe damage. It was frightening, actually.

First, the eye muscles are attacked and soon the victim of leprosy can no longer blink their eyelids. That causes a deep reddening and great dryness because the eyes simply dry out. We saw one sad victim who had suffered greatly as the slow flesh-consuming disease had slow consumed his body. His eyes were dark red like blood was ready to flow out of them. On the end of both of his arms was literally nothing. All that it now amounted to were two long bones covered with some meat, because he had lost all sensation or feeling in all of his limbs and had pounded them around so much, without knowing it, that they literally fall off or must be cut off. Men, women and children like this are often brought to the leper colony too late. Though the disease is relatively easy to stop, the damage that had already been inflicted on the victim can never be reversed.

Patients just like the man we saw with the face of excruciating suffering from the effects of leprosy can have the disease’s progress stopped. Though this man and others like him can never live a normal life again, they will be taught how to keep their eye moist and how to make sure that leper victims learn how to prevent further damage to their bodies. So, this wonderful hospital offers treatment and counseling, and the most important thing of all, hope, in the name of Christ.

Present Time, 2010

These are people with feelings, just like you and I are. They have pain and sadness and know that no one other than in this very hospital, amongst the hill people, would ever treat them with dignity and love. Thankfully, there were no children that I saw who had the awful disease of leprosy. Dan, Bill and I all played Frisbee with several kids, who soon became a mob of beautiful, happy kids, all wanting to play. We all thought it was a great way to end the day and the trip to a place where Jesus reigns. The smiles all told me that this was a day the children would remember, and that includes me, the most intelligent of idiots.

The Most Intelligent of Idiots - The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley - A Stranger Just in Time

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

This is a work in progress

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was a stranger just in time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Executive Order - Patriot Acts Part III Unimaginable

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

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

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

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

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

Executive Order
Chapter Fifteen


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s my baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ray, did they radio you?”

“Yes, they did”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patriot Acts

by Steven Clark Bradley

Where is Patriot Acts available?

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

No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!

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Executive Order- Patriot Acts III - Inevitable?

Martial Law has been declared, American Troops have been deployed on the streets of all the major cities of America. Americans have been ordered off the streets and into their homes. Patriotic Americans take to the streets to fight for their freedom, and are shot on sight. Does this sound impossible? Does it seem like that could never happen in the home of the free and the land of the brave?

Yet, when a free people no longer cherishes their freedom, when the previous generation no longer passes on the heritage that shed its blood to gain their liberty the only result can be the loss of appreciation and undervaluing of the truths that forged our nation. Such behavior, such lack of resolve to pass on the truths of the American experiment will not make the fall of the republic possible. In truth it will make the loss of liberty, self governance and self determination inevitable.
Steven Clark Bradley
Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod Rising StillBorn! Probable Cause

Executive Order




Chapter Eighteen

Georgetown, Washington D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:47 p.m.

At his home, frightened, angry and ready to run, Richard Leitner, the newest former Secretary of the Treasury by virtue of his firing by President Fisher Harrison earlier in the day, stood at his study in Georgetown, truly one of the classiest famous neighborhoods located in all of the Washington D.C. metropolitan area. He was shamed and out of a job. He looked out the large bay windows of his nine million dollar overlook of the Potomac River front. He had given his life for the Consortium, now; he faced certain ruin and shame all because of a president of less than two weeks who thought he could just throw his career and reputation in the garbage.

“I’ll be damn if he’ll take it all away from me.” He yelled out to no one in particular, with the sincerity of the traitor he was.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:49 p.m.

The trucks that had now encircled the US Capitol were not silent about it. Shots could be heard in the distance, and every person in the Chamber, political, journalistic, civilian or military knew that something was getting ready to explode. Fisher wondered if the pressure was to induce capitulation, or if or if more radical measures were planned to bring about the fall of the government of the United States.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the sound you hear outside these cherished walls, is the sound of threat and the total loss of liberty, the hands totalitarian rulers that will replace one of freedom and thought, which ultimately took it all for granted. Those sounds can never lead to peace, but should provoke a response. Tonight I give you my reply to the Consortium.”

Georgetown, Washington D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:49 p.m.

After Leitner left the Oval office, earlier in the day, he felt ill, nauseous and absolutely terrified. He had traced his steps back and realized that Morgenthau had given him a drink in the limousine to calm his nerves and to persuade Leitener that the Consortium had another job for the now unemployed former Secretary of the soon to be debunked Treasury.

“I just wasn’t cut from the same bitter cloth that Morgenthau and Berkowitz were.” Leitner told himself and rubbing the back of his head. “They know it too.” Leitner’s heart seemed to skip a beat when he thought about what they would do to him. “I’ve been such a coward, only good for final options.” Leitner told the afternoon air.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:51 p.m.

“Earlier today, I asked for a meeting with the Federal Reserve Chairman Mr. Timothy Morgenthau and the Secretary of the Treasury Mr. Richard Leitner. As all of us realized very quickly, when we rose this morning that all of our lives had changed forever, during the night. Our money was gone, our economy was collapsing and tens of thousands of troops have been dispersed throughout the country with the authorization of no one inside the United States government.

“I welcomed these two men into the Oval Office with the hope of being informed as to the nation’s security and financial survival. Keep in mind, these are the men and women who fed the SPU, which we had only recently taken down by force.

“It has been estimated that these men and women of money-lust lost over eight hundred billion dollars when the SPU fell. Now, these hidden-away forces, the same powers who were directly responsible in the deaths by assassination of two great Presidents, Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy who had both spoken out against the Consortium.”

Georgetown, Washington D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:52 p.m.

Richard Leitner continued peering out his bay windows, beyond the Potomac. He could see the great majestic dome out in the distance. The Capitol’s lights that covered the circumference of the dome along with the White House seemed like the coliseum without gladiators. The lights illuminating the darkening sky gave off a false sense of power and filled the almost night sky with thoughts of a once greater day of the power of the American Republic.

“It’s only an image, now; more like a fable.” Leitner said aloud while never taking his eyes off of the capitol building. Somehow, Leitner was surprised that it hurt him to see it all tottering so. He had been sure that the end of the government would somehow be a great thing. Then he felt the claws of the Consortium extend their reach when they were forced to recoup their money. Yet, against his will, he wished it could be as it had always been, but he knew it would never be again. That image, the great country, which had helped defeated nations rather than crushing them would soon become members of the ‘Used to be powerful’ club.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:54 p.m.

“This afternoon, in the Oval Office, two extortionists, men in whom the country had placed its trust, sought to force my government’s hand to give them eight hundred billion dollars today or in two hours face the complete and utter collapse the economy of the United States.

“Since 4:00 a.m. this morning, these evil hoarders of wealth have siphoned off five trillion dollars and distributed it to other countries as seen fit by the Consortium. It is their intension that America never be free again.”

Georgetown, Washington D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:55 p.m.

America was only minutes from a fundamental transformation, and Leitner knew it. In fact, he knew everything that the Consortium had planned, which he also knew made him a very great threat to the cabal. The former Secretary of the Treasury realized that he had become a liability, a danger, a useless mind full of all the tactics, mechanisms and plans of an international club of cutthroat financial terrorists who would stop at nothing now to get all the power they craved. Leitner knew he had failed them.

He remembered going to the Doctor to get rid of the massive headache he had endured since Morgenthau gave him the drink. All he could recall afterwards was waking up in his bed. He still wasn’t sure that the Doctor and the headache had been real or a dream. The pain in the back of his head was no dream, though.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:57 p.m.

Fisher picked up a copy of Kennedy’s 1963 Executive Order for the printing and the circulation of silver backed dollars. “Here is a piece of history that is now serving as a true sign of God’s hand to protect us.

Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division
Joint Base Myer-Henderson
Ft. Myer, Virginia
March 11, 2011 4:57 p.m.

Peter Barlow and Warren Berkowitz knew exactly where Richard Leitner was at the moment. They could see his every movement.

“Warren, he’s going to be on the move. Should we activate him?”

“Well, I’d rather just terminate him, ha-ha, for the second time today, just in a more permanent manner, if you know what I mean, but that would take all the Irony out of the plan.” Berkowitz said.
“You are a witty one, Berkowitz, but right now, I need an answer.”

“Considering that this is the only remaining use for the wimp, so, let’s squeeze his last drop if utility right out of him, Peter, my man. Activate now.”

Both Peter Barlow and Warren Berkowitz saw Leitner’s front door open slowly. Peter placed Leitner’s new ID into the computer and the link to the chip that had been planted in the back of his head only hours earlier, at the doctor’s office, came to life.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:59 p.m.

“Firstly, before riding over to the Capitol today, I signed an Executive Order instructing the US Treasury to print gold and silver backed currency. This process is already underway. In addition, I have issued an order that Federal Reserve notes shall no long be accepted as legal tender for the payment of debts or for issuing credit at midnight, March 25, 2010. All Federal Reserve notes will be turned in and an equal amount of Silver Backs will be returned to you.

Georgetown, Washington D.C.
March 11, 2011 4:59 p.m.

Richard Leitner decided to get out while he still could. He had frantically run around his house gathering the things a single bachelor would need or want. He had closed all the blinds, locked every window and door and set the surveillance system then picked up the two suitcases he had had just enough time to prepare. He planned to drive over to the Treasury to confiscate some personal files and things. Then, his whole body felt like it had been hit by a massive bold of lightning and made him drop the suitcases and the front door key to the ground. His head again began to pound and he threw up all over his front porch and his hand searched on the ground for the key.

“Richard … Richard Leitner, forget the key, forget the door; forget the suitcases.”

Leitner raised his head. Puke had splattered, all over his face. He heard the voice, and it sounded like someone right next to him. He rose off his knees and stood looking around in every direction.
“I know you’re confused. Who wouldn’t be? The sickness will go away soon.”

“Who are you … where are you?”

“That does not matter. We need your help, and then you can be free to live your life.”

Leitner laughed. “I know Berkowitz. Evidently, you do not. Perhaps Morgenthau would give me another chance. Not, Warren; if you asked him about me, he’d say he had already forgotten about me and to learn not to care.”

“Yes, in fact, that’s exactly what he said.”

“I don’t care either. So, get in your car and drive to the Capitol and walk up to the main entrance and show your pass. It’s still active, I checked. Someone will be there to give you something. Take it and wait for further instructions.” Peter ordered Leitner.

Leitner was still feeling sick and fought against the involuntary movements that the voice in his head seemed to be able to control. After a minute, the pain in his head was gone, the fear was nonexistent and he was under Peter Barlowe’s command.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:01 p.m.

“While speaking with Treasury Secretary Richard Leitner this afternoon, I informed him that he was being terminated from his job. The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury is the interim Chief Financial Officer of the United States. I have also issued a warrant for former Secretary of the Treasury Leitner for treason as traitor of the United States and an enemy combatant based on his profound cooperation with the Consortium.

22,000 Feet and descending over Belgium
March 11, 2011 1:01 a.m. G.M.T.

“Yes, yes, Peter, you have done well. But then, the guy’s so fearful that we probably didn’t need to spend the money to chip him. I really like that part about forgetting the key and the door; oh, and the suitcases. That was a hoot.” Berkowitz said and laughed. “I mean, he won’t be needing it anymore, anyway. Oh, the things we do for our country.”

“Leitner’s walking up to the main entrance of the capitol as we speak.” Both Barlowe and Berkowitz went silent and just watched Leitner carryout their orders.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:03 p.m.

“Finally, tonight is a night that history will record as the gravest danger that the United States has ever endured. Will it record that we capitulated or that we prevailed against a richer and more advanced enemy, because that’s how we won the first revolution, against incomparable odds, and that is how we shall win the second.”

Everyone in the chamber rose to their feet and applause rang out. Fisher let them express their hope and courage while American troops surrounded the Capitol with tanks pointing their turrets towards an army’s own government.

Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division
Joint Base Myer-Henderson
Ft. Myer, Virginia
March 11, 2011 5:03 p.m.

Peter heard what President Harrison had just said, and so had Berkowitz. He knew Berkowitz would order the attack, now that President Harrison proved himself to be all the Warren Berkowitz had said he was. Peter disconnected from Berkowitz for a moment and flipped a switch on a router at just the moment Berkowitz was cut out.

“What was that?” Peter asked Berkowitz. “I hope you have all this crap verified.”
“Trust me boy, have I betrayed you?”

Peter laughed and sneered as he spoke back to Berkowitz. “Of course not; you still need me.” Peter replied. “Trust you, not the best choice of words. Warren, earlier today, you brutally wiped out the one person you actually choose as a child to be with you. Yang didn’t have to die. I worked with him, and he was a great young man, full of reasons to have been kept alive. So, don’t ask me to trust you.”

“Is your mind still back at that courthouse? I had already forgotten him. Let me tell you, I think of people as opportunities. I refuse to be attached to any one of them. I have outlasted everyone of my generation, Peter, my boy, simply because I don’t care. Those three words make the world go round. We have caused uprisings and have squelched them when they had served us enough. We’ve fought wars and supported both sides, killed millions, saved as many and have forgotten so many, many more than we remember and we did it all with money. That’s paper, Peter my man. The only way to survive in the midst of that kind of experience is to let yourself be devoured by it; to let it overtake you until the pain and lack of mercy all around you no longer moves you, until you say with sincerity, I don’t care.”

“And that’s the world I am helping you create? Maybe I’m on the wrong side.” Peter taunted Berkowitz.

“It’s the only world I’ll let be and live. Let’s check out the equipment, what ya say? Are the links all set?”

Berkowitz pushed enter and a transfer of over five trillion dollars started from hundreds of thousands of banks across the nation to two hundred and fifty different banks in thirty-five different international banks. “It’s our money. It has our name on it and that big eye over the pyramid kept our investment secure. Now, the risks far outweigh the benefits.” Berkowitz told Peter.

Peter pressed enter and almost all of the one hundred forty-five thousand troops now distributed across the nation came under the Consortium’s control.

“There are a couple hundred links that are down, but they’ll be overrun. The board’s lit up and I’m activating the trucks.” Peter told Berkowitz.

Peter typed in the number of ten of the chips that had been embedded. The computer found them and sent out a super secure inscription to them. Peter typed the command.

“Encircle the US Capitol, activate the devices and wait for further orders.”

The infantrymen started their trucks and stationed themselves all around the capitol. They secured their locations and posted lookouts. They each turned around and cut a hole into to the back seat and all saw a series of rods, warm to the touch, was arrayed with wires and electronic switches. Each of them heard their orders repeated to engage the device. They all found the USB ports and connected them to a WIFI router relay that could receive and send signals to all simultaneously.

The ten chosen infantrymen were sent the connection request that was accepted and instantly, each of the ten electronic detonators’ signals was locked onto the router that made them all act as one against a common target, the United States of America, all with a single press of a button. The infantrymen covered the back seats and waited. One of them was given an extra task to complete. He headed for the main entrance.

Chapter Nineteen
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:04 p.m.

Richard Leitner walked at a normal pace up the powerful steps and right up to the front door of Capitol Hill. He had a normal look across his bearded face. Earlier in the day, President Fisher Harrison had shaken Leitner’s frame of mind, and now Peter Barlowe and Warren Berkowitz had reshaped it. Leitner was placid, stoic and without fear as he walked up the steps to the front entrance.

The soldier who had been assigned to wait for Leitner walked over to him.

“Sir, this is for you.”

He handed Leitner a small box and the soldier returned back to his truck. Peter told all ten of them to verify the devices planted in their backseats. They were all online.

Leitner heard Warren Berkowitz’s voice speaking to him in his head. “You know, I was pissed off with you, but I thought, I’ve got the perfect way to redeem yourself. Richard, you are doing a great service to the next great global power, the United National Consortium. It is you who will launch the newest shot to be heard around the world.”

“Warren, I know what you’ve done to me, it is obvious. Damn you, I would have given my life for you.”

“So, what’s the problem? You’re about to do just that. Now, here’s what I want you to say.”

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:08 p.m.

Fisher paused and looked all around the room and took in air before he announced his next decision. “This is an extraordinary moment, and unfortunately, I must take extraordinary measures to combat the evil that is about to be unleashed upon the American people. I ask you to bear with me and consider my reasoning, and to give me your trust. The American People know who I am and that I will keep faith with you.”

US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:08 p.m.

Richard Leitner walked up to the security desk and swiped his badge. The light turned green.

“I want to say good evening, Mr. Secretary, but it don’t feel much like one.”

“Believe me, I know what you mean. It’s been maybe the hardest day of my life. Hope I live through it.” Leitner replied with a smile and leaned over the counter and pulled the guard toward him and spoke softly into the man’s ear. “You need to get all these people out of here.” The words came from Leitner’s lips, but the thoughts were Peter Barlowe’s.

“This place is going boom, and you need to get as far away as possible.” Peter looked into the guard’s face. “Do it now, you have not time to waste.” Leitner walked on through security calmly and steadily up to the House Chamber door and waited there. He slowly opened the box the soldier had handed him at the entrance. It was a remote with just one button.

Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division
Joint Base Myer-Henderson
Ft. Myer, Virginia
March 11, 2011 5:10 p.m.

“Open the door and walk into the chamber.” Peter told Leitner. When he walked in and looked at the crowd there. He realized that everyone knew who he was, and many knew him well. They were not all great men and women, but they did love the country, and many of them loved him, but they wouldn’t after today.

Peter attached a separate cable to the router and sent signals to three different embedded chips. They already had their orders; and were already in place and awaiting instructions; orders that Warren Berkowitz knew nothing about. Peter activated the links and repeated his instructions.

“Come out of hiding and activate plan seventy-seven, on my signal.” Peter saw three lights flash on the screen. He isolated them on the grid and washed them through the system and rendered them invisible to everyone, except for Peter Barlowe. The three immediately did as they were instructed. Berkowitz could hear none of it, but he’d know soon enough from the TV.

Joint Session of Congress
US Capitol, Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2011 5:12 p.m.

“Let me say that I never sought this position, but it sought me. It has followed me everywhere I’ve gone, no matter how much I tried to run from it. So, it is apparent that I am in the will of a good and righteous God. No president would ever choose to be in such a dire position so early in his term, but this is the task before us, and we will shrink from doing our duty. For, we demand to be free.”

Leitner began walking forward past the members of the Senators and of the House, all of whom knew who he was. They smiled as he walked forward and closer to the President of the United States. It seemed somehow normal, since Leitner was not a stranger at all, and had been Secretary of the Treasury for over two years, one of the most high profile jobs in Washington D.C. Even so, it seemed odd to see this man walking up the center isle towards the President, in the middle of such a powerful and important speech.
“Effective, midnight tonight, I am declaring Martial Law in all fifty …”

“Mr. President!” Richard Leitner powerfully yelled out.

The mere sound of a high-pitched voice sent Senators and Representatives diving to the floor for fear of being shot. The press went wobbly and ran and hid behind anything they could find, but their cameras continued rolling and they filmed an embattled new President of the Republic standing alone, seemingly undaunted by the face of Richard Lietner staring back at him.

The former Secretary of the Treasury felt a twinge of fear looking at the madman behind the presidential podium. Fisher Harrison stood there and sized up this man and knew this was Leitner plus something else.

He’s chipped. Fisher knew that Berkowitz was squeezing the last ounce of usefulness out of Leitner.

“Richard, are you alright?” Fisher asked seeing the remote in his right hand.

“Mr. President, your fired!”

Peter held Leitner’s finger off the button, and Berkowitz and Morgenthau went crazy.

“Peter, what are you doing? You better have this right, or you die before I do.”

“Not to worry Satan, hell is on its way.” Peter replied.

To the utter shock of every member of congress and the media, whose cameras captured it all, three Special Ops wearing Chameleon suits seemed to slide out of the walls and ran up to the president and surrounded him. the Secret service fired shots, but there was such a high degree of confusion, they didn’t know who to shoot at. The Chameleon suits made it seem that Fisher had been fighting with the air. Slight traces of the three figure could be seen, but the Secret Service was for all practical purposes, blind.

Fisher had not forgotten how to ride a bike and he still knew how to kick someone’s ass. He began fighting and the three knew that he’d never be taken alive that way. One of the Special Ops pulled out a gun and shot a dart into Fisher’s neck. Fisher pulled it out, looked at it and fell to the floor. They picked him up and carried him out of the chamber and quickly outside. They cuffed the president and carefully placed his drug-induced sleeping body in the back of the SUV and raced away.

One of the Special Ops spotted Chief of Staff Michelle Oh. He ran over to her and shot her with a dart also as she was running away from him. She fell to the ground and he scooped her up and ran. She too was placed in the SUV.


On the Runway, Brussels, Belgium
March 11, 2011 5:13 p.m.

“What the hell was that? I didn’t authorize saving the bastard. You’re supposed to kill him. You’re pissing me off too, Barlowe.”

“Warren, go to hell.” Peter calmly replied to Berkowitz. Then he typed in an encrypted message to Leitner.

“All Fall Down.”

Richard Leitner, who had awakened in the morning highly respected as the Secretary of the Treasury and was about to die in the same evening of the very same day, as a an enemy of the State and a total disgrace. He held his hands straight up in the air, as Berkowitz ordered him to do. A terrified Congress began rising up off the floor and looked at Leitner. He had been their friend; he had kept up with the Washington party circuit and many of them only now realized it was him. Almost every one stood up now and looked at Richard Leitner. He was not an unpopular guy, until today. Then he screamed.

“Goodbye, America!”

Lietner pressed the button on the remote, and the earth beneath everyone in the US Capitol began to belch and the air was wiped clean from the building as the ten different dirty bombs planted in the trucks surrounding the US Capitol all detonated at the same time. Each one was filled with highly enriched uranium nuclear waste. All ten trucks took on a momentary, very quick red glow, as the devices activated, sizzled and then instantly incinerated everything in its path. The walls of the Capitol were blown inward and the entire structure came down with a sound that sounded like hundreds of voices crying out in sheer and utter pain, which was exactly what it was. The dome collapsed straight downward crushing anyone who was in the rotunda.

Nearly everyone in the House of Representatives Chamber was dead. In one attack, more than half of the government was gone. The explosion tore the building apart. The history of the nation and every living and dead body in the old, sacred, now destroyed monument of freedom and power would devastate the nation to the point of collapse. Suddenly, the whole building began to shake and a deafening rumbling sound of steel bending and walls falling flowed through air as the US Capitol tumbled to the ground in a massive heaping pile of rubble.

The Secret Service who had survived were frantically looking for the president. “Is there anyone there, is there anyone there? Where the hell’s Law and Order?” The large room had gone pitch dark with the lights all blown out and the smoke and something else left the taste of metal in the mouth and it burned the eyes. “We can’t find POTUS.”

The dead were the lucky ones. Instead of dying an instant, painless death, in about thirty minutes, survivors would experience severe nausea. Slowly, but progressively, disorientation would invade their minds. Vertigo and a rapidly world room would make walking impossible. The pain would be unbearable and their bodies would shut down all their organs as the radiation invaded their minds and bodies. In less than an hour, they’d all die.

Survivors, inside and outside the ruins of the US Capitol opened their eyes and felt their hearts beating quickly. Their blood pressure then dropped rapidly and their breathing became labored. Their faces were drenched with sweat as a high fever set in; the results of the overwhelming affects of the massive dose of radiation from the ten devices now clinging to the air took its toll. Over half of congress lay dead on the House Chamber floor and lying in their vomit, and many would soon pray for death.

Outside the capitol, several thousands of US troops lay dead and thousands were on the ground surrounding Capitol Center writhing in pain. None of them would survive.

World Bank, Brussels, Belgium
March 11, 2011 5:15 p.m.

“Good, now that’s more like it. Hollywood still can’t top the real deal.” Berkowitz laughed and clapped his hands. He was jubilant with the success of the mission and ready to open up Pandora’s box.

“Peter, Peter are you there?” The radio echoed in the lower part of the operation’s building at Ft. Myers. No one was there and no one was coming back.

“What the hell, I’m, I mean we’re in charge now. I’ll do it myself.”

Berkowitz sent out a link to all forces under his control. Immediately tanks and armored vehicles began rolling into the streets of every major city in the country. Emergency bulletins began constantly repeating on every TV and radio in the country.

“A state of emergency has been declared. We are now under Martial Law protocols. You are not to leave your dwellings. Anyone found outside will be shot on sight. You are ordered not to leave your dwellings. A state of emergency has been declared. We are now under Martial Law protocols . Anyone found outside will be …”

Thousands of Americans ran out of their homes and poured into the streets. These were their kids carrying those guns and in those tanks. Aircraft flew low over the cities and Black hawks hovered over hot spots where large groups of angry Americans had gathered with large, small, legal and illegal guns and firing them into the air at the jets that were circling. Several Black hawks engaged fire on those armed below. Americans were dying by the hands of Americans. Those who refused to listen to the troops that Berkowitz had sent out were shot on sight and chaos filled the streets of America’s greatest cities.

“We have no enemy to find us now.” Berkowitz said over the radio.

Raven Rock Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2011, 5:22 p.m.

“Did you get that location?” Raven Rock Site R Commander Rush asked nervously.

“Yes sir, it originated in Brussels.”
Patriot Acts
by
Steven Clark Bradley

Where is Patriot Acts available?

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

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com

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

No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!

Check Out Steven Clark Bradley's
Free E-Book Offer Here!

You can read more of
Steven Clark Bradley's
work at any of these blogs
listed below:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

Author Susan Whitfield Interviews with Author Steven Clark Bradley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Patriot Acts
by
Steven Clark Bradley

Where is Patriot Acts available?

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

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com

Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com

Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com

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

No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!

Check Out Steven Clark Bradley's
Free E-Book Offer Here!

You can read more of
Steven Clark Bradley's
work at any of these blogs
listed below:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

The Greatest Danger of All - America's Financial Disaster...

The Green God of America:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Want to Read A Great Book?

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

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Watch Nimrod Rising Video Trailer

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You can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's work

at any of these blogs listed below:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
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On President's Day, What Do We Celebrate?

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

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

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

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

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

Steven Clark Bradley

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

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


amazon.com barnesandnoble.com bordersstores.com booksamillion.com powells.com copperfields.com

Watch Nimrod Rising Video Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKHofQ...
You can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's work
at any of these blogs listed below:
Author Steven Clark Bradley From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com