Wise Eyed Open - by Arun D Ellis - a compendium edition incorporating 'Helter Skelter', 'Power Grab' & 'Rust' - books 7, 8, & 9 in the series

Preface


November 1973

"David, tell me what went wrong."

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

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

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

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

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

"Exactly," said Elazar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dayan and Elazar looked confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Impossible," said Dayan.

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

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

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

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

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

"This cannot be done," said Dayan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







Introduction


We will know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American people believe is false

William Case, CIA Director 1981



Mark Cholmondeley was seething.

Not an unknown state he had to admit but this time it was with good reason. It was intolerable that the UK Prime Minister could be summoned like a naughty schoolboy to answer to a group of doddering fools, made powerful simply because they'd been born into the world's richest banking families. Knowing that it was to them he owed his continuance in office served to increase his sense of humiliation. The only plus side of what was coming was that he would be sharing the carpeting with the similarly indebted, US president, Orland Stone.

This was why Cholmondeley and Stone were shown to a separate meeting hall at the back of the complex, whilst their peers, like them, delegates to the exclusive Bilderberg meeting, made their way to the main lobby.

To their chagrin they were made to wait on either side of huge double wooden doors for several minutes before finally being invited in.

They rose together and straightened their jackets, "After you, Mark," offered the President with a disarming boyish twinkle. Cholmondeley sighed under his breath, nodded with a tight smile and lead the way into the room.

In what was obviously a calculated plan to increase the sense of impending doom the room was dark; made so deliberately by heavy curtains drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking any hint of sunlight and every other wall lamp had been switched off.

There was a log fire burning in the magnificent fire place at the end of the room which, whilst throwing out some light, was also abetting the gothic effect. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust, then they became aware of two high backed chairs in the middle of the room.

Ahead of them, above the fireplace hung a portrait sized blacked out screen.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," said a cultured voice.

As these words resonated a large letter G set in the middle of a set square and compass appeared on the screen with a flaming numeral 1 burning underneath it. Then six more screens flickered into life, three on each side of the room, all showing different graphics, each with a number underneath.

"Be seated," said the voice again, this time with a little more force to the command.

Stone did as he was bid. Cholmondeley adjusted his suit jacket again and took his seat more slowly, making a play of pulling up his trouser legs to avoid spoiling the creases, damned if he was going to jump.

"What went wrong with La Palma?" demanded the voice behind screen 1.

Whilst a dressing down and interrogation had been expected Cholmondeley had thought they would sit down round a table like gentlemen, not be made to go through this ridiculous farce with faceless TV screens. In his annoyance he left a gap which Stone filled.

"We did our bit, Mr Chairman, we provided the ordnance but the Brits messed up."

Cholmondeley was instantly furious; back-stabbing yank, "We most certainly did not, Stone."

"You drilled too deep," said Stone.

"We drilled to the depth instructed by your experts, so if anybody messed up then it was your people."

"We gave you accurate intel, pal, but you put amateurs on the job and they messed up."

"Mr Chairman," said Cholmondeley, standing up to address screen 1, "my people assure me that we drilled to the exact depth specified...."

"No way," Stone too was standing, a head to head confrontation, all pretence at diplomacy gone, "we gave you accurate figures, you messed up..."

"How can you know that?" demanded Cholmondeley.

"You blew the whole bloody island to smithereens, you idiot," snapped Stone.

The formless voice cut across their altercation, "We lost our trail leading back to Al Qaeda."

Cholmondeley and Stone froze in their adversarial positions, then sank back into their chairs.

The flames flickered on the screen with the number 2 on it, "You blew it, our justification for going into Iran."

The man had pronounced Iran as 'eye-ran'; an American voice with American directness. The skull and crossed bones on the screen made Cholmondeley shiver.

"Well?" This from another screen, one further to the back of the room, showing the number 3.

Cholmondeley was furious at not being able to say what he felt, for not having the courage to walk away from this puerile nonsense with the flames and the numbers and the icons, but then he spoke and there was a tremor in his voice, "It wasn't our mistake."

"It so was," stated Stone, "who did the drilling?"

"This whole operation was a complete fiasco," this came from screen 4 on the left, a thin, reedy voice, but no mistaking the venom, "years of planning...all for nothing."

"Do you people realise how much money has been lost?" demanded screen 5, this one portraying the all-seeing eye of the Illuminati. The bored tones were at odds with the seriousness of the charge.

The voice continued, "Everything was in place; resources, media stories, the vote to the UN for the official invasion of Iran has been prepared, palms had been greased, we were ready for the off and now we have to stand everything down and treat the whole affair like a natural disaster."

Both Cholmondeley and Stone had realised at the same moment that further protest was only delaying the inevitable. They had been brought here to accept blame not extricate themselves from it. Both men appeared to lose physical stature in that abrupt realisation.

"The primaries are approaching, Stone," said the American voice behind screen 2, "any more screw-ups and our support goes elsewhere."

Cholmondeley suppressed a smirk, he at least could not be threatened with democratic removal, not after the destruction of Parliament and the loss of so many MPs. He was necessary. It was his time to shine.

"You may leave, Prime Minister Cholmondeley," said the voice behind screen 1.

Cholmondeley's face betrayed his concern; would something important be agreed behind his back? Then he rose from his seat, looked over to his sometime friend Orland Stone, cleared his throat and left the room, his tread slow and very uncertain.

As soon as the door had closed behind him the screen 2 interlocutor spoke, "Listen up, Stone. In the coming weeks there will be an atrocity against one of the Israeli settlements in the West Bank."

Stone stared at the screen, his mouth suddenly dry.

The voice continued, "Israel will be forced to make a radical decision."

Stone spoke without thinking, "What does that mean?"

"It is not for you to question," the screen 1 voice cut in sharply, "it is for you to listen and to do as we bid."

"I am the President of the United States," said Stone, finding strength from somewhere, "and I will not be spoken to like this."

"My dear Stone, I thought we had made quite clear the tenuous nature of your position," said the thin voice of screen 4, the icon a rose with a cross inside, "perhaps we weren't clear enough."

Stone stared at the screen, impotent fury burning through his veins.

The American voice continued, "Israel will be forced to clear the Palestinians from the West Bank for the sake of security."

"All of them?" asked Stone, aghast, "Surely not, there must be some other way."

"Damn right there's another way, Stone," said the American, impatient with his errant countryman, "but this is the way it's gonna be. The West Bank will become Israeli territory, as will Gaza in due course and the US of A will support Israel in this matter. The only question is whether it's under your leadership or not, remember that."

Stone's head fell; his brief resistance over.

"Now to further business," said the voice behind screen 1, "recent figures indicate that over 75% of Americans are now living below the poverty line."

"I've followed your economic plan to the letter," said Stone, "it's not my fault, the recession has bitten deeper than anyone could've imagined."

"We have examined the details," the cold voice continued, ignoring the interruption, "and most of those living in poverty are in the South; the Hispanic South-West and the Black belt of the South-East."

Stone shrugged; this was not news.

"We intend for the US to break up into four separate countries," said the hitherto silent partner behind screen 6, a thick tone to the voice, a slight hiss to the words. Stone's instinct said South American.

"What?" said Stone, "No, that can't happen, not on my watch. Not today or any day."

"As previously stated, quite succinctly by my esteemed colleague, it will happen, President Stone," said the man behind screen 6, "with or without your help."

Stone had some difficulty understanding quite what had been said, the rich accent distorting some of the words but the key message came over, loud and clear. He asked, knowing he shouldn't, "But why? What will it get you?"

There was silence, then muted murmurings. Stone was beginning to wonder if he should leave, and then screen 1 flickered and the cultured voice broke the stillness, "We have sufficient wealth. Retaining these redundant parts of America will merely serve to drain resources, add to our tax burden."

The American voice broke in, harshly, "Cut 'em loose an' let 'em rot."

"You're talking about the United States of America," said Stone, pulling himself to his feet, "that's the name of the country, the United States."

"Well, son," said the American, his voice dry, "times change."

Stone thought he heard him snicker.

"The relevant parties have been financed and they will begin pressing for independence in the coming months," said screen 1, "your job is to accommodate them, do you understand?"

Stone stared at the screen above the fire.

"I expect an answer, Stone."

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

∞

Cholmondeley was shocked at the sight of the man who came through the doors. He looked diminished. Gone was the boyishly bouncy, all-American kid made good, with his impossibly big, white teeth and equally impossible big hair and bone-crushing hand-shake.

Stone was shaking his head and muttering, "Looks like I'm going down as the President who oversaw the break up of the good old US of A."

"Surely they don't mean....." said Cholmondeley.

"They do mean exactly that," said Stone, "and don't think you guys got away with it either."

"What do you mean? Got away with what?"

"Brexit and that Scottish thing," said Stone, "that's just gonna come back and bite you in the ass."

"Did they mention that?"

"They didn't have to. Where'd' you think the pressure came from in the first place? Where'd'you think these fringe groups get their funding and media support?"

Cholmondeley loosened his collar, "Did they mention anything else about La Palma?"

"Like what?"

"About me?"

Stone sneered, "Not to me but if I were you I'd double my security detail."

"They did say something," pressed Cholmondeley.

"No, they didn't," stated Stone, "they threatened me with the coming elections, but they can't do that to you now. They'll need another stick to beat you with, to keep everyone else in line."

"Surely you don't think they'd...."

"Let's just say, I wouldn't make any long term plans."

Hope you have a nice weekend

Cheers

Arun



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Compendium editions