Experience Page 18

  “You've never understood my relationship with Vonner.”

  Thorne laughed. “No, you've never understood your relationship with Vonner.”

  “This will be a lot easier if we just stop arguing about the past and who we both are, and instead talk about our goals for the future. I really think you'll see we have common ground.”

  “I assumed you brought me here because you’re worried about NorthBridge. You think I have influence. Maybe you’re starting to believe the talk that there really could be a revolution, or civil war, in America. Perhaps you think I have the power to sway that course.”

  “You're correct that you're here because I believe you can help, but not because I think you can stop NorthBridge. I want you to assist us when we go after the REMies.”

  Thorne looked startled, clearly surprised by the word “REMies”, enough so that Hudson knew Thorne had most certainly heard it before, and therefore understood the seriousness of the situation. This wasn't just talk about the Illuminati, wealthy families, or global elites, whom Thorne had railed against numerous times on his radio shows.

  Hudson could see Thorne trying to figure it out, wondering if this was a REMie effort to lure Thorne in so he could be neutralized, or if Hudson might be the first president who really planned to do something about it. The fact that Thorne knew the word, yet had never used it publicly, meant even the brazen shock-jock feared the cartel of billionaires who ran the world. That sobering thought prevented Hudson from smiling at Thorne’s plight, a man who had never been at a loss for words trying to figure out what to say.

  “Are you for real?” Thorne finally asked.

  Hudson nodded.

  “What about Vonner?” Thorne pressed, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for the assassin. “You do know he’s a REMie?”

  “I told you, he doesn’t own me. I don’t work for him,” Hudson said firmly. “I work for the American people.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, a slight smile creasing his face. “When? How long has this been going on? Maybe it wasn't NorthBridge taking shots at you all those times. Maybe it was the REMies.”

  “Tell me what you know about the REMies,” Hudson said.

  “Why don't you go first, Mr. President.”

  They talked for another half an hour. Thorne, reluctant to trust the president at first, finally agreed to help after Hudson told him about Cherry Tree.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Melissa smiled as she entered the Oval Office, happy Hudson had returned from Florida earlier than expected. “How’d it go with our friend?”

  “Good. Let’s go for a walk.”

  The first couple wandered the White House grounds in what had become a nearly daily ritual. Hudson filled her in on Thorne, gave her the latest update from Crane’s efforts at building a case against the REMies, and was most excited to tell her about Rochelle’s new home in Hawaii.

  “Yeah, but have you heard Schueller’s latest song?” she asked after listening to his ramblings.

  “No, is it good?”

  Melissa squinted as if maybe she suddenly didn’t recognize him. “Aren’t all of his songs good?”

  He laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “You should hear it. Spend some time with him. You, more than any of us, know how short life is. Don’t forget to smell the flowers.” She winked. “And listen to the music.”

  Hudson checked in with the Wizard on his way to a recording session where Schueller would be laying down his new song. It was only the third time he’d left the White House since the Air Force One attack to go anywhere other than the Florida beach house or Camp David. But even Fitz agreed that the president of the United States could not be seen as a prisoner in the White House, or, worse yet, a coward.

  “Dawg, don’t you feel it? Since Rochelle’s been free, it’s like the internal energy flow is more powerful. Wild how no matter how much the force increases, it’s still interdependent on everything else,” the Wizard said. “When are you going to see her?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “Does she know you’re coming?”

  “No, I’m afraid she’ll refuse to see me.”

  “Even after you had her rescued?”

  “Thirty years too late,” Hudson said as the motorcade rolled down 16th Street, closed off for his protection.

  “I guess so,” the Wizard replied. “Gouge would like to see her, too, but he’s afraid.”

  “Of Rochelle?”

  “Of whoever’s killing the people who were there that night.”

  “It’s been a while since they struck.”

  “Well, yeah, they can’t get you, and they can’t find Gouge, his dad, or me.”

  “His dad’s still in hiding?”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t you be? I still can’t believe how shaky his voice got when I told him that someone knew what had happened.”

  “He must have been thinking there was a connection between the deaths and Rochelle.”

  “He’d lost track of a few of the guys, and didn’t know.”

  “Any idea where he went?” Hudson asked as the limousine turned onto Georgia Avenue.

  “No, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Then how do you know he’s still alive?”

  “He checks in with Gouge every few days,” the Wizard said. “Dawg, you gotta talk to Gouge. He really wants to see you. You haven’t seen him since everything went down— Zackers’ drive, all the killings, Rochelle going free . . . ”

  “Man, I can’t,” Hudson said. “It’s way too risky, for both of us.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re gonna try.”

  “I have to go,” Hudson said as The Beast pulled up to the recording studio.

  Hudson expected another one of Schueller’s “protest songs.” His son had become quite popular among college students. His debut album, filled with anti-global elite anthems and cloaked references of their domination, without using the term “REMie”, had actually been receiving considerable radio play. He wanted to go on tour, but the security concerns and risks made it impossible.

  A minute into the song, Hudson became emotional, as he realized this was no political song. Schueller had composed a beautiful tribute to his late mother.

  Hudson nodded to his son as he sung the last words and opened his eyes. Afterwards, he hugged his son. “Will you sing it again?”

  Schueller did. When he finished for the second time, he noticed his father was unusually sad. Schueller sang the chorus again, and then again, while looking into his father’s eyes, coaxing him to sing along. He repeated the words, again and again. Father and son sang together, softly at first, and then louder, egging each other on. They sang loudly, over each other, reaching a ridiculous high, causing the other band members to laugh out loud. The engineer actually recorded them together! Hudson and Schueller ended up laughing uncontrollably, harder than they had since Schueller’s mother died. With tears streaming down their faces, they hugged long and hard.

  When Hudson finally pulled away, he wiped his eyes and said, “She would have loved it. Mom would have been so proud of you, and so am I.” He paused, and whispered almost inaudibly, “She can hear your songs.”

  Tarka, her left arm still in a cast, lingered on a rooftop near the recording studio. Now that the president was back in circulation, she had resumed her primary mission of protecting him from all kinds of threats. She sat quietly, monitoring the area, alert to anything remotely out of the ordinary. She observed several Secret Service CAT members, but they didn’t see her. A two-person VS backup team was stationed at a nearby restaurant; its Art Deco motif and colored lights illuminating the front entrance were visible from Tarka’s vantage point. She could even smell the cooking grease. If all went well, her team would get her takeout, and she’d eat it en route back to the White House, and then, eventually, get back to the hotel and sleep.

  Crane, because part of his cover was being a member of Schueller’s band, was also at the studio. He looked the part
of a garage band rocker—long frizzy hair, scraggly beard and mustache. He might pass for a twenty-year old drug dealer, but he was twenty-eight, and could code and dance across the DarkNet unimpeded. Instead of playing an instrument, he was working in the corner on a secure laptop. Schueller and Hudson huddled with him as the other musicians cracked some beers in the breakroom.

  The Secret Service agents were all outside, every entrance covered. Only two agents covered the inner studio—007, and another whom the president trusted.

  “Are we getting closer?” Hudson asked in a hushed tone, even though no one could hear them.

  “We’re so close. Like train-on-the-tracks close,” Crane said. “I've totally got them on the nineteen twenty-nine stock market crash. They planned the whole dammed Great Depression. Check this out.”

  Crane pulled up several screens in succession showing various graphs, financial data, and other facts which purported to prove the links between REMie activity, the media, and the end result of what they created into historical reality. It was hard to follow, but Crane was working to make it simpler and more digestible, at least for the initial announcements. The Cherry Tree plan called for all the supporting work to be released, documenting the entire REMie history of what was, in fact, an endless series of MADE events and conspiracies.

  “And see this?” Crane asked as he pulled up another screen. “You may have heard of what was called ‘The Business Plot’ or ‘The White House Coup,’ which took place back in 1933 when a group of ‘wealthy businessmen,’ which included J.P. Morgan, the DuPonts, the Remington Arms family, and even Prescott Bush—whose son and grandson became president—tried to recruit Marine Corps Major General Smedley Butler to oust President Franklin Roosevelt in a coup d'état.”

  “Yes, I always thought of it as just an odd and obscure footnote in history,” Hudson said. “But now, thinking of it in context of all we’ve learned, it’s another piece of the puzzle fit into place.”

  “Yeah, they weren’t just ‘wealthy businessmen,’ they were REMies, and it was a CapWar,” Crane said. “Can you imagine if it had been successful?”

  “If I recall correctly, the House of Representatives investigated,” Hudson said. “The McCormack-Dickstein Committee on Un-American Activities. But much of it was done in secret, and then the transcripts were heavily edited and redacted. I think the full transcripts of the hearings actually disappeared.”

  “You really were a history teacher, weren’t you?” Crane said. “I think records of the hearing might exist. During the past twenty years, the National Archives has done an amazing job at organizing and digitizing their massive trove of documents.”

  “I still don’t get how incriminating documents would just be left around,” Schueller said.

  “Remember the first lesson,” Hudson replied. “Those who believe the Illuminati exist have always assumed they were one group. That was never true. We now know that it was the REMies, and they do not act as one. Rather, they’ve been at war with each other for well over a century.”

  “I know, but—”

  “They keep dirt on each other,” Crane interrupted. “So somewhere there are documents showing what that coup was all about, and who was involved. And it doesn’t stop there. The same bad actors helped fund the Nazis and coerced the US into World War II.”

  Crane brought up a screen filled with financial transactions between German and American companies and banks during the 1930s, and continuing into the war years. Next, he showed them an overlay of each major war. Hudson had seen the list before, but now Crane was actually documenting how the REMies CapWars had transpired, resulting in a dramatic increase in REMie MADE events.

  “Look back at the first world war,” Crane began. “Prescott Bush’s father, Samuel P. Bush, a close buddy of the Rockefellers, was appointed to the War Industries Board as chief of the Ordnance, Small Arms, and Ammunition Section, meaning he was basically in charge of government dealings with munitions companies. He was also on the board of the Remington Arms Company!”

  “REMies sure know how to profit from war,” Schueller muttered.

  “Remington sold weapons to both sides,” Crane said. He switched the screen to the list of major CapWars. Hudson had also seen the list before, but now there was also a color-coded section showing false media stories at the time that helped shape public opinion.

  1913 – US Federal Income Tax begins and Federal Reserve Bank System established, creating the authority of the private bankers to issue Federal Reserve notes (known as US Dollars today).

  1929-1935 – US Stock market crash and worldwide depression. After which the pyramid with the all-seeing eye in the capstone first appeared on the back of the US dollar bill.

  1939 – World War II begins.

  1963 – US president John F. Kennedy assassinated for refusing to cooperate with the REMies.

  1976 – US president Jimmy Carter elected – REMies involvement unclear.

  1987 – US and world stock markets crash.

  2001 – Terrorist attacks of September 11th.

  2008 – Financial crisis and great recession which followed.

  Schueller asked Crane to enlarge another interactive table illustrating how major media companies had aided in selling every US war for the last hundred and twenty-five years.

  “It's incredible how many people have died for no reason other than greed and a lust for power,” Schueller said.

  Through the glass separating the studio from the sound engineer’s room, 007 caught Hudson’s attention and pointed to his watch. Time to go. They’d been in one place too long. Hudson nodded to agent Bond.

  “Much of the media in this country has long been nothing more than an extremely efficient propaganda machine for the REMies,” Crane said. “And I have proof. Gypsy is linking it all together.”

  “How soon until it’s ready for prime time?” Hudson asked.

  “A few more weeks.”

  “Make it sooner.”

  Just before the president headed back to the White House, he told Schueller that Thorne had already begun to implement the early stages of Cherry Tree.

  “He’s laying the groundwork,” Hudson said. “Crane’s work will be stage two.”

  “Do you really think we can trust Thorne?”

  “He hates the REMies as much as we do. That’s enough.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Schueller said. “It’s almost like we’re putting the REMies on notice. I’m not sure they need any more advantages.”

  “All we have is the truth,” Hudson said quietly. “We have to start telling it.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Fitz interrupted the president during a meeting with his secretary of state and other senior advisors about the diplomatic efforts to avoid war with China.

  “Mr. President, there's been another NorthBridge attack,” Fitz said. “They hit one of our bases in Texas, wiped out seventeen long-range UAVs.”

  The President and Secretary of State exchanged a worried glance. UAVs, or Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, commonly known as drones, had become the backbone of the US Military’s ability to project power around the world. For years, they had been used to bomb targets in more than a half a dozen countries, and they provided a major advantage against China, should war come.

  “Predators? Reapers?” the president asked, naming two of the most advanced drones.

  Fitz nodded.

  “How do we know it was NorthBridge?”

  Everyone in the room knew where the question was coming from. NorthBridge had never claimed responsibility for the Air Force One attack, although most people assumed they had done it. The experts knew that NorthBridge had never been linked to an attack that they had not claimed.

  “It's on their website,” Fitz said. “Along with a statement from AKA Washington about drones not being a fair military tactic. He called UAVs a cowardice tool meant only to advance the corrupt empire of the elites.”

  Another man entered the room, the administration’
s expert on NorthBridge. “Sir, we have more on the situation in Texas,” he said, addressing the president. “No injuries. Apparently, they timed the strike so it would result in no casualties of any kind except for the UAVs.”

  “How could they know that?” the president asked.

  “They’re making a point that they can get anywhere, anytime,” the man replied.

  “And something else,” Fitz added, bristling. “Thorne has already cheered the attack on his radio show, calling for Americans to realize that drones make war too cheap and too easy.”

  “Covington's going to have a field day with this latest garbage from Thorne,” the Secretary of State said. “I can't believe there hasn't already been a FaST raid on Thorne. The guy is a NorthBridge sympathizer at the very least, aiding and abetting after-the-fact, and, for all we know, he might actually be one of their leaders.”

  The Secretary of Defense walked in with two uniformed aides. “Sorry, Mr. President, I was delayed in overseeing the locking down of all our bases worldwide. We’ve raised the alert status and already launched an investigation in Texas.”

  “Any guesses how they could have breached security and timed it to avoid human casualties?” the president asked.

  “The Chinese,” the Defense Secretary said. “We have indications that the MSS is backing NorthBridge.”

  Hudson wasn’t surprised to hear his own Defense Secretary blaming the Ministry of State Security of the People’s Republic of China. It had become fashionable to blame China for everything. The media was full of anti-China stories every day.

  “What indications?” the president asked.

  The Secretary of Defense produced satellite images which purported to show Chinese-made weapons being transferred to NorthBridge in remote areas of Canada, as well as CIA photos of known MSS agents meeting with alleged NorthBridge members.