[Lady Justice 22] - Lady Justice and the Conspiracy Trial Read online

  I could feel my blood starting to boil. “The American people need to know they’re being duped and poisoned. Why isn’t someone doing something? Why aren’t people angry as hell?”

  “Good question,” Nick replied. “The information is certainly out there. The Internet is full of websites crammed with proof of what is going on, but no one seems to care. In fact, the Italians have just posted an hour-long video about chemtrails and geo-engineering. Unfortunately it’s in Italian, but there are English subtitles. You should watch it.”

  He tapped his computer, scribbled an IP address on a slip of paper and handed it to me.

  http://www.theeventchronicle.com/study/italian-chemtrails-secret-war-free-film/#

  “The sad part,” he continued, “is that some kid can take a video of himself lighting a fart, or someone can record a prank on a friend, or a cute kitten, and the thing will go viral with millions of hits, but no one pays attention to videos about one of the greatest lies ever perpetrated on humankind.

  “Then there’s the books. Crichton’s State of Fear, and your friend Thornhill’s Lady Justice and the Conspiracy, to name a few. People read them, but nothing happens.”

  “And that’s not the worst of it,” Arnie continued, continuing to beat one of his favorite drums. “People should be demanding that fluoride be removed from their drinking water. People should be furious that high fructose corn syrup is linked to diabetes, heart disease, obesity, and a host of other immunological problems, and yet it is in a high percentage of products on our grocery shelves. Instead, some whacko does some dastardly deed with a Confederate flag and the whole country rises up in indignation demanding that a hundred years of American history be erased. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Listening to them was disheartening, but true, and it brought back the Professor’s words when I asked him why people don’t care. “Apathy, frustration and complacency.”

  “So what’s the answer?” I asked, knowing full well what their reply would be.

  “We wish we knew,” Arnie replied. “We just hope people wake up before it’s too late.”

  “Speaking of that,” I replied, “I read that ‘Deep Shield’ committed suicide. Do you find it strange that so many whistleblowers wind up dead under unusual circumstances?”

  “Not strange at all,” Arnie replied. “The government has them by the balls from the very beginning. Have you ever heard of Kevin Shipp?”

  I shook my head.

  “He was a former CIA officer and anti-terrorism expert. He wrote a book, From the Company of Shadows, where he exposed what was happening behind the curtain of government secrecy. In an interview with Dane Wigington of geoengineeringwatch.org, he described a bone-chilling account of what many government employees are subjected to, which explains why so few are bold enough to come forward. Nick, get that printout and read some of it for Walt.”

  Nick went back to the file cabinet. “We copied this directly off the geoengineeringwatch website.”

  Why don’t more “whistle blowers” come out to expose illegal or unconstitutional secret government operations? If these activities are so illegal, why are people not coming forward to report them?

  Over the last fifty years, US government intelligence agencies have perfected a complex, sequential system to systematically silence or destroy any employee, including his or her family, who attempts to reveal illegal or unconstitutional activities conducted as part of secret government operations.

  As a condition of employment, military and intelligence employees recruited for secret operations are required to sign a “secrecy agreement” or “nondisclosure agreement” before being given access to the position, which offers high pay and status in the organization. This agreement threatens civil and criminal penalties if the employee reveals ANY information regarding the program. Thinking the agreement will only be used for legal purposes and will get them the coveted job, all employees eagerly sign it.

  This secrecy agreement was originally designed to protect legitimate classified information, to protect military personnel during wartime and protect legitimate national defense information and technology.

  However, because of the binding power of the agreement, government agencies began using it as a powerful tool to silence federal employees who question the legality of certain government operations. It was the perfect tool to threaten, silence or jail any whistle blower who dared to challenge the secret operations of government.

  Today, the secrecy agreement is routinely used as an efficient weapon to intimidate or silence employees. Annual refresher briefings are given to remind employees of the penalties for violating the agreement. These penalties include huge fines, termination, financial ruin and even prison – all of which mean the destruction of their lives and their families. Most will not reveal any wrongdoing, no matter how egregious, for fear of calculate, severe retribution.

  When employees sign the secrecy agreement and are cleared for classified programs, they are not told they are giving up their right to a jury trial, or to sue the agency that hired them. If they try to do so as a whistle blower, they find they have no right to be heard in federal court. Many have found this out when their case was denied; then it was too late. That is part of the system.

  If a courageous employee continues to proceed and blow the whistle, a system of personal and career destruction follows. This begins with promotions being denied, being turned down for sensitive or career enhancing assignments, and their files being flagged, ruining their reputation inside their agency. At this point their career is over. If they go quietly, the retribution stops.

  When the employee still continues their effort to report the information, their travel records, personnel records, medical records and security records are searched for mistakes or damaging information that can be used to threaten them with termination. Their telephones and computers are monitored searching for incriminating information. If no substantive information can be found, it is fabricated and placed in their file.

  Employees who refuse to back down are then subjected to internal “security investigations,” multiple, hostile “interviews,” attempting to get them to recant their information, and multiple polygraph interrogations.

  If the employee contacts a member of the news media, they are immediately cited with violating their secrecy agreement and criminal penalties are filed against them. Several news media outlets are connected to the CIA and NSA and notify them of the employee’s contact.

  After termination or forced resignation, interest rates on their internal credit union loans are raised to make the payments unaffordable. The release of the employee’s retirement funds needed to provide for their family are blocked (a felony). The agency black lists them from gaining employment with other government agencies or contractors, further ruining them financially.

  Dehumanized, financially ruined and under severe emotional and mental pressure, the employee’s family begins to break apart. If the family’s foundation is not strong, this results in alcoholism, depression and divorce. In some cases, it has resulted in the employee committing suicide, the ultimate goal of the program of destruction. This silences the employee permanently, obscuring the agency’s role in their destruction. It is the perfect crime.

  When he was finished, I sat in stunned silence.

  “So,” Nick concluded, “you can see what happens when someone decides to spill the beans.”

  “Holy crap!” I replied. “That certainly explains why, out of the thousands of people who must be involved in this chemtrail thing, only a very few have come forward --- and many of them are dead or missing.”

  “Meanwhile,” Arnie interjected, “like the old song says, ‘the beat goes on.’”

  While my visit with Arnie and Nick was less than comforting, it certainly helped make up my mind about the contents of the manila envelope.

  There was no way in hell I was going to risk my life and the lives of my family and friends, to try and bring a message to people wh
o probably wouldn’t listen anyway.

  CHAPTER 8

  I arrived at our building the same time as Dad, who pulled into a parking spot one car ahead of me.

  When he hopped out, I hardly recognized the old dude. He was wearing camo cargo pants and a baggy shirt with ‘American Eagle’ on the front. He looked like a geriatric Rambo. The passenger door opened, Bernice grabbed Dad’s hand, and the two of them hailed me and waived.

  “Walt! Hold up! We’ve got some exciting news.”

  Based on Dad’s new wardrobe, I had a good idea of what was coming.

  “We’ve passed our course and have our concealed carry permits --- both of us,” he said proudly, patting Bernice on the butt.

  Exciting wasn’t exactly the adjective I would have used. Scary, maybe.

  “Uhhh, congratulations, I think.”

  “Thanks,” he replied, beaming. “I knew you’d be proud of us.”

  Again, ‘proud’ wasn’t the word I was inclined to use.

  “We’ve just come from the gun store. We’ve been trying on holsters all morning. Bernice wanted a shoulder holster, but it kept getting tangled in her saggy old boob.”

  Bernice punched him on the shoulder. “You didn’t have to tell that!”

  “Anyway,” Dad continued unfazed, “she finally settled on an ankle holster.”

  Bernice coyly lifted her skirt revealing the .32 strapped to her scrawny calf.

  “Now all we have to worry about is her tinkling on it and getting it rusty. Shouldn’t be a problem as long as she wears her Depends.”

  Bernice punched him again. “John, you know that only happens when I sneeze or laugh too hard.”

  “None of them felt right for me, so I decided to just carry my 9mm here,” he said, patting the bulge in the big square pocket of his cargo pants.

  Sadly, it was beginning to look like Dad’s new wardrobe was a permanent fixture.

  “Well, I’m happy for you both. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Of course we’ll be careful. We took the eight hour training class. Most of it was about gun safety. Tell Walt the two basic rules, Bernice.”

  Without hesitation, she jumped right in. “Rule number 1. Always point the gun in a safe direction and never point it at something you don’t want to shoot. Rule number 2. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

  “See,” Dad said, proudly, “we’ve got it covered. And look here,” he said, pulling two targets out of a bag. “We had to qualify on the range. We had to get fifteen of twenty shots in the target. See for yourself how we did.”

  I was surprised to see that both of them put all twenty shots in the target.

  “Impressive.”

  “Thanks. Well, we’ve gotta run. Our instructor gave us some YouTube videos on shooting and gun safety, so we’ll be busy for a while. Catch you later.”

  With that, the two of them were off, acting like kids on Christmas morning with a new toy.

  I was torn. For two people in their nineties, this new adventure was a two-edged sword. I was happy that they had found something to share that gave them joy. I just hoped they could handle the responsibility that comes with carrying a gun.

  That evening, Maggie and I had just finished supper and were just about to settle in to watch the last season of American Idol, when the phone rang.

  It was Kevin.

  “If you and Maggie aren’t too busy, Veronica and I would like to stop by for a few minutes.”

  What could I say but yes. Thankfully, we had a DVR to record Idol so we wouldn’t miss a single note. The wonders of modern technology.

  When we were all seated in our living room, Kevin began. “Veronica and I have been talking, and well, we just don’t see any reason to put this off. There’s really no reason for a long engagement and I’m not getting any younger over here. We want to be married as soon as possible.”

  Maggie and I had both figured this would be the case and were not surprised.

  “Makes sense to us,” I replied. “Do you have a date in mind?”

  “Not yet. I guess it kind of depends on how we’re going to proceed. We talked about just going to the courthouse and getting it over with, but that didn’t seem quite right. This is a first for both of us, and for sure will be the last for me, so we thought we might want to have something a bit more memorable --- nothing fancy, mind you. Just a simple ceremony with our closest friends and family.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Maggie replied. “How can we help?”

  Kevin actually blushed. “It may sound corny, but we’d really like Pastor Bob to perform the ceremony. You know him a lot better than we do. Would the two of you mind going with us to talk to him?”

  “Of course not,” I replied. “I’m sure Pastor Bob would be honored. When would you like to do it?”

  “How about tomorrow morning?”

  Obviously Kevin wasn’t kidding about wasting time.

  I looked at Maggie and she nodded. “Sure, I’ll call Bob and see if he’s available tomorrow.”

  “One more thing,” Kevin said, sheepishly, “Veronica and I would really like for the two of you to stand up with us --- you know, best man and matron of honor.”

  I looked at Maggie and she nodded again. “We’d love to.”

  Two years ago, Maggie didn’t even know if her long-lost brother was alive, and here we were, planning to be part of his wedding.

  Life is full of surprises.

  Pastor Bob is my kind of guy. He is devout and totally committed to his ministry, but the sign on the placard outside his church bears the John Wesley quote, “Sour godliness is the devil’s religion.”

  While I certainly believe in a Higher Power, organized religion has never been my cup of tea. Fortunately, Pastor Bob is more concerned with how a person lives his life than where he spends his Sunday mornings.

  One day when I shared my concern over my lack of attendance at his services, he calmly replied, “Sitting in church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.”

  Needless to say, when I’m in need of spiritual guidance, Pastor Bob is my guy.

  The door to the church is open pretty much all the time, so the four of us made our way to Bob’s office.

  Bob had met Kevin and Veronica before and knew something of their backgrounds.

  After greetings were exchanged, I explained why we were there, since I knew the pastor better than anyone else.

  When I was finished, Bob turned to Kevin and Veronica. “I’m sure the two of you have thought this through and are not taking this union lightly, so I would be happy to officiate your ceremony. What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Uhhh, nothing fancy,” Kevin stammered. “We just want to keep it simple. Close friends and family. We were thinking maybe Walt’s dad could help us get the Teamster’s lodge.”

  Bob was confused. “Teamster’s lodge? Why not here at the church?”

  “I --- I just thought it wouldn’t be right,” Veronica replied, hanging her head. “I know you know what I used to be --- what I used to do, and I just figured having the service in church would be some kind of sacrilege.”

  Bob reached out and took her hand. “My dear girl, have you ever heard of Mary Magdalene?”

  Veronica shook her head.

  “While there is some disagreement among scholars, it is believed that Mary Magdalene may have been in the same business as you used to be. It is, after all, called the world’s oldest profession. In spite of her sordid past, Mary became one of our Savior’s strongest disciples and was with him during his crucifixion and resurrection. The Lord doesn’t look at people as they used to be, he looks at them as they are now, and I believe He would be proud to have the two of you joined together in holy matrimony in His church, if that’s what you want.”

  Kevin and Veronica both nodded, tears glistening in their eyes.

  Pastor Bob had come through again.

  It seemed, for the moment at lea
st, everything was right with the world.

  We had been home just a few minutes when the phone rang, changing everything.

  “Walt, this is Kevin. When we got home, someone had bashed out one of the headlights in Veronica’s car and scratched ‘WHORE’ on the side in huge letters. She’s beside herself.”

  I was stunned. “Any idea who could have done such a horrible thing? Maybe one of her old johns?”

  “We don’t think so. She hasn’t been hookin’ for over a year, and when she was, it was strictly business. She never had any kind of relationship with a client --- until I came along.”

  “What can we do?”

  “I don’t know what to do. Here I am, a P.I., and I don’t have any idea where to begin.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No, you think I should?”

  “Absolutely! Let me give Ox a call. Maybe the CSI guys can find some prints.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

  Ox and his partner, Amanda, took the vandalism report, but the CSI team came up empty.

  Two days later, we were supposed to go with Kevin and Veronica to help pick out rings.

  We were just leaving the apartment, when the phone rang.

  “Walt, Kevin here. He’s hit again.”

  “Who are you talking about? Hit what?”

  “This morning we found a note someone had slipped under our door. It simply said, ‘If you want Fred to live, get out of his life forever.’”

  I was confused. “Who the hell is Fred?”

  Then it hit me. When Kevin was in Phoenix in witness protection, the name the U.S. Marshalls gave him was Fred Fenton. He didn’t start using his real name until he returned to Kansas City.

  “Fred Fenton,” I said. “It looks like this is a person from your past, not Veronica’s. Can you think of any old enemies who might have tracked you down and are looking for some payback?”

  “Are you kidding?” he replied. “I was a gumshoe for hire. I took pictures of cheating husbands and corrupt politicians. Of course I have enemies who would love to take a crack at me, but that really doesn’t explain the message, does it? The note said for Veronica to get out of my life. It just doesn’t make sense.”