Molon Labe! (49 page)

Noticing Miles's furrowed brow, AG Vorn offers, "Think of it
this
way. You're an ambitious federal 'butler' with dreams of grandeur. Which national household would you prefer: one in which your freedom of action is confined
to
ABC;
or
, one in which you may do anything
except
XYZ?"

Basking in the gradual understanding on Miles's face, the AG milks the analogy still further. "The butler's constitutional contract was skimpy,
by design
. His prohibitory XYZs are very basic and not terribly inconvenient. Because of the
'general welfare'
and
'interstate commerce'
clauses, our lucky butler can_because the contract
doesn't
specifically say that he can
not
_raid the refrigerator, borrow the family car, and even sleep with the master's daughter. Oh, sure, the 'master' is complaining, but he is bound by his own hastily made contract. And, best yet, any changes in that contract can be proposed only by the congressional
maids
!"

A phlegmy wave of laughter sweeps the Oval Office, which Miles nervously joins.
Don't blow it, Phil. Hear this witch out.

Amidst the residual chuckles, Miles asks, "Yes, I follow you so far, but what about the 'control wires' and this other constitution?"

The AG plows on. "The 10th Amendment was merely built upon the foundation of the presidential oath. Remember, except for three or four fools, nobody at 1787 Philadelphia wanted a
limited
Federal Government. Nobody there
wanted
some Jeffersonian republic of yeoman farmers each under their own vine and fig tree
¹
. Why do you think the increasingly federalist Congress sent Jefferson to
Europe
during the crucial years of the mid-1780s? He would have single-handedly compromised our plans in Philadelphia and probably stolen Madison away from us several years earlier than he did. Only
after
the Constitution had been ratified and our Government had been on-line for six months was Jefferson allowed to return home in 1789. Then, he was given the cozy post of Secretary of State where he could be watched and overruled by Hamilton, our first Secretary of the Treasury.

"Anyway, back to the presidential oath. Even though the Constitution
for
the United States of America was contrived, written, and ratified by our political ancestors, it was not perfect for our purposes. You see, the substantial Jeffersonian sentiment of the day had to be assuaged with a Bill of Rights, else the Constitution could never have been ratified. Thus, the scrappy bone of freedom thrown to the people of the late 18th century has traveled full circle to become a bone in
our
throats. The Framers foresaw this would happen someday, so they wrote the presidential oath in such a way that
we
have a quiet, legal means for crushing that bone.

"Since you do not hold an actual office under the political trust of the people, you were not required to swear an oath, therefore you were not told of our 'Constitution
of
the United States.'"

"So, what
is
its meaning and purpose?" asks Miles tautly.

"It is only because of three factors that you may learn of it. One, its secret was blown in 1997 by a book called
Hologram of Liberty
. While its author had no
direct
proof of our Constitution, he did, quite amazingly, point to its
likely
existence through a succinct interweaving of historically circumstantial evidence. To use a physics analogy, he postulated the nature of electricity
before
the existence of electrons could be confirmed by scientific equipment. It probably had to happen eventually. Our activities had become
so
'unconstitutional' that somebody was bound to suggest that there must be another batch of 'programming' other than the visible
'Constitution
for
the United States
of America
.'
Move enough chairs around in an old house and someone's gonna cry
'Ghost!'
Royce finally did that and Preston must have read his book, even though it was generally ignored by the conservatives. The President's trust in you is the second." At this, the AG simply stopped talking, preferring to drink in Miles's suspense.

With visible restraint, Miles quietly asked, "Ms. Vorn, what
is
this so-called
'Constitution of the United States'
?"

"It's our private, hidden charter, Phil. To use a computer analogy, it's like a UNIX shell, or a hidden 'device driver' — a TSR, or Terminate and Stay Resident program, if you will.

"Most of us here are not computer programmers like you, Leah," the President gently offers.

"Right — sorry, sir. Before 1997, before
Hologram
, the masses had no idea that it even existed. In a nutshell, our little Constitution mandates our prime directive, which is the continuance and growth of the Federal Government over any and all other considerations. It mandates our allegiance to the federal 'U.S.' over the national U.S.A. It requires that Federal needs crowd out state concerns, that public policy shall precede individual rights, that corporate economics stand above employees and entrepreneurs, that powers of national emergency override the democratic process, and, most importantly, that political power is restored to its
rightful
place in the
Government.
We
are the sovereigns, Phil, not 'the People' and certainly not the states. The nation of the United States of America was always meant to be a
business,
and the corporate federal entity called the 'United States' is simply the board of directors for 'USA, Inc.' Through that nimble verbiage in the presidential oath, the U.S. runs the U.S.A."

Pausing for effect as this sunk in, Vorn summarizes this last point. "Did you
really
imagine that we'd allow the political and economic reality of this country to be dictated by some old piece of parchment kept in a nitrogen-filled case at the National Archives? No, we simply embrace Hamilton's view of the
'for the U.S.A.'
Constitution as
'a frail and worthless fabric...merely a stepping stone to something better.'
Phil,
everything
has been a 'stepping stone to something better.' The 1780s Annapolis and Philadelphia conventions, the Constitutions — both
'for the U.S.A.'
and
'of the U.S.'
— the
GATT
s and
NAFTA
s, even the UN charter. All stepping stones."

To the room Miles abruptly asks, "What is this 'something better'?" At a nod from President Connor, Secretary of State Harquist replies, "Why, the Godhood of mankind, of course."

"Sir?" says Miles.

"The unity of man necessary to reach our Godhood was interrupted at the Tower of Babel. Oh, yes; that corny Bible story was
quite
accurate, but that shattered unity has painstakingly been reassembled over the last six thousand years. Yes, Mr. Miles, we
are
gods — gods kept locked inside prison cells of flesh by that Cosmic Jailkeeper, the so-called 'Lord Almighty' who hoards the Light and punishes the Lightgiver, Lucifer. Americans prattle about political conspiracies to enslave
man
kind when the vilest conspiracy of all is right under their bovine noses — the Cosmic Conspiracy to enslave
God
kind."

Miles just sits there, skewered by the shock of it all.

FBI Director Klein studies him intently.

Uncorked, Harquist — that bow-tied, blinking gnome — continues in his reedy voice, "For centuries we endeavored to, so to speak, 'pick the lock' to our cell. We're far too advanced for that now. Five thousand years ago, we didn't understand the God Power — now we
do
. Our scientists and mystics have pierced the astral veil. That old miser holds no secrets from us anymore. We now know that we can simply walk
through
our prison walls, and believe me when I tell you, Mr. Miles, that we are on the verge of doing so. The Enlightened Ones in our midst have already pushed through, and we are poised to gather up our Select for the Transformation."

Miles's facade of rapt interest is but a retaining wall for the mounting black horror he feels inside. Looking about the room, he sees nothing but sly camaraderie. Devils all around him, he dares not risk even a syllable.
If I can just stay calm long enough to hear the rest and make a smooth exit.

Noticing Miles unconsciously fidgeting with his tie, Klein makes a mental note to himself.

Harquist drones on. "None of us here relishes the dirty work of politics, but it is necessary preparation for our Transformation. Since not all mankind may join us, we must ensure that those destined to remain behind as hairless apes cannot hinder us. The Constitutions, the Civil War, the World Wars, this Oval Office, the UN,
all of it
, is simply prelaunch activity. Have no illusions, Mr. Miles, we
rule
this world, and all the other worlds out there we will rule also."

In spite of his emotional nausea, Miles manages to conjure up a credible visage of awe.

"Well said, Julius, thank you," the President smoothly interjects, signaling the end to any further galactic musings.

The man always admitted far too much, which is why River Lethe Press pullquist's book just after publication. Like Carroll Quigley's
Tragedy and Hope
, which outlined the Insiders' plan to rule the masses through police state technology, it wasn't good policy for Big Brother to brag before having first achieved all of his goals.

"So, Phil, now you know 'the rest of the story.' We can't make an issue of Preston's 'corrected' oath as it would publicize the matter and cause questions. I'm sure you understand."

Miles offers a solemn nod. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Shall we return now to Governor Preston?" the President asks.

Ending for the day Miles's education, the congregated demigods renew their snide viewing of the Preston speech. It is agreed that the Wyoming Governor should not be permitted to complete a successful term of office.

"Have you any thoughts on that, Leah?" inquires the President.

The AG greedily resumes center stage. "Preston is like some blind man groping around in the dark with one hand on our ankle. While he'll probably never realize
what
he's actually got, nevertheless the damage he can do will delay us, and we can brook no more delays. All of you know that we're at least six years behind schedule as it is. If those people weren't so well armed we could have dealt with them under Clinton. If Preston succeeds in leading Wyoming and other western states to
de facto
secession, we will lose our golden opportunity for decades.

"So, you see, it's not about just Wyoming. It's not even about just the country. It's about us realizing our Transformation. No man, no state, and no country is worth our failure. Preston has stumbled onto something and the rest is merely sequential association. He's a smart man, but what's more disturbing, he's also
lucky
. Smart
and
lucky usually spell disaster. We simply cannot allow him to grope around for much longer, else he might begin to recognize the shapes he feels."

"Just so," Connor grants, as the rest nod in agreement.

"Maybe some infidelity scandal here would suit our purpose?" the Secretary of State suggests.

A rude thought crosses Connor's mind.
Harquist
should talk. He's not even faithful to his own wife, much less to his
mistress
!

"The public would never believe it, Julius," answers Vorn. "That's Ward and June Cleaver you're talking about."

"Leah's right, Julius. Besides, the Bureau has already examined the man from teeth to toenails, and he's absolutely clean. A real Boy Scout," muses Klein.

"We've got over five million federal laws on the books, Ted. You can't tell me that Preston has abided by every
one
of them!" Harquist counters. "I mean, what else are those laws
for
?"

"We all take your point, Julius, but this administration cannot be seen as attacking a popular state governor — especially one hyper-critical of the Government — with some obscure regulation," explains the President.

AG Vorn says, "What a shame there's been no link so far to Krassny." "If Preston were Krassny's nephew or something," says Miles, "the media would shred him to bits." Miles figured he had to offer
something
, and this remark was generic enough to be safe.

Aaron Stanford, Secretary of the Treasury, enters the discussion. "Mr. President, I've already asked IRS Commissioner Belton to review Preston's business affairs. I'm confident that some kind of case could be assembled in time. Income tax evasion is a very pliable tool."

"It would have to go way beyond mere evasion, Aaron. We'd need outright tax
fraud
to sink his ship," the President asserts.
Just like Wiedermann, the prick.

"Maybe even some RICO
²
charges as well," says Klein.

"Ah,
RICO
. I've always thought that was such a mellifluous word," purrs AG Vorn. The room chuckles at this.

Phillip Miles stares about the Oval Office, neither seeing nor hearing, his mind swimming.

The meeting continues in that vein for several more minutes with a firm resolve to deal with Preston at the soonest viable opportunity.

Back at his office, Miles aimlessly shuffled some papers about, giving up at just after 5PM.
What have I gotten myself involved in?

Feigning a headache, he collected his briefcase, left the White House through the East Entrance and drove northwest on Pennsylvania Avenue towards his Georgetown condo on Avon Place NW near R Street. He never noticed Washington Circle's snarled traffic with its miasma of honking and profanity. Fortunately, he missed getting delayed by one of the random but ubiquitous US Army mobile checkpoints.