THE WARNING A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series Book 2) (12 page)

Solid
Word Baptist Church

Lansing,
Michigan

        
Had the Pastor of the Solid Word Baptist Church of Lansing,
Michigan known what would happen as a result of his decision, he would have
never allowed his barber to hold a meeting in his church on that fateful Friday
evening. The Pastor had known his barber since they attended high school
together. Consequently, the Pastor knew that his friend and barber was active
in both the Michigan Tea Party and the state’s leading gun rights organization.
The church seated over five hundred, using the two rows of seats in the small
balcony. A count of those who attended the Friday night meeting showed that
over seven hundred had crammed into the sanctuary to hear what they could do to
take their country back.

        
Organizers of the Friday night meeting used the internet and
a local conservative talk show to invite people to attend. As a result, the
meeting not only attracted people who were concerned about what they had been
reading in e-messages about Communists in the White House, it also attracted
three undercover federal agents, wired to record every word spoken. Many words
were spoken. Each was recorded, transcribed and promptly circulated in DC to
those who had a great deal of interest in what was said by angry Americans in
Lansing, Michigan.

        
Most of the words said were by scared Americans. Scared that
their country had been covertly taken over by people who were acting contrary
to their best interests and those of America. Scared that they might lose their
futures as free Americans. Scared that they had been so easily fooled in the
Presidential campaigns, twice. Scared that it wouldn’t be easy to take back
their country. But, more scared that if they didn’t try to take it back, even
if by armed force, their children and grandchildren were doomed to a
collectivist, socialist future.

        
After almost three hours of heated, passionate rhetoric the
Pastor’s barber closed the meeting. His final words were the words most
circulated in the nation’s capital the next day. Standing before the crowd,
many of whom were weeping, holding out his extended arms, he said, “My
friends….my neighbors….my family….my fellow believers, in many cases….and my
fellow patriots….we have
only one choice
.
None of us wants to give up, to give in to these
sneaky, thieving Commies
. They may have taken over the government,
they have fraudulently grabbed the White House and the media, and who knows
what else, but they haven’t yet taken over
our
hearts
. America’s dead soldiers, and sailors, and airmen and marines, and
all who gave their lives for their country and freedom, are looking down on us
to see if we can
keep
what they have
given
us….Will this free country
remain free
?….Or, instead, will we give
it over to the followers of Karl Marx and watch it be destroyed in front of our
very eyes?....As for me, I would rather
die
than let it be known that I was a
coward
….that
I was not willing to take up arms to
take
my country back
. We can do nothing further tonight, except pray. But
tomorrow, talk to your friends, family and everyone you know. Tell them what
you’ve heard. Tell them to
get ready!
 
The time to
fight for America
will soon be upon us. God bless and good night!”

        
The words spoken in Lansing accelerated the commencement of
plans already in place in Washington, DC.

Churchill
Downs

Louisville,
Kentucky

        
Roy Henry had been a sniper while a member of the United
States Marines. He was good at what he did. Since returning to civilian life
Roy had maintained his skills. On his small farm just outside of Mount Vernon,
Indiana Roy had constructed a shooting range with a berm behind his targets to
catch bullets. He practiced weekly, each time lengthening the distance to the
target. Eventually, Roy could hit the bull’s eye of a standard paper target
from several thousand feet away. His favorite firearm for sniping was a Barrett
M82A1, which cost him more than his Ford 250 turbo diesel pick up truck.

        
Once Roy was convinced that his country had been taken over
by Communists Roy knew he couldn’t just sit idly by and let them get away with
it. His first decision was who to take out to have the biggest impact on
restoring his country. He knew that the nation’s highest elected officials, the
President, the Vice President, top leaders of Congress, Supreme Court Justices
and other such officials were protected by hundreds of federal agents. No way
could he accomplish a clean execution. Then it occurred to Roy that taking out
an enabler of the Communists in the White House could have the effect of
reducing their power as well as sending a message. Roy watched five straight
nights of evening news shows on the nation’s three leading networks and cable
systems; though he nearly broke his television by throwing what was at hand
when he heard what he considered to be blatant lies and misrepresentations.

        
He soon decided that the network newscaster who was the
biggest cheerleader for the President was Giles Henderson of CBS Evening News.
Giles almost appeared to slobber when he praised the President, which usually
happened more than once on any given evening newscast. A study by a
non-partisan journalism center found that Henderson praised the President, his
policies and members of his Cabinet fifty times for each hint of criticism in
an average month. Roy determined that by taking out Giles Henderson he would be
helping the country and partially disabling the President, who survived in
office due to a cheerleading national media. The final determinant for Roy was
that Henderson was a native of Louisville, which he visited several times a
year. Louisville was just south of Roy’s farm in southern Indiana. All that Roy
needed were details of Henderson’s next visit to his home town. He called CBS
offices in New York, representing that he was a reporter with the Louisville
Colonel Journal. His ruse worked as CBS provided to him the details of
Henderson’s next trip home. As Roy learned that Henderson’s next visit was to
attend the Kentucky Derby a plan began to form. Roy knew how he would eliminate
the nation’s leading media apologist for the President and strike a blow for
real freedom in America.

        
Roy arrived on the first Saturday of May at Gate 8 on
Longfield Avenue at 5 AM. In order for his plan to work his pickup truck had to
be one of the first vehicles to enter the parking area south of the main track
at Churchill Downs. His earlier reconnaissance showed that he needed to park in
lot 32 in order to give him a direct, straight shot at the Jockey Club Suites
where the event’s major celebrities traditionally viewed the historic horse
race. Once the gate opened Roy drove his pickup truck directly to the first
parking lane in lot 32. The truck had a camper mounted on the truck’s bed, with
windows in the upper sleeping berth above the cab. Roy had configured the
windows with curtains so that a casual viewer of the truck wouldn’t be able to
see in. He also cut a small hole for the barrel of his sniper rifle and another
round hole above it for the telescopic sight.

        
As the day progressed tens of thousands of race fans filled
the Downs, over 80,000 in the infield alone. The mood was festive and the mint
juleps flowed freely. Today’s Derby promised to be yet another event known as
the most exciting two minutes in sports. Many of the visitors at the Downs had
binoculars around their necks to allow them to follow the action once the race
started. Roy’s binoculars, though larger than most, weren’t anything out of the
ordinary. Roy’s standing south of the track looking over the grounds was also
nothing unusual. He spent several minutes looking through his high powered
binoculars scanning the largest boxes in the Jockey Club Suites until he
finally spotted his target. There he is Roy finally murmured to himself. There’s
the famous slicked back hair, loud-mouthed liar. That big, lying mouth of yours
will soon be shut….forever. Roy could see that Giles Henderson was dressed in a
light buff blue colored sports coat, making it easier for Roy to spot him when
he changed from binoculars to his rifle sight.

        
The race was set to start in twenty minutes. Checking one
more time, Roy confirmed the box location in the Suites and spotted Henderson’s
baby blue coat. All was well, he thought, as he entered his camper through the rear
door, picked up his rifle and crawled into the bunk area above the cab.
Separating the scope from the rifle, Roy stuck just the end of the scope
through the top hole in the camper window and looked carefully, adjusting it
until he again spotted his target. Then he slightly lowered his rifle and found
the ‘O’ in Downs painted on the concrete wall below the Suites adjoining the
track. He carefully sighted in the middle of the upper round part of the ‘O’
and waited for the sound system to cover the sound of his test shot with the
high decibel playing of
My Old Kentucky
Home
. Squeezing off a round Roy was able to calculate the amount of
calibration required to sight in the middle of his target. The round kicked up
a small dust splash as it struck the left hand side of the ‘O’, telling Roy
that he would need to move the calibration screw by three clicks to adjust for
a steady side wind. His firearm was ready.

        
Roy knew that the best time to fire his weapon was during
the excitement, cheering and mayhem of the race, preferably when the horses
were entering the third turn. It would be then that the eyes of the race fans
would be away from his location, away from his rifle, the barrel and scope of
which would be protruding from his camper window by a few inches.

        
The pre-race festivities were finally over and the horses
were in the starting gate. Churchill Downs buzzed with excitement as a sixth of
a million humans waited to watch the nation’s top three year old thoroughbreds
run for the roses. The starting gates flew open and they were off. Roy kept
Giles Henderson centered in his scope as the horses launched into the first
curve, raced around the second and pounded across the back stretch, not far
from parking lot number 32. As the last of the pack headed into the third curve
Roy took a deep breath, again centered his target in the scope and gently, ever
so gently, squeezed his trigger finger. One and a fraction seconds later Giles
Henderson’s head exploded, showering his guests and those behind him with his
blood and brains.

        
Roy quickly withdrew his rifle and stowed it in the secreted
chamber below the floor of the camper. He then broke the window on the front of
the camper with the two holes, taping a clear plastic sheet in its place, held
in place by duct tape, which he wrinkled to make it appear to be an old repair.
He took the shards of broken glass, put them in a fanny pack and stepped on it
until the shards were just small pieces. Roy exited the camper, walked several
feet away to a trash barrel and dumped the fanny pack into the container. He
then walked over and joined the crowd cheering the winner of the Derby.

        
Within minutes a flash call from CBS news was patched
through the White House switchboard to the Secret Service detail with the
President. The President was in mid-swing at the Hoakalei Country Club golf
course on Ewa Beach, Hawaii when the call came in. Though the President was
only at the fifth hole when the news of the shooting death of Giles Henderson
reached him, he terminated his game and ordered his staff to prepare for an
immediate flight back to DC.

National
Museum of the American Indian – Mitsitam Cafe

        
Barry was worried. It had been almost three weeks since
Barry met Sandy at the National Museum of American History. Barry’s post on his
Deep Inside DC
blog revealing DHS
plans for access control booths had caused a small tempest in the agency. Even
The Washington Post
, which generally
ignored blogs, disdaining them as not part of legitimate journalism, felt obliged
to carry a small paragraph reporting that the Secretary of DHS had ordered a
full-scale investigation to locate “harmful insider leakers and punish them
accordingly”. The paragraph did not mention Barry’s blog nor did it disclose
the nature of the “harmful leak”, only reporting that the DHS was vigorously
pursuing the identity of the leaker. Had Sandy been caught? Since they did not
speak by phone nor communicate by internet, it wasn’t possible for Barry to
know if Sandy was alright.

        
Thus, it was with a great deal of relief that Barry saw
Sandy’s elevated blind on his Thursday morning stroll for his pricey burnt bean
coffee. Great, he thought, she’s not only OK, but evidently she has new
information from inside DHS to share with him. What was the next location on
the Smithsonian list? Barry couldn’t remember. He would have to pull up the
Smithsonian website, not thinking that his PC was a natural target for the
investigatory arm of DHS. As soon as he reached his computer he pulled up the
site and saw that the next location was the National Museum of the American
Indian. The Museum’s Mitsitam Café, which meant ‘let’s eat’ in the Delaware
Indian language, was one of Barry’s favorites. The view of the Mall was
terrific and the food was outstanding, unlike most Smithsonian restaurants.
Because the café changed its menu for the seasons of the year, Barry pulled up
on his PC the current seasonal menu for the café. He scanned it quickly and
decided that he would either go with the native turkey dish or the Gringos con
Huitlacoche.
Yummy
, Barry thought.
Gotcha
, DHS agents thought.

        
As soon as Barry’s remotely accessed computer showed that he
was looking at a menu from one of the Smithsonian Museums, DHS investigators
detailed a squad of twelve plain clothes and armed agents to the large museum
at 4
^th
and Independence, covering the café and the public entrances.
If this blogger who had embarrassed DHS showed up at the American Indian Museum
he would be identified. If he met with anyone at the cafe facial recognition
devices would soon reveal the identity of his DHS insider source.

        
Sandy was nervous. Though she was sure no one knew anything
about her role as Barry’s inside source, she nevertheless had reason to be
anxious. She had been interviewed each week for the last three weeks since
Barry’s blog had revealed details of the TSA’ s planned use of access control
booths. She soon learned that almost every DHS employee in her division had
likewise been interviewed, which calmed her to a certain degree. But, should
she be caught she knew her career as a federal employee would be over. Sandy
wore the largest set of sunglasses she could find, along with an ugly floppy
hat that she thought only a tourist would wear. She slipped on a sweatshirt in
the Museum’s restroom with large silk-screened letters saying University of
Kentucky. As she left the restroom, she looked in the mirror, satisfied that
she bore no resemblance to a federal employee. She hoped that she looked just
like another Midwestern tourist in the nation’s capital.

        
At first, Sandy didn’t spot Barry. No baseball cap. No
sunglasses. No pony tail. No Barry. Then, she recognized his voice. “Samantha….
Samantha
….Y’all order me a Coke, OK,
sweetie bunch?”

        
That’s all it took to cause Sandy to spot the source of Barry’s
voice. Near the back, she saw a man wearing a really large Stetson Texas cowboy
style hat and a garish leather vest, with Indian beads hanging on each of its
several pockets. Sandy was impressed with Barry’s cover dress as well as his
ability to spot her, in spite of her garish tourist disguise.

        
“How did you know it was
me
?
I didn’t spot you.”

        
“Easy. I figured you’d be the most obnoxiously dressed
tourist in the room. Pretty close, Sandy,
pretty
close
.”

        
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Did you order yet?”

        
“No, I waited on you. I’m gonna’ do the Gringos con
Huitlacoche with a side of Chayote Con Queso.
Yummy
. Interested?”

        
“OK. Yeah….That fine….Barry….Look, I’m really worried about
getting caught. You have
no idea
how much
trouble you’ve stirred up at DHS. They’re
beside
themselves. Frantic, even. They grilled me and about everybody in my division,
except the top guys, every week since your post on the interstate booths.
Rumors are that the President has signed an executive order imposing capital
punishment on any federal employee caught leaking. If they catch me, you know
what will….”

        
“Sandy.
Calm down
….You’re
fine. How many employees are there at DHS -a quarter of a million? You’re a
small fish in a very big pond, with lots of unhappy employees, any one of which
could easily be my source.
Not
to
worry….So….you had your blind up….what’s happening? Any more information on the
planned faked events?”

        
“Yes….actually. A lot. I’m glad you’re sitting down. Last
time we met you said we could change history. Once your readers, and then I
hope the world, understand what’s in the works….what DHS has planned….it should
bring the whole horrible plan to a screeching halt. It could….
it should
….force the Secretary to
resign….maybe even the White House will….”

        
“Come on, Sandy, I understand this is earth shaking….so
shake
my earth….
what
is it?
What
do they
have planned?”

        
“I told you that DHS has planned a false flag event and I
think I said they might be planning even a series of faked violent events.
Well, here’s what I’ve since learned. It’s worse than I could have conceived.
Here’s the truly evil part. They are arranging these events so they will
look like
they are caused by
gun-wielding radicals, probably Christians or Tea Party folks, all in a failed
attempt by the radical groups to
overthrow
the government
. I understand it will involve the bombing of federal
buildings, focused on the day care facilities to gain even further public
support. But all
staged
.”

        
“
What
?...
Seriously
?
  
How….”

        
“Don’t you
get it
,
Barry? A bunch of people will get killed, including kids, and many hurt. In
similar attacks….across the country….all coordinated to happen on the same
day….same time. All supposedly by
religious
zealots
who want to throw out the President and
change
the government. That way the TSA will have every right to
stop any motorist on any interstate highway….checking for terrorists,
supposedly
domestic terrorists
,
naturally. But, Barry, all of the perpetrators will either be undercover agents
or duped psycho drugged participants, lured into committing violence. The
latter, of course, won’t survive the events. Plus, I’ve heard that some actual
religious leaders’ cars and trucks will be stolen and used in bombing
government buildings. Can you
believe it
,
Barry? My heavens, what
have
we come
to?”

        
“Well, the DHS laid the foundation for all this in 2007 when
it secretly notified American law enforcement officials that ‘
rightwing extremism’
posed a danger to
the nation. DHS defined rightwing extremism as including
‘one issue Americans opposed to abortion’ and veterans returned from
war overseas.
So, if there are any widely-broadcast apparently coordinated
instances of armed resistance to the government, TSA will be all over the
nation’s major highways,
like bugs on
honey
.”

        
“As I understand it, Barry, the access control booths will
be the primary method used to make sure that Americans can’t drive very far
without their papers being checked and their cars or trucks examined for
weapons. If TSA gets away with….you know….
not
too much
opposition from the public….then TSA will expand the access points
with permanent structures. You know, like you see at toll booths or any border
crossing in the world.”

        
“But, don’t the geniuses at TSA realize that there
will
be resistance to….”

        
“Barry, why do you think the Request for Proposal for these
booths specified that they had to be built with
bullet
proof glass
? They
know that there’ll quite likely be some firefights, but with the special glass,
the success of resisters will be narrowed significantly. Plus, there’s been
talk that there will eventually be a fairly wide armed perimeter around each
access control point, to prevent anyone with a weapon from getting close to the
checkpoints.”

        
“Manned by whom? The U.S. Army? What about
posse comitatus
, the law that prevents
the federal government from using the military in domestic disputes?”

        
“What do you think all that ammunition is for?”

        
“I got it. I
got
it, Sandy….Is there a name for any of this that I can include in the post that
I’ll write tonight?”

        
“Yup. It’s going to be called VIPR.”

        
“Meaning?”

        
“Visible Intermodal Prevention and Response….VIPR. Clever,
huh? VIPR will be sold to the people of America as a great way to capture
America’s domestic
rightwing extremist
terrorists.”

        
“Incredible. This sounds like a grade B, or even C, novel.
Do they
really
think they can pull
this off? There will be
so many
people who know about it….how can they keep it a secret?”

        
“Barry. You’re being
really
naïve
. Government by its very nature does things in secret. With the media
as its cover and main mouthpiece for the government, there is
very little
that can be reported widely
unless
, that is, the government wants it
reported. Believe
me
; the people at
DHS think they can, as you say, pull this off, without getting caught. The
crisis atmosphere that will surround these violent events will be so
pervasive
that Americans will be riveted
to their TVs wondering how their government will protect them against those
radical Tea Party and religious extremists who want to overthrow their
government. It’ll be
a circus
of
misdirection and misinformation. Remember how many people thought that the
Boston Marathon bombings were domestic terrorists?”

        
As Sandy was musing on the ability of the federal government
to engage in secret acts, the DHS agents who were listening to her every word
on the salt shaker imbedded microphone earlier placed on all of the tables in
the Mitsitam Café could only smile and wink at each other. They knew that the
lady was certainly correct.

        
Looking at her watch, Sandy suggested that their lunch and
conversation was over. Sandy needed to get back to the DHS. Sandy asked,
“Barry, can you walk me a couple blocks or so away from here, just in case
somebody spotted me and wondered why I was in a tourist café? Since we’re both
so obviously dressed as out-of-towners, walking together would be a natural
thing to do.”

        
Barry, in his cowboy hat and vest, and Sandy, in her blue
University of Kentucky sweatshirt and floppy hat left the Indian themed Museum
through the east exit. They walked arm-in-arm towards Independence Avenue, as
two tourists might while on vacation. While waiting on the cross walk light,
they spoke in low tones, lest they be overheard. But Barry realized they didn’t
need to be so cautionary, as they appeared to be the only persons waiting for
the light to change. Once it did change, they left the curb and headed across
Independence Avenue, still with linked arms. Out of the corner of Barry’s eye
he saw the white panel van careening across the median, bearing down on them.
He tried to push Sandy out of its path, but the van was traveling too fast.
Barry and Sandy were pronounced dead on the scene by the DC emergency medical
technicians. The driver was charged with reckless driving and involuntary
manslaughter under the influence of drugs and alcohol. A month later his
charging file appeared to go missing and he was released from the District of
Columbia jail. Conservative bloggers across the nation wrote of their admiration
of Barry’s courage. To a person, they all raised doubts about the facts of his
‘accidental’ death. The ‘accidental’ deaths of conservatives outspokenly
opposed to the administration appeared to those who were paying attention to be
growing in number.