The Illuminati (31 page)

The projectile flattened against the six-inch glass panes of the WNN buildings and the uranium core passed through as if the windows were covered with cardboard. Inside the building, the uranium spread out like millions of tiny BBs, and the cordite charge traveling with it exploded with the fury of miniature volcano. Everything on the main floor was obliterated and almost instantly incinerated, including Mari Itamo. Only the reinforced retainment pillars, installed to protect the upper floors, kept the building from collapsing. In the basement conference room, John Fletcher heard the thunderous roar above them and saw the lights go out. Sitting in the pitch black room, the rumble of the building seemed even more terrifying to those with him. Several of the reporters cried out in fear—both male and female.

Thirty seconds later the emergency lighting came on, bathing the terrified media employees with an eerie red hue. Above them the maelstrom of fire was racing through the floor where only minutes before they had been gathered. The outside ventilators provided breathing air to those who were trapped inside the conference room until the fire was extinguished by the automatic sprinkler system.

Scrawled across the walls on the buildings opposite the burned-out offices of WNN were the words, “Death to the unbelievers!” the same basic theme was repeated in every city where studios and newspapers had been attacked.

The television media quickly activated portable studios and were back in business within a few hours. Only this time it was an all-out war on those whom they believed to be responsible. The media called for death sentences for those involved. And they left no doubt as to whom they adjudged guilty—the CRC, and Christians in general.

President Alton came on the air promising swift retaliation for the terrorist attacks and asking Americans to give the government time to catch the perpetrators. But right after the announcements by the president, the media ran scenes from the riots, the assassinations of the justices, and the assassination of President Hunt. John Elder's name was mentioned frequently, and scenes of churches being razed by angry “citizens' groups” were prominent on all the networks.

“The country is approaching a state of anarchy,” Kathy Alton said to the dark man seated across from her.

“Good,” he replied dispassionately. “Are the camps ready?”

“Yes.We have set up camps in the most remote regions of the country. Already we have captured over one hundred thousand.”

“That is not enough!” Razzak said, his black eyes glinting with hate. “When the camps have a million, we will begin the elimination process . . . I see you're troubled. What is it?”

“Nothing, sir,” the president said as she tried to put her fears aside. “It's just that I'm afraid of what the public might do if they learn of our plans. How will we eliminate so many?”

“They will not know of it until it is too late!” the dark man snapped as he got up and walked across the room. He stood silently looking out of the window, then turned, walked back, and stood by the president's chair. With a look of grim determination, he said, “We will not make the same mistakes again. First the Christians—then the Jews.

“It is time to make the people suffer some,” he said as a cruel smile developed on his face. “These people are not used to suffering. They will do anything to save their way of life.

“It is time to launch Phase Five.”

“Phase Five?” the president said with the question written on her face. “I have not heard the details of Phase Five.”

“You had no need until now,” he replied as he bent over and stroked her hair softly. “Now, my pretty one, you will see the anger of the world against the cursed Jews. The Christians were their only real allies, and the Jews helped us to destroy them.”

17

U
NCOVERING THE
P
LOT

Immediately after the aborted protest-turned-riot, the word had gone out from the CRC for its members to flee. Some did just that, taking up refuge with friends or family in an effort to avoid arrest. But many simply refused to believe that they would be arrested; they knew they were guilty of nothing.

One such couple, Bob and Ellen Cofer, in Chicago, decided not to run. Bob felt it was all just a big mistake; the government would never arrest private citizens. He and Ellen had decided not to join the march the day of the riots. They supported those who were protesting the arrest of John Elder, but felt that without parade permits they would be breaking the law, which they refused to do.

The televised scenes of the marchers being shot down along with the police shocked Bob out of his naiveté.He suddenly realized that the leaders of the CRC had been right when they said the plot against Christians went to the highest levels of government. But Ellen had a different reaction. She thought the Christians had actually started the shooting. As she watched the reports flooding in, she said, “I won't ever be involved with that group again, Bob. I can't believe they would shoot police officers.”

Ellen had been active in the Catholic anti-abortion movement. At first she had felt too timid to picket the abortion clinics, and only worked in the local “care center” office twice a month. But once the “Crack Babies Bill” was declared constitutional, she could no longer stand by. She had joined the street pickets and actively wrote every senator and congressman in Washington. While marching in front of the state government's offices, she had been photographed and marked for detainment when the riots were being planned.

Before Bob could answer Ellen's comment about the shooting, the scene on television shifted to Father Vincent's school, where Ellen worked part-time as a teacher.

“This is Paul Bannon. I'm here at Father Vincent's Parochial School, where the police have just apprehended one of the riot leaders, Father Christopher Long.”

The cameras focused on the police hauling out a priest dressed in traditional black clothing. It was obvious at first glance that the priest had been beaten. One eye was swollen and blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. He was bent over, as if in pain.

The newsman stopped a police captain and asked, “Captain, what is Father Long charged with?”

“He's one of the leaders of the riot that killed our officers,” the angry policeman said. “He put up a fight and we had to subdue him.”

“Are you saying he resisted, Captain?”

“Not only that,” the officer responded as he held up a short-barreled weapon. “He had this on him. It's a good thing he had used up all his ammunition or he might have shot someone else.”

“It's a lie,” Ellen shouted at the television. “Father Chris would never hurt anyone, and he certainly wouldn't carry a gun.”

“I think we need to get out of here, Ellen,” Bob said as he felt the knot tighten in his stomach.

“What do you mean? We can't go anywhere. This is our home, and we need to be at work tomorrow. Besides, it doesn't affect us,” Ellen said, sensing the alarm in her husband's voice. Inside the panic started to grow like a cancer, gnawing at her sanity. Suddenly the emotional pressures of the past several weeks overwhelmed her and raw fear took over. She screamed, “Even if Father Chris is a terrorist, we didn't have anything to do with it!”

“Ellen, think about what you're saying!” Bob shouted. “Do you really think Father Chris could shoot anyone? It's all a setup.”

“No!” Ellen insisted naively.“If the police say it's true, then it must be. We need to call them and tell them that we're not a part of that group. Call them, Bob!”

Their two children—Marci, age twelve, and Robert, Jr., age ten— heard their parents arguing and came into the room. “What's the matter, Mom?”Marci asked, her quivering voice reflecting the panic she sensed in her mother.

Bob answered, “We're watching the television news, honey. They police have just arrested Father Chris.”

“Arrested Father Chris? They can't do that!” both Marci and Robert, Jr. exclaimed together. “Can't we do something, Dad?”Marci asked as she began to cry.

Before Bob could answer, Ellen said,“No, children, he must be guilty, or the police wouldn't have arrested him. We have to tell them we're not criminals too.”

“That's crazy, Mom!” Marci declared. “Father Chris is no criminal, and I don't care what any police say.”

Bob could see that Ellen had lost control, so he attempted to calm her, but her fear made her even more irrational. She started to cry. “I don't want my children hurt. I don't care what they do to those crack babies. I just want them to let us alone.”

“Ellen, get a grip on yourself!” Bob said harshly. “This is not time to fall apart. We're a part of this whether we want to be or not.”

“No!” Ellen screamed. “I don't want to be a part of it. It was all a mistake . . .”

“Let's get some clothes and food together quickly and load up the car,” Bob told the children.

“Where are we going, Dad?” Robert, Jr. asked.

“I don't know exactly, son. Maybe we'll go to Tennessee for a visit with Grandma for a while. We just need to get out of the city.”

“All right!” the boy shouted gleefully as he headed for his room to pack. He loved to go to his grandma's house. It always smelled like cookies, pies, and fried chicken.

It took about thirty minutes to get the car loaded with everything Bob thought they would need. Ellen just sat in the living room crying. He knew she was close to the breaking point and wished he knew how to help her, but their safety had to come first.
Maybe when we get to Tennessee, Mom will know what to do
, he thought.

“Hurry, kids!” he shouted for the tenth time. “We have to get going.”

Finally Bob got everyone into the car. The garage door was just swinging open when another car pulled up, blocking the driveway, and two men carrying weapons got out. When Ellen saw the weapons, she became hysterical. Bob tried to quiet her down, but she was beyond his control.

As the men approached the car, one of them asked, “Are you Robert Cofer?”

“Yes,” Bob answered. “What's the problem?”

“Please step out of the car,” the other man commanded. “And keep your hands in sight.”

The nine-millimeter machine-pistol he was pointing said it all. He was ready to kill if Bob resisted.

“What's this about?” Bob asked again as he held his hands up.

“Shut up!” Secret Service Agent Carl Tooms demanded, as he pushed Bob against the door roughly. “You'll be told all you need to know.”

Ellen was screaming so loud that Marci began to cry too. Robert, Jr. shouted at the men, “You leave my daddy alone!” He jumped out of the car and swung at Tooms, who was closest to his side of the car. His blow struck the man in the groin and he cuffed Robert on the side of the head, knocking the ten-year-old down in the driveway.

“That's not necessary,” the other agent, Donald Shepperd, said gruffly. “The kid is just trying to protect his father.”

“The little hellion better not hit me again,” Tooms said angrily. “You remember that he's a small version of his parents. They're like roaches. It's better to stamp them out before they grow up,” the man said as he laughed at his own sour joke.

Bob felt his heart pumping fast as he looked toward his children and wife. “What about my family?” he asked.

“Shut up!” Tooms said again. “You should have thought about them before you joined a group of terrorists.”

“I'm not a part of any . . .”

But he never had the chance to finish his statement. Tooms jammed the butt of his weapon into Bob's rib cage, knocking the wind out of him. That and the pain of at least two broken ribs made it impossible for him to speak.

“I told you to let them alone!” Shepperd said sternly.

“If you don't like it, take it up with Washington,”Tooms replied.“These types are all the same. They don't mind killing people, but they don't want anyone to touch their precious family.” For all his bravado, Tooms was a coward and backed off as soon as Shepperd came around the car. Shepperd helped Bob to his feet and steered him toward the vehicle on the street.