What would America do if we were faced with a horrendous terrorist attack that no amount of security could stop? In "The Second Republic - Patriot Acts Part II," the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001. This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans. This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today's headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.
The Consortium Patriot Acts Part III reaches deeply into the hidden and sinister world of the international banking system and the global power brokers who profit from it. In September, 2008, the Federal Reserve Chairman and the Secretary of the Treasury came to President and issued him a suicide threat. They told the president to give them $800 billion dollars or in twenty-four hours the American economy would die and in forty-eight hours, $5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. The President said yes. The Consortium considers what would have happened for the United States and for the whole world political and economic system would have been if the president of the United States had said, NO?? After reading it, watching or reading the news will never be quite the same.
"AN INTELLIGENT POLITICAL THRILLER WITH SUPER-CHARGED ACTION!" This review is from Geri Ahearn who is one of the best reviewers on the net. I know you'll find Geri's review so interesting for you! Take a look below:
The Second Republic: Patriot Acts Series (Volume 2)
Thousands of innocent Americans have been killed by a deadly virus as the President of the United States races against time to stop it. Steven Clark Bradley takes the reader behind the chilling scenes, inside the White House as treachery and terrorism reaches its peak, while extreme measures are taken to avoid destroying America's constitutional freedom.
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A hero is born as the intriguing characters come to life in a captivating story that sends chills up your spine! The author, who has traveled to thirty-four countries, uses his expertise in historic knowledge, then creates an unforgettable story in a novel that will haunt the mind long after closing the book. The mysterious events that take place will indeed leave the reader with one scary question. What if America could not stop the next horrific terrorist attack, despite the increased amount of security? I highly recommend 'The Second Republic-Patriot Acts-Part II' to all thriller lovers who enjoy explosive action, combined with intense suspense. The devastation and horror of the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, left a mark in history that America will never forget. However, the thought of a bio-terror attack, planned to target the United States without warning becomes a nightmare relived in the reader's mind of the possible frightening consequences. Fisher is a fascinating character, and the story becomes more realistic, page-after-page.
The author penned an incredible compelling novel that's made for the movie screen, with a story that's too close to home. This novel will keep you on the edge of your seat as vivid images are painted throughout to capture the imagination, leaving an impressive aftermath. As the tension begins to increase, along with aggression, so does the reader's curiosity Could 'The Second Republic' appear in the headlines tomorrow, will America be prepared, and who will survive? This electrifying novel is as entertaining as WORLD TRADE CENTER, and as thrilling as AIR FORCE ONE, with Harrison Ford. Thank you Geri! You captured the spirit of my novel perfectly my friend!
I Have 20 copies of The Second Republic to sell at a very special price. The normal retail price of this novel is $17.95. I will let you have The Second Republic for $11.95 + shipping ($3.95 per book ordered)
If you are interested in getting your copy of The Second Republic at this great price, please send your payment to:
Steven Clark Bradley
1900 Fullerton Road #18
Rowland Heights, CA 91748
Also, anyone who buys one of these specially discounted books will get a free e-book copy of Patriot Acts part 1 as well Thank you and I hope to hear from you! - Author Steven Clark Bradley
In “The Second Republic – Patriot Acts Part II,” the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001.
This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans.
This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today’s headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.
Everyone has a self interest. I think when dealing in security, it is important to find single-minded people whose single interest of all, because benefiting himself saves the rest of us.
I think the big bucks they get is not a problem. It is important that they not be tempted to farm out their tech skills, and that means giving them their due, and then some, is better than giving it all to the loony tunes in the environmental terrorists.
You know, this new project, Patriot Acts III has caused me to delve into techno material more than I ever have. I have always been for the need to fight control of our free wills to win and to fail. I've done much more of the latter than I ever have of the prior. This one I have really gone into the deep water to weave a tale around computer tech and mind control and what can happen to high tech in the wrong hands with a people asleep at the helm. It has been an education.
The biggest thing I can say from it is that I have a new appreciation for how new wars are fought or shall be, and how freedom as we knew it, shall never be again, because of situations being orchestrated by governments that go beyond the imagination of most. Writers can look at where we are and draw it out to a fictional, logical conclusion, such as I paint in this trilogy, of how real a threat our tales could actually be.
Albert Einstein said he did not know what weapons would be used in World War three, but that he was sure that World War four would be sticks and stones.
Steven Clark Bradley
The Second Republic - Patriot Acts II
"This is an EMERGENCY!"
Chapter 11
Westville, Indiana
March 6, 2011, 5:12 AM
“You lazy kid. You better hit it. I’m not calling you out again,” Elmer Risner said, as he slammed the front door behind him and entered the crisp morning air. “A boy’s got to have something to do, ‘cause this farm’s not gonna run itself. Can’t you learn anything from your old man? This lazy generation of no-good kids. Wants everything handed to them on a silver platter. We ain’t got no silver platter. All we got is hard work.”
He crossed the backyard and trudged over to the big barn’s front door. He grabbed the door and yanked it open; as he had done each and every day of every year he had been old enough to move it. He inched his body across the threshold where his nose caught a strong earthen-type odor he had never smelled before. The door hinges creaked as Elmer stepped into the barn halfway reluctant about what made that smell. The cows and the horses, even the mule had heard this morning ritual so many times that they did not even fret at the early morning sound of the barn door opening.
What concerned him was not so much the barn’s smell as the hogs’ rather uncharacteristic silence. Those pigs always made a “feed me” racket when he approached them. Their incessant squeals annoyed him. This morning, the lack of noise puzzled him.
He walked toward the pigpen and grouched all the way, “Hey, you pigheaded beasts.What’d ya’ll do, did ya all up and die on … me?”
Elmer Risner bent forward to see what had been the best, most prized beasts of all his livestock. The mess appeared to be something that slightly resembled a pig or pigs, but he couldn’t be sure. Something greasy covered all fifteen of his prize hog’s skins. They had the appearance of being dead days before, but Elmer had fed them the night before. He reached out and touched one of the pig’s ears. The material covering all of them got on his right hand. He held his hand up to his eyes, squished it between his fingers, smelled it, and then wiped his hand on his overalls.
“Last night was the first I used of the new batch of feed.” he said, as he grabbed one of the hog’s legs to pull it out of the pen. As he yanked on the heavy, dead swine, its leg broke loose in his hand.
“What the hell?” Elmer Risner said, as he kneeled and gathered the rotten carcass in his arms pulled and tugged and finally pulled it out of the pen and into the center of the barn where he could see it more clearly. It was a pig, all right, but it appeared to be melting before his eyes.He ran to his truck and backed up into the barn. He loaded the dead hog onto the forklift’s metal plate, and scooped the rotten remains into the truck bed.
“I’m gonna show ‘em the damn thing and get my money back. They killed my prized hogs.”
Washington, D.C.
March 6, 2011. 9:05 a.m.
The black train of slow-moving limousines drove a southerly route on the Potomac River Parkway; a place the Vice President William T. MacDonald had particularly loved. The majestic last example of a whole nation’s grief continued south to Constitution Avenue West. As the motorcade slowly drove down the center of the massive avenue, not another car could be seen. A massive number of people on foot stood silently on the curbside and prayed.
No signs or protesters dared to break the silence. No one made a single statement to detract from the sad, solemn moment that trailed past their weeping eyes. Their friend whom they were getting to know had been suddenly taken from them. Camera snaps could be heard, but not in typical paparazzi-type rush of fervor. Rather the desire to capture history, as sad as it certainly was, could simply not be withstood. Vice President MacDonald’s grieving widow and two girls, still in their teens, waved politely to the crowds, and it all gave them such hope.
As the limo that carried the slain Vice President to his last official meeting passed the Organization of American States, Carrie MacDonald observed the very beautiful and completely heartfelt image of a woman in U.S. Marine uniform who stood at attention with her two daughters flanking her on her left and her right. Carrie’s heart took on a better note to play in her head; one a lot more patriotic. The children would face terribly difficult questions; questions Carrie had not even personally dealt with, yet. The squeeze of a trigger had not only changed the family’s future, the world would be radically altered.
When the entourage passed between the White House and the Washington Monument, the whole train stopped and paused with the President’s office view to the left, and the spire of Washington to the right. The respectful homage became real as the car turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue and onto Capitol Hill. Throngs of people, some wept, others simply watched, all demonstrated the day’s sadness on their faces.
The U.S. Marines hoisted the flag-draped casket, bearing the body of a young Vice President, who had been an obvious choice for his party’s nomination for President in 2016. The great doors opened wide as they rolled down the marble-laden glory of the Capitol Building and with honors; they placed his coffin in the rotunda that had only ever been reserved for Presidents.
Westville, Indiana
March 6, 2011, 9:20 a.m.
Large rolling fields of corn and the combine engines revving up filled the air in the farming community of Westville, Indiana, each morning. Today would be different. A rickety 1980 GMC truck barreled into the small town square. That wasn’t the usual vehicle that Elmer Risner drove into town, but what he loaded in the back had necessitated that he use the old beater, which sounded like a freight train and smoked like an oilfield on fire. He barely applied the brakes before he turned into the parking space in front of the feed store and jumped out of the truck.
Elmer opened the tailgate and pulled the old hog carcass onto the ground wrapped up in an old plastic tarp. He opened the feed store door and pushed it open with his foot and dragged the dead hog behind him into the center of the establishment.
“So, what the hell is this?”
A startled group of farmers turned when the smell permeated the air and entered the nostrils of everyone in the store and that included some women and children that wanted to shop early that morning.
The shop owner stopped him, “Elmer, are you crazy, you stupid hillbilly? You can’t bring that in here. I won’t get the smell out of here for ten years.”
“Carl, you broke it. So, now you bought it,” Elmer shouted.
The store proprietor walked out from behind the counter to observe the putrid-smelling, slime-covered animal. “What the hell is it?” he asked Elmer.
“What is it? It’s a pig, Carl … a pig, that’s what it was, at least, and one of my best ones, but that don’t matter, ‘cause they is all dead, down to the last everyone of them.”
“What’s this … stuff all over it?”
“Beats me, but I want my money back and some to boot. I fed ‘em that feed you sold me for the first time, last night. Then I wakes this morning and look what I got?”
A big whiff of the rotting beast pinched Carl’s nose, and he stepped back. “Now Elmer, I don’t know what’s going on here this morning, but you’ll have to get this thing outta my store and back into your truck. Then come back in here, and we’ll put you on the list.”
“List … what list?” Elmer asked with an air of not understanding plastered across his sun-dried face.
“Elmer, you might be the only one who dragged one of their dead porks in here, but you ain’t the only one who fed their hogs last night. Carl walked back behind the counter and pulled out a piece of paper. “I got a list of eleven, now twelve, with you. Now, get that damn thing outta here and come back in and …”
Carl gasped. “What’s wrong with your face, Elmer?”
“My face? It’s the same damn face I’ve always had.”
Everyone backed up and rushed out of the feed store. Elmer saw his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. A thin coating of the same greasy material that had been on the pig covered his neck and jaw-line. Elmer wiped it off. The blood red skin burned under it. “I guess I got some of it on me.”
“Elmer, get that damn thing outta here, and I mean right now.” Carl wrote Elmer’s name on the list as Elmer covered the hog and dragged it outside. He touched the skin on his neck and jaw areas as they now burned like a hot poker and large blisters began to form.
“I’m guessing you ought to get to a hospital. That looks pretty festered.”
A frightened Elmer Risner pulled the animal to the truck, and it nearly broke his back as he tried to haul it up into the truck bed. He turned to his farmer friends. “Ain’t none of you gonna help me?”
Everyone turned and without word, walked away. Elmer’s limitations multiplied as he found it hard to raise his head. He made it to the truck and left the dead, slimy hog lying on the ground in front of the feed store.
Two dogs came up to the beast sniffing, and they dug their canines into the rotten meat. When Harold Minix, a farmer and close friend to Elmer Risner, noticed his dogs, he yelled at them. “Stop that.”
The dogs raised their hungry mouths up to meet their master’s voice their muzzles covered with the greasy slime. “Now, I got to take you home and wash ya both. Get your asses in this truck right now.”
Elmer drove erratically, not out of anger, but he simply could not see the roadway. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. His distorted and virulent face distracted his attention from the road, and the truck ran off the road and into a ditch.
The huge, old truck came to a very sudden stop. Elmer’s head hit the steering wheel, but the gash on his forehead didn’t bother him. Instead, he pulled down the collar of his shirt in time to see the skin on his neck melt away and expose his neck bones.
Tears filled his eyes and a searing heat consumed his body with fire. He tried to scream, but no sound came from his inflamed throat. Elmer looked at himself one last time until his eyes began to melt, and then agonizing pain followed him into darkness.
In his blindness, Elmer fumbled to his right and pulled his gun from the glove compartment and placed the barrel to the side of his head. “It ain’t gonna eat me like them pigs.”
Something like boiling oil engulfed his stomach, and his skin bubbled up and down his legs and arms with a pain was so intense that he could barely hold the gun to his head. He tried to pull the trigger, but with no strength left in his arms, he dropped it to his side and fell over on the seat and screamed one last time before he disintegrated into slimy, silent sludge.
* * *
Harold Minix headed back to his farm north on Indiana 421 to get his dogs washed up before his kids got close to them. He noticed Elmer’s truck off in the ditch up ahead and pulled up behind it and approached the accident scene. “Elmer? You okay?” He peered through the open driver’s side window and screamed, “God save us all.” And he threw up his breakfast all over the side of Elmer’s truck.
He regained his composure and rushed back to his truck to find his cell phone. As he neared his truck, he noticed his dogs hadn’t barked and weren’t visible to him. Any other time they would have been yapping and out of truck bed and at his side. He reached the back of his truck, and what he saw hurt him nearly as much as seeing Elmer’s rotten corpse.
Both unrecognizable dogs lay covered in the same greasy slime and appeared to be matted to the truck bed. He unconsciously scratched his itching arms and realized they were fully engulfed in blisters.
“I’m gonna die, but I ain’t gonna let no one else die, if I can help it.” He dialed 911.
* * *
Carl tried not to gag from the stench, finished mopping the feed store floor, picked up the Rolodex. The operator placed him on hold. “Come on. This is an emergency.”
Someone came on the line. “Hello, CDC, what can I do for you?”
I hope everyone who reads this will not just think it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one will secure our future except us. That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts in one key phrase:
Martial Law has been declared, American Troops have been deployed on the streets of all the major cities of America. Americans have been ordered off the streets and into their homes. Patriotic Americans take to the streets to fight for their freedom, and are shot on sight. Does this sound impossible? Does it seem like that could never happen in the home of the free and the land of the brave?
Yet, when a free people no longer cherishes their freedom, when the previous generation no longer passes on the heritage that shed its blood to gain their liberty the only result can be the loss of appreciation and undervaluing of the truths that forged our nation. Such behavior, such lack of resolve to pass on the truths of the American experiment will not make the fall of the republic possible. In truth it will make the loss of liberty, self governance and self determination inevitable. Steven Clark Bradley Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod RisingStillBorn! Probable Cause The Consortium Chapter Eighteen
Georgetown, Washington D.C. March 11, 2011 4:47 p.m.
At his home, frightened, angry and ready to run, Richard Leitner, the newest former Secretary of the Treasury by virtue of his firing by President Fisher Harrison earlier in the day, stood at his study in Georgetown, truly one of the classiest famous neighborhoods located in all of the Washington D.C. metropolitan area. He was shamed and out of a job. He looked out the large bay windows of his nine million dollar overlook of the Potomac River front. He had given his life for the Consortium, now; he faced certain ruin and shame all because of a president of less than two weeks who thought he could just throw his career and reputation in the garbage.
“I’ll be damn if he’ll take it all away from me.” He yelled out to no one in particular, with the sincerity of the traitor he was.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 4:49 p.m.
The trucks that had now encircled the US Capitol were not silent about it. Shots could be heard in the distance, and every person in the Chamber, political, journalistic, civilian or military knew that something was getting ready to explode. Fisher wondered if the pressure was to induce capitulation, or if or if more radical measures were planned to bring about the fall of the government of the United States.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the sound you hear outside these cherished walls, is the sound of threat and the total loss of liberty, the hands totalitarian rulers that will replace one of freedom and thought, which ultimately took it all for granted. Those sounds can never lead to peace, but should provoke a response. Tonight I give you my reply to the Consortium.”
Georgetown, Washington D.C. March 11, 2011 4:49 p.m.
After Leitner left the Oval office, earlier in the day, he felt ill, nauseous and absolutely terrified. He had traced his steps back and realized that Morgenthau had given him a drink in the limousine to calm his nerves and to persuade Leitener that the Consortium had another job for the now unemployed former Secretary of the soon to be debunked Treasury.
“I just wasn’t cut from the same bitter cloth that Morgenthau and Berkowitz were.” Leitner told himself and rubbing the back of his head. “They know it too.” Leitner’s heart seemed to skip a beat when he thought about what they would do to him. “I’ve been such a coward, only good for final options.” Leitner told the afternoon air.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 4:51 p.m.
“Earlier today, I asked for a meeting with the Federal Reserve Chairman Mr. Timothy Morgenthau and the Secretary of the Treasury Mr. Richard Leitner. As all of us realized very quickly, when we rose this morning that all of our lives had changed forever, during the night. Our money was gone, our economy was collapsing and tens of thousands of troops have been dispersed throughout the country with the authorization of no one inside the United States government.
“I welcomed these two men into the Oval Office with the hope of being informed as to the nation’s security and financial survival. Keep in mind, these are the men and women who fed the SPU, which we had only recently taken down by force.
“It has been estimated that these men and women of money-lust lost over eight hundred billion dollars when the SPU fell. Now, these hidden-away forces, the same powers who were directly responsible in the deaths by assassination of two great Presidents, Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy who had both spoken out against the Consortium.”
Georgetown, Washington D.C. March 11, 2011 4:52 p.m.
Richard Leitner continued peering out his bay windows, beyond the Potomac. He could see the great majestic dome out in the distance. The Capitol’s lights that covered the circumference of the dome along with the White House seemed like the coliseum without gladiators. The lights illuminating the darkening sky gave off a false sense of power and filled the almost night sky with thoughts of a once greater day of the power of the American Republic.
“It’s only an image, now; more like a fable.” Leitner said aloud while never taking his eyes off of the capitol building. Somehow, Leitner was surprised that it hurt him to see it all tottering so. He had been sure that the end of the government would somehow be a great thing. Then he felt the claws of the Consortium extend their reach when they were forced to recoup their money. Yet, against his will, he wished it could be as it had always been, but he knew it would never be again. That image, the great country, which had helped defeated nations rather than crushing them would soon become members of the ‘Used to be powerful’ club.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 4:54 p.m.
“This afternoon, in the Oval Office, two extortionists, men in whom the country had placed its trust, sought to force my government’s hand to give them eight hundred billion dollars today or in two hours face the complete and utter collapse the economy of the United States.
“Since 4:00 a.m. this morning, these evil hoarders of wealth have siphoned off five trillion dollars and distributed it to other countries as seen fit by the Consortium. It is their intension that America never be free again.”
Georgetown, Washington D.C. March 11, 2011 4:55 p.m.
America was only minutes from a fundamental transformation, and Leitner knew it. In fact, he knew everything that the Consortium had planned, which he also knew made him a very great threat to the cabal. The former Secretary of the Treasury realized that he had become a liability, a danger, a useless mind full of all the tactics, mechanisms and plans of an international club of cutthroat financial terrorists who would stop at nothing now to get all the power they craved. Leitner knew he had failed them.
He remembered going to the Doctor to get rid of the massive headache he had endured since Morgenthau gave him the drink. All he could recall afterwards was waking up in his bed. He still wasn’t sure that the Doctor and the headache had been real or a dream. The pain in the back of his head was no dream, though.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 4:57 p.m.
Fisher picked up a copy of Kennedy’s 1963 Executive Order for the printing and the circulation of silver backed dollars. “Here is a piece of history that is now serving as a true sign of God’s hand to protect us.
Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division Joint Base Myer-Henderson Ft. Myer, Virginia March 11, 2011 4:57 p.m.
Peter Barlow and Warren Berkowitz knew exactly where Richard Leitner was at the moment. They could see his every movement.
“Warren, he’s going to be on the move. Should we activate him?”
“Well, I’d rather just terminate him, ha-ha, for the second time today, just in a more permanent manner, if you know what I mean, but that would take all the Irony out of the plan.” Berkowitz said. “You are a witty one, Berkowitz, but right now, I need an answer.”
“Considering that this is the only remaining use for the wimp, so, let’s squeeze his last drop if utility right out of him, Peter, my man. Activate now.”
Both Peter Barlow and Warren Berkowitz saw Leitner’s front door open slowly. Peter placed Leitner’s new ID into the computer and the link to the chip that had been planted in the back of his head only hours earlier, at the doctor’s office, came to life.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 4:59 p.m.
“Firstly, before riding over to the Capitol today, I signed an Executive Order instructing the US Treasury to print gold and silver backed currency. This process is already underway. In addition, I have issued an order that Federal Reserve notes shall no long be accepted as legal tender for the payment of debts or for issuing credit at midnight, March 25, 2010. All Federal Reserve notes will be turned in and an equal amount of Silver Backs will be returned to you.
Georgetown, Washington D.C. March 11, 2011 4:59 p.m.
Richard Leitner decided to get out while he still could. He had frantically run around his house gathering the things a single bachelor would need or want. He had closed all the blinds, locked every window and door and set the surveillance system then picked up the two suitcases he had had just enough time to prepare. He planned to drive over to the Treasury to confiscate some personal files and things. Then, his whole body felt like it had been hit by a massive bold of lightning and made him drop the suitcases and the front door key to the ground. His head again began to pound and he threw up all over his front porch and his hand searched on the ground for the key.
“Richard … Richard Leitner, forget the key, forget the door; forget the suitcases.”
Leitner raised his head. Puke had splattered, all over his face. He heard the voice, and it sounded like someone right next to him. He rose off his knees and stood looking around in every direction. “I know you’re confused. Who wouldn’t be? The sickness will go away soon.”
“Who are you … where are you?”
“That does not matter. We need your help, and then you can be free to live your life.”
Leitner laughed. “I know Berkowitz. Evidently, you do not. Perhaps Morgenthau would give me another chance. Not, Warren; if you asked him about me, he’d say he had already forgotten about me and to learn not to care.”
“Yes, in fact, that’s exactly what he said.”
“I don’t care either. So, get in your car and drive to the Capitol and walk up to the main entrance and show your pass. It’s still active, I checked. Someone will be there to give you something. Take it and wait for further instructions.” Peter ordered Leitner.
Leitner was still feeling sick and fought against the involuntary movements that the voice in his head seemed to be able to control. After a minute, the pain in his head was gone, the fear was nonexistent and he was under Peter Barlowe’s command.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:01 p.m.
“While speaking with Treasury Secretary Richard Leitner this afternoon, I informed him that he was being terminated from his job. The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury is the interim Chief Financial Officer of the United States. I have also issued a warrant for former Secretary of the Treasury Leitner for treason as traitor of the United States and an enemy combatant based on his profound cooperation with the Consortium.
22,000 Feet and descending over Belgium March 11, 2011 1:01 a.m. G.M.T.
“Yes, yes, Peter, you have done well. But then, the guy’s so fearful that we probably didn’t need to spend the money to chip him. I really like that part about forgetting the key and the door; oh, and the suitcases. That was a hoot.” Berkowitz said and laughed. “I mean, he won’t be needing it anymore, anyway. Oh, the things we do for our country.”
“Leitner’s walking up to the main entrance of the capitol as we speak.” Both Barlowe and Berkowitz went silent and just watched Leitner carryout their orders.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:03 p.m.
“Finally, tonight is a night that history will record as the gravest danger that the United States has ever endured. Will it record that we capitulated or that we prevailed against a richer and more advanced enemy, because that’s how we won the first revolution, against incomparable odds, and that is how we shall win the second.”
Everyone in the chamber rose to their feet and applause rang out. Fisher let them express their hope and courage while American troops surrounded the Capitol with tanks pointing their turrets towards an army’s own government.
Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division Joint Base Myer-Henderson Ft. Myer, Virginia March 11, 2011 5:03 p.m.
Peter heard what President Harrison had just said, and so had Berkowitz. He knew Berkowitz would order the attack, now that President Harrison proved himself to be all the Warren Berkowitz had said he was. Peter disconnected from Berkowitz for a moment and flipped a switch on a router at just the moment Berkowitz was cut out.
“What was that?” Peter asked Berkowitz. “I hope you have all this crap verified.” “Trust me boy, have I betrayed you?”
Peter laughed and sneered as he spoke back to Berkowitz. “Of course not; you still need me.” Peter replied. “Trust you, not the best choice of words. Warren, earlier today, you brutally wiped out the one person you actually choose as a child to be with you. Yang didn’t have to die. I worked with him, and he was a great young man, full of reasons to have been kept alive. So, don’t ask me to trust you.”
“Is your mind still back at that courthouse? I had already forgotten him. Let me tell you, I think of people as opportunities. I refuse to be attached to any one of them. I have outlasted everyone of my generation, Peter, my boy, simply because I don’t care. Those three words make the world go round. We have caused uprisings and have squelched them when they had served us enough. We’ve fought wars and supported both sides, killed millions, saved as many and have forgotten so many, many more than we remember and we did it all with money. That’s paper, Peter my man. The only way to survive in the midst of that kind of experience is to let yourself be devoured by it; to let it overtake you until the pain and lack of mercy all around you no longer moves you, until you say with sincerity, I don’t care.”
“And that’s the world I am helping you create? Maybe I’m on the wrong side.” Peter taunted Berkowitz.
“It’s the only world I’ll let be and live. Let’s check out the equipment, what ya say? Are the links all set?”
Berkowitz pushed enter and a transfer of over five trillion dollars started from hundreds of thousands of banks across the nation to two hundred and fifty different banks in thirty-five different international banks. “It’s our money. It has our name on it and that big eye over the pyramid kept our investment secure. Now, the risks far outweigh the benefits.” Berkowitz told Peter.
Peter pressed enter and almost all of the one hundred forty-five thousand troops now distributed across the nation came under the Consortium’s control.
“There are a couple hundred links that are down, but they’ll be overrun. The board’s lit up and I’m activating the trucks.” Peter told Berkowitz.
Peter typed in the number of ten of the chips that had been embedded. The computer found them and sent out a super secure inscription to them. Peter typed the command.
“Encircle the US Capitol, activate the devices and wait for further orders.”
The infantrymen started their trucks and stationed themselves all around the capitol. They secured their locations and posted lookouts. They each turned around and cut a hole into to the back seat and all saw a series of rods, warm to the touch, was arrayed with wires and electronic switches. Each of them heard their orders repeated to engage the device. They all found the USB ports and connected them to a WIFI router relay that could receive and send signals to all simultaneously.
The ten chosen infantrymen were sent the connection request that was accepted and instantly, each of the ten electronic detonators’ signals was locked onto the router that made them all act as one against a common target, the United States of America, all with a single press of a button. The infantrymen covered the back seats and waited. One of them was given an extra task to complete. He headed for the main entrance.
Chapter Nineteen US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:04 p.m.
Richard Leitner walked at a normal pace up the powerful steps and right up to the front door of Capitol Hill. He had a normal look across his bearded face. Earlier in the day, President Fisher Harrison had shaken Leitner’s frame of mind, and now Peter Barlowe and Warren Berkowitz had reshaped it. Leitner was placid, stoic and without fear as he walked up the steps to the front entrance.
The soldier who had been assigned to wait for Leitner walked over to him.
“Sir, this is for you.”
He handed Leitner a small box and the soldier returned back to his truck. Peter told all ten of them to verify the devices planted in their backseats. They were all online.
Leitner heard Warren Berkowitz’s voice speaking to him in his head. “You know, I was pissed off with you, but I thought, I’ve got the perfect way to redeem yourself. Richard, you are doing a great service to the next great global power, the United National Consortium. It is you who will launch the newest shot to be heard around the world.”
“Warren, I know what you’ve done to me, it is obvious. Damn you, I would have given my life for you.”
“So, what’s the problem? You’re about to do just that. Now, here’s what I want you to say.”
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:08 p.m.
Fisher paused and looked all around the room and took in air before he announced his next decision. “This is an extraordinary moment, and unfortunately, I must take extraordinary measures to combat the evil that is about to be unleashed upon the American people. I ask you to bear with me and consider my reasoning, and to give me your trust. The American People know who I am and that I will keep faith with you.”
US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:08 p.m.
Richard Leitner walked up to the security desk and swiped his badge. The light turned green.
“I want to say good evening, Mr. Secretary, but it don’t feel much like one.”
“Believe me, I know what you mean. It’s been maybe the hardest day of my life. Hope I live through it.” Leitner replied with a smile and leaned over the counter and pulled the guard toward him and spoke softly into the man’s ear. “You need to get all these people out of here.” The words came from Leitner’s lips, but the thoughts were Peter Barlowe’s.
“This place is going boom, and you need to get as far away as possible.” Peter looked into the guard’s face. “Do it now, you have not time to waste.” Leitner walked on through security calmly and steadily up to the House Chamber door and waited there. He slowly opened the box the soldier had handed him at the entrance. It was a remote with just one button.
Ft. Myer Military Personnel Division Joint Base Myer-Henderson Ft. Myer, Virginia March 11, 2011 5:10 p.m.
“Open the door and walk into the chamber.” Peter told Leitner. When he walked in and looked at the crowd there. He realized that everyone knew who he was, and many knew him well. They were not all great men and women, but they did love the country, and many of them loved him, but they wouldn’t after today.
Peter attached a separate cable to the router and sent signals to three different embedded chips. They already had their orders; and were already in place and awaiting instructions; orders that Warren Berkowitz knew nothing about. Peter activated the links and repeated his instructions.
“Come out of hiding and activate plan seventy-seven, on my signal.” Peter saw three lights flash on the screen. He isolated them on the grid and washed them through the system and rendered them invisible to everyone, except for Peter Barlowe. The three immediately did as they were instructed. Berkowitz could hear none of it, but he’d know soon enough from the TV.
Joint Session of Congress US Capitol, Washington, D.C. March 11, 2011 5:12 p.m.
“Let me say that I never sought this position, but it sought me. It has followed me everywhere I’ve gone, no matter how much I tried to run from it. So, it is apparent that I am in the will of a good and righteous God. No president would ever choose to be in such a dire position so early in his term, but this is the task before us, and we will shrink from doing our duty. For, we demand to be free.”
Leitner began walking forward past the members of the Senators and of the House, all of whom knew who he was. They smiled as he walked forward and closer to the President of the United States. It seemed somehow normal, since Leitner was not a stranger at all, and had been Secretary of the Treasury for over two years, one of the most high profile jobs in Washington D.C. Even so, it seemed odd to see this man walking up the center isle towards the President, in the middle of such a powerful and important speech. “Effective, midnight tonight, I am declaring Martial Law in all fifty …”
“Mr. President!” Richard Leitner powerfully yelled out.
The mere sound of a high-pitched voice sent Senators and Representatives diving to the floor for fear of being shot. The press went wobbly and ran and hid behind anything they could find, but their cameras continued rolling and they filmed an embattled new President of the Republic standing alone, seemingly undaunted by the face of Richard Lietner staring back at him.
The former Secretary of the Treasury felt a twinge of fear looking at the madman behind the presidential podium. Fisher Harrison stood there and sized up this man and knew this was Leitner plus something else.
He’s chipped. Fisher knew that Berkowitz was squeezing the last ounce of usefulness out of Leitner.
“Richard, are you alright?” Fisher asked seeing the remote in his right hand.
“Mr. President, your fired!”
Peter held Leitner’s finger off the button, and Berkowitz and Morgenthau went crazy.
“Peter, what are you doing? You better have this right, or you die before I do.”
“Not to worry Satan, hell is on its way.” Peter replied.
To the utter shock of every member of congress and the media, whose cameras captured it all, three Special Ops wearing Chameleon suits seemed to slide out of the walls and ran up to the president and surrounded him. the Secret service fired shots, but there was such a high degree of confusion, they didn’t know who to shoot at. The Chameleon suits made it seem that Fisher had been fighting with the air. Slight traces of the three figure could be seen, but the Secret Service was for all practical purposes, blind.
Fisher had not forgotten how to ride a bike and he still knew how to kick someone’s ass. He began fighting and the three knew that he’d never be taken alive that way. One of the Special Ops pulled out a gun and shot a dart into Fisher’s neck. Fisher pulled it out, looked at it and fell to the floor. They picked him up and carried him out of the chamber and quickly outside. They cuffed the president and carefully placed his drug-induced sleeping body in the back of the SUV and raced away.
One of the Special Ops spotted Chief of Staff Michelle Oh. He ran over to her and shot her with a dart also as she was running away from him. She fell to the ground and he scooped her up and ran. She too was placed in the SUV.
On the Runway, Brussels, Belgium March 11, 2011 5:13 p.m.
“What the hell was that? I didn’t authorize saving the bastard. You’re supposed to kill him. You’re pissing me off too, Barlowe.”
“Warren, go to hell.” Peter calmly replied to Berkowitz. Then he typed in an encrypted message to Leitner.
“All Fall Down.”
Richard Leitner, who had awakened in the morning highly respected as the Secretary of the Treasury and was about to die in the same evening of the very same day, as a an enemy of the State and a total disgrace. He held his hands straight up in the air, as Berkowitz ordered him to do. A terrified Congress began rising up off the floor and looked at Leitner. He had been their friend; he had kept up with the Washington party circuit and many of them only now realized it was him. Almost every one stood up now and looked at Richard Leitner. He was not an unpopular guy, until today. Then he screamed.
“Goodbye, America!”
Lietner pressed the button on the remote, and the earth beneath everyone in the US Capitol began to belch and the air was wiped clean from the building as the ten different dirty bombs planted in the trucks surrounding the US Capitol all detonated at the same time. Each one was filled with highly enriched uranium nuclear waste. All ten trucks took on a momentary, very quick red glow, as the devices activated, sizzled and then instantly incinerated everything in its path. The walls of the Capitol were blown inward and the entire structure came down with a sound that sounded like hundreds of voices crying out in sheer and utter pain, which was exactly what it was. The dome collapsed straight downward crushing anyone who was in the rotunda.
Nearly everyone in the House of Representatives Chamber was dead. In one attack, more than half of the government was gone. The explosion tore the building apart. The history of the nation and every living and dead body in the old, sacred, now destroyed monument of freedom and power would devastate the nation to the point of collapse. Suddenly, the whole building began to shake and a deafening rumbling sound of steel bending and walls falling flowed through air as the US Capitol tumbled to the ground in a massive heaping pile of rubble.
The Secret Service who had survived were frantically looking for the president. “Is there anyone there, is there anyone there? Where the hell’s Law and Order?” The large room had gone pitch dark with the lights all blown out and the smoke and something else left the taste of metal in the mouth and it burned the eyes. “We can’t find POTUS.”
The dead were the lucky ones. Instead of dying an instant, painless death, in about thirty minutes, survivors would experience severe nausea. Slowly, but progressively, disorientation would invade their minds. Vertigo and a rapidly world room would make walking impossible. The pain would be unbearable and their bodies would shut down all their organs as the radiation invaded their minds and bodies. In less than an hour, they’d all die.
Survivors, inside and outside the ruins of the US Capitol opened their eyes and felt their hearts beating quickly. Their blood pressure then dropped rapidly and their breathing became labored. Their faces were drenched with sweat as a high fever set in; the results of the overwhelming affects of the massive dose of radiation from the ten devices now clinging to the air took its toll. Over half of congress lay dead on the House Chamber floor and lying in their vomit, and many would soon pray for death.
Outside the capitol, several thousands of US troops lay dead and thousands were on the ground surrounding Capitol Center writhing in pain. None of them would survive.
World Bank, Brussels, Belgium March 11, 2011 5:15 p.m.
“Good, now that’s more like it. Hollywood still can’t top the real deal.” Berkowitz laughed and clapped his hands. He was jubilant with the success of the mission and ready to open up Pandora’s box.
“Peter, Peter are you there?” The radio echoed in the lower part of the operation’s building at Ft. Myers. No one was there and no one was coming back.
“What the hell, I’m, I mean we’re in charge now. I’ll do it myself.”
Berkowitz sent out a link to all forces under his control. Immediately tanks and armored vehicles began rolling into the streets of every major city in the country. Emergency bulletins began constantly repeating on every TV and radio in the country.
“A state of emergency has been declared. We are now under Martial Law protocols. You are not to leave your dwellings. Anyone found outside will be shot on sight. You are ordered not to leave your dwellings. A state of emergency has been declared. We are now under Martial Law protocols . Anyone found outside will be …”
Thousands of Americans ran out of their homes and poured into the streets. These were their kids carrying those guns and in those tanks. Aircraft flew low over the cities and Black hawks hovered over hot spots where large groups of angry Americans had gathered with large, small, legal and illegal guns and firing them into the air at the jets that were circling. Several Black hawks engaged fire on those armed below. Americans were dying by the hands of Americans. Those who refused to listen to the troops that Berkowitz had sent out were shot on sight and chaos filled the streets of America’s greatest cities.
“We have no enemy to find us now.” Berkowitz said over the radio.
Raven Rock Mountain Defense Base March 11, 2011, 5:22 p.m.
“Did you get that location?” Raven Rock Site R Commander Rush asked nervously.
“Yes sir, it originated in Brussels.”
Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley
Where is Patriot Acts available?
This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.
I hope everyone who reads this will not just think it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one will secure our future except us. That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts in one key phrase:
What would you feel if America fell and the nation was taken over by a dictatorial power? Would you adapt? Or, would you lay down body and soul to protect your homeland? Read Chapter two of Steven Clark Bradley's newest work in progress, Automated Response and feel what could happen unless we are vigilant and devoted to the United states of America.
“Just deal with it.” was the last thing Peter Barlowe’s father had told him, before he died.
Peter had walked into his home in Edgecombe County, North Carolina just as he had as far back as he could remember. There, to the right, he saw his father, Marshall sitting on the edge of the couch with his face buried in his palms, shaking and weeping a torrent of tears.
“Dad, where’s mom?”
Peter Barlowe looked at the various things that were scattered around his father, on the couch and the floor. He saw pictures of his childhood, his mom Betty and his dad’s great-great grandmother Winnifred AtkinsonBarlowe’s portrait, who had lived in Edgecombe Co. The floor was littered with old folders everywhere; all of them opened with their contents spilling out.
What’s he looking for? Peter wondered. “Dad, where’s mom? You’re starting to scare me.”
Marshall Barlowe looked up at his son with a face that screamed out disaster and guilt.
“Mother, you want your mother? Well, boy, you ain’t got no mother. Not no more.”
Young Peter Barlowe took in the words from his father. The pitch, the expression across his father’s face and grave sound of his father’s voice, and most devastatingly terrible thing of all was the words themselves.It all told this young twelve year old boy that his life had been drastically altered and was in permanent disrepair.
Marshall Barlow sat on the edge of the couch with his eyes weeping into his palms. He raised his head and gazed at the son he had always loved; an affection he had rarely attempted to display.
The expression he saw on his son’s face made him hurt so badly that he had to hold the gun in his left hand down with his right lest he raise the barrel to his head and pull the trigger earlier than he figured he’d be forced to.
“Peter, I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t; I swear I did. Everything about that damn place is automated, and it’s only the beginning. Don’t try to run, cause they’ll kill you.”
Peter looked over at his father and took in the words that even he, at his young age, realized would be the last ones his father would ever say to him.
“Son, I love you, I always have. But, you cannot give up what’s ours and what was started by our kin, our blood.”
Peter walked slowly closer to his father and saw the gun in his hand.
“Dad, what’s wrong? I know about the lost colony and the stupid shooting over a stolen cup that was to have killed off all of them, and I know about the SPU.I’m not afraid; tell me what I have to do.” Tears rolled down the boy’s face and he felt as if his knees wobbling under him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
Marshall looked at his son, Peter with serious etched all over his face.
“My boy, Michael O’Rourke has taken the line; he stole it from Eldridge Harrison.”
Marshall saw the confounded stare in his son’s eyes.
“Peter, I know, you’re young, way too young to endure what has happen here today. I …”
“What has happened? Where is my mom?” Peter demanded.
“Son, listen to me, you can’t run! If you run, they’ll kill you, and I can’t stop it now. Once a thing like this gets rolling, there’s no stopping it. This will never be far from you, Peter. Once they take you …”
“Take me, take me where?”
“You have to grow up fast and stop the system. The new line will build it, and they’ll use it too.”
“Dad, I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.”
“That’s not important. They’re going to take you, son and when they do, you’ll be chipped. No one knows the things we’ve done. No one even comprehends how many masters we’ve served; all the while exacting all the power, funding, technology and information they took as their booty. Every president since Wilson’s been our puppet, and that was all under a civil leadership. When this crowd gets their claws on the codes we have from every nation that’s anything, no one will ever be able to stop the SPU.”
Peter mouthed the letters S.P.U. “You’ll forget these things after they block out this day, and God knows how many others from your memory. But, my only hope is that if you hear the words, ‘automated response’ they will force this day back into your mind. That’s the best I can do, son.” Marshall Barlowe stared back at his son and rose from the couch.
“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve built a system that will take down the whole thing down. Just deal with it …”
Young Peter Barlowe turned his head toward the shattering sound of breaking glass and then saw a hole appear in the center of his father’s forehead. Blood shot out of his dad’s head and splashed over Peter’s face. Peter dived to the floor and heard the back door fly open and slam loudly against the wall. He lay silently and exposed on the living room floor and saw four sets of feet enter the room. He saw them walking over to him and then they grabbed him and lifted him up.
“Peter, we got here as soon as we could. You’re dad’s had a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid.”
“Mr. O’Rourke, you just killed my dad. He told me everything. I will not go with you. Did you kill my mom too, you lying bastard?”
“Listen, calm down. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was about to kill you too. Come on now, you’re delirious, and I’ve got just the thing to help you forget all about this.”
Michael O’Rourke walked over to Peter and put his arm around his shoulder. Peter pulled away from him and punched the much larger man in the ribs. O’Rourke felt it, too.
“I don’t know what to believe.” Peter said in a child’s manner that seemed to pretend it all away.
“Of course you don’t, Pete. That’s actually good, in a strange sort of way. In fact, I fully intend to tell you what to believe, my boy.” O’Rourke looked at his men.
“Get him outta here. And, one of you get back in here and clean up this mess.”
Michael O’Rourke, the new chief of the Strategic Perception Unit could not believe it had come off so flawlessly.
“Finally, it’s all mine. Now, I’m the real most powerful man in the world.”
Three large men picked up Peter Barlowe and cuffed him and led him outside. As they walked him out the back door that had been kicked off its hinges, Peter saw the lifeless body of his mother sprawled across the blood-splattered table, with a large knife protruding out of her chest.
“You killed my mom! You bastards killed my mom!” Peter screamed and fought to get away from his captures.
Two of the men carried twelve-year-old Peter Barlow out of the house and to a black car with US Government plates. They jostled him into the car and he looked to his left at another young unconscious body next to him, in the back seat.
“Fish, Fisher is that you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about him; he’s OK.As a matter of fact, why don’t you join him?
The SPU operative placed a mask over his own face and closed the backseat divider and pressed a button his on his dash board that sprayed half the normal dose of gas that he’s have administered to an adult. The young boy pounded on the divider but soon, he felt his strength give way to a sleepy, foggy haze and everything went dark.
Falls Church, Virginia inside SPU Center
March 7, 2011
“I remember.” Peter said quietly, but more loudly than he had intended as the darkness of 1969 fade and his eyes gazed into the darkness of 2011. He fine-tuned his ears to the sounds of soldiers as they walked down the huge Falls Church facility corridors.
“It’s an automated response.” Memories started flashing and streaming through his mind and he saw what this horrible system would do.
“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve build a system that will take down the whole …” his father had said. “Just before they blew him away.” Peter whispered. “…if they take us down, everything goes with us.” He had heard so often since he had become part of the SPU. The memory shot through his mind and he grasped the sides of his head. “We’ve chipped every soldier, Marine, Seaman and Airman since 1988, and Reagan, Clinton nor Bush knew a thing about it. Even Tate didn’t get that information.” He groaned in mental agony.
“Your dad killed himself!”
“No, you killed him.” Peter Barlowe, heard his mind silently cry out.
“Your father killed your mother; stabbed her in the heart.”
“You lie.” He screamed out loudly and looked down at his watch. “Only two minutes.” He told himself. “I have to stop it.” He heard the sound of heavy footsteps voices approaching his location. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.
“This O’Rourke guy is dead.” One soldier said to the other. “Yea, Harrison’s not gonna take any shit!”
“Jaime’s dead? That leaves only me to take all the heat.” Barlowe realized.
He positioned himself with his back to the wall of the cleaning room and switched his flashlight on. Peter looked down at the chameleon suit he had put on. He pulled the mask over his face and pressed a button on the inside of his jacket. The suit came to life and he took on the colors and blended into the room, but the suit’s one flaw was the initialization process that produced a whining sound that the SPU techs had not managed to rectify, and which the soldiers policing the corridor could hear.
“Did you hear that?” One soldier said to the other. Barlowe heard the soldiers walking toward the door.
“I have to get to the chamber and reset it the failsafe.” His watch told him he had forty-eight seconds.
He heard the footprints coming his way and saw light break through the darkness as the cleaning room door slowly opened. He pulled his legs back prepared himself.
Two US Army soldiers aimed their weapons into the room and looked inside. They saw nothing and walked into the room. When they came close enough to trip over Peter, he drove the force of both his adrenalin-laced legs into the chest of one of the soldiers. Peter leapt to his feet and rapidly raced down the corridor, firing as he ran as fast as his legs would take him.
The Army advance soldier was one of a team of ten sent in to conduct code enforcement and to shoot anyone on sight who threatened US Forces in any way. The soldier ran into the corridor and saw him. The one soldier still left breathing ran after him and radioed his commander.
“I got him, Peter Barlowe …”
“One second…”
“One second, I ain’t got one …”
“Who are you, what company?”
“Taggart, sir, Advanced Infantry Clearance.”
“Give it to me, soldier.”
“I got Barlowe. You know, like the number two … sir.”
“You’ve got a shoot to kill on that dirt bag, Taggart.You Copy?”
“You better believe it … sir.Target is racing around into the left corridor.”
“Secretary Blake wants Barlowe dead. Do you copy that?”
“That’s affirmative and happy to oblige; engaging now.”
Taggart crouched forward and advanced with his weapon held tightly and impatiently ready.When Taggart turned the corner, Barlowe sprayed bullets in every direction. Taggart took cover and returned fire, even though he couldn’t see anything except the holes that Barlowe was inflicting upon the facility walls.
Barlowe turned to run and a bullet grazed the chameleon suit’s programs controller, which rendered him instantly visible with only 22 seconds left to stop the automated response.
“I think I’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.” He knew he had no chance to stop it and only one chance to remain a free man, even if no one else would be.
Barlow turned and looked at Taggart.The rest of Taggart’s men ran up behind Barlowe, with their weapons trained directly on him.
“Get down on the floor, now.” Taggart screamed.
Barlowe looked at his watch. “Hmm, seven seconds.” He told himself as he looked up at the soldiers.
“I said get down on the floor.” Another of the armed soldiers shouted.
“It’s alright boys. You’ll be working for me in three, two, one.”
Taggart, who had appeared deadly ready to blow Barlowe away, suddenly dropped his weapons to his sides and stood at attention.
President Harrison and his family and staff had already been airlifted out, the first to leave the facility and were already in the air in Marine One.Throughout the whole facility, every man and woman in uniform simply stopped searching and stood at attention waiting for their next orders.
“My goodness,” Barlowe said in great amazement. “Will you look at that?”
He walked up to the soldiers who did not bat an eye. He took one of the radios and set it to intercom.
“Thank you for your service. You are serving under a new protocol now, a new set of rules. Be as you were until further notice. You are under the orders of Peter Barlowe, your new Commander in Chief. Await my orders and return to your base.”
“I could get used to this.” Barlowe said out loud. “I think I already have.” He heard the echo of hundreds of voices resonating throughout the facility with the same two words.
“Yes, Sir.”
Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley
Where is Patriot Acts available?
This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.
I hope everyone who reads this will not just think it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one will secure our future except us. That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts in one key phrase:
Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and SenegalWest Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.
What would America do if we were faced with a horrendous terrorist attack that no amount of security could stop? In "The Second Republic - Patriot Acts Part II," the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001. This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans. This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today's headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort. 
The Consortium Can We Hold On
