Dad
It started in a way that no one would notice. Or, at not least
most people. For some reason, I was a little more observant than others. Still,
it was hardly remarkable. A man at the grocery store seemed to be shopping for
the same items, or at least, was in the same aisles. I noticed, but didn’t
think much of it at first, but when the man showed up in the same checkout
line, I thought it was odd. When the man followed me in his car, I realized
that there was something going on. I watched the car in my rearview mirror and
decided not to drive directly home. Instead, I pulled into the parking lot of the
post office, and noticed that the car also pulled in. Thinking there was a
problem, I got out and approached the car, but as soon as I did, the car drove
away.
In the following days, I noticed other cars that seemed to
be following me. I thought that I was just imagining things. But after a few
days, I noticed that one of the same four or five cars were behind me whenever I
left my house. I didn’t say anything to my daughters or friends; after all, it
seemed like some kind of paranoia. But, I kept watch, and the following cars
were always there.
I lived an ordinary life, divorced with two young daughters,
with half custody. I worked from home as a computer consultant, which allowed me
the freedom to spend time with my kids, help them with homework, pick them up
from school, and all those things that a dad is supposed to do. Since the
divorce, I had put my kids first, and did not have much of a social life. Sure,
I did try dating at first, but most women were not interested in a man who made
his kids a priority. So, I worked, spent time with my kids, and very little
else.
Before I got married, I had lived a different life. I lived
a life of parties, women and excess. It had not turned out well, and so I had
decided that an ordinary life in an ordinary house, in an ordinary neighborhood
was the best way to be happy. So, I married a school teacher and had a family. For
a while that was my life, and I was very happy, until my wife had a psychotic
episode, which destroyed my marriage.
When I was in my twenties, I did every kind of dangerous
thing I could. I really did not expect to live to thirty. Memories of that time
were imperfect at best, and some memories seemed really strange. Things like
breaking into houses, and climbing walls into strange facilities. Still, there
were a lot of drugs and alcohol in those days, and I chalked it up to the
lifestyle. All that was behind me now, and I really didn’t think about it anymore.
After several weeks of seeing cars seeming to follow me, I
decided to do something. I drove around the block at speed and came up behind
one of the cars that seemed to be following. Doing this seemed like a natural
thing to do, somehow, and now that I was behind this car, I stayed back and
watched, making sure not to be seen. The car drove back past my house, stopped
for a couple of minutes, then drove off. I followed. The car went to an
industrial park some ten miles away, and stopped in front of a unit with no
sign. The driver got out and went inside. I made a note of the address and the
license plate of the car. After a while, I needed to pick up my kids, so I
left.
When I got home, and got my kids fed and working on
homework, I decided to do a little research. There are resources that most
people don’t know about, but as a tech guy I knew how to find information that
most people could not. I discovered that the industrial unit was rented by a
company registered offshore, and that there was no record for the license
plate. How odd. Why would these people have any interest in an ordinary guy like
me?
Over the next several days, I began to evade the tails.
Slowing at an intersection, then speeding through a light just turned red.
Changing lanes abruptly and making a U-turn. Taking different ways around to
the usual destinations, I changed my habits to make it difficult for the tails.
The cars became more and more obvious in their attempts to follow me, and I
often lost them, even though they were becoming bolder in their efforts to
follow.
On some weekends, when my daughters were with their mom, I
would go to a local bar called the Dog House. It was a friendly place, with all
different ages, ethnicities, and socioeconomic classes. I found that I could
talk to virtually anyone there and have an interesting and rewarding
conversation. One Friday night, I noticed one of the cars that had been
following me parked in the lot. I knew many of the regulars, but there were
always lots of new customers at the Dog House, so it was virtually impossible
to tell who it was. I began by talking to people who I had not seen in the
past. Most responded in the usual friendly way. I asked them about what they
did for a living, if they had been to the Dog House before, and met several
nice people. Then I encountered a forty-something guy in the back where smokers
could have a cigarette.
I know lots of “dad jokes” and I began by telling some. I
noticed that this one person seemed uncomfortable and would not make eye
contact. I went up to him and said “Hi, I’m Dave. It’s easy to remember me. If
the cops ask, just say, Dave’s not here”. This got a laugh from others at the
table, but this person didn’t seem amused. I said, “So, what’s your name?” The
man said “John”. I asked “So, what do you do, John?” He said that he really
didn’t do anything. I thought this was a little odd, since this question
usually resulted in an interesting conversation. John said that it was time for
him to go, and he walked out to his car. It was getting late, so I decided to
go home. On the way, I noticed that car behind me. Rather than losing him, I
tried a different tactic. I waited until the car was close behind, coming up to
an intersection with a red light. I braked suddenly, and the car was unable to
stop in time, and rear ended my car. I got out and approached the other car. John
got out and began to complain that I had brake checked him, but I instead
demanded to know why I was being followed. At first, John denied it, but when I
mentioned that the car’s license plate was not a valid plate, John changed his
approach. He said “You have done so much damage. We know everything. You won’t
get away with it”. With that, John got in his car and drove off. I was
confused. What had just happened? What did he mean by damage?
In the next couple of weeks, I noticed that the tails seemed
to disappear. Still, I was worried about what had happened. I had a box in my
garage with things from my past. I got it out and started looking through it.
Some things were from my father and others were from my days as a party animal.
In particular was a photo album I had not looked at for many years. I started
looking through all those photos of parties and people. In the background of
one taken at a house party, I saw someone who looked like a younger John. I had
no memory of who this person was, in fact, I could not remember most of the
people in the pictures. At the time, my girlfriend and business partner was a
woman who had a remarkable ability to influence people, myself included. She
managed to get invited to house parties with wealthy people, and I was always
in the background watching her schmooze and enchant. Was this John someone from
that time? Or was there something more going on. Looking at the pictures, I
began to remember some details. But nothing seemed like it would cause anyone
to be following me now. I looked further back, at photos from my twenties.
There were very few during this time. Odd, since photography had been a hobby
since I was only ten. But there were a few. I thought back and tried to
remember what had happened at that time, but had very few clear memories.
My father had been Army counter intelligence after world war
two, and had served in Germany, deciding which people could come to the United
States. After that, he worked for the Atomic Energy Commission, and was there
for the Eniwetok test, the first hydrogen bomb. He was exposed to radiation at
that test, which ultimately contributed to his death.
After working for the AEC, Doug, as my dad was known, went
to work for a series of military contractors. He was a systems analyst.
Everywhere he went, people lost their jobs. I came to the conclusion that my
father was a Communist hunter, and was put in those jobs to get rid of people
who had questionable associations. When I was 18, my father, suffering from the
long term effects of radiation exposure, and with only weeks to live, shot
himself with a pistol. I found the body and was suddenly thrust into the role
of an adult. I called the police, and explained that they should call the
coroner, that no ambulance was needed. Once they had taken the body away, I
washed the congealed blood down the driveway with the hose. On that day,
everything changed. There was no longer any parental control. My mom was lost
in grief, my sister was in Oregon, and no other family was around to provide
guidance. So I proceeded to do everything that I had been told was wrong.
I experimented with drugs, chased women, and went to the
most dangerous places I could find. Maybe I had a death wish. During this time,
I met a group that practiced Tae Kwan Do, and did angel dust. Kind of an odd
combination, but I was up for anything. I did LSD, weed, methamphetamine, and
by accident once snorted some Heroin. One can understand why my memories of
this time were a little blurred.
This was the time that I wondered about. Had I been involved
with people who now were following me? It seemed unlikely, but what other
explanation was there? Well, it seemed that the people who had been following me
weren’t anymore, so I went back to work and taking care of my daughters.
It was on a Tuesday. It seemed to me that it was odd that it
happened on a Tuesday. I was at the spray car wash, and two men approached me.
They said nothing, but they were armed with steel pipes. They attacked me with
what seemed like intent to commit murder. I had the strangest reaction. Rather
than feel fear, or try to escape, I attacked these two men and disarmed them
and rendered them unconscious. It was like a dream. It seemed so natural to do
this, and it was as if I had done it many times before. I considered calling
the police, but could see that the men were not severely injured, and decided
to leave them. That seemed like the right thing to do also. No one at the car
wash had noticed this very sudden altercation, and I just drove off. After
arriving home, I realized what had happened. I had taken out two men who seemed
intent on killing me. I had done it with little effort. It had seemed like the
most natural thing to do. I began to wonder if my kids were safe, and if in
fact my whole life was about to change.
The next day, I arranged for my kids to spend some extra
time with their mom. I didn’t want them in harm’s way, although I felt sure
that short of moving them to another state, they still could be in danger. But
how do you tell your ex who already has had issues with paranoia that people
are out to kill you and the kids are not safe. I decided to just see what
happened next. I would cross that bridge if I had to. But I did make some
preparations. I had inherited some guns from my uncle, which were kept in a
safe. I had not even fired them for years, but now I took them out, cleaned and
serviced them and loaded them. I placed them in different locations in my
house, so that I could have them available if needed. I bought a camera for the
front door and a few more for the area around my house. These were low light
cameras with an app that would send an alert if triggered by motion. I checked my
car for tracking devices, but found none. Then I waited. I went to the grocery
store, the gas station and other places to keep up a normal routine, but was
always ready for the unexpected.
On Friday, it happened. At two am, I awoke to the sound of my
front door being smashed in. I grabbed my gun and stepped into the walk in
closet. I had put a steel plate on the wall there for this eventuality. At
first, I thought it might be a swat team, but there were no calls of “police”.
They were there for me, and they meant to kill me.
I knew that shooters will aim for center mass. If they can’t
see their target, they will aim at that height anyway. I dropped to the floor
and peered out past the closet door. There were three men, wearing body armor
and masks. They had assault rifles, and ballistic shields. They looked like a
swat team, but I knew they were not. I waited. They entered each room down the
hallway, until they came to the master bedroom where I was hiding. They entered
and did not see me, and made a mistake. They turned away, exposing their heads,
and I made three quick shots, hitting each in the head and killing them. In the
moment, it seemed so easy, but afterward, I realized how difficult it was to
make shots like that.
Now, I had a problem. There were three dead men in my house,
and I could not explain how they came to be there. If the police came, I would
be caught in an investigation, and not be able to make sure my kids were safe. I
grabbed an assault rifle, a shot gun, a .45, and a .380, and a couple boxes of
ammunition. It was all I could carry. I got in my car, and drove to my ex-wife’s
house. I banged on the door and when she answered, I said that the kids were
coming with me. She saw the gun in my hand and let them go, but immediately
called the police. I expected that, but I didn’t have a choice. It was time to
move and my options were limited.
I kept a bugout bag in the trunk of my car with, among other
things, $5000 in cash. I never thought it an odd practice in the past, just
something that I did. Now I understood the usefulness of having it. I also had
a burner phone in the bag, and stopped to leave my phone hidden in the restroom
of a 7-11. I had used the burner phone to find an available motel that was at
least an hour away, and drove there. I got several bags of groceries, paid in
cash, and rented the room the same way. Now, my kids were safe, at least for
the short term. Now it was time to find out what the hell was going on.
On the way back to my house, I stopped and stole license
plates from a car of the same make and model. I drove a Camry, so it was easy
to find plates to swap. If the police had been alerted, at least I would not be
driving into a problem. As I drove into my neighborhood, I expected to see police.
Even though the shots had been fired inside, guns are loud, and neighbors were
likely to report it. Instead, I saw something I didn’t expect. There was a
carpet cleaning company van, with hoses snaking into the front door. It was
still pretty early, about 6 am, but not so early as to cause any comment. I
wondered at the organization needed to put together a response like this so
quickly. I sat and watched. After about ten minutes, a black sedan pulled up.
Two men wearing suits got out and talked to the other men working. Then they
left. I decided to follow. They drove to the local airfield, and boarded a
corporate jet. I made a note of the N number. It’s pretty hard to fake those,
although I knew some government agencies could. With nothing else to learn, I
drove to the local library, which would open in an hour or so. When it did, I
went in and used one of the public computers to see if I could find who owned
the jet. When I found it, I was surprised. It belonged to a tech company that
was known for providing cloud services to the federal government. A CIA front?
Maybe. At any rate, it was a lead, and I started searching for people
associated with the company. There was the usual list of DC lawyers, Ivy League
egg heads, and politicians, but nothing really seemed to indicate any
association with anything he suspected was intelligence related, or could
explain what was happening. Well, it was time to check on my kids. They would
be awake soon, and he would need to email their school with a story about the
flu or some such, as well as try to explain to them why he had taken them in
the middle of the night.
At the motel, I arrived with some doughnuts. Normally I
would never feed my kids this for breakfast, but this was an unusual situation.
They were delighted to have them, but soon were asking what was happening. I
told them that I really didn’t know, but that men had tried to kill me and I
needed to make sure they were safe. Most middle school kids would not take this
kind of story well, but my daughters had been brought up on spy stories and
mysteries. Instead of being afraid, they were excited. They wanted to help, but
I told them that it was not the time, but that they should be ready to go at a
moment’s notice, and do everything exactly as they were told. They agreed then
asked if they could watch pay per view. I told them I would arrange it, but not
to watch anything “too adult”.
I knew that I needed sleep, so he told the girls that I was
going to take a nap, and if anyone knocked on the door, not to open it, but to
awaken me straight away. I went and lay down for a few minutes and fell into a
deep sleep, and dreamed. I was younger, and with a group of other young people,
both men and women. They were training. Firearms, martial arts, even things
like parkour. I was climbing a building in the dark, and going in through a
window. Inside, I killed several people. Then I was on an aircraft, wearing a
parachute. The back ramp opened and I and several others jumped from the ramp. I
awoke not feeling refreshed at all. The dream was very disturbing. I had never
done these things, but they seemed so real. There was something, but I couldn’t
figure exactly what it was. Maybe it had something to do with what was
happening now. I couldn’t be sure, but the dream seemed more like a memory. I
had to find out what was happening, if for no other reason to protect my kids.
There was one thing in the dream that seemed familiar,
though. It was a building I had seen in San Diego, which was only twenty minutes
away. It was an unmarked building downtown that I had assumed was a bank or
some such, but after considering it, I realized that it had no windows at all,
very unusual for any kind of office building. I decided to take a little drive.
Downton San Diego is like many middle sized cities that are
next to water. The climate is nearly perfect, and it is a tourist destination.
Because of that, there are many hotels, bars, and restaurants. Sea World is
nearby, as well as the Navy Base. There are banking offices, federal offices,
like the Social Security Administration, and other less obvious offices. Still,
the building I was about to check out was noticeably different. It looked a bit
like a jail, or even a fortress, but there were no signs or other indications
of its purpose. I parked in a downtown garage and walked the few blocks to the
building.
Across the street was a small coffee shop, and I went in to
have a latte and watch. Often people from nearby office buildings would
frequent a place like this, and it also provided a good vantage point of the
entrance. The people entering and leaving the building looked like bankers and
lawyers, exactly what you would expect, but upon closer examination, most
seemed to be between twenty and thirty, and very fit. None were slender or
overweight, and they all had a military bearing. One of these men came into the
coffee shop and ordered a black coffee. I could see him using the glass behind
the counter to surveil the room in reflection. This was not an ordinary office
worker. When he turned, I got a glimpse of a gun in a shoulder holster. The man
walked across the street and entered the building.
San Diego has many fine stores, and I found one that sold
men’s suits. It was just a few blocks away, and I walked to it and found one
that fit and did not really need alteration. They had some dress shoes also,
and I bought an outfit that matched the ones I saw people entering that
building as best as possible. I changed in the dressing room, and left my jeans
and t-shirt there. I paid in cash, and walked back to the coffee shop. Now to
watch for someone that looked as much like me as possible. It wasn’t too long
when the perfect person came walking out of the building. He was a little
older, like me, and wearing the same kind of black suit and similar patterned
tie. I followed. The man walked to a nearby parking garage and was about to
start his car when I knocked on his window. “Excuse me, is this your wallet?”
The man rolled down his window and I grabbed him by the throat applying
pressure to the carotid arteries until the man became unconscious. I quickly
opened the door, got the keys and the man’s identification, then put him in the
trunk of the car. The man would be out for at least twenty minutes, and that’s
all I needed. I locked the car and looked at the ID. Marcus Johnson. That’s
easy to remember. I walked back to the building and went in the front door. As
expected, there was a security station, and I flashed his ID, with no problems.
I went to the elevator bank and looked at the sign. Bahamian Security, the same
offshore company that the jet was registered to. Ninth floor. I pushed the
button. When the elevator doors opened on the ninth floor, I had the strongest
feeling of Déjà vu. I had been here before. None of the people seemed familiar,
but the office was definitely familiar. I walked to what looked like reception
and said to the woman working there “I’m here to see the director”. She looked
confused, and said that she did not know of any appointments scheduled for him.
I said “This is a matter of some urgency. Please let him know that he needs to
see me.” She said “And who shall I say needs to see him?” I said “I’m from
Washington, and I don’t have time for niceties”. She said to follow her and
they went along a corridor to a rather lavish office. She opened the door and
said “Director, this man is from Washington and he demanded to see you”. The
Director looked up and went pale. “What the hell are you doing here? You
shouldn’t be anywhere near this facility.” I said “Do you recognize me”. The
director said “Of course, we worked together back in the 80s. You’re older, but
we keep track of everyone. But you should not even know about this facility.
You were refurbished.” “Refurbished? What is that?” I asked. The Director said
“It means that you had your memories cleaned, and you were put back into your
life.” It was starting to make some sense now, but it didn’t explain why there
were men trying to kill him. I said “Why would someone show up now and try to
kill me if it has been since the 80s since I was active” The Director said “I
haven’t a clue. How did you even find this facility, and how did you get in?
You should have no memory of any of this.” I said “I had a dream after a team
broke into my house and tried to kill me. What could possibly be so important
after all these years?” The Director said “Surely you know that I can’t discuss
any of that with you. If I did, my life would be over. You need to go before
the response team arrives. If they get you, you will never see your kids
again.”
With that, I left the office. First I went to Marcus Johnson’s car and unlocked the trunk.
He should be awake soon. Then, I walked back to my car thinking all the while
that something that was happening now was somehow connected to my past. But
what could it be? What was happening in the 80s? Disco, Central America,
Reagan… That was at least 30 years ago. Many of the people that were in power then
were dead. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I was falling down a
rabbit hole of things I remembered, things I had read, and things I had heard. I
really couldn’t seem to tell where one ended and another began. But I had
another piece of the puzzle, and I had to check on my kids.
When I returned to the motel, the girls were watching Pulp
Fiction. I had shown it to them already, and explained the adult parts, so it
was not a problem. They especially liked the part at Jack Rabbit Slims where there
was a dance contest. I told them that I had made a little progress, but had not
fixed it yet. I told them that they were awesome for being brave and not
complaining. Then I offered to take them to dinner. They both said they would
rather have take out sushi and keep watching the movie. I arranged a delivery
and went into the bedroom to take a nap. The last couple of days had been
exhausting.
I dreamed again. This time, I was in a jungle. I was with a
group of men dressed in camouflage. They were all heavily armed. There were
military style trucks being loaded with drums, and behind what I realized was a
cocaine processing installation. The men spoke English, amongst themselves, but
Spanish to the people that were loading the trucks. I thought that the men were
Americans from their speech and behavior. American soldiers. Why would American
soldiers be taking trucks of cocaine out of the jungle? I felt that I was a
part of this. In my dream, I directed them men to complete the loading because
time was running out. “We have only minutes before an air strike will destroy
this lab. We’ve got to go now.” The people from the lab were leaving now also,
in Toyota trucks and motorcycles. I climbed aboard one of the trucks and then I
awoke, sweating. I wondered if this could this be what they are after me about.
There were lots of conspiracy theories out there about the CIA smuggling
cocaine, and that didn’t seem like anything that would cause them to come after
him now. I went out to find my girls asleep and ate the last bits of sushi.
The next morning, I went to the local library to do a little
research. There was lots of stuff about the CIA and cocaine, and heroin from
the Golden Triangle during Viet Nam, as well as some stuff about the government
selling opium from Afghanistan to Europe and Russia. All of it was pretty
typical, and had been around for a while, so it seemed unlikely that it had
anything to do with what was happening now. Still, I felt that the dream in the
jungle meant something. I thought back to the dream, and remembered a man that
seemed to be important, who was not dressed the same as the others. I thought
and tried to make a connection. I started looking up random military officers
that had served in intelligence or in Washington but nothing seemed to match.
Then, I looked at people who had been involved with charity organizations in
Central America. Still nothing. Then, on a hunch, he looked at doctors who had
served with Doctors Without Borders. And there, amongst hundreds of names and
photos, I saw that man. Dr. William Mackenzie. A specialist in treating
childhood diseases, with a degree also in Pharmacology. What would a man like that be doing in a
jungle with trucks of cocaine? I continued my search using some of the less
known methods that could access government databases, and found something else.
Dr. Mackenzie had worked for the Department of Defense in a classified project.
There was nothing about the nature of the project, but it seemed like the best
lead I had. The best part is that Dr. Mackenzie was living in La Jolla, just a
few miles up the coast. I decided to pay him a visit.
After buying the girls a new Wii console, a dozen games and
hooking it up with the motel TV, I set off to La Jolla. An upscale town on the
coast north of San Diego, it is the home to among other things the Salk
Institute. Homes there are very pricey, so Dr. Mackenzie must have done well.
When I got to the address, it was practically a mansion. There was a gated
drive, with an intercom and camera by the gate. I pulled up to the camera and
pushed the button. A voice said “Who’s there?” I answered “Dave”. Surprisingly,
the gate opened, and I drove up to the house.
The man from my dream met me in the driveway. He was older,
but recognizable. He said “Well, Dave, I never expected to see you again.” I
went through the large doors into an entryway furnished with marble, then
followed Dr. Mackenzie into a wood paneled study. “You do remember me, don’t
you” he said. I replied “Not really. I saw you in a dream and searched until I
found you.” The doctor said “Well, what could be so important that you would go
to such trouble?” I said “A group of men tried to kill me. Then I started
having dreams. You were in one of them. It was in the jungle, and we were
transporting cocaine.” The doctor sat down. “You should have no memory of that.
You were on the list of subjects for refurbishing. It had been years since I
had seen you, but I recognized your name.” I asked “What do you mean exactly by
refurbishing?” The doctor moved some papers around on his desk while he
considered his response. “There was a time when we were doing things that were
not just illegal, but could be considered treasonous. At the time, I did not know
the details, but later I learned some of it. Things like false flag operations
to convince the people that they had to give up freedoms. Things that cost
lives. You were a part of that, but for various reasons, could not be killed.
Something to do with documents that would be released in the case of any
unnatural death.” The doctor paused. I
was a part of a program to develop drugs and methods to erase people’s memory.
It really started back in the 50s, and was exposed in part as MK Ultra.
Supposedly it was shut down, but as I am sure you realize, the government never
shuts down something it wants, it just rebrands it and moves it to a different
department. We had a number of people who could not be eliminated, but also
could not be relied on to keep quiet. So, we cleansed their minds. We erased
problematic memories, and replaced them with memories that were odd or
uncomfortable, so the subjects would prefer not to remember.” The doctor stood
up. “It has worked well until now. The question is why you remembered. It would
take a trauma or some significant event to bring those memories out.” I said “I
was attacked in my home. I have kids, and they are very important to me. I need
to find out who is behind this to keep my kids safe. What can you tell me about
anything that might be important enough for someone to risk exposure and kill
me.” The doctor said “I really don’t know. It has been years since I worked
with those agencies. Now I am a therapist for bored housewives.”
It wasn’t the answer I needed, but it was another piece of
the puzzle. I racked my brain. What could be going on now that could cause them
to come after me. I thought about the news I read. There were plenty of things
that conspiracy theorists were talking about in the news, but none that he had
anything to do with. I didn’t post on social media, never offered my opinion
about politics to anyone, and generally didn’t engage with anyone who could
present a problem. After all, I had kids, and I didn’t want to do anything that
would cause them problems.
OK, there’s the thing about Corona virus coming from a lab
in China. That would be enough to kill someone who had proof, but I had
nothing. Then there’s the whole thing about Russia and Trump, But again, I had
nothing to do with that. I never even wore my MAGA hat. Well before that there
was 9-11. Where was I during 9-11? I worked for the government doing database
stuff. Pretty boring. Did I come across something in a government database that
was sensitive? And, if so, where would I put the evidence. Who did I know back
then I could trust. I had friends that I’d known for years that I could trust,
but would I give them anything so dangerous? It seemed unlikely, especially
since none of them would know what to do with it. Who else could be trusted with
evidence of a mass conspiracy in the government? I couldn’t begin to imagine
what the evidence might be, or who I would give it to. It was time to check on my
kids.
When I got back to the motel, the girls were happy playing
Rayman. They had cleared almost half the levels. I thought they were pretty
impressive for learning the complex game so quickly. But it was time for bed,
so I got them to turn it off and put pajamas on. They said “Good night Dad, we
love you!” and I went to lie down. Again I dreamed. This time I was working at my
government job. After years of doing really dull stuff, I had been tasked with
integrating different databases so that different agencies could have faster
access to more data. At the time, I thought that the system I was building
could be used for much more than government data. It was robust enough to
compare millions of records in seconds. I remembered thinking that it wouldn’t
do to use this system on private records. Things people would want to keep
secret would be easily discovered. But, there were laws about that, and I
didn’t really think that the government could ever find an excuse to violate
the constitution. It would take something catastrophic for people to agree to
that kind of government oversight. Something like Pearl Harbor.
I didn’t usually read any of the materials in the database,
most of it was classified, and despite the fact that I had a very high security
clearance, most of it was pretty dull. Sometimes I might read a record to see
if it matched the original record, but it was rare. But one time, there was
something odd. This is where my memory seemed to be missing. But in the dream, I
could remember. It was a requisition for thermal explosives with timers.
Thousands of them, to be delivered to New York to a warehouse. Why would the
CIA deliver that kind of material to a New York warehouse? This troubled me so I
started looking for records that had been sent from the same location. There
were records about Saudi Arabians who were taking flight lessons. There were
lists of documents that were sensitive that were to be moved to the twin
towers. And more, so much more that was evidence of a conspiracy of enormous
proportions. I awoke with a start. Now I knew why they were trying to kill me.
But the question was why now? And if I had those records, where were they? I
tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. I lay awake trying to understand what
was different.
The next morning, I got up and went across the street to the
Denny’s to get some breakfast. When I was there, I bought a newspaper from out
front. I almost never bought newspapers, I could find anything on the internet,
but sometimes it felt relaxing to get news the old way. I went back to the
motel room, waked the girls, and put
food on the table. Then I noticed a story in the paper. Julian Assange was
being extradited. He was finally coming back to the United States to stand
trial. There were so many things that he knew and did not divulge, in
particular, some of his sources. He had also had not published many things
considering them to be too dangerous. I wondered what would happen to him once
he was in American custody. What would discovery produce when he went to trial,
or would there even be a trial. Maybe a guard would not be watching when he
killed himself like other high profile problematic detainees. Sitting on the
couch and watching my kids playing Rayman, I nodded off. Again I dreamed. I was
sitting at my workstation at the government facility. I had an encrypted
connection through the onion router, a dark web method that makes it impossible
to find the source of transmissions. I was writing an email to Julian Assange.
I had attached a file that was over five gigabytes. I woke in a sweat. Now I
understood what had happened in the current time that had triggered the attempt
on my life. But the only explanation had to be that there was more than one
copy of the files. Since they had Julian Assange, there was no longer any
threat that he would release the files if I were killed, but on the other hand,
if they had him, they likely had the copy I sent him. So, there must be another
copy. But for the life of me I couldn’t think of where I would hide it.
Either way, I could not go on like this forever. My kids had
to go back to school, and my ex-wife would eventually convince the police I had
kidnapped our kids. I had to do something. I thought back to the time when I
had left the government job. It was strange, because I didn’t have a reason to
leave a high paying job, but I had never considered it. Now it made sense, but
to figure out where I hid the files, I would have to remember what I was doing
at the time I left. I had recently met my wife, and she wanted children. When
we were dating, as a joke, I bought her an Elmo plush toy. I said it was for
the kids we would have. When we divorced, I kept it because she didn’t want
anything to remind her of before when we were happy. It was in a box in my
garage. In fact, it was in the same box as those old photographs. A place where
no one would think to look. The problem was that they would be watching my
house and it would be almost impossible to get it without being seen. I needed
a way to distract the watchers long enough for me to get in and out. Then I
remembered the security system that I had installed. It had a siren that could
be tripped remotely. The police would be automatically notified. If the police
took ten minutes to arrive, and the watchers knew about how long the police
response would be, I might have one or two minutes to get in and out when the
watchers would not risk encountering the police. It was risky, but my only
option. I told my kids that if I was not back in an hour to go to the front
desk and call their mom.
When I arrived on my street, I could not see any obvious
watchers, but that did not mean they weren’t there. They would have to be. I
parked around the corner and set off the alarm. I could see people looking out
their windows even this far away. I casually walked to my house and went in to
the garage through the side door. There was the box, and there was Elmo. I
quickly grabbed it and left through the back yard, climbing fences to avoid the
street. When I got back to my car, I quietly drove away. It wasn’t until I had
driven several miles that I stopped and parked. I took out my pocket knife and
cut the stiches where Elmo was sewed together. There it was. A flash drive. The
question now is what to do with it. On it was evidence of the government
killing thousands of American citizens to justify a foreign war and to
undermine our constitutional rights. At that moment I understood something
else. The database I developed was not for government files. I was for keeping
information on every American. It was the first tool to implement tyranny, and
I helped create it. Suddenly I understood why the big tech companies were
against freedoms and for censorship. They were really a part of the deep state.
Of course all that data collected from those free email accounts was being
stored and parsed by powerful algorithms waiting for the day when it could be
used. It was not an accident that the cancel culture was so focused on things
people had said years before. This was to prepare people for when past mistakes
would be used to control them. The scope of what had been done was terrifying.
But what could I do?
No large news company would touch this, and there was
nowhere to publish it that it would not be taken down immediately. And anyone
who did see it would be labeled as a conspiracy crackpot. No, I needed another
way to get the truth out. I looked at that paper sitting on the seat of the
car. There was a live broadcast of a golf tournament at Torrey Pines, just a
few miles away. All I needed was some select documents and access to the video
feed.
I stopped at a Best Buy and bought a laptop that could do
video editing. I went to a nearby park and sat in my car working. I figured I
had at most a minute to make my case. I found the files showing that they knew
about the Saudi flight students. Another showed a building plan of the twin
towers with locations marked. The third was the purchase of tons of thermite
being delivered to a warehouse just blocks from the twin towers. The last was
an email from Julian Assange promising that he would publish if I were killed.
I put it together with some downloaded video of 9-11, and George Bush sitting
in an elementary classroom, and the announcement of the Patriot Act which gave
the government unprecedented powers. The last thing was a fake press pass. No
one would think that a golf tournament was anything that would affect national
security, so it wouldn’t be a problem.
Getting in was easy, but I needed a way to get into the
broadcast booth. For that , I needed a costume change. As is common, restaurant
staff keep work clothes in a locker room in places like Torrey Pines. I slipped
into the locker room and found a servers outfit about my size. I quickly
changed, and walked through the kitchen, picking up an order on the way. When I
got to the broadcast booth, no one even asked why I was there, and I walked right
in. The broadcast was just at the point where the players were on the first
tee, so I knew that people would be watching.
I said to the staff in the booth “I have a bomb. I will detonate it if
you do not step away from the console.” They scrambled to comply and within
seconds the video was playing in living rooms and bars all across the
country. At the end of the video, I had
a url where the files could be downloaded. Even if the government acted
quickly, thousands of copies would be in the hands of the people.
Today, we live in a different country. Oh, it’s still the
United States, but the corruption of the deep state has been removed. It was
difficult for a while, and some brave Americans died. But they are in good
company.
