Yanking down his tie, George stooped down and walked into the interior of Airforce One, pursued by the sound of sirens wailing on the tarmac outside. A secret service guy was standing just a foot away yelling into his walkie talkie.
"Trailblazer has arrived at Angel. Repeat: Trailblazer has arrived..."
"Is there going to be a change of plan, Mr President?" the pilot asked.
George tried to push past him, but the pilot, a princely-looking guy with a square jaw and cropped reddish golden hair, seemed to think that he was the man in charge in this emergency.
“Is it safe for you, sir, to go up into the air now?" he continued, putting his hand out to block his progress. "I mean if the terrorists have hijacked planes and destroyed the World Tower Center, they might be planning an attack on you too!”
George stared, wide-eyed. In the script, the lower ranks just carried out their functions like robots. They didn’t grab his arm and talk to him in that commanding tone.
“Sure it’s safe,” he muttered, desperate to get up into the air untill things had settled down on the ground. “Let’s get up there. Right now."
But the pilot didn’t jump and obey his orders automatically as he had expected. He was obviously still labouring under the media-generated delusion there was a real threat from terrorists. Or did he realise what was going on?
George puffed out his chest to give himself a more authoritative bearing.
„Let's hit blue sky,” he shouted, a gleam of fear flashing in his ice blue eyes.
“The terrorists might be targetting you, sir,” the pilot said.
“In that case, the safest place for us to be will be up in the skies. They’ll never be able to find us,” George hissed between his razor-thin lips.
The burly looking security agent with sideburns, lowered his walkie-talkie and stepped forward.
“Shouldn’t we get some fighter planes as an escort, Mr President?” he asked.
“Fighter planes?“ stuttered George.
“To protect Airforce One, sir?”
“I’m sure, we’ll be fine,” George said in a sharper, angrier voice. “Let’s just get up in the air. Look, I'm the commander in chief here and I give the orders,“ George shouted at the top of his voice. “We’re not going to let a few terrorists make scare us.”
This line of argument seemed to do the trick. The pilot nodded and hurried off into the front cabin. The security guys melted away and let him pass on down the aisle.
Staffers, aides, security agents, all stylishly dressed, were standing around the aisle, watching TV screens, frozen like statues, head back, staring up as if a thunderbolt had hit them as images of a plane hitting the World Trade Center in New York rolled across the screen.
George saw the subtitles „America under attack“ roll across the screen over and over again ad nauseam.
"Sir, we’re under attack? What now, sir?“Someone yelled out.
Next, every single person in the aisle looked around and stared. George tried to keep his gestures confident and natural as he turned to the young staffer with a freckled face.
"Just stay calm now,“ he said. „There’s no need to panic, folks. We’re going up into the air right now so prepare for take off.“
"Yes, sir!“
George walked on down the aisle to the special section of the plane reserved for his inner circle and sealed by a door guarded by three CIA agents. Walking inside, George saw dozens of TV screens flickering.
Carl Rogue and Emammanual Silverstein, the head of one of the world’s biggest media empires, were standing in front of the screens.
Hands on his hips, head tilted upwards, Silverstein was scanning the coverage of the attack on the WTC and the Pentagon which was being shown on all the main channels.
„How’s it going?“ George asked, breathless.
Silverstein didn’t seem to hear him.
His big, grey blue eyes were fixed on the images.
"How’s it going?“ asked George, getting excited and poking him in the arm.
"Quiet!“ snapped Silverstein, not taking his eyes off the screen, running his hand through his thin grey hair.
George took off his navy blue jacket, flung it down on a seat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
As the plane took off, Rogue brought him a can of coke. George took it without a word, snapped back the pin and started drinking the ice cool coke, staring feverishly at the screens. Hundreds of millions of people around the world were watching these events – but only on a few channels, and these were channels that Silverstein and his friends all controlled through their network of freemasons and secret service agents, blackmailed, bullied, bribed or otherwise compromised journalists. All the same, with such a large number of people involved something could go wrong.
George peered at the screens, mesmerised by the footage. Screen after screen showed the same shots. A glinting speck of steel flashed in the blue, vast sky above New York. The speck took on the silhouette of a plane. The wings were clearly visible as it soared through the sky. It crashed into the top of steel-framed tower. Next, there was a puff of smoke followed by an orange fireball. Then, the TV showed the entire tower collapsing. The skyscraper fell like a pack of cards into its own footprint. It really did look like the impact of the plane had caused the tower to fall.
"America under attack“ the subtitles screamed.
An anchor man on Box News said solemnly.
"We have no idea about the numbers of casualties yet, but there were thousands of people at work in those towers, so we can expect high casaulties.“
"Fuck, fuck!“ George said, putting down his can and jumping to his feet.
He was shaking with excitement and fear. The thought that people had actually lost their lives hit home and his stomach flipped over.
“Don't act like some two year old!” Silverstein said contemptuously, flipping from channel to channel.
George stared at footage of the tower dropping to the ground . There was a deafening roar as the building crashed, sending up billowing clouds of dust that hung in the air at street level. People holding handkerchiefs to their mouth were running away.
Silverstein yelled out in triumph every time one of his channels showed the computer generated silver plane hitting the top of the tower and the orange fireball bursting into life.
“That’s it! That’s it!” he cried out, punching the air.
Silverstein monitored the TV screens and shouted instructions into a phone. All evidence that the towers had collapsed because of a mini hydrogen bomb planted in the basement had to be edited out - and quickly – long before it reached the screen. By editing away all the footage, the media created the illusion that the impact of the planes had made the towers collapse. In reality, that defied the laws of engineering and of physics.
No steel framed skyscraper had ever collapsed in the hundred years since they had been built. Steel-framed buildings were so strong that only explosions that created temperatures of more than 4000 degrees could cause the steel to melt. The was no way that the explosion of a single jet, even one filled with jet fuel, could create anything like those temperatures. To make the towers collapsed, they had had to use a mini-hydrogen bomb placed in the basement. The force of the explosion had had to be sufficient not only to melt the steel but also pulverise the concrete. The carefully timed detonation took out one floor after another, ensuring that the lower floors didn’t offer any resistance to the floors above as they fell down. Yes, never before in the history of America had a single steel framed sky scraper collapsed – but here were two towers collapsing in their own footprints like a pack of cards.
Only with artful editing and computer generated graphics and could the American public be persuaded that 16 "terrorists" from some hole in the Middle East were so fiendish they could hijack planes, fly them into the most heavily guarded airspace in the world and take down almost indestructible steel frame towers in the centre of US. This message had to be reinforced by interviews and subtitles and soundbites. The lies also had to be repeated over and over again. That was a key rule of propaganda.
Sipping a coke, George looked at a screen. The blood rushed to his face. He saw the Pentagon. It had a hole in the side. The façade was blackened. No wonder. They had detonated an explosive charge with enough force to destroy an entire sky scraper.
A young anchor on CMM was talking breathlessly. She turned to screen in the studio to talk live to a reporter wearing a jacket and a green polo shirt. He was standing in front of the blackened facade of the Pentagon.
„So what are you seeing, Brad? What can you see of the plane that has crashed into the Pentagon?“ the woman anchor with glossy fair hair, wearing a yellow suit, was asking in urgent tones.
Brad Chester shrugged his shoulders.
„I can’t see anything that looks like an airplane, Casey,“ he said.
“You can’t?” she asked.
Silverstein groaned and flung up his arms.
“No, there is no sign of any airplane debris.”
“None?”
“Get that guy has to get off!“ Silverstein yelled, furious, turning to an aide.
“Fuck! Fuck!“ groaned George. „It’s never going to work!“
Silverstein ignored him.
„I’ve walked around the site here and I haven’t see any bits of an airplane,“ the reporter was saying.
„No fuselage, no parts of a wing or tail, nothing that would indicate that a plane had crashed here…“
„Are you saying you can’t see anything that resembles a plane?“ asked Casey Thompson.
„Nothing. I’ve looked around the entire site and I can’t see any sign of a plane crashing into the building at all.“
“So what caused the hole in the Pentagon? I mean, we can see a chunk has been ripped away. The government said it was a plane.”
„Well, the government has changed its story several times this morning,“ said Brad Curtis. „First, the government said it was a helicopter that crashed into the Pentagon, then a guided missile and the latest version is that it was a plane.“
“Yes, a jet plane hijacked by the terrorists. Flight 55.“
“Just I can’t see any sign that a plane has crashed.”
„What else could have caused the damage to the Pentagon?“
“I don’t know. I guess it could have been an explosive device planted inside the building.”
“A bomb?”
“Maybe. It’s hard to see how any terrorists could smuggle that kind of explosives into the Pentagon.”
„Has there been a security lapse? What are the government officials saying?“
„The latest statement from the government says that Flight 55 crashed into the Pentagon and caused the damage you can see behind me here.“
„But you can’t see any sign of a plane crash. Nothing, Brad?“
„Absolutely nothing. No parts of a plane, no wreckage. Nothing.“
George watched, petrified.
Silverstein picked up a clip board, flicked through the sheets and jabbed his finger down onto a name. He dialled a number.
„Get me Elliot Spielberg on the line now!“ he yelled.
A pause.
“Look, Elliot,” Silverstein yelled into the phone. “Get your fucking reporter Curtis off the fucking airwaves. Get him off right now! Yeah…yeah…there’s an interview running right now with one of your guys down by the Pentagon saying he didn’t see any sign of fucking plane. Get the jackass off! Right now!”
„Oh shit, this is a catastrophe,“ George groaned. “And you said you had the filter under control? The fuck you have! They’re leaks springing everywhere.”
“Just wait, you muppet!” shouted Silverstein, furious. “Anyway, there’s fuck all anyone can do. We have the entire government in our hand.”
Silverstein was on the phone again, this time to the Pentagon, ordering all journalists to be kept away from the site.
George saw Brad Curtis vanish. CMM switched to footage of the planes crashing into the World Tower Center.
But RBSC news was showing fire fighters in yellow hats and protective gear running through the sea of molten steel and burned out cars.
„We’re getting reports of a huge explosion. A huge explosion brought down the building,“ a reporter standing at street level was saying.
He turned to a fire fighter and put the microphone to him.
„I heard an explosion,“ a fire fighter with a hard hat and a face covered in grim was saying.
Rogue groaned.
„An explosion?“ the reporter asked the fire fighter.
„Yes, there was definitely an explosion like a demolition explosion. A huge rumble, and then the whole building just collapsed. I’ve never seen anything like this. I mean. And the speed of it. It just came down so quickly. It must have been an demolition job.“
„A demolition job?“
„That’s the way a building collapses when it’s pulled demolished!”
Silverstein thumped his fist on a desk.
“Idiots!” he yelled.
„So what do you think caused the explosion?“ the reporter was asking.
„No idea, but there was definitely an explosion in the basement. I heard it. I was going down the steps to try to get the emergency power on...”
“There was no emergency power?”
“It was switched off...”
“So you were going down the steps...”
“Yeah, I’d just reached the bottom and I heard this huge bang in the basement and this guy came staggering out, covered in blood. I grabbed him and brought him up the steps.”
“So the explosives were in the basement?”
“Must have been. But for a tower to fall like that they’d need to be in every floor. Only that could account for why the tower collapsed straight down and didn’t fall over to one side,“ the fire fighter said..
"Who could have planted those explosives?“
"Good question!“
“Terrorists?”
The fire fighter shrugged his shoulder.
“I don’t know who got access to the building. I just know I heard a big bang, a rumble like demolition charges going off down below in the basement.”
„Fuck!“ groaned George. “It’s over!”
But Silverstein was already on the phone yelling into the receiver.
„Get that fire fighter talking about a demolition job at the World Tower Center off now!“ he shouted.
“Yeah, Mike, get that footage off.”
A bespectled academic type was talking to a studio anchor on BCD.
„I don’t get it? Why weren’t intercepted when they entered our airspace,“ he was saying.
„What do you mean?“ asked the anchor.
„I mean where are the fighter jets that control New York, airspace? Why didn’t they shoot these planes down long before they got here? Everyone knows there are really strict radar checks and controls on any plane violating New York airspace. I just don’t see how two of the planes got through. I mean these were Saudi pilots, right? Did they know all the codes? Speak English?“
„Mike. One of your goons is going off on his own. Stop him! Yes, yes….that stufff about the aircraft interception. Get if off now!“
„And the manoeuvre of the pilot that hit the Pentagon was odd.“
„Odd?“
„I mean he pulled off an incredible feat if he really managed to dive down from that height and hit the Pentagon.“
George was standing there, pressing his hand against his throbbing forehead, when he heard an anchor on RSBC asking about his whereabouts.
„For fuck’s sake!“ he muttered over and over again.
“The trouble is, George, you have no appreciation of art. This is like shooting a film and editing it while the cameras were rolling.”
“That is what the terrorists did, ladies and gentlemen,” a commentator was saying in sombre tones. “They have destroyed some of the most important symbols of American prosperity and freedom. They have also attacked the Pentagon, plunging a jet into the building, killing untold number of people. This is a declaration of war.”
Next, Rogue rushed up.
“Shit! Some moron at the BBC has announced the collapse of the third tower too fucking soon”
“What?” cried George.
“O shit!
“They’ve just said Tower 7 has collapsed when it’s standing fucking up there behind them.”
George froze when he heard his name mentioned.
“Reports are coming in that the President has taken off from Georgia in Air Force One,” the anchor with short, cropped fair hair was saying, staring into the camera with a steady gaze. “President Tuff was attending a reading drill at Cedar Elementary School this morning. He was there without his wife, Lorrie. It seems she did not accompany him on this occasion, and is safe. Reports say the President is informed of the attacks. He was informed shortly after the attacks occurred by an aide while he was actually in the classroom reading to the children. We understand the President has now left the school.“
George groaned when he saw the footage of him sitting in the class-room with the kids.
„Did the President say anything?“ another news anchor was asking. „I mean, from that clip there, the President doesn’t really react to the news. He just seems to nod and say nothing and continue with the reading exercise.“
„Get a statement out,“ Silverstein shouted at Rogue, who was standing there, chewing the top of a pencil.
„Say the President was anxious not to upset the kids and that he is waiting for more information. Say whatever you need to give the impression the President is monitoring the situation. Got it?“
„Yes, sir!“ said Rogue and hurried off.
„What the fuck?“ asked George. „Did you hear that guy? He’s actually asking why I didn’t respond when I got the news? Did you hear the suspicion in his voice? It’s like he figured something was up.“
„Just stay calm!“
„Calm? What the hell do you mean?“
„We’re going to stay up here until the message settles. We’re not going down till the message is stable. Okay?“ Silverstein said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
He picked up the phone and dialled the number of the news editor in RSBC.
George walked into his private study. A few of his close aides were sitting around, talking on phones. George sat down on behind his desk.Rogue was on the phone to his contact in the commodities exchanves, where future oil contracts were traded off the radar screen.
„Get the oil price going up,“ he was saying. “No, Silverstein doesn’t know anything about this. He’s too focussed on getting his war in Iraq...And he thinks we, goyims, are dumb. The racist genocidal Satan worshipping Talmud bastard! Serves him right!”
George turned to a TV screen. He saw a young commentator on a business channel saying: „It’s too early to speculate now about what this will do to the oil price, but we can be sure that the price will go up. The terrorists were from Saudi Arabia and the Middle East according to government sources. That region is crucial for our oil supply. Any sign of instability there makes the markets nervous. So, my bet is, yes, the price of oil will start going up.“
The slick-looking anchor nodded, then asked.
“How much higher? I mean will the price of oil double? Could it actually go as far as 20 dollars a barrel?”
“It’s possible oil could double, especially if the President decides military action in the Middle East is necessary.”
“Do you think he might?”
“If these terrorists from that region are causing trouble, the President might decide drastic steps are needed to protect America.”
“So you see the oil price increasing fast even without a war.”
“Sure, the markets respond very quickly to any sign of disruption and so I think the oil price will go up this week whatever happens.”
“Do you think it’ll be 10, 12 dollars a barrel?”
Rogue smiled as he turned to the screen.
„That a boy! It’ll soon be 100, 200, 400 dollars. Oh, boy! Wait till we go into Afghanistan and Iraq. We’ll be raking it in with the drugs, the oil and the contracts!”
Next, Allan White came up with a phone.
„George, the Veep.“
George took the receiver and put it to his ear.
„How’s it going, Vamp?“ he asked.
„Okay,” came the dry voice of Rick Shane. “You?”
“I’m thinking this isn’t going to work.”
“It’s going fine!”
„I don’t want to be lynched.“
Shane laughed.
“Everything is going just fine. We have it all under control. And the oil?“
„Carl’s just given the green light to push up the oil price in the Enron loop.“
„Good“ said Shane. „I want the oil to be have jumped at least three dollars by end of play today.”
„Aren’t you getting greedy?“
„What do you mean? That’s being modest.“
„Just make sure you don’t overdo it. We don’t want people asking questions about why the oil has jumped up so suddenly.“
„What do you mean? The trades are off the radar screen and our own boys in the filter know that they have to keep it that way.”
“Silverstein doesn’t know, right, about our guys?”
“No. That arrogant bastard's in for a surprise! He thinks we goys are morons! Everyone scanning the media will think it’s just a regular response of the market to the attacks like we tell them, even Silverstein and the Zionists.“
„Okay, okay. I guess we’ll have to land soon," George said, checking his watch.
„Nervous?“
„Sure am! It’s not you who have to get off that plane and give a speech to the nation after you helped stage an attack on your own country.“
„Relax. It’s all under control. The filter is operating just like it should. We’ve been doing this so long we even got you and your Daddy elected! That shows how perfect the media propaganda is, huh!”
“Very funny!”
Rogue gave George a playful slap on the back.
“We’ve been planning this so long, there wonn’t be any glitches.”
Soothing words.
George walked back into the main room. He scanned the TV screens.
In the meantime, Silverstein’s interventions were paying off. Whichever channel George looked at, he saw the same images. They all showed the same footage of the plane crashing into the tower, the orange ball of fire, the towers collapsing, the blackened facade of the Pentagon. All five of the major TV channels had anchors and reporters talking about terrorist attacks and in voices trembling with dismay and shock. Brad Curtis had vanished from the screen. So had the fire fighter talking about an explosion in the basement. The “expert” wondering why the planes hadn’t been intercepted was gone. The major twenty world newspapers were also all on message, too. There had been a hideous terrorist attack. The hijackers had destroyed the WTC in New York. Even the BBC was in tune.
Silverstein was busy monitoring the media coverage of in Great Britian, France and Germany, Japan, checking what footage was shown, contacting the editors.
UK PM Tim Blight delivered a statement of strong support to the US, condeming the “terrorists” as expected – no surprise since freemason Tim Blight and in on the plot like all the other freemason European governments.
Mind you, he wasn’t going to risk anything. He wasn’t going to go down and land and face the public until he was really sure the message that there had been an attack had settled. Why risk anything? George thought to himself as he sipped his coke.
It was all about money and power. And the biggest source of money and power was America and the biggest profits were to be made from getting control of the government The Skull and Bones, the freemasons, the Bilderbergs, the CIA and MI5, the Knights of Malta and the Zionists who had controlled America and Europe for decades had all teamed up for their latest crime spree, the biggest and most spectacular so far.
http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/series/on-board/all/Overview23#tab-interactive
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