Mayan prophecy.

[DragonFly]

You MUST go inside the vault!

Then I noted the maintenance stairway beside it, where none had ever gone, and looked around; the GrandMaster knew that I would, to see it spiral down into Neverland. So strangely compelling it was that I ventured down, underground, beyond all sight and sound…

I reported the following to my dear Passiona, “I’m only five miles back up the stairway to heaven on earth, and am posting from my cell phone. I’m carrying all sorts of documents to the surface that have never seen the light of day. Oops, I just dropped the sad story of the Kennedy brothers, and about Marilyn Monroe’s death, but I’d noted that the mafia hired foreign assassins, to cover their tracks. And, darn, there goes the report on Roswell Area 51, which was too long to read… Am six miles up, now. 17 more to go. I can still see the throne of doom below, snakes curled all around and under it…”

“Cripes,” Passiona responded.

I reached the top. “That’s the story, sweety-heart,” said Austino. “You’re looking good, my dear Passiona. Now that the 2012 is solved, we can get back to business. And I’ll tell the rest of those secret stories soon. ”

“The air is balmy and your motion is dynamic,” she said.

Passiona was so hot, she had to cool off! And suddenly Passiona disappeared in a poof of mist. For some reason, Austino was suddenly covered head to TOE with vapor, drenched with a very sweet scent.

“Holy Toledo Austino, You make sure you keep those top secret files, documents and whatnot secure in your grasp. I am seriously curious, so curious in fact that you simply must, just must read every word to me. I’m dying to know what you have. And I might add, about Area 51; I think they should release it.”

“Dear Seriously Curious,” Austino related. “Right now I have a deadly container of biological germ warfare, if you are really dying to know, but, I threw that away real fast. What I have handy is the President’s Book, written by past Presidents and readable only by a President in office. This is the only copy of all secrets, except for what I also have, at least those that the CIA told the Presidents about. I have access, since I know the President, and to all the CIA secrets as well. DIA, too.

“The current President—I dare not reveal his name, due to the security guidelines—but his name starts with ‘O’, was formerly of Chicago, Illinois, near where I lived, in Oak Park, but that is not where I met him, only knowing him in Chicago all the more there after he arrived, and rose to power as a Senator. We met in Punahau, Oahu, Hawaii, at the basketball court of Punahau High School. He was on the team and I was a spectator, living, between secret assignments, in a tower in Punahau, at one end of the rainbow that crossed over the Manoa Valley from the University of Hawaii. We kept in touch, and the rest is history. Finally, we have a President who understands the value of science, but we still cannot talk about his secrets, so please strike all this from the record.

“I will only be telling relatively old secrets, maybe, that have no current value to our enemies. I can also discount many rumors that are simply not true, for example, the Chinese are not trying to conquer us by slipping sneaky ingredients into vaccines and pharmaceuticals, of which they make many. It takes a long time to get approval by the FDA, plus, the last thing any business would want would be to have the bad publicity of some huge tainted pill problem. Paranoia strikes deep.

“Anyway, according to Nelson DeMille, one time Russia was running a Charm School to train its more whitish looking northerners to pose as Americans to infiltrate our infrastructure. They were using our Vietnam prisoners of war as instructors of all aspects of American society. They even built a model of Main Street, USA, complete with working banks, hair salons, and the whole nine yards of a football field. Not only did the American ‘instructors’ subtly teach the wrong stuff of inaccurate nuances, so as to expose the spies eventually, but we also we found out about the place and nerve-gassed most of it, retaining some of the Russians to become double agents that then spied on Russia for us.”

Meanwhile, Austino is still drenched in the alluring fragrance of the vapor that permeated on through to his soul. He said that “the inundation of the bouquet of aroma was irresistible in its redolence.”

William of Ockham, known as Occam
Led a simple life, for he didn’t have a wife.

[DragonFly]

(I could reveal the full details of the 'Charm School', as well as the thwarting of a plot to replace the head of Russia with a fake—a look-alike.)

[grandpa]

Then I noted the maintenance stairway beside it, where none
had ever gone, and looked around; the GrandMaster knew that
I would, to see it spiral down into Neverland.
So strangely compelling it was that I ventured down, underground,
beyond all sight and sound…

And then there were none more sweet than a smallpox retreat.

Grandpa h.

[DragonFly]

The Conspiracy’s Last Gasp?

GERMAN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC

Sally knew it was time to come in from the cold; she had all she needed. She thought about taking a late lunch and not coming back, but this would have been too suspicious, so she bided her time, leaving at the usual quitting time, knowing that she would never see this place again.

Sally was a deep penetration agent, reporting directly to Number 1 East, working for the top execs of a new cosmetic research corporation. They had even invented a better ‘Botox’, but there was more to it, and Sally had it. Her air of silliness had made them oblivious to her, they not even always closing their doors during meetings. No one knew how to keep a secret in this world. The put-on of her demeanor of joyful bantering talk had been quite convincing, for it was but an extension of her nature. Now she had alarming proof that the Conspiracy lived on in a new and desperate way.

Just before leaving, she inserted a loophole into the firewall of the corporation; it would probably hold up until the morning shift came in. Much prepared for her retirement, retrieved the contour analysis from its safe spot and placed it in a zip lock pouch, and carefully sealed it, putting it in her coffee thermos, then filled it with yucky office coffee, doing all of this out of sight within her desk drawer.

She had found the revealing visage imposed on another just the day before, in an exec’s wastebasket that had not yet been dumped into the shredder chute. This had been a flaw in their system, and there were always such openings to be discovered, not that they had been so careless overall, but the fruition of their plan was just two weeks away. The scent of cigar smoke wafting from a meeting had been the first real clue.

Sometimes, when she left the complex, they had x-rayed or even opened her thermos, but today they just waved her on, since there was a crowd, not that they would have found it or even made anything of it. What she had was a 3-D type grid sheet of a human head, as might have been used to guide a plastic surgeon, but this one was more advanced than that.

Sally boarded the subway, as usual, but stuck her cell phone deep into the seat, where it met the uprise, then got off at the next stop. Her employers would waste time later on chasing a subway car. There had been no need for her to go to her apartment, for she had already packed her bags into a new car provided by the Ninja Empire. their protective eyes followed her travels, but of course she could not see them.

She drove off to the airport, relaxed, for all of her relatives and close friends had been moved to safe houses. Once there, she made a copy of the sectioned face and mailed it off, keeping the original. Using an alias, she bought a ticket for a flight to the country that Michael had moved to.

TURKEY, FORMER PERSIAN EMPIRE

Here, on the opposite side of the world from Hawaii, was another cross-directional pathway, where West met East, in the two countries that Turkey sat atop, Iraq and Iran, the crossroads that so many would-be conquerors had been necessarily drawn through, the Persia of old, that Alexander the great, among many, had trodden, he even marrying thousands of his troops to the locals.

The techs at the Yin Ninja Center had already begun a massive download through the crack in firewall of the cosmetics corporation and were about halfway through when the opening closed, for the corporation complex had begun to self-destruct, a sure sign of Conspiracy involvement. Sally had them right on.

Trish, the nomer that Grandmaster East preferred, reviewed the synopsis of the data, sitting in the control room bunker with her husband, Michael. They noted an undue amount of biological cellular data. In fact, it appeared to be at the leading edge of the field.

“Michael, did not Rascal uncover some grotesque cloning attempts in the Virginia raid?”

“Yes, but they were not viable, being failures in the end, as we’ve deduced from the videos.”

“Well, those were playthings compared to what we see now; they’ve abandoned what DNA can but slowly accomplish; they’re now arranging body cells directly, under the pretense of cosmetic restoration, utilizing the cells’ antenna to speed up the process immensely.”

“…So the rich could fund this endeavor and obtain growth and vitality in their aging faces and bodies without the loss of feeling, as with the numbness of Botox.”

“Or even obtain a new and different face…”

Sally arrived at the Center, removed her disguise of the wig and glasses, and was checked through security, correctly answering some personal questions, such as one about a handsome zookeeper, and then was whisked into the control room.

“Hi Trish, Michael,” gushed Sally as her enthusiastic self as she embraced and hugged them both.

“SillySallly, what do you have for us?” asked Trish.

“Chernov is no longer Chernov.”

“What!” cried Trish, “Alexi?”

Sally poured them some coffee, fishing out the picture of the Head of State to be.

Michael interjected, “This is the likes of Alexi Chernov, the one who just won what they call an election. He is to ascend to the office in a few days.”

Trish added, “He will then hold the keys to the Kingdom and to the nuclear codes; my God, a Conspirator in charge of Russia!”

Trish continued, “Sally, did you tell anyone?”

“No one; to keep a secret, tell no one, and leave no traces.”

“Good, Sally, for they don’t know that we know, for this picture was not in their database, but the DIA/CIA cannot take out a Head of State, by order of the President, whether retired, serving, or one elected to be.”

“Can we?” asked Sally, hesitatingly.

“Someone has to,” answered Michael, “but there can be no connection to the Intelligence units of any countries with which we are now allied. Any sign of their involvement could lead to World War III.”

“Well, at least until Chernov’s government does an autopsy on ‘him’ and learns that he is a replacement,” Trish added. “Get me my CounterBalance; meanwhile, check everything out and match the serial numbers on the picture to the data we’ve extracted from the corporation.”

Number 1 West had already gotten up in the middle of the night to review the data, and had picked up his phone just as it was about to ring.

“West here; how are you, Trish?”

“A crisis has come to my house.”

“I know the feeling well. Should we take him out? After extreme confirmation, of course.”

“Yes, but I’m engaged with ongoing missions on all sides here, as you know. This region of mine is even more volatile now than just after the D.C. incident. I need someone traceable to nowhere, someone good with a rifle and a rocket launcher, one who can run like the wind. Rehearsals are not an option; the window opens in three days, for that is when Chernov gives his victory rally. There may be other chances, but there will be major difficulties after he takes office, plus he may act instantly, before we can get to him or anyone can detect a difference in him.”

“I know, and I know that you know that I know, but it still helps to talk it all out. We have some new and traceless members in readiness training now, but you’ll be needing just one to go in, right, and two or three for support?”

“Yes, we’ll have to keep it simple and do it the old fashioned way; there’s no time; I will send you all the other details shortly.”

West ended the call.

Michael updated his wife: “There is also a reference to some kind of older program that we’ve translated as a “finishing class”. It is in New Persia. It could be a backup plan or even a longer range plan engaged previously to the cosmetics break through.”

“We’ll need Western Field Command for a large mission like this, if it’s on; we are overextended here and we don’t have any teams available or that can be recalled in time. Find this finishing place. West can plan this one while we plan Chernov’s demise.”

Trish continued, “The world is still tense around here. If the U.S. or any other major country is implicated, there may come an end to the world. So, we need an unknown person, one outside of all the paramilitary units.”

Graham was one of the newbies on training duty this month. He had just spent weeks on the machines, target practice, and the everyday running on the track, even giving up smoking. He’d been dreaming of building a house in the clouds, which was one of the reasons that he had accepted the mission.

West called East back. “My man Fredrick has just retranslated the “finishing class” term of interest to “charm school”. I am not so happy with the implications of it.”

“They are again trying to infiltrate countries’ infrastructures with their own Conspirators, only they are desperate, and so they are training suitable looking foreigners in the ways of the west, hoping to move them up quickly in the aftermath of whatever Chernov has in mind to inflict on us.”

“I’ll take care of this spy college plan while you figure out Chernov.”

“One more thing, West. Chernov is addressing all the military units in his election victory rally. They will be in full gear, and will have tanks along and all that. They will probably not be armed, but, who knows, for this madman may wish some kind of gun-firing salute to better bond him with the troops.”

“It’s a pep talk to his future deputies from their next fearless leader. I’ll break this wonderful news to the men I’m sending to you, including a select few to support the job and one to go in, just as soon as Thomas concurs. We need stealth, which might not come from a large group that would only attract attention and leave some stragglers around to be captured and tortured into telling. Plus, most of my people are busy working with the U.S. DHS right now. Hold on, I’m getting it from Veil right now; it’s a go.”

West next called Field Command, Rascal answering, for Rascal now was Field Command.

“Rascal here,” Puff said as he picked up the green phone.

“Get your best team on an SST, and strike just after Chernov has met his maker. Are you ready for this, old friend? You’re going in dead cold, with little reconnaissance. It may not go very well. You will have two copters disguised with the region’s markings, one for your command oversight and one for your assault team, but the copters are not a perfect match to what they have there, for then their pedals would operate in reverse, and such, and we don’t need any confusion like that now. They won’t notice at night. Sorry for the short notice, but they might quickly dismantle the place when they realize that we know about Chernov and more.”

“We’re ready, Master; I’ve been following the latest developments.”

A tug boat dropped Graham near some high cliffs just north of the deep water harbor. This tug looked like a piece of junk, having many old and ratty tires roped onto it all around.

Graham quickly found the side path and walked up and around the cliffs, then on through a forest, noting the landmarks and the alternate paths, then out and up towards the high ground near the site, the rally to begin in but a few minutes. Any pursuers coming up after the deed was done would have to use up their time on the climb. The hill had probably already been searched by security.

Graham would seize the first opportunity and then make it back through the woods to the shore and then to the tug just as it was ‘routinely’ motoring by. The tug would not wait; it could not wait and just sit there, arousing suspicion. Graham had been on the cross country track team in high school; his escape would be akin a Sunday walk in the park, unless the troops’ weapons were loaded, but this was not likely.

The anthem played; Graham took this time to adjust his sights and account for a slight breeze. There would be a brief introductory speech. Off stage, in the wings, the new Chernov thought of how easy it had been, well, not the lengthy and laborious cell treatments, but his replacement of the real Chernov. The old Chernov had even unwittingly aided them by wandering away from the compound for some solitude from the claustrophobia of the campaign. The guards were frantic, but then, I as he, had returned after a while, even glibly claiming that I felt like a new man, but that I needed to sleep. Even the practiced voice went over well. Luckily, or taken into account, old Chernov had no wife or children who could have, or would have known that he was now a changed man.

Meanwhile, Rascal’s team was approaching the site of the charm school. It was heavily fenced in, an expected omen, and there was a clearing made for helicopter landings, of which this would be just another such. Rascal would land his command ship a ways away, overseeing the action through the reports and video. Only the troop heli would land within the site, all of the troops wearing full body armor, and led by Analog. It was already 10 PM, but all were probably not yet asleep, a problem that had to be dealt with, but then they might not all be sober either, or even otherwise occupied.

Back at the rally, Graham noted the starry sky, thinking of the TOE for a second. Luckily, the moon was not a factor. It was 8:10 PM. The first laser rifle shot would fell the man, just after the red dot appeared on him, then a rifle burst of shots to be certain would be followed by a rocket that would blast the entire vicinity of the podium. The military audience would be stunned, at first, much taken by surprise, and paralyzed for a while, during which he would flee like a bat out of Hell.

Chernov walked on stage, to a mighty applause, and took to the podium. Graham inched forward and lay prone, making some final adjustments as Chernov began to lay out his vision for a new order. Graham steadied, then held, then fired. Chernov was hit, and he stopped speaking, no one but him yet realizing. Chernov held fast onto the podium; he knew. Next came the burst of laser guided bullets, Graham using all but one, then calmly switched to the rocket rifle, aiming carefully and setting loose the charge. Not waiting to gauge the reaction, Graham confirmed the kill, and took off, wondering if the military men’s weapons were loaded. Nothing happened until he got to the woods; it was an eerie interlude.

Then it happened all at once; every soldier was firing in Graham’s general direction, and some tanks could be heard roaring to life. The trees were a shield of sorts and so Graham headed through the denser sections, still keeping sight of the path that would guide him on. This was cross country at its finest; he had to hurdle over fallen timbers that slowed him down but slightly. Hot metal rained down all around; this was much worse than expected, and the firing was on the increase.

Tree bark flew off right and left and overhead, from a hailstorm of bullets. A fragment stung into his shoulder. Slowing to a jogging pace, Graham jammed a cauterizer into his wound to stop the bleeding, then sprinted ever faster, fueled by the adrenaline of danger. The sounds of falling trees far behind meant that the tanks were coming, and soon their thunderous rounds ripped through the forest, like large bowling balls.

Graham slowed, eventually, waiting for a second wind. Where was it? He figured the path of the tanks; not good; he would have to circle wide and then back; precious time would be lost. His new house would most likely be in the Paradise of Heaven and not in the mountains of British Columbia. He was off and took more shrapnel in his arm, stopping briefly to wrap it. Graham would have been setting a speed record if the course was as straight as it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t, and so the agony finally came, that time always feared by long distance runners—the wall.

Back at the Charm School site, Rascal had gotten the news of Chernov, and had his assault team land, putting his Command chopper down well outside the site, at the same time. Guards sauntered out of the guard house after a minute or two, a fatal mistake.

Analog’s team then raced into the compound, setting explosives. Resistance was light for the size of the place, but more than enough to contend with. The primary aim of the mission was to put the place out of operation, but leave enough of it for the world to come in and note the scope of the treachery.

Rascal watched the video and ran some of the high level strategy, but could hardly believe what he saw on screen: there was an entire mocked up village of typical Americana: banks, hair salons, drug stores, a movie theater, even houses with picket fences; it was an entire town with a Main Street, U.S.A. running right through it, just as DeMille once wrote an entire book about. This large operation evidently was to train American looking foreigners to infiltrate and operate in the United States. Some of the residents looked like the white Russians found in the north.

Graham had finally made it through the forest to the clearing near the cliffs, sinking to one knee, to catch his breath and look for the tug boat. Damn, he had missed the tug; it was already passing by and heading off.

He couldn’t be taken alive, for that was the deal; he had one bullet left. He could hear the troops and the tanks in the distance, perhaps but three minutes away. He sighted his laser rifle on the departing tug, steadied his bleeding arm, then pulled the trigger, and rang the ship’s bell with his last bullet.

The tug began to turn around. There would be no time to take the side path down to the water, so Graham ran toward the cliff, faster and ever faster, for he had to be sure to clear some protrusions down below, then jumped, far out, sailing through the air, and dropping like a stone, just straightening out at the last moment and knifing into the water near the oncoming tug.

Graybeard quickly fished the exhausted Graham out of the water and dragged him aboard, then powered the engines to full speed and headed the ship out to sea at an amazing pace for a mere tugboat.

“Why were you leaving me?” Graham wondered aloud.

“I wasn’t leaving you, man; I had to keep moving so as to not draw attention. I heard the ruckus above; my God, their weapons were loaded!”

“Indeed. What’s under the hood of this thing?”

“Gleaming new double engines.”

Graham looked back. “Uh-oh, there’s a tank setting up on the cliff and we’re the only ship in sight.”

“No problem, I’m evading now”.

The tug began a zigzag.

“You’re making me seasick!”

“Better than dead. By the way, good job up there.”

“Thanks, but they’re firing at us.”

The tank round landed way out ahead.

“They didn’t gauge the down positioning.”

“They soon will!”

“No sweat.”

“Why are you so calm?”

“This is one of our easier missions.”

At about that moment, some kind of missile whizzed by from the totally opposite direction and smashed into the cliffs, shattering them. It seemed as if the tank was suspended in the air for a few long seconds before it crashed into the sea below.

“I’m still sweating it, Graybeard; this tug doesn’t have enough fuel to cross the ocean, plus there are three helicopters taking off now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m hoisting a pirate flag.”

“Great news. Graybeard, I like to worry about these things; hey, I know that flag from ToeQuest.”

“Whatever fired that missile is here to pick us up; they don’t tell me everything.”

“I don’t see anything out there.”

“Hold on; there it is.”

“It looks like a bathtub.”

“It’s the coning tower of a submarine.”

Coming closer, they saw some really aware person popping out of a hatch; it was Poppa.

“Get over here, you guys; move it; swim.”

They climbed in.

“This is your rig, Poppa?” they both said at once.

“Yes, it’s one of them; have to make the mula.”

“Where to?”

“To the deep,” Poppa commanded into his phone. “Then fire torpedo and engage all sonar.”

“That’s my personal boat, Poppa!” cried Graybeard.

“We’ll get you a new one.”

Analog’s team was now deep into the compound and nearly finished, then everything went bad. Armed people were pouring out from what must have been a vast underground complex with many exits, almost surrounding the ninja team. These were the very spies being trained in American ways. Analog called for evacuation, setting off all the explosives to buy some time, but there were so many adversaries that they were able to quickly regroup and begin a large pursuit of Analog’s team.

Rascal ordered his command ship pilot to lift off. His craft landed in front of the enemies, to cover the retreat of his troops, firing and eventually exhausting both door guns of the copter. The chopper began to take some fire and so Rascal ordered it off, staying behind. “Analog, meet me in the clearing near the fence in 10 minutes. Don’t be early or you’ll be a sitting duck; don’t be late or I will be one.”

The enemy was recovering, regrouping again. There must have been thousands of them. Rascal’s troops would need time to get back and board their helicopter. Rascal didn’t figure on making it back himself. He gauged the wind from the smoke that was blowing about, then threw some canisters out and away into a rough semicircle about him, then retreated in a hurry, as the relentless masses began approaching again. The deadly nerve gas slowed the enemy waves, felling them, after a moment or two, but many in the rear then began circling wide around. What madmen; they are like fearless robots!

Rascal ran like never before, glad to see and hear his assault team’s copter taking off and rising in the distance, but, as he neared the guard house, some new guards must have just come on duty, and had just stepped out. Rascal couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back.

Suddenly someone mowed down the guards with a machine gun blast; it was Analog.

“Analog, you fox; I’m going to press your ToeQuest ‘Thanks’ button a thousand times if we get out of this mess; however, there are many enemies due to come about and around right here very soon.”

They ran to the center of the clearing; they had gotten to it about a minute or two early.

“Our punctuality may have cost us our lives, Analog.”

“Yes, but I hate being late, Rascal.”

Sure enough, they could see movement behind the tree line.

“Here they come,” said Rascal.

The enemies emerged, still too far away to fire, but fired anyway, moving inexorably closer. Rascal and Analog moved back a bit, but a futile gesture; they were ready for death.

“It’s been a blast, Rascal.”

“It’s not over yet.”

Suddenly the enemy troops began to slow, then stumbled and fell to the ground.

“I placed my last canister of nerve gas back there, Analog, knowing that the wind was blowing slowly this way, even though it will soon be upon us.”

Rascal then felt a slight tingle, as did Analog.

“Don’t worry, Analog, it’s just some stray molecules of the nerve gas wafting on ahead.”

“I’m not worried, for I hear the chopper, but I do see more enemies arriving from another direction. We may not make it.”

Time slowed to a crawl; so close yet so far.

“Any more tricks, Rascal? The nerve gas is on its way; the chopper will be too late for us.”

“One last hope.”

The down wash of the rotor blades of Rascal’s Command chopper landing from on high had spread the incoming nerve gas outward, in fact propelling it towards the onrushing conspirators, which soon doomed them.

“That’s why the early bird always gets the worm, Analog.”

[grandpa]

(I could reveal the full details of the 'Charm School',
as well as the thwarting of a plot to replace
the head of Russia with a fake—a look-alike.)

I don't know if this thread is part of a headcold or an al Qaeda plot, but it definitely stems from something.

As a sidenote, I'm tempted to take an art class just to draw some nudes.

Grandpa h.

[DragonFly]

I don't know if this thread is part of a headcold or an al Qaeda plot, but it definitely stems from something.

As a sidenote, I'm tempted to take an art class just to draw some nudes.

Grandpa h.

It's pre al Qaeda, and the plots were interleaved, so now both of them are told.

[DragonFly]

The rest of the secrets…


Butterflies At the Edge Of Forever

Unified Discussion Butterflies At the Edge Of Forever

Butterflies At the Edge of Forever - YouTube


Earth On the Edge Of Forever

Unified Discussion Earth On the Edge of Forever

Earth On the Edge Of Forever - YouTube


The Defense Intelligence Agent

ToeQuest

(no video)


The MPs’ Tales

Unified Discussion The MPs' Tales

The MPs' Tales (clone) - YouTube


The Cambodian Adventure (expanded scene)

Unified Discussion The Cambodian Adventure

The Cambodian Adventure

[Charlatan]

nearly there, as i am writing this it is 22:40 at gmt+2.

what will happen? maybe it is rapture?

[grandpa]

It's pre al Qaeda, and the plots were interleaved, so
now both of them are told.

Is that all?

Grandpa h.

[grandpa]

nearly there, as i am writing this it is 22:40
at gmt+2.
what will happen?

Life on earth, in 3D and beyond. I doubt we've reached the end of the series.

Grandpa h.