Thursday, January 5, 2012


The White Rose....

With its pristine appearance, the white rose has come to symbolize purity, innocence and secrecy. There are myths and legends from several different cultures relating to the origin of the first rose which is initially white in color and is then miraculously transformed. Oftentimes the pure white rose was depicted as being stained by blood, or made to blush from a kiss. The recurrence of this theme does a great deal to establish the white rose as a symbol for purity.


The main protagonists are David Hunter, Bobby Pelton, Mr. Big (Mark Alexander) and General Conway.

The character of David Hunter is a latter day Sam Adams - Father of the Revolution.

Robert E. Lee "Bobby" Melton represents the American sense of adventure and fearless unconventional thinking.

Mark Alexander, a billionaire, the money man and brain of the revolution.

General Conway, the professional head of the U.S. military, "The Man On Horseback" with the power to make or break the revolution.


I arrived there early in the morning after an epic road trip across much of the USA hunted by the dread Secret Service (SS). "There" being Galt's Gulch Colorado. The Rocky Mountains surround the Gulch and only a few know the narrow dangerous gravel road into the mountain fortress. After miles of white knuckle driving threading carefully around hair pin turns the driver comes to the golden dollar sign marking the entrance. The road improves from gravel to a well built four lane road...

I discovered Galt's Gulch by way of a conference with Mr. Big of the vast right wing conspiracy. I should note that Mr. Big really is a large man over six foot tall and three hundred pounds. We met years ago by way of Emails and phone conversations but this was the first time in person. Mr. Big is a man of about 55 years who was once a criminal lawyer and state judge in Colorado. The face reminds one of Sir Winston Churchill in his prime and the love of a good cigar and fine brandy reinforces that opinion.

The location picked by Mr. Big was the restaurant of a ski lodge near Aspen, Colorado. I was instructed by email to introduce myself to the manager of this establishment and ask to be directed into his presence. This was done and within minutes I was shown to his table in a private room with large picture windows with the Rocky Mountains framed above and the ski slopes below. I don't think I've been in more beautiful or expensive room in my life. I was dressed in my traveling clothes - blue jeans, sweat shirt and boots. Everyone else at this establishment was dressed to the nines, especially the staff who treated me with the respect given to a rich Saudi Prince with a limitless bank account. In marked contrast my bank reserve was down to the last hundred bucks.

I followed the manager, a man that reminded me of a young David Niven complete with an English accent, over to Mr. Big's table (I should note Mr. Big was typing something into a laptop computer and didn't see us enter) and he made the introductions, "Mr. Big, this is your friend, David Hunter. Mr. Hunter, this is Mark Alexander, who is called "Mr.Big" by his friends and enemies. Mr. Big is a former Colorado state judge, lawyer and real estate baron. Mr. Hunter this is your menu and you can select anything at no charge. I'll be back later to take your order. How about a drink now? This is our wine list. Choose anything. No charge."

"This being Colorado, I'll take a Coors beer."

"An excellent choice, sir! I'll send the waiter with a bottle immediately."

Mr. Big put away the laptop and looked at me across the table and said in an educated Western voice , "Hunter you look so damn common. You could be most men in this country of your age. I like that."

"Why so?"

Mr. Big answered, "Because the people who count in this country want a seasoned citizen as a leader. They would suspect a young man of having personal ambition. A man of 50 something years would come across as a leader with only the best interests of the country at heart. You'll do."

"I'll do as what? I'm down to my last hundred bucks and have no job, no home and I'm on SS arrest immediately roster. Do you have a job and a false identity in mind? Like you say, I can pretty well fit into any job."

Mr. Big looked at me with pale green cat eyes and said, "The job I have in mind for you is the organizer of a revolution to overthrow the federal government. I think you have built the best resume of anyone for the job over the last fifteen years with your difficulties with the Secret Service, prison, parole and surviving on less than nothing has served to train you as the best right wing revolutionist in the country. You have a fire in your belly! I know this from reading your blog articles and talking to you over the phone. You are like Sam Adams in the First American Revolution, the spark that will light the fire. I have vast wealth from my days as a real estate developer and a circle of friends here in Colorado with millions more all over the country, but all our wealth and power cannot do the job that needs to be done. We need you. This meeting can be the start of a Second American Revolution. What say you?"

The waiter appeared with my Coors and Mr. Big went silent. He took the cigar out of his mouth and took a gulp of his brandy. The cigar was returned and he took a deep pull on it and exhaled a cloud of smoke. I take down about half the glass of Coors, my throat suddenly dry. Mr. Big stared deep into my eyes, into my very soul.

"I agree. But only on the condition that I am, indeed, the CEO of the revolution. I don't want find out later that I have to report to some sort of committee or be overruled on any matter. If you agree and provide me with a large budget I can start a revolution, and God help us all."

Mr. Big was silent for a moment and then he began to clap his hands and said, "Bravo! Bravo!" with a big smile.

"I like your style. No hesitation. No speech. No demand for a salary and perks. Just a simple acceptance and one key condition. Yes, you will be the man. No one will second guess you; there will be no committee looking over your shoulder. The buck ends on your desk. I only ask that you provide an account for the funds expended. The funds available for 'Operation White Rose' are considerable, but not limitless..."


From the movie script: “The White Rose.”

Scene: Winter Park, Florida in the early evening just after a thunderstorm has cleared the air and cleaned Park Avenue, the main street. This is a beautiful, upscale town in Central Florida that could be taken on a village in Ohio were it not for the palm trees.

The camera moves up the street to focus on a middle age man with grey hair sitting at an outside table in front of Starbucks drinking coffee. The man is dressed in tourist style wearing a loud shirt, short pants and tennis shoes. He has a black backpack sitting in the chair opposite him and is giving a map of the local attractions his full attention, but on occasion looking up and down the street as if looking for someone.

A young 20 something woman with an olive complexion and dark hair walks into the Starbucks to buy a cup of coffee. She returns outside and meets the man's glance with steady brown eyes. The woman is well dressed in professional fashion and has long hair neatly tied into a pony tail. She wears no jewelry aside from a small golden “Star of David” that hangs from her neck.

The woman walks to the man's table and pulls a white rose out of her small purse and places it on the table in front of the man while looking quickly at the people drinking coffee around them to see if anyone takes note. No one does.

Hunter: “The white rose is a symbol of liberty.”

Woman: “The white rose also represents the timeless values of Western Civilization.”

Hunter: (Standing)“You must be Fanny Kaplan.”

Fanny: “At your service.You're David Hunter.” (They shake hands)

Hunter: “Please have a seat.” (He moves the backpack off the chair)

Fanny. “Mr. Hunter you've become something of a legend; I half expected not to meet anyone here this evening.”

Hunter: “Please call me David...Very likely I'm a disappointment to you. I'm very plain and common. People seldom remember my face.”

Fanny: “I never judge a book by its cover.”

Hunter: “I'm impressed by the large number of female revolutionists I'm meeting on this trip to Florida.”

Fanny: “We should let the guys have all the fun?” (She smiles briefly and her thin face is much improved) “As you are aware Mr. Bernstein couldn't make it tonight due to a family emergency.”

Hunter: “Not a problem. The money and instructions are in the backpack. Tell Bernie to destroy the instructions after reading.” (He passes the backpack to Fanny)

Fanny: “Funny how life turns out – Three years ago I was a wall flower of a conservative Jewish girl from Miami and today I'm a radical in the Jewish Defense League involved with in a conspiracy that could land me in a federal prison for the rest of my life.”

Hunter: “I'm a bit of a history buff – Didn't a Fanny Kaplan try to assassinate Lenin during the Russian Revolution?”

Fanny: “The Fanny Kaplan you're talking about was indeed one of my ancestors. She was a Social Revolutionary who tried to kill Lenin because he betrayed the revolution – Also Lenin turned out to be a raving anti-Semite. Tell me David, are you and your right wing pals anti-Semites? How many Jews get shot after your revolution?

Hunter: (Taking a sip of coffee) “My people aren't in the habit of killing our allies.”

Fanny: (Looking at him with doubt) “Mr. Bernstein thinks you and your wild bunch are good people. I respect his opinion, after all he's been a member of the JDL longer than I've been alive.”

Hunter: “Bernie and I go back a long way – He was my cellmate in the federal GULAG back in the 1990s. I believe Bernie got a three year sentence for owning automatic weapons.”

Fanny: I believe his words were to the effect that you are a Righteous Man. This is high praise for a man who has few Christian friends.”

Hunter: “Thanks for the kind words.”

Fanny: “What about the weapons?

Hunter: “Bernie will have to brief you on the details, but let your heart not be troubled – On Revolution Day your JDL chapter will be well armed and equipped.”

Fanny: “How do you know I won't take the money and run?”

Hunter: “Because Bernie is your favorite uncle who raised you and your sister and you love him. Also you're a devout Jew and stalwart supporter of Israel. Bernie talked about you quite a bit in prison. He called you Fancine..”

Fanny: "I hate that name! It's so French! I much prefer Fanny."

Hunter: "Well this ends our business this quiet evening. I have a train to catch just up the street at the AMTRAK station. (Ronbo rises and throws away his coffee cup and exits the outdoor cafe. Fanny follows his lead)

Fanny: "Do you mind if I walk with you to the train station? I have some questions?"

(They walk down Park Avenue. The economic bad times are displayed even here with about half the shops empty and locked. The rest display sale signs to invite the few customers still available.)

Hunter: "I'll be glad to answer your questions, but you may not like my answers."

Fanny: "Do you have a favorite philosopher? I'm working on my Ph.d. in philosophy at Rollins College. My favorite philosopher is Ayn Rand."

Hunter: "Dear was Ayn Rand, but dearer still is the truth."

Fanny: "Why do you say that?"

Hunter: "In ATLAS SHRUGS, Rand's greatest book, she does a very good job of playing the prophet and predicting exactly what is happening today, which is an economic and political meltdown to leading to socialism, yet she misses the fact that America was born in revolutionary war and cut its teeth in the most destructive civil war in modern history. In Rand's novel the opposition simply drops out; in reality we revolutionists will dropping in like a ton bricks on many a traitors' head."

Fanny: "True. America is in at least VERBAL revolt even as we speak - Just go into any public place and hear O'Hara being cursed to the high heavens! If the Secret Service arrested everyone who has threatened to kill O'Hara, they would need to jail about 150 million people...One more question...The Regime intends send the Jews to concentration camps.

Hunter: "I think that is a statement. Yes, they hate Jews, the religious Jews like yourself and your uncle, but since many of our American socialists are Jews. I would call them "equal opportunity tyrants" like the Communists in Russia during Stalin's time...He who is not with us is against us."

Fanny: "David...You didn't answer my question."

Hunter: "Yes, our current president's SS has already started quietly arresting key Jewish and Christian leaders. They are being sent to a closed Cold War spy base in the Aleutian Islands on Shemya. Again, I think I'm simply giving you conformation about that you already know."

Fanny: "Then we have to act before we are all arrested and can do nothing!"

Hunter: "We will act...soon."

Fanny: "The White Rose movement in Germany were all arrested in 1943 before they could make a serious move against the Nazis..."

Hunter: "I'm aware of the mistakes made our brothers and sisters in Germany. One major error was to think the Nazi regime could be destroyed by a reverse of public opinion against the Nazis by means of getting the truth out. We modern day White Rose Americans are not so idealistic to believe that public opinion alone can change things in this country. This is the reason I gave your JDL group the means of self defense against tyranny.

(They walk through a small city park to the station and the waiting train.)

Hunter: "I'll say goodbye and good luck to you Fanny Kaplan. I am curious about something - how do you square being a Jew with being an Objectivist - a follower of Randian philosophy - Ayn Rand was an atheist."

Fanny: "Simple. I'm born into the tribe of Israel and like Ayn Rand I'll always be a Jew. Like you too, David."

Hunter: "I see you have been talking to Bernie - Yes, my mother was a Jew, but I was raised in the Southern Baptist Church."

Fanny: (As steps on the train) "Say what you will, but a Jew always knows another Jew, and so does the Secret Service."

(The train pulls out of the station and Hunter takes a window seat as the AMTRAK pulls slowly out of the station bound for Orlando. He waves at Fanny who smiles and gives him a military salute. The conductor motions for David's ticket and he pulls the document out of his pocket along with The Star of David.)



[The following reprinted with the author's permission from his best seller, "The Big Three Who Made The Revolution"] plain English the coded email from David Hunter read something like, “Meet Mr. Big of the vast right wing conspiracy at the penthouse on top of the Contemporary Hotel at Disney World in Orlando, Florida on the day after Christmas. Please dress in casual attire and brings lots of sun tan lotion for a week of sun, fun and plotting revolution. The tab for this working holiday will be picked up by Mr. Big.”

I should introduce Mr. Big (Mark Alexander) to the readers….well…I’ll share what little I know about the reclusive billionaire who, according to Hunter, owns directly or indirectly about half the real estate in the far West of the USA. Mr. Big is self made man, an orphan who started his business career at 17 years old with little more than a much read copy of Ayn Rand’s THE FOUNTAINHEAD in his backpack, who after only a few years of old fashioned American hard work and careful investments, became a millionaire before he turned 21 and a billionaire before he became 40 years old.

Mr. Big used his great wealth for many years to support conservative political candidates, right wing radio talk show greats like Rush Limbaugh and Libertarian think tanks. In the South and West, Mr. Big was very successful in political terms: The Republican majority in Congress that lasted for over ten years between 1994 and 2006 was financed by Mr. Big who channeled the funds by means of third parties while he remained deep in the background.

Interestingly, Mr. Big did not support George W. Bush in 2000 and 2004 because he considered Bush an opportunist with no core conservative values who could have just as easily ran for office as a Democrat. In this, as in many things political and business, Mr. Big was dead on target, as GWB’s big spending policies and endless compromises with the Democrats resulted in the growth of the federal government to a gigantic size never before seen in the history of the human race.

The federal government had become a leviathan by 2008. The ministers of this creature were an army of 5,000,000 bureaucrats working for regulatory agencies who spread their tentacles into all aspects of civil life in the formerly Great Republic. As if this swarm on federal agents were not enough to drive the average citizen mad with regulations and fines – An enforcement division exists of agencies like the FBI, BATF and Secret Service (feared by millions as "The SS") backed by the majesty of the federal court system to bulldoze into submission any private citizens thinking…well…patriotic thoughts like how much this “American Empire” was beginning to look like the British Empire of George III.

The Rubicon for Mr. Big was crossed with the election of Obama as president along with a majority Democrat Congress. He understood that the machinery of tyranny had already been created over a period of 70 plus years; all that was needed to end freedom in America was the election of a collectivist president like Barack Obama; a foreign ruler to his country like the great dictators of history: Napoleon Bonaparte, Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin; a ruthless man who would lead the greatest champion of liberty, and the world’s last best hope, the United States of America to ruin.

Thus Mr. Big settled on the radical idea of revolution – a Second American Revolution that would destroy the old regime root and branch – a violent uprising that would see massive destruction, famine and death in its wake, but would free America from tyranny. Some would argue that the cure was worse than the disease; Mr. Big would respond that if the patriots did not act and act soon, the evil empire of federalism would crush the lovers of liberty under the iron yoke of collectivism; that in short with the election of Obama revolution by the left had already been released against the American People, so what they did in defense of freedom was proper constitutionally and necessary even if it included a first strike against oppression.

Mr. Big was good at many things and a genius at business. Alas! He was not a revolutionist. Therefore, he asked trusted members of his staff to come up with a list of ten right wing revolutionists. When his staff produced a list of ten names, Mr. Big told them to cut it down to five. When the staff after much research gave him a list of five Americans with proper rightist revolutionary credentials, Mr. Big send it back to them with a request the five names be reduced to one name. The name they came up with was David Hunter. This met with the approval of Mr. Big who arranged a meeting with Hunter, a man of the shadows, professional revolutionist, leader of The White Rose movement, ex-con and failed presidential assassin on the run from the dread SS

The two revolutionists met high in the Rocky Mountains at a ski lodge owned by Mr. Big in the late fall. On the one side was a nearly penniless vagabond hunted by the long arm of the dread SS secret police and a multi-billionaire no one suspected of any misdeed. The details of this meeting will no doubt go down in the annals of American history like the signing of the Declaration of Independence, but the long and the short of it was that the Man and the Money had finally come together: Separate the duo was impotent against the new evil empire; together they were the authors of destruction and creation.

The Second American Revolution was born!

Where do I come in? Simple. I was recruited by Hunter. We are friends from way back. As part of the agreement made by Hunter with Mr. Big all major players in the game of revolution must be interviewed by him. This is not done for the purpose of supervision, Mr. Big has total faith in Hunter's selection of fellow revolutionaries, but rather to improve his education; after all, the nuts and bolts of revolution are not taught in any class and no owner’s manual exists with a series of steps mapped out that will bring life to the machine. No each revolution is different and unique – Once they occur the mold is thrown away.

I’m thinking these thoughts while my plane was nearing Orlando, re-reading the dog eared book I wrote on Hunter many years ago while he was a federal prisoner. I was looking for some insight that would explain the why Hunter became a revolutionist. Sam Adams, for example, very likely turned revolutionary the day the British government seized his father's business. But no such event marked the life of Hunter. In fact, he had been well rewarded with many decorations (that included the Medal of Honor), rapid promotions in the U.S. Army (At the age 26 he became Lt. Colonel) and was on the fast track to the generalship and Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff.

Yet in 1998 David Hunter threw his future away by plotting a coup that allegedly included the assassination of President Clinton....

We break through the clouds and began a long slow circle over central Florida; a region of blue lakes bounded by a vivid bright green. In this section of Florida the water seems to be as well represented as the land and I remember this part of the state is only a few feet above conquest by the Atlantic Ocean. The leftist environmentalists claim watery Florida will sink into sea before the end of the 21st century; however, like all claims made by the leftists this one is false as well.

At last the plane begins its final approach to Orlando International Airport and as we descend I can’t help but think of Wagner’s “The Ride of Valkyrie” with myself as a sort of war god reporting his master at Valhalla. The hatch of the sky machine is popped open and along with several hundred other former inmates of the big iron bird, I walk to the tram that takes me to escalator that takes me down to the baggage area. I find my one suitcase and walk out to find transportation. The weather is perfect, but I break out in a sweat in tension while walking to the taxi stand only a few feet terminal building. The taxi driver is from Jamaica but has lived in Florida for many years and knows the Orlando, Florida area as well as he once knew Kingston, Jamaica, his hometown.

After about a 20 minute trip down I 4, we turn off on the Disney Exit. The taxi driver, Ben Stafford, according to the license displayed on the dashboard, changes his channel to talk of Disney, “Did you know Disney World has the same land area as San Francisco?” I find facts like these to be very informative, since this is my first trip here. I notice that parallel to the roadway is the monorail line where a train is running at about the same speed as our taxi. We reach the main gate and we are quickly waved through in special lane for buses and taxis. The Contemporary Hotel looms up a few minutes later – It is built in an “A” frame style with a monorail line going through what is called, "The Grand Canyon Concourse" about four stories up.

We pull up to the ground transportation entrance where I say goodbye to Ben; he of the British accent, smiling black face graced with beautiful white teeth and large hand I place a generous tip and cab fare. I march into the Contemporary to the front desk. I present my documents and I.D. to the very pretty blond receptionist who says, “I’ll contact Mr. Alexander immediately and a security host will be here shortly to escort you up to the penthouse. Would you like a drink while you wait?” I order a Tom Collins that appears in the company of a beauty queen waitress who asks with a sweet Georgia peach accent, “Could I get you'll anything else?”

I resist the obvious reply. Also, she is young enough to be my daughter.

No sooner do I down the T.C. when a 20ish handsome young man in a blue blazer introduces himself as my security guard escort to the penthouse and Mr. Big. We walk a short distance down the lobby to the elevators where the security guard uses a special key to open an elevator. While we are entering, a mother with small child in hand attempts to enter. The security guard stops her and states, “Sorry lady. This elevator is for the penthouse only.” The woman turns away but a little girl of about six years asks, “Does Mickey Mouse live there?” The security guard beams at her as if she was the most important little girl in the world and says, “No, sweet one. Mickey Mouse lives over in the Magic Kingdom. You and your mommy can visit him at his house. This is your special ticket to see him,” and hands her a ticket. The door closes and I tell him I’m impressed with his professionalism and kindness. “This is what I’m trained to do here at Disney World. We hosts are always on stage and in character.”

In seconds the elevator flies up to the penthouse. The doors open to reveal a smiling man decked out in butler attire who asks me to follow him into an ultra modern and lavishly expensive room with picture windows looking out over the Magic Kingdom. The man departs, although I don’t notice because the view of one of the world’s most famous amusement parks is awesome and leaves me short of breath. “I’ve noticed the scene before us has the same effect on most other people who have never seen the Magic Kingdom; they are speechless for a moment,” relates a voice at my back. I turn around and a very large man offers his hand, “I’m Mark Alexander. You must be Robert Melton. Hunter has told me much about you. Would you care to have a seat?"

" We’ll talk revolution.”



[From the movie script: "Treason In The White House]

[Scene: A large well appointed conference room without windows. The walls are paneled and bare. In each corner various statutes of Napoleon Bonaparte. The floor is covered wall to wall brown carpet. In the center of the room is a large table with thirteen executive chairs, twelve of these chairs run the length of the long table with one chair at the head, A black man and woman walk into the room. The black man is in his mid 40s, well dressed and handsome. The woman is attractive is an understated way and dressed in a conservative business dress. The man speaks...]

Man: "Phoebe, I hope you understand that today you'll be witness to a historic meeting that will change the course of American history."

Woman: "Mr. Nightlinger, every single day working at the White House is a historical day that I in my humble little role as a speech writer for the president gets to witness."

Nightlinger: (He pulls out the chair at the head of the table and sits down. Phoebe remains standing in an almost military state of attention.) "Very soon the president of the United States will sit in this very chair and conduct the conference. Our jobs are to supervise the taking of notes and the video taping. I trust you have engaged the best and most security conscience White House staff for this morning's meeting? I want no lose lips!"

Phoebe: "Indeed, I have....with the approval of our Czar of Intelligence & Security, Mr. McKenna of the Secret Service."

Nightlinger: "Well, if McKenna approves of the staff, I have no worries...In fact. come to think of it, I've had few worries since the two of you came abroad early in the Administration. I have always said that the key to the success of any executive - be it White House Chief of Staff, or the manager of any Walmart - is his selection of the right subordinates...." (a loud buzzer stops the lecture. Nightlinger rises from the chair and wipes it unnecessarily wipes it down with his clean white suit handkerchief.)

Nightlinger: "The two minute warning has sounded. Please take your station in the control room. I don't have to tell you to keep things on track - I've never known you to make a mistake. Are you Mary Poppins? The perfect worker bee."

Phoebe: (smiling) "No, Mr. Nightlinger, I've made more mistakes than you can count on this job! But I've had the good luck to be able to correct them before you can see them. I learned this valuable lesson early in life from authoritarian & controlling U.S. Naval officer of a father who often mistook his children for his sailors. I suppose it's like learning to ride a bicycle as a kid - once you learn how you never forget."

Nightlinger: (looking very serious) "The other thing I like about is your honesty. I doubt even the president would tell me to my face that I'm a "controlling & authoritarian" person. Of course, this was the reason he wanted me to be his Chief of Staff - the SOB who keeps the troops in line for the commander-in-chief. (a Secret Service agent appears)

SS Agent: (a young fit man in his late 20s with military style authority in his voice) "This room must be secured for DOG SOLDIER immediately." (Phoebe walks quickly to the room exit and disappears)

Nightlinger: "Phoebe, have the transcript ready for me to read before you leave today."

[The conference room is slowly filled with hard faced middle aged men and women who first exchange greetings with Nightlinger standing by the door, who hands them each a document they begin to read when seated. This is clearly an agenda for the meeting. The room is silent except for the brief soft words of Nightlinger and the guests at the door. A low rattle of papers being read is heard as well. The guests do not make eye contract with one another; all attention from them is focused on the document for many long minutes. The same SS agent as before steps into the room and speaks...]

SS Agent: "Ladies and Gentlemen! All rise for the President of the United States of America!"

[A small intense man in his 30s with dark hair walks quickly into the room. First Nightlinger, then one after another of his guests begin to applaud loudly and cheer, "BRAVO! BRAVO! WELL DONE!" in unison. This is done by all except for a tall handsome grey haired man on the president's right in his 50s who rises to his feet last and only makes the motions of cheering the president, who takes notice and orders everyone to take their seats]

President: "McKenna, do I notice a lack of enthusiasm from a project that had much input from you and your Secret Service?"

McKenna: "I hate to be the skunk at a garden party, but there are too many things that can and will go wrong. The universe is simply too large! This project will involve the actions by hundreds of millions...and if there is one thing I've learned in decades of watching and reporting on my fellow Americans to the leaders of our nation is that the actions of a signal individual cannot be predicted 100%...I recall my experience with a certain Colonel Hunter..."

President: "We are not talking about the action of one man in Operation Blue Zephyr, which I agree cannot be totally predicted, but the actions of masses of people given the right signals by their leadership. This was proven by the Bolsheviks in 1917 - reduce the country to anarchy by the selective use of force and propaganda, then conduct the coup and overthrow the government."

McKenna: "I would point out the obvious that we are the government."

President: "This is the genius of the plan. Even the most hardcore of the Tea Party Movement would believe a president and his own Administration would commit suicide."

[The conversation is interrupted by a large beautiful black woman on the president's left]

Woman: May I interrupt Mr. McKenna for a moment, Mr. President? As the Minister of Propaganda for this government and long time Progressive, I must say my shop has well prepared the American public for Operation Blue Zephyr in my own "Operation Overload" during which we literally flooded the Media and Internet with lies, disinformation and rumors. The latest polls and computer models show that while upwards of 85% of Americans oppose a Socialist America, they are hopelessly confused on now to oppose a coup to overthrow the last sacred cows of white middle class democracy..."

President: "Thank you, Ms. Lopez. And let me do a shout out for the excellent work the Propaganda Ministry has done in military terms, PREPARE THE BATTLEFIELD. The concept, of course, was mine alone, but you have acted well as my agent and only improved the plan."

[The guests pound on the table briefly and "Hear, Hear, The Lady" is spoken aloud in unison except by McKenna. Lopez smiles in thanks and says a soft, "thanks."]

McKenna: "Don't get me wrong, Mr. President, and comrades in the People's struggle against capitalism. My record will indicate that I have worked all my life for The Revolution starting as a teenager. Indeed, it is my love for socialism that makes me advocate caution. The opposition has recently created "The White Rose" movement that..."

President: "You have already briefed me on The White Rose! What can they do in the little time they have left before The Revolution? A gang of pimple faced school girls and boys led by a few reactionary conservative professors at a certain Florida college, the name of which is too unimportant even for me to mention? They write idiotic emails and hold angry meetings! The SS knows their names, addresses and can arrest them any early morning at 3 a.m...The snake has many heads, but I have many snake hunters with sharp knives."

[A college professor intellectual looking elderly man raises his hand like a timid school child asking for permission to question the teacher. The presidents nods his approval]

Man: "I think there are a few latecomers to this revolutionary government who don't know I'm Soloman Horowitz - the Minister of Academia. It is true, Mr. President, that 90% of Academia is in agreement with The Revolution and will follow your lead in that direction. However, Minister McKenna does raise a valid point about "that certain southern college" known as Rollins. It is also known as the "The Harvard of the South," and has been become since the appointment of its new president, a sort of "college in exile" for politically incorrect teachers fired from other venues of educations. It was in this hot bed of insurrection against the established academic order that The White Rose was born under the professorship of Edward Danowitz, a conservative Jew..."

[Horowitz is interrupted by a loud voice that brings general laughter, including the president]

Man: "Somehow I knew a Kike was at the heart of our troubles."

Horowitz:"Mr. President I really must protest the display of Anti-Semitism by FBI Minister Sullivan! I am Jew! I am the son of a famous New York rabbi! I'm an educated man and author! I demand an immediate apology from....this...former ALTAR BOY who got sacred wine drunk on Sundays with the priests..."

[The President only smiles more broadly]

Sullivan: "Cool your jets, Moses! You're with good comrades! And I called him a "Kike" - not a Jew. I've often heard Progressive Jews like yourself denounce the little "Kikes" who only worship the golden calf of capitalism..."

Horowitz: [rising to his feet in anger and pointing a finger] "SOLOMAN is my name! Mr. President, I ask this RACIST and bully boy be removed IMMEDIATELY from your government!"

Sullivan: [A large man with ugly face now also standing] "If you're not a money loving capitalist pig, me calling you a KIKE shouldn't bother you! Mr. President, I request this cappie piggie oinker and SPY be immediately DISMISSED from your government and..."

[The small angry Horowitz races around the table to confront the equally red faced Sullivan and the two men square off for a fist fight. The room dissolves in hoots of laughter that brings tears to the eyes of the President, who is handed a tissue to wipe his eyes dry by Nightlinger.]

President: "Gentlemen! You cannot fight in THE WAR ROOM!"

[The room dissolves into more hoots of laugther]

[U/I Voice]: "The President played by Peter Sellers to the Air Force general and the Russian ambassador about to get in a fist fight over spying in The War Room scene in Dr.Strangelove."

President: "I loved that movie....Down boys! I hope everyone here knows that during the Clinton and Obama Administrations this White House basement conference room was well known as "The War Room."

[More laughter...]

President: "Who says Leftists have no sense of humor? And without the liquor, dope and dancing girls! [Stronger laughter] But enough comedic relief....On page three of the document relating to Operation Blue Zephyr, I open the floor to a brief discussion to the proposed "Night and Fog" presidential decree and..."



[Reprinted with author's permission from his award winning "factual" novel, "Chess Masters of The Second American Revolution" by Chris Griswald.]

After arriving in Orlando the day before by AMTRAK, Hunter, feeling exhausted had immediately checked into an extended stay executive motel on Major Blvd., only a few blocks from Universal Studio. He had used one of his many fake I.D.s - this one under the name of "Leon Czolgosz." who hailed from Chicago. The Latin American looking clerk remarked after deducting the room charges for the next week from the Bank of America account of "Czolgosz" said in Spanish accented English, "If you don't mind me saying so, but your name reminds of an historical person, but I can't think of that person..."

"I'm sometimes told I look like Sam Adams with a short haircut."

"People say we all have a double," said the handsome 20ish clerk as he finished the rental protocol and handed Hunter his electronic room key for room 101. "Reynaldo" (according to the name tag) explained "The Executive Room" Hunter had just engaged was equipped with a fully stocked bar and a refrigerator with basic foodstuff like eggs and bread. The meal could be prepared in the kitchen of the suite, where the daily maid service cleaned up the mess at no additional charge.

With the motel check-in ritual finished, Hunter picked up his small suitcase to go to his room and, hopefully soft bed, when Reynaldo spoke, "Mr. Leon (he didn't even attempt "Czolgosz") I must warn you that Homeland Security has been very active in the Orlando metro area this week. It would appear they have rumors that Islamic terrorists plan to suicide bomb an attraction like Disney or Universal Studios. Some of our guests have been stopped and searched on the street in front of this motel. I thought I should warn you."

"We live in interesting times, Reynaldo."

"What you say is a Chinese curse...This I learn in my history classes at the University of Central Florida."

"I look at these troubled times as a challenge. The good times make us soft, the hard times make us hard. The end result is a superior person. But always remember what the poet said about the bad times: 'There will be better times than these'...Good day, Reynaldo, and please do not disturb! I'm beat."


The bed was clean and comfortable and the room as quiet as the morgue. Hunter sank into pleasant coma dream sleep and spent the hours with Gisela. Of course, he knew she was dead, but he wasn't about to tell her. In the dream that took place on a lake somewhere in central Florida, the two lovers spent a perfect lazy Saturday day sailing with "Skipper," Gisela's white poodle who loved the water and barking at the birds above and the hidden fish below. It was a winter day, very likely in February, when the weather is almost picture perfect under clear blue skies, so unlikely the hot and stormy summer months.

Gisela was the sailor in the family, learning the craft as a young at the lake in Wannsee in West Berlin where she grew up in the Cold War years of the 1970s and 80s, the daughter of a Berlin policeman with pronounced anti-Communist views and many friends in the American military community. After moving to America, Gisela was to say to her new Florida friends, "I may have a German accent and never been to the USA until recently, but I was born in America." Then she would go on to explain that she was born in the U.S. Army hospital in Berlin when her mother unexpectedly went into labor on a city bus stopped in front of the ER on its route. The Army medics quickly moved the new mother-to-be from the vehicle to the maternity wing where she gave birth to a very unhappy red little girl with good lungs.

The new father, Karl Steiner, was on duty at his police station as desk sergeant busy booking a drunk, when an American MP rushed in with the happy news that he was the father of a healthy baby girl and offered him a ride to the hospital in his jeep. It is recorded that Karl did not immediately rush out to be with wife and baby (Karl was a GERMAN policeman, after all!), but finished booking the drunk, although he did miss taking the bottle of vodka out of his pocket, much to the enjoyment of the man's new cellmates in the drunk tank.

Thus Gisela Steiner was born on the same day the American army rolled across the border into Cambodia in a surprise attack. This invasion would set off years of Communist terrorism, in West Germany and the American Sector of Berlin. Karl Steiner rose in police rank rapidly to be commander of Terrorist Squad. It was due to his effective leadership that a serious plot by Baader-Meinhof gang to blow up the EM Mess Hall along with scores of American soldiers at Andrew's Barracks was stopped. A grateful U.S. Army decorated officer Karl Steiner with "The Freedom Medal" and gave him a well paid civilian job as "Police Liaison Officer" - the de facto Chief of Police for the American Sector of Berlin with control over both the American Military Police and the German Polezi.

The new job was a great boon to the growing Steiner family already well staffed with three young boys and baby girl in another important way - the U.S. Army gave the family a large rent free three story house only three blocks from Andrew's Barracks. It was the house on Kattenweg (Street of the Cadets) where that had formerly been the resident of the commanding Berlin Brigade U.S. Army general. Hence, in this beautiful home Gisela grew up to the bulge calls that heralded the raising and lowering of the large American flag on its flagpole in front of the headquarters building. It was in this former nerve center for Hitler's personal bodyguards that Gisela's father and the American bird colonel in charge of Field Station Berlin at Andrew Barracks had their offices.

Gisela was always a "Daddy's girl" who at age nine begin to accompany her father to his office at the headquarters' building several times a month, and became became a well known German friend at the various units stationed at Andrew Barracks for next decade. Hunter remembered the day they met at the in the Orderly Room of "Company A" Field Station Berlin on a cold January day in 1989...

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" Hunter's rational mind screamed at him. "You're setting yourself up for a drunk! The woman is dead for well over a decade? Do you think she'd want you to drink yourself to death? Now get your crap together dog soldier and have a long hot shower topped off with a good breakfast. Then get dressed! As the poet said, you have miles to go before you next sleep."

With marching orders given by his hardcore commanding officer of the rational mind, the sometimes irrational former colonel did as directed: A hot steamy shower and shave in the well equipped bathroom. This was followed by a rendezvous with his favorite southern breakfast cooked to perfection by "Chef Hunter" in the suite's super clean kitchen using the food stocked there by the motel. The meal was topped off with several cups of an unknown coffee - but excellent coffee - thoughtfully provided at the push of a coffee maker button after water was added to the coffee maker. Then came dressing for the meeting at Disney with Mr. Big and Bobby Melton. This was to be Florida tourist casual - loud shirt, shorts and tennis shoes.

Hunter checked the time - 0900 - which was several hours before the meeting. He turned on his laptop, but the motel's advertised high speed internet connection was not connecting. Hunter then went to Plan B for getting online and plugged in the device needed to hook up to the Net by means of the cellphone signal. No dice! The next move was to turn on the television. Nothing but snow and the hiss of electronic nothingness.

"I'll have to check with the front desk," thought Hunter who stepped out to an empty and silent corridor.

The door to the suite opposite his was jammed open a few inches by a towel that could indicate a quick departure by the renters. Hunter proceeded to the front desk that also had evidence of a rapid exit, complete with a telephone off the hook. He picked up the instrument and attempted to made a call, but the phone was dead as a door nail.

"It's been a long time since last we met, Colonel Hunter," said a familiar voice from behind his back.

Hunter turned to see two men well dressed in an expensive dark blue business suits. The older of the two looked in his mid 50s with impressive grey hair. This man somewhat resembled Martin Sheen in his younger days. The other man looked about 25 years old with blond hair and deep blue eyes that stared by Hunter with the intensity of a cobra about to strike a victim.

"I believe this is the part where you read me my Miranda Warning...Except the last time you arrested me, you didn't, senior SS agent McKenna," Hunter said to the older of the duo, completely ignoring the younger man, who could have been cast as a Nazi commander in a World War II movie.

"Colonel Hunter, REALLY! The court ruled that it was hardly necessary, since as a commissioned officer the Army of the United States, you were well aware of your constitutional right to remain silent, and that you chose to waive this right and confess your crime to me."

"That was a damn lie! And when you gave testimony of that lie at the trial, you committed perjury.. so go arrest yourself...or maybe the young Storm Trooper on your right can do the service?"

Both men had a hearty laugh, "See, I told you Colonel Hunter had a fine sense of humor," said the older man to the younger man.

"McKenna you well know that Congress stripped me of all ranks, pay and allowances after my conviction for an alleged attempted assassination of President Clinton in 1998. I'm just a private citizen now and your boss, so I'm telling you and junior G-Man here to get lost!"

McKenna and the young SS agent chuckle at this remark...

"Let me introduce my associate, Agent Smith. Officially he's head of the Presidential Bodyguard, but I'm afraid he spends most of time guarding and advising me."

The blond man nodded his head briefly to Hunter.

"I need no introduction - I'm John Francis McKenna - the man who arrested you in the winter of 1998 - I wore blue and you were dressed in U.S. Army green. This was fortunate, because your facial color turned quite green and thus you were color coordinated..."

"Nice job you did here this morning at the motel. Did you have everyone arrested and send them to to the concentration camp at Shemya?"

"Really! Don't you think that would be a bit much? No, the guests are outside patiently waiting for the building to be searched for an IED planted by Islamist terrorists...You did notice we shut off all communication with this motel and the outside world? I didn't want a helpful soul advising you in advance..."

"Okay, okay...put the cuffs on and take me away! Enough with the cat playing with the mouse before the kill!"

"But Colonel Hunter, I haven't decided yet to arrest you...Where are you going?"

"One more step towards towards the door and I'll shoot you dead for attempting to escape, " said SS Agent Smith, while pointing a gun at Hunter's back as he walked to towards the exit. "You are a convicted felon and suspected terrorist, after all..."

"He means it, Colonel...Stand right where you are!"

Hunter stopped, turned around and faced Smith who said, "Assume the position" - The position being leaning against the corridor wall on his hands with feet separated. Smith put his weapon away and professionally patted down Hunter, finding only a wallet and room key magnetic card. These items he handed to McKenna who looked at the Illinois Driver's License.

"Leon C-z-o-l-g-o-s-z (spelling the name out) How do you pronounce that, Hunter?"

"Just like it sounds," said Hunter now facing the two men again.

"Like I said before, you have a fine of humor, Colonel," McKenna hands the wallet and room key back to Hunter.

"Leon Czolgosz (Hunter pronounces the name as "goats") name was on the social security card birth certificate, so I couldn't very well use 'Smith' at the downtown Chicago DMV, now could I?"

"Of course not! Smith is already taken,!" remarked Smith with a smile.

The trio fall silent for a moment. Hunter glanced at the exit door out into the people free parking lot where only silent cars wait patiently for their owners.

McKenna broke the silence, "Don't even think about it colonel, the entire block has been evacuated...This is assuming you aren't hit by one of Smith's fifteen bullets, which is highly unlikely..."

Smith pulled out his service weapon and once again points it at Hunter, as if to make McKenna's point clear, as if it weren't already.

"Okay McKenna, what's the name of the game this morning? I see several options: 1. You have Smith to murder me and call it self defense, or any number of things. Number two you arrest me and I disappear forever to a covert federal concentration camp somewhere in the world - the last thing you people want is a public trial...."

"And behind door number three?" McKenna was smiling.

"You let me go."

"Why would I let you go after years of chasing you all over the world? I will admit that having you in custody is like having a wolf by the ear, not easy to hold him, but you don't dare turn him lose."

Smith interjected, "What Hunter means to imply is that if he's allowed free run, we can follow him and find out in identities of his co-conspirators. Then one fine morning we arrest the whole bunch in one fell swoop."

"But Smith we have tried that for years! Our dear Colonel has made that almost impossible by his anonymous cell operation. As is well known, the traditional organization of revolution, done for many years by the Communists, is to link the underground cells by a top down chain of command. This means that if the top leadership is arrested and interrogated, they will give away the entire network. Yes, we can arrest and interrogate the colonel, who no doubt knows some important leaders, but what then? Yes, we can crush a few cells in the resistance...maybe a dozen -but what about the thousands we don't know about that are acting independently..."

"Get to the bottom line, McKenna! The tourists want to get back to their rooms," said Hunter.

McKenna pulls out a electronic pipe and begins to smoke. The pipe products a pleasant cherry smelling odor. He thinks for a moment and speaks.

"The bottom line is that I want to talk to you. If you refuse to chat, I will have no other option than to make you disappear. No. not into the grave. I find killing my opponents to be the worst use of them. For one thing, in my line of work you never know when they may come in handy for something."

"Smith - if that really is your name - are you hungry this morning?"

"Not in the least."

"Then put the gun away before I make you eat it."

McKenna turned to the younger man, "Put the weapon away, Agent Smith. The point has been made and made...Gentlemen please follow me to the executive lounge just down the hallway."


The executive conference room was a darkish affair filled with comfortable chairs looking out to a glass picture window that framed a bright tropical garden with a fake waterfall. On one side of the room is a well stocked Continental breakfast. Agent Smith quickly grouped three leather bound executive chairs around a small round table facing the picture window. The three men take seats with McKenna on the side facing the garden with Hunter opposite. They are only seated a short time when an agent with a laptop style backpack hands it to Agent Smith and disappears.

"How do you SS guys, do that? Suddenly appear? Did you get the transporter from Star Trek?"

"Rather like you, Colonel Hunter...A few days ago you were spotted in Kalispell, Montana and yesterday you suddenly pop up in Orlando, Florida. I don't know the details, but I'm told it has something to do with the coming revolution."

Agent Smith is putting the contents of the backpack on the table while McKenna speaks. The first item on the table is an automatic pistol, next up are several passports from different countries, I.D. cards and driver licenses from various states, several stacks of $100 bills, an extra ammunition clip, a Dell laptop and a small first aid kit.

"The only item I don't understand is the first aid kit. I mean after you shoot them with the .45 hollow points, I think you'll need more than a few band aids to piece the meat back together again."

"Agent Smith, as one who has had considerable experience with automatic pistols, you should be aware that the slide on this model sometime cuts the hand if the weapon isn't held properly."

Smith expertly clears the weapon by first removing the magazine and pulling back the action. This produces a small bullet that falls to the floor that he picks up. Smith returns all the items to the backpack and zips it up.

"Didn't anyone tell you that ex-cons like yourself are not allowed to own firearms? This is a violation that carries five years in prison..."

"Smith, please hand the bag to Colonel Hunter. After all, it is his private property....for now."

A different agent appears with a large black bag and hands it to McKenna.

"I want you see my portable chess set." He unpacks the chess board and pieces with careful hands. When the installation is complete the custom make board and Ivory hand carved chessmen are a thing of great beauty.

Hunter makes a low whistle, "Very impressive, McKenna! I bet it cost you a mint! I must give the devil his due - Any serious chess player would kill to own this set."

"Would you like to own it, Colonel? If you beat me two times out of three games, the chess set is yours...and being a generous soul, I'll let you walk out of this motel a free man with a 24 hour head start to anywhere in the world you care to go....Otherwise, I will tell Agent Smith to put on the cuffs and you disappear to the subarctic island named Shemya, where to date no prisoner has returned."

"I accept...I think you're having some fun at my expense, but I'm curious to see if I can beat you. I'm a good prison trained chess player."



"The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the past, in that we know what we are doing....Power is not a means, it is an end...The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power."

[Transcript excerpt from the interrogation of Henry McKenna by Major Lars Olsen of the U.S. Army Military Intelligence at Ft. Meade, Maryland recently released under the Freedom of Information to Fox News.]

Olsen: I hope you have been comfortable here at the Military Prison at Ft. Meade. The Commander of the Armed Forces, General Conway, has ordered that all high ranking members of the previous regime detained by the U.S. Army be treated the same way as captured foreign enemy officers under the Geneva Convention.

McKenna: I have no complaints. My cell is quiet and comfortable. The food is good. I get an hour of exercise every other day that I spend jogging around the indoor track. I have access to any book at the University of Maryland library by simply making a request to the prison officials listing the author and title published more than ten years ago. I do not have Internet privileges, or the right to correspondence by snail mail, and I'm not allowed newspapers or magazines.

Olsen: How about the guards? Do they treat you badly? Any complaints?

McKenna: There was one incident when I first arrived here six months ago when a sergeant verbally abused me and slapped me in the face. I did not make a complaint, but the next morning the bruise on my left cheek was noted by the Duty Officer who asked me how this happened. I told the truth and I have yet to see that sergeant again. I hope he wasn't punished, I certainly forgive him.

Olsen: The soldier in question was given a Field Grade Article 15 by the installation commander that included reassignment to the infantry and reduction in rank to Specialist Fourth Class.

McKenna: I'm sorry to hear that he suffered on my account because six months ago I needed that slap on the face...

Olsen: You had a religious conversion since you became a prisoner. I would like to briefly discuss this issue with you, as it speaks to your veracity in this interview.

McKenna: First of all, let me say that did not come to Jesus to escape earthly punishment. I have come understand that I am a traitor and this carries the death penalty under the U.S. Constitution. I fully expect to be executed by the Military Police after these interrogations end and my courts martial is concluded. I come to Jesus only because I understand my days on earth are few and I was a sinner who needed forgiveness. I asked to see the prison Chaplain who showed me the road to Salvation and gave me the King James version of the Bible to read. The Lord forgave me and I'm reborn. It is a simple and complex as that...

Olsen: What denomination are you?

McKenna: I've come home to the Roman church - my mother was Catholic who had me baptized soon after my birth. My late father, "The Chief" as I always called him, and as you are no doubt aware, was very far from the Lord. In fact, he was called "Big Brother" by more than a few. Anyhow, shortly after the blessed event, he refused to allow us to attend church, or even to mention the Lord's name in our home. I grew up an atheist...

Olsen: The bug in my ear from my technical people in the control room behind us are telling me that you are speaking the truth. You are aware that everything you say can be verified by technical means?

McKenna: Technical means that were no doubt SS inventions. This is so ironic! In the words of Shakespeare,

There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard

Olsen: Excellent blank verse. The lines are from Hamlet?

McKenna: Yes, and they concern the Danish Secret Service agents Rosencrantz and Guildenstern who are executed by the English on the request of the King of Denmark by way of a forged letter written by Hamlet.

Olsen: Danish SS agents, heh? I never thought of that before, but I suppose it fits your situation, although you will have my a fair trial at the end of the interrogation process. This court may decide a number of outcomes, for instance, you could be found innocent and released. So I wouldn't assume the supreme penalty at this date.

McKenna: A fair trial is exactly what I would have feared most six months ago that today I look forward to attend...One step closer to God...

Olsen: I understand you keep a journal? Are you well supplied with paper, pens and whiteout? I'm sorry that prison regulations restrict you to a typewriter. I found an old IBM Selectric in a warehouse that looked almost never used. I figure it belonged to the Army clerk who did the requests for transfers to Shemya when the Army and Air Force still had a base at that subarctic Aleutian Island paradise during the Cold War.

McKenna: Is Shemya still open?

Olsen: No, it was shutdown soon after the revolution and the survivors released.

McKenna: I heard many died from disease, suicides, escape attempts and in disputes between themselves.

Olsen: The report I read on the Shemya concentration camp said over 10,000 died there...The records on inmates were destroyed by the SS guards on the day of liberation, so the number of the dead cannot be accurately determined.

McKenna: The camp at Shemya was my late father's idea. I had nothing to do with it. I was told by him it was a "reeducation center" and the prisoners were well treated. I do not say this in order to escape responsibility. I was second in the SS chain of command at that time, and could have looked into the matter. Therefore, I am just as responsible as was my former SS Chief. I once remarked to someone that I would have followed him to Hell. I nearly did...

Olsen: There is technical verification of that last statement. And let me add as your interrogator that, if anything, you have always went out of your way to take responsibility for all SS actions, whether or not you ordered them, or even knew of them.

McKenna: Thank you Olsen for trying to save my neck, but for what happened on Shemya alone I deserve the death penalty. After all, I was shown the video taken on the day of liberation by the Alaskan National Guard. The scenes of the starved dead adults were bad enough, but young children were sent to Shemya with their parents and women gave birth while inmates...

Olsen: Don't forget the hands of the liberators were not bloodless! The uniformed SS correctional officers all surrendered to the Guardsmen as soon as their transport plane landed at the Shemya runway. At that point they were P.O.Ws and put under guard in the nearest aircraft hanger. At about midnight the SS were marched down to the beach and machine gunned, the bodies left where they had fallen to be eaten by the wildlife.

McKenna: "Hoist with his own petar..."

Olsen: Naturally in a general way, the commander is responsible for everything his subordinates do, but the subordinate is responsible for own actions. Clearly, the individual uniformed SS at Shemya could have resigned rather taking part in a reign of terror on a small island. American soldiers and law enforcement officers cannot defend their crimes by saying, "I WAS ONLY FOLLOWING ORDERS."

McKenna: I can't disagree...Thinking back on it I often saw a strange expression on my subordinates faces when I ordered them to do some illegal act. I know that expression is look of a man or woman who is going to do something they know is wrong.

Olsen: I know we are hitting a lot of topics this morning and I ask your patience.

McKenna: Believe me it's a welcome from my cell.

Olsen: Then I'll switch the topic once again before we break for lunch. It's the Friday sea food special that our cook does so well. You are aware that the guards and officers eat exactly the same thing you do, albeit, usually in the mess hall?

McKenna: Well let's hit it hard and get it gone!

Olsen: I want to briefly discuss the famous chess game between your late father and Colonel Hunter at the Executive Motor Suites in Orlando, Florida in late December of 20_

McKenna: I remember it well. It was the first and last time I saw the famous Hunter in person. I was most impressed. The Chief and I put him to the "good cop - bad cop routine" at first that Hunter survived without the expected blow up on his part. A cool customer...very cool.

Olsen: It is true you pointed your service weapon at Colonel Hunter.

McKenna: In fact, on two separate occasions.

Olsen: The weapon was loaded?

McKenna: What good is an unloaded gun to an SS agent?

Olsen: I take that for an affirmative response. The weapon was "locked & cocked" as we in the military say about a gun pointed down range about to be discharged? I would point out that as an Army officer, Hunter would know one never points a firearm at a person unless the intent is to pull the trigger and kill him.

McKenna: Yes, it was loaded and ready to fire, but the safety was engaged. This was on order from the Chief. I believe his words were, "You can huff and puff, but only the master chess player gets to shoot the fox." I took this to mean that the Chief would kill Hunter at some point.

Olsen: I read your report on the incident, which pretty much reads the same as Hunter's account of the incident.

McKenna: Then you know I was cooling my heels in the hallway with several uniformed SS officers while the chess games - there were three of them - were played behind closed doors in the executive lounge. Hunter won two out of three.

Olsen: How long were the games?

McKenna: It seemed an eternity, but couldn't have been more than an hour...

Olsen: What happened next?

McKenna: We returned all of Hunter's personal effects and walked with him to the city stop in front of the motel. There was more conversation that I won't bore with repeating, as it was covered in my report in detail. Then he boarded the city bus that was bound for International Drive with about a dozen tourists.

Olsen: Part of the oral contract was to give Hunter a 24 hour head start.

McKenna: As I said before, it was the last time I saw Hunter was when he boarded that city bus in Orlando, looking for all the world like another happy tourist in central Florida with not a care in the world. He waited until the last riders got on the bus and turned to smile and wave goodbye at the Chief, as if they were old friends waving adieu.

Olsen: I understand from your report that Hunter abandoned the backpack and suitcase at a bus stop on International Drive.

McKenna: Yes, we had a merry chase to Italy when an attractive female Italian tourist from Rome decided to give a new home to Hunter's laptop that we had supplied with a tracking we did with the rest of Hunter's effects that found their ways to pawn shops and individuals.

Olsen: It would be obvious to an experienced agent that any personal effects the SS touched would be electrically tagged.

McKenna: I thought so too...but orders from the Chief.

Olsen: Thus Hunter disappeared again...

McKenna: When we continued the chase 24 hours later, the fox had disappeared, as I had predicted.

Olsen: Was your late father upset? I understand he wasn't a good loser. Did he rant and rave?

McKenna: This was the strangest thing about this strange incident in Orlando! Several days later when I could absolutely confirm that Hunter had disappeared once again - and I reported this fact to the Chief, he did not seem surprised at all. In fact, he didn't even look up from the report he was reading.

Olsen: Did he say anything?

McKenna: He said, "When Dr. Frankenstein created his creature, he believed he would have control of the monster....Sadly this proved not to be the case."

Olsen: What do you think he meant?

McKenna: The Chief was Hunter's interrogator at FCI Butner in North Carolina for over a year. I think the chess games were part of a brain washing process by him to turn Colonel Hunter into his personal killing machine.

Olsen: Let's break for lunch. I'll have the guards serve us here.


Posted by Ronbo at 3:08 AM
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"Ronbo" is the pseudonym for Ronald Gene Barbour, who has come to believe this country needs a Second American Revolution to re-establish the republic to its former grandeur. In politics I'm a card carrying member of the Republican Party. In philosophy I study the teachings of Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas and Ayn Rand. In religion I am a Protestant and follower of a former Jewish carpenter. In a past life I was a professional soldier and non-commissioned officer in the U.S. Army Security Agency. In education I hold a Bachelor's Degree from Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida.

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