Tue, 29 November 2005  Chapter 13 - Apparently Answering PrayersDirect download: Chapter_13_Apparently_Answering_Prayers.mp3 Category: podiobook -- posted at: 4:04 AM Comments[0] |
Tue, 29 November 2005 Chapter 12: Crystal (Where?)
As George sat down at his darkly stained oak desk he let out a sigh of exhaustion. He began to reach for his feather quill pen, but mid-motion realized that he was not here to sign anything. He scanned his desk for priority documents that he needed to read, but alas, his desk was clear as it always was kept by his excellent secretary. George was at a loss to his objective, and he felt very uncomfortable about his growing lack of clarity.Now, he was a busy man by definition, but this ran far beyond job induced perplexity. He imagined this is what it felt like when one's memory goes, or when a mental breakdown is in its infancy. He could not control it, nor could he figure out the root of the issue. He was in the best shape ever, confirmed by the ever watchful, "you have to be a national image of health" committee, which unfortunately spawned from some former first lady. This was much to George's dismay. President George Jonathan Washington, direct descendant of the great, had also lived in Mount Vernon, Virginia. His Father, of the same name, was also elected to the highest office in the land two presidents before George now. Even though he and the rest of his family were in the same light as those other similarly famous American families, George continually had his share of trouble. He was a popular guy doing popular things back throughout his youth, and even with his mother's disapproval he would never hide the act of enjoying these pleasures. He was wild, but not out of control. He got in trouble, but nothing major. He didn't take school as seriously as he could, but he earned a high grade average, and he always made sure it wasn't his relatives that earned it for him. Nowadays he still occasionally had a glass of bourbon, or wine during a celebratory dinner. This, his wife addressed at the first mention of 'the election' when George was governor. He never understood why she, and the general public, thought of it as a bad example. He thought to himself at his wife's first mention of going dry several years ago the public would never come out and say it, but they think alcohol is bad. It's the substance that they identify with evil, and not the one imbibing. Even the one drinking acts as though the action is taboo, hiding it from some, and secretly reveling in it with their peers. What is the use of a premise nowadays? How has this happened? Do Christians forget the days of Jesus being criticized by the Pharisees for drinking wine? Is this not proof enough? Is not the Holy Bible the word of God? Something has changed the mind, especially American minds, against the actual substance. People are now creating their own rules… there own good and bad, but what do they factor against? Not their religion? Not a premise? I cannot place my finger on it, but it has already happened. How can people be lead down a blind path? The past mental conversation ran through his head as clear as it did the day his wife mentioned it. Then anger set in again. He was angry at America. He did not like the hypocrisy, or the hiding and lying. The trend of other people pointing fingers and passing judgment, without addressing themselves first, was always something George thought he was alone in noticing. He had never met a person who did not have faults, but he always met with people that pointed out everyone else's. Due to his job he was subject to listening to many people's opinions on the way things should be, the way people should act, and the rules people 'need' to follow, and every time he heard anything of the sort his mind would trail and he would look at the speaker. It was not the Mother Teresa's of the world. They asked for help for the under privileged. It was always the one's who were screaming on the inside. The one's who figured if their one request was met the world would be amazingly balanced in a moment. These were the one's George worked with. There was no other kind. There seemed to be no more Mother Teresa's left. Then George noticed something. To his utter bewilderment this was the clearest he had been thinking in the past three days. How did he even trail off onto this subject, and why is pondering it so clear? Then the door to the oval office opened, and Attorney's General Taggart entered with a folder full of his thoughts on balancing the world. "Good afternoon Mr. President," he greeted his boss. "Welcome General Taggart. I apologize for postponing our meeting earlier, but I was feeling out of sorts throughout the morning." George explained. "I understand completely sir. You have a lot on your plate lately, and I will make this meeting brief." Taggart mentioned as he handed his folder across the desk to the President, "Everything that we spoke about is documented in there, and it all should be fairly to the point." "What exactly did we speak about General Taggart? I remember discussing some concepts with you, but we never defined anything. What are you proposing in this heap of paper?" George replied wearily, as he quickly flipped through the document glancing at a page occasionally. "My proposal, Mr. President, is to remove the separate classifications of all substances under the 'controlled substance act', so that they are all equally measured in all senses, along with the reclassification of controlled substance trafficking, producing, and cultivating as acts of terrorism." Taggart spewed as if reading from a queue card. Silence set in, and George was again thinking clearly. A feeling of caution set in, and he began to review what Taggart's proposal really meant. He stared at the Attorney General in disbelief. The proposal was enormous, and fundamentally impossible, and George knew this. More importantly, The President knew that Attorney's General Taggart, the highest lawyer in the nation, knew this fact too; undeniably. Then the President noticed something. Taggart was standing at attention across the desk with his hands folded behind his back as he always did, being the stuffy guy that he was, but his face was pale, and he seemed strangely nervous. George had never seen him nervous. George said to himself something is wrong hear. Something is going on. George wiped any expression off and replaced it with his poker face. He wanted to feel Taggart out, "You understand this means that cultivators of cannabis, even for medicinal use, will be arrested and charged as a meth scientist, or a drug lord?" Taggart nodded, "Correct sir." "And you are aware that if classified as terrorist acts you would be able to pursue and locate the offender you are referring to, in this case a marijuana cultivator, with the highest level of clearance, and disregard for privacy?"p> "Correct again Mr. President. I believe this gives us an incredible platform from which to launch a final war against drugs. I am confident this will be the bellwether for us." Taggart gave his sales pitch, but seemed even more nervous now. "Who is 'us' Taggart?" George slowly asked in the tone of suspicion, which threw the Attorney General off guard and into a spin of anxiety. George was still trying to keep his cool on, and didn't know how the suspicious tone came out himself either, but the reaction in Taggart's manner was enough to confirm any suspicion the President had. The President of the United States and the Attorney's General stared at each other in complete silence. The senior, wondering what sort of conspiracy was be planned behind his back, and the junior knowing that some level of cover had been blown and was now completely frozen as a deer is when caught in headlights. George sat back in his chair in the slowest of motion. He wanted Taggart to remain in his immobile state, and felt that any sudden move might cause a change in demeanor. He reached his hand slowly towards the phone on his desk, which could call his secret service men to his side in the quickest of fashion, but he stopped. He could not understand why, but he stopped. A feeling inside told him not to pick up that phone. George looked at his life at this very moment. I haven't been thinking this clear in a long time. Either I'm going crazy or something that's supposed to happen is happening. I shouldn't pick up that phone. At the moment of George's decision the door to the oval office opened, and Thomas, the secret service man, barged in with Glenda, the President's secretary, ordering, "By who? By me Thomas! You're forbidden by me to go in there when the door to the oval office is…" George was still in a state of disorder, and did not speak but just gave Thomas a look of confusion. Thomas spoke out as soon as his eyes met the President's, "Mr. President sir, I would never do this unless I thought it was of absolute necessity. There is an incident in California, and I believe that many officials and possibly some within the administration did not want you to know this (Thomas motioned towards Taggart with his eyes), and are in fact hiding, I think, something from you. I beg of you to speak alone with me." General Taggart's eyes were wide and he began to tremble and shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually Mrs. Tilford will you leave Thomas, the Attorney General and I alone, and make sure that absolutely no one at all comes into this room until I have opened the doors. Have the rest of the servicemen man the entrances to and surrounding the oval office, and order that their weapons be drawn. Is that clear Glenda?" "Crystal, Mr. President." Glenda said nervously, as she backed out of the office starring at the carpet also trembling. George now stood up, and Thomas said, "Mr. President may I have permission to turn the television on?" "Thomas, this is of the most extreme condition, please do whatever you need to proceed and tell me what the fuck is going on, now." He was still starring at General Taggart as if his frightened state would disappear once his gaze was removed. Thomas turned on the television, and pulled out his two-way, "Matthew, will you play the tape from the beginning for the president on channel three?" The reply came back, "Sure thing Tom. Give me five." George interrupted, "Thomas you can bring me up to speed verbally in five min…" The images started, "Five seconds Mr. President." At the beginning of the video George was intrigued but still confused. He saw a couple of officers in an upper class suburban setting through the camera work of what resembling the filming of a Cops television show. The footage bounced to and fro in concert with the pace of the cameraman, and three task force members quickly moving towards the door. The President was still unclear on what was going on as the members kicked down the front door. The firing of the live round was followed up by the clearing of dust through the doorway, and then, in slow motion, George saw faint silhouettes. The dust gradually dissipated and through the cloud George saw those shadows form into a real American father and son. The camera quickly pans to the high chair, to the one who fired the gun, and then back to the crying child. Now George’s legs went weak and he sat down with his mouth agape, upon the velvet sofa in the middle of the oval room, and watched the remaining events unfold all the way up to the point where one of the people he nominated to the Committee of Economic Stability, a professional acquaintance, Jacob Hughen, was now on television angrily spewing like one of the sons of liberty. President George Washington now turned, with a very serious look on his face, to his still fossilized Attorney General, and said, "Taggart, the 'us' you were talking about… I think you were speaking of a different group than I belong to." The President stepped back a step and aligned himself at Thomas' side, "Even though it looks as though you don't need it, you do not have my support or approval on your proposals. They will not pass." Taggart remained frozen, "Thomas, you have a side arm, correct?" "Always Mr. President, of course" Thomas said as he drew with his sight locked on the Attorney's General.
"Thomas you are ordered to apprehend and detain Attorney General Taggart on suspicions of terrorism and of conspiratorial high treason of the president and people of United States of America.". Category: novel text -- posted at: 3:46 AM Comments[1] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 12 - CrystalComments[0] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Juan-Pedro sat upon the leather couch inside his hotel suite, and closely watched the events unroll on television. He had been watching the arrests, and now he was watching one of the neighbors of the criminals with amusement. This old man, who was dressed in his fancy robe and flannel pajamas beneath was speaking to the camera in a way Juan had never witnessed before. The neighbor was apparently agitated with the officers at the scene. He had commandeered the microphone and now had captured and captivated the local bay area viewers.When the elderly man introduced himself as Jacob Hughen, one of the most powerful businessmen, and cornerstones of the accounting sector, Juan knew that something out of the ordinary had happened. The equation didn't make any sense. A young father, who was caught growing a substantial amount of cannabis, was being supported by a senior citizen of an ultra-high social class. Jacob Hughen didn't attack or accuse Bradley of being an irresponsible father, or of being a criminal. No, Jacob Hughen cared not about the charges. In Juan's country something like this would not even happen… any of it. He was surprised that it happened in America at all, even with the amount of liberalism that runs rampant in the states. He had not ever even witnessed a senior citizen supporting a young adult such as Bradley in any case. The two seemed to be different species, exact opposites, or even combatants. Mr. Hughen continued on to the subject of the criminal's son. His wife, Madeline, had come to his side with pressing questions. She had become terribly worried when Jacob mentioned that fact that a gun had been fired, and was now wondering if anyone had been hurt. Jacob was without the answers he was looking for too, so he turned and located the agent who had fired the gun off, and called him over to the camera for grilling. He asked the agent, agent Barker, what the offense was. Agent Barker stated the charges, and then informed Mr. and Mrs. Hughen of the maximum penalty of twenty-five years, and at that moment it happened. The camera had not been perfectly still the whole time, bobbing to and fro methodically with the sway of the flabbergasted cameraman, but there was no missing the single tear that immediately rolled down the face of Madeline Hughen that moment. The tear dropped at the echoing ring of the officer's last words. The pure emotional attachment was realized by anyone watching at the very instant. All could identify with the heartbreak, and sorrow the old woman was feeling, without even knowing the history. She communicated everything that the father and son meant to her with one large tear. He husband comforted her and he embraced her momentarily, and as he turned to face the camera and the world again he still wore the angry fire in his eyes, but his eyes had glassed over. With the motivation of rage and sadness Jacob Hughen drew a line in the sand, and told the government he would be crossing over to their side, and that he demanded to know where little Gregory Harris was. This was special Juan said to himself. He could feel an intensity about the event, a defining historical moment he was to witness in his life, and that something had just changed in the world, and there was no human ability to stop it. Juan imagined how far Jacob Hughen's platform would or could reach. Then the television rang out, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market…" What was this? Juan heard the officer state the location of the child, and he knew that meant something more. He tried to remember why that fact was so important, but it was a subject so new that he had not formalized any aspect about it in his head. His brain was in a blank state only searching for the importance of the whereabouts of the child. He did not have any tie to the child, and he would have cared less where the child was if Jacob Hughen wasn't so adamant about the subject. He looked back to why his interest had emerged in the first place to make him watch the news before he took off to SFO to return home. And then it all came together in his head. The phone rang and Juan answered, "Hello," mind you in his native tongue, "This is Juan." "Estoy Tomas. Are you aware of what has become of your situation?" a deep thick gruff voice asked. "Hola Tomas, you have called at a very strange time." Juan began to explain. "I agree." The tone in Tomas' voice was unexpectedly pleasant and relaxed. Juan could tell something was up. Tomas continued, "Are you aware of the events unraveling near you?" "Of what events?" Juan asked. "I can hear the television in your room, and that tells me you know of what I'm talking about." Juan was even more in shock now, "The event involving this neighbor Jack…. o Jacob Hughen?" "Si." Tomas plainly responded. "You are correct, but now I must ask you how did you hear of this?" "I too am watching thee very same footage you are watching now. It is on the local news here too, and I can tell you that means it is also being viewed in Europe and most Asian countries." Tomas calmly stated. "Si, this is not good for us…" Juan started to divulge. "Actually you must, as they say over there, see the silver lining." Tomas said esoterically. Juan now became uncomfortably confused, and his temper began to rise, "Tomas I have no idea why this would cause you to call me, much less please you." "Because the child is being kept in the Federal building on Market," Tomas eluded. "I am still not following you Tomas." Said Juan. "This is important because, what were the exact word 'The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence.'" And now Juan understood. Tomas continued, "We have contacted the Golden Hinde." "What for?" Juan said with disgust. "I have propositioned them with a deal." "This is bad Tomas. I must leave the country now. To me, the plan has back fired, and I can only gain exposure by staying here. This is not worth the risk." "Juan where are all the policia right now?" Tomas asked getting more esoteric by the moment to Juan dissatisfaction. "They are all out on the operation." "And where are the drugs?" "They are all..." Juan paused taking in the final equation, "at the Federal Reserve on Market." "I am sure that we could acquire the product at a much lower cost than from you Gringo partners, if we were to go through the Golden Hinde." Tomas came out with it. "What is happening Tomas." Juan had lost all his patience, and demand to be shot straight. "Time is of the essence Juan. To accomplish this, things must be hastened." "What did you do Tomas?!?!?" "The Golden Hinde is now amassing and will invade the Federal Building later in the afternoon. It is still early in the day, and the task force, I assume, has many hours ahead of them, but our window of opportunity is small. Our amigos are incommunicado, and there is no turning back." Juan hung up the phone in anger, and the only thing that came to mind was Giovanni Paulo.
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Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 10: The Guardian (Where?)
"Good Morning for those that are joining us. I'm Cindy Chen, and for those of you who have stayed tuned in, thank you for your patience. We're back from an unannounced break. The footage you saw previous to the break was of a raid upon a north Marin house, which was occupied by a man and childâ?¦ Yes, it has been confirmed the father and son were the tenants of the house, and I have also been informed that the raid has finally ended.The task force confiscated approximately two hundred plants. The spokesperson for the task force also stated that the owner of the house, who will remain nameless, had been identified as a potential target for sometime now, and the task force was just waiting for the right time. The spokesperson continued stating that the bust will put a huge dent in the "Golden Triangle" black market. Also that the citizens of this small town, and of the greater Marin area should feel much safer after today knowing that the large majority of people, like the mentioned criminal, are being targeted and arrested today. We now go back to Raymond the camera man who caught the intense bust on camera. He is speaking with one of the neighboring residents live... Hello Raymond. I know you're only on a cell phone, and can't see us, but can you get a feeling for the mood of the neighbors? Are they worried? Relieved? "Hey, yeah Cindy. I can hear you fine, and you're going to have to forgive my interviewing skills. I'm still a little shaken up from the turn of events in the last few minutes, so I'll do my best. I have, although, connected a mic to the camera so that we won't have to rely on the cell phone. Cindy returned, "Go ahead and keep the call live if you can, but take the interview from here Ray. Thanks" Ray continued, "Several neighbors have come out of their homes asking about the gun shot. They are conversing with one of the police officers, and there seems to be some concern, rightfully so." [The camera zoomed in on the officer and neighbors. One of the neighbors, an elderly man wearing flannel pajamas covered by a silk robe, and wearing slippers was pointing towards the house exclaiming something. He saw the camera, stopped his conversation, and immediately headed over to the cameraman.] Cindy, here comes one of the neighbors right now. Let see what he has to say... Hello sir, I'm from channel 4 local news, and I can understand if you would like to remain anonymous at this time, but we'd like to get your reaction to this and the other series of busts that are going on right now. Keep in mind this is a live feed with no delay, sir. So you're on TV right nowâ?¦ The man looked into the camera, and then back at Ray. He seemed extremely distraught, and his eyes were staring hard. He looked in to the camera one last time, and began, "My name is Jacob Hughen. I am the acting chairman and president of the largest public accounting firm in the world, Hughen Accounting, and as a citizen, neighbor, and a substantial contributor to the local public services I am fucking outraged," Ray's mouth dropped open. That's not what they were looking for, "Bradley Harris and his son Gregory are about the most loved members of this entire community. Everyone thinks highly of the family, and has grown to love them. Now I don't know what he got himself into, but I'd be willing to bet it does not warrant kicking down his God damn door, and blindly opening fire." A gasp was heard from behind the man. "That was a gun shot?!" an elderly woman asked in astonishment, "Why were they shooting at Bradley? Is anyone hurt? Where is Gregory?" "I don't know Madeline. The officer over there wouldn't tell me shit," Mr. Hughen momentarily turned to what seemed to be his wife and then promptly returned to the camera, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Harris and his son, but I'm going to fucking find out." Jacob turned, searching the area. He was an old man and he showed it, but the determination could be felt emitting from his steaming demeanor. He spotted a task force member, "Hey!!!" The task force member looked up at the old man and pointed to himself mouthing, "Me?" "Yeah you. You're the one who fired off the gun right?" The task force member bowed his head and beckoned to Jacob Hughen's call. Jacob began, "What has Mr. Harris and his son been charged with officerrrrrrrrr?" "Barker. I am special agent Timothy Barker from the Drug Task Force of the office of Mayor McCain. The target has been charged with the cultivation, trafficking, and sales of marijuana. We entered the house, found and confiscated over two hunâ?¦" "Did you call Mr. Harris, the target? Don't you think that's a word you want to stay away from considering you're current situation? And what would Mr. Harris' maximum sentence be?" Jacob was getting the hang of interviewing. He held the mic out to Agent Barker for a reply. "Mr. Harris could serve a maximum penalty of up to of twenty-five years in jail." At the statement Mrs. Hughen covered her mouth in utter horror. She clutched her husbands forearm for support as a tear silently trickled down her face. Jacob turned to her and whispered consolingly to her. His gaze returned to the camera teary eyed himself, "What has become of his son Gregory?" "The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence. He will remain in the custody of theâ?¦" "Bull fucking shit," Jacob replied with his wife wincing at his language, "Where is the child? I'm his guardian. The boy should be with us. We're his family." "Sir," Now agent Barker had heard enough. He wasn't here to answer questions, and he wasn't about to believe that out of everyone, Gregory's guardian would be an aging neighbor instead of a relative, "this matter is not up for discussion, and let it be known that the child is in the care of public servants and will be kept safe there until his real parent or guardian comes to pick him up." Jacob stood staring angrily at agent Barker in disbelief, and there was an uncomfortable silence for about 4 seconds. Jacob sternly returned, "Actually since his father and mother, Mr. & Mrs. David Wayne Harris, died in the United Airways attack of 96'; and the fact that both his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident almost two years ago; Mr. Harris has no surviving relatives, and in turn picked me, longtime friend of the family, as the rightful guardian to his son Gregory." This silenced agent Barker. A vague smile appeared on Jacob Hughen's face that moment, and he saw a weakness in the eyes of the man opposite him, "Where is the boy, agent Barker?" The agent remained silent, "As the boy's rightful guardian I am asking where he is so I may pick him up. He needs to be with friends," Jacob looked to the camera with a gleam in his eye, "Not the enemy." "I want the public to know that I am going to put up as much money as it takes to defend Mr. Harris of these charges, and I also would like Mayor McCain to know that there will be litigation revolving around the handling of firearms both unwarranted and around an unarmed minor of the age of three," the agent was now looking very alarmed. "Where is the boy agent Barker?" "Sir I would need proof that you are the boy's rightful guardian. I can not disclose the location of the boy until that time." Right then Wally interrupted with a cell phone up to his ear, "He is. I've confirmed that Mr. Hughen is the guardian of Gregory Harris." Agent Barker looked at Wally in disgust. Wally continued, "Hey my boss is on the line and he's not about to lose funding and take the wrap for Mayor McCain just because he sends out poorly trained agents to a drug raid. Mr. Hughen is the rightful guardian of the boy. You must inform him of the child's whereabouts" Jacob returned his look to Agent Barker for answers. The agent continued to remain silent. Wally once again interrupted, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market." Jacob once again looked to the camera, "That's still rolling right?" Raymond replied, "Sure is Mr. Hughen."
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Tue, 8 November 2005  Chapter 10: The Guardian
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Chapter 11: Silve Lining of the Golden HindeComments[0] |
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Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 9: Time For You to Lost the High Chair (Where?)
Bradley awoke in his office and immediately felt the soreness of his hands. He opened his eyes only to become blinded by the high wattage lights he had installed around the room. He struggled to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Upon the wall the clock showed five in the morning.As he exited the room Bradley headed down the hallway and swung open Gregory's bedroom door, "Let's get up and get some food buddy. What d'ya feel like for breakfast?" Gregory rolled over turning his back to his father and Bradley could barely make out, "Pancakes." Brad chuckled under his breath, "Sorry dude. You know we don't have time for pancakes. We got to get you dressed and ready for school. You have mass today," Brad was pulling out Gregory's dress clothes, "So I'm gonna have you put everything on except your button up until you're done eatin'." Gregory was still motionless in his race car bed, and Brad sat down next to him and ran his fingers through his son's blonde hair. As he did this, Brad caught site of his bloodied knuckles, and decided to let Greg sleep a bit longer while he cleaned them off. Brad stepped into the bathroom, and flipped on the lights. He looked at himself in the mirror, and starred at the large bags beneath his eyes. He rubbed the short bristles on his shaved head, and massaged his temples a little. He wasn't much more awake than his son was at the moment. He proceeded to scrub the blood and dead skin off of his hands. He reached into his medicine cabinet, and pulled out a roach clip with a joint fastened at the end and lit it up. He took one pull from it, and placed it down on the sink. After splashing some water on his face, and doing some more waking up Brad took another hit from his joint and turned the sink on. He dabbed the lit cherry into the water to put it out, and tossed the clip and joint back into the cabinet. Brad once again sleepily walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. He pulled out two bowls and two spoons. "Come on Greg I'm pouring you a bowl. We'll get your clothes on after. We gotta hurry." Brad got the milk and cereal box and placed them along with the spoon and bowls down on the table. He filled both of them up and turned to call Gregory again, "Greâ?¦" Gregory was already standing in the doorway with a sleepy but very large smile on his face. He had dressed all by himself, and had left his button up still on his bed. "I'm like you daddy." Greg said referring to their matching out fits. Khaki pants, and an undershirt. "Dude come here." Brad commanded as he patted his knee. Greg hopped up, "I am so frickin' proud of you. I can't tell you how much, but I haven't been proud of anything as much as I am with you. I mean that." Gregory laid his head on his father's shoulder, and asked, "What about mommy and sissy?" "I was really proud of them too buddy, but you most of all now. Let's say our prayers and get some food." With that Bradley lifted Greg off his knee. As Brad took Greg off his knee and lowered his son's feet to the dining room floor a loud screeching sound came from out front. As the screech quickly came to an end the abrupt honking of a horn blared. Bradley's hands tightened around his son as he waited for the standard crashing noise after the skid. None came, and he let go of his son. Gregory walked over to the chair next to Brad, and pulled it out. He hoped up into the seat, and looked at his father for a reaction. Bradley looked over at his son, and as he eyed his son's school outfit he smiled, "Maybe it's time for you to lose the high chair Gee. I think you're big enough for the table. There is one thing about sitting at the big boy table though," Greg looked at his father eager to find out the requirement, "You'll need to switch off with me and say grace for the meals." Gregory smiled due to the fact that he was quite comfortable talking to God. He began, "Thank you Jesus for the food. Thank you for Daddy annnnnnnnndd," Gregory opened one eye to look at his father for some more material. Bradley mouthed "Mommy." "â?¦and thank you for Mommy and Sissy. I want to see them again. I miss them veryâ?¦" all of a sudden another screech sounded from outside starling Gregory, but this time much louder. Bradley waited for the accompanying crash, but instead heard a deep thud, and the clang of metal-on-metal which seemed too close to ignore. Father and Son still had their hands folded and fingers crossed for prayer. As Brad's head angrily rose up scowling to peer towards the front of the house, a tremendous noise, that of the breaking of fibers and splintering of wood, sounded and the front door was throttled and fiercely unhinged. It flew through the air quickly shattering, and then proceeded to the floor in a mangled state. At the same time a flash emitted from the front door, and a tremendously loud sound echoed through the house. Along with the door going forward was a small thirty-five millimeter round, which blew through the unhinged door mid-flight, and proceeded to fly through the living room piercing the unforeseen high chair and dismounting it from it's upright position. Gregory gasped in fright, and Bradley placed his hands on the table bracing his surroundings in utter shock. As the high chair landed, and the dust cleared, a figure remained in the doorway. His silhouette augmented by the lack of morning light outside gave little detail to his identity. The figure, which seemed to Brad like a SWAT team member, was looking down at his smoking weapon and seemed quite taken aback by it's discharged state. Two identically clothed crouching figures quickly brushed past and entered the room. Both men stopped dead in their tracks about five feet from the entrance, and five feet from the table. They looked at the father and son. The fact that they had obviously been in prayer seemed to momentarily stall the two teammates, and then their gazes turned to the tipped high chair with an inch and a half whole gapping in the backrest. Bradley was still unable to comprehend what the reasoning was for all of this. He eyes jumped from point to point around the room to gather clues to the meaning of the intrusion. His gaze moved along to the mangled door, the hole in Greg's old high chair, the camera, and then the man with the smoking gun. Bradley saw a badge upon the man's chest, and when he read the word's "S.F. Drug Task Force" everything began to come into perspective. Then several local police officers came through the door followed by a man holding something with a bright light on his shoulders. The three officers stopped in the middle of the room behind the two wing men task force members who had advanced, and they dreadfully looked at the high chair and then at the family. Wally saw Gregory with his hands folded, and then he noticed something devastating. The wall behind Gregory was bright with light, and a clear crisp shadow of the boy and his father was also present. Wally turned to see the source of the light, and his fears were confirmed. That shadow confirmed that they had just walked into a target's house after the drug task force had kicked down the door without any warning, accidentally fired a live round that tore through the house which had blown a gapping hole through a child's high chair, and the settling aftermath was caught on camera and broadcast live to all the local networks. "Ohhhh Fuck!" Wally exclaimed as he equated the big picture in his head. He turned to Tom, and Tom turned to him. There were no words that could possible surface in either of the officers at this moment. Each and every person inside the house was still, including the tenants. As Wally's exclamation echoed the task force members where removed from their shock-like state, and the lead man who fired off the round yelled, "Freeze! Step away from the table!" This shook everyone up. Brad scooted his chair back and stood up. The camera man re-angled himself to include all parties. The three police officers pulled out their guns, and made sure the camera man was keeping out of harms way. The two wing man task force members crouched and pointed their guns at Bradley. This made Gregory leap from his chair towards his father. One of the wing men rushed and grabbed Gregory around the waist denying his father's grasp. Bradley immediately darted for his son yelling, "No!" and the standing man issued the butt of his rifle into Bradley's stomach causing him to buckle forward. As Brad gasped for air clutching his stomach and stumbling, the man raised the gun over his shoulder with both hands and brought the stalk down upon Bradley's head knocking his head into the door frame and knocking him out. With the target out, and Gregory contained, sobbing in disarray, the two wing men proceeded past the dinner table and down the hallway with the camera man following. They kicked in Gregory's bedroom door, and scanned the room briefly and moved on. Next they kicked in the bathroom door, and searched around quickly. Next they arrived at Bradley's office door, and as one of the wing men raised his foot the camera man stating, "Stop fucking kicking down the doors God damn it!" The wing man turned to the camera man, was met with the blazing light, and froze. The Camera man continued motioned towards the hysterical Gregory in sympathy, "None of these doors are locked." The other wing man slowly turned the knob. As the door opened the light shined through the hallway, and the S.F. Drug Task Force member knew their operation was legitimate.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:12 AM Comments[0] |
Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 8: Half Dozen to Another (Where?)
In a residential town in north Marin, the sun had not quite come up yet, and the immense morning dew has settled on the soil giving everything a look as though it had just rained. This was typical climate for the north Marin area, and even though it looked cold outside, the temperature was quite comfortable.A police car was parked at a street corner, and inside were two officers. The driver was smoking a cigarette while the officer in shotgun was sipping from a paper coffee cup. Both of the men seemed anxious, and were waiting for something. The driver took a final drag from his cigarette and as he tossed it to the street he turned to his partner, "Shit Wally, I can't stand much more of this sitting around crap. Sarge shouldn't have even told us what was going on until this morning. I was up all night goin' crazy." "Same here. I haven't slept or even ate since they walked us through it all. This is exactly what I've been waiting for, too." "What? Bustin' dope dealers? Wally this is Marin. That's one of our specialties." "No, I mean a real initiative to do something about the problem. I never figured McCain to be a man of action. I mean I know that the guy gets stuff done over there in the city, but I never figured he would do something solely for moral reasons." "Fuck morals. If we were movin' out today on a moral crusade we'd be bustin' half our own guys." Wally shook his head "See Tom, now that's what's fucked. I'm tired of actin' like nothings going on. Like I don't see anything. I swallow my pride every time I bust a guy for something I see one of you doing. Feels like it's not making any sense anymore. Am I doing this to protect, or am I doing this to collect?" "Collect what?" "A fucking check Tom. A check. Shit. It seems like all the department is doing is running a business. Sarge prints out the "sweeps week" report at the end of the month, and he knows the dollar sign for each bust. He has a budget, and he spends his time trying to balance the figures. Balancing fucking figures Tom. That's not what the cops did when I was younger." "Yeah well Walter things have fucking changed too. We weren't always under such a huge fucking magnifying glass. Back when their was a right wing to be found somewhere in this state we got money when we needed it." "See that's what I'm talking about. There used to be no price on serving the public." "Yeah well there used to be less crime around here." "Whose fault is that, officer?" "I don't know whose fucking fault it is Wally, and really, I don't give a fuck. I know what I do, and I bust guys. When I bust a dude we get money to bust bigger and badder dudes. That's how it works. Missions like this are only possible because of busting any dude that is going forty-five in a twenty-five even though we all speed. If I see those punks in the alley after schools out you can be sure as hell I'm going in there looking for a joint or a bowl. I'll bust them, we get paid because we did the job right, and you get your public served. It all makes sense in the end." "And you pocket the bowl on the way out." Wally said under his breath. There was no comment from Thomas. At that moment the officers spotted a mini-van size car coming towards them very fast. The van came to a skidding halt next to the cop car before Wally and Tom could even react. As the van skidded next to the police car in a driver side-to-driver side formation the driver was slightly propelled forward, and his forearm cushioned his impact using the steering wheel. The van's horn gave out a short and abrupt honk, and the driver smiled a goofy smile as he rolled down the window. It was a cop from the same department as Wally and Tom. "Hey Tom..." the van driving officer greeted his buddy, "Sup P Town?" the officer greeted Wally with his hometown derived nickname. "Sup Charlie. What's up with the fucking van?" "I got a local news camera man in the back," Charlie said while smacking gum, and sporting a toothy grin. "What?!" Wally said as he leaned over Tom to get a better look in the van. "Yeah I think McCain is running for Gov or something. This whole operation is going to be on the news after the objective is complete." "Actually we're gonna be live." A voice corrected from the back of the van. "Fuck," Tom said as he lowered his head in defeat. "See Tom I fucking knew it. The whole fucking thing! "Shut up Wally," Charlie interjected, "We're on right now. Get out of the car. You guys had better be ready." "Who's pulling rank? The three of us are the only one's here." Asked Wally. "Nope," said Charlie as he motioned behind the van with his thumb. Right then an armored vehicle came blazing down the street, and as it turned into a drive way it came to a screeching halt and its front right tire jumped the curb creating a metal-on-metal sound from the vehicle. Three fully covered task force members exited the vehicle in unison, with hip-side assault rifles strapped over their shoulder, and bolted up to the door within seconds.. They sported swat team style helmets and gear which made them look intimidating even to their police officer cousins. They lined up, gave each some sort of hand signal, and the one bringing up the rear waved Charlie into action as the two other flanked the side of the front door in a wing man position, the third took a step and a half back to give him room to kick down the door. "Alright we're on." Charlie said as Walter and Thomas undid their seat belts, and unholstered their guns, and exited the car. And standing outside at that moment you could hear the camera man say, "3... 2... annnnnd 1, we're Rollin'," followed by the sound of cracking timber.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:05 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 31 October 2005 We have a great announcement to make. At The Appointed Time can now be found at Podiobooks.com a website which provides serialized audio books which are made available in podcast format.It is thee greatest service offered to authors who are releasing their books in audio format. Please visit Podiobooks.com and check out the many books which the site provides. There are great books by great authors, and EVERYTHING IS FREE!!! Category: general -- posted at: 6:45 PM Comments[0] |
Fri, 21 October 2005 Chapter 8 - "Half Dozen to Another"and Chapter 9 - "Time For You to Lose the High Chair" Comments[4] |
Fri, 21 October 2005 Chapter 7: Hector Upraided Him (Where?) Hector Priam, chief of police for the city of San Francisco, lay in his bed as restless as he had ever been. He stared at the ceiling as he lay on his back. His eyes were wide open, and his mood was anything but winding down. He had felt this way since he had left the meeting with the group, and he was unable to pinpoint the root of his anxiety.He knew that he did not look favorably upon Franc's new proposal. He only agreed because he knew his brother was unable to succeed without his help. It had always been that way. At first, when they were young, it seemed as though it was a split initiative between the two. They would constantly be in trouble, and it always would fester from some grand idea of Franc's, but back then, Franc was "the brains" and Hector was the brawn. By the time they both arrived in high school Hector had begun to see his brother's faults. He was irrational, and impulsive. Two things Hector was not, and had no tolerance for. Nonetheless Hector continued to buy into his brotherâ??s ideas, and as a result he had realized that he was doing this to protect his brother, which was never too much of a problemâ?¦ until now. Hector knew from the beginning that the whole thing was a terrible idea. Even before the group was formed, or even before Hector was introduced to many of his new "associates." Hector had known Mayor McCain since his election as mayor. He actually endorsed him. It's not that Hector didn't pick up on the Mayor's greed right away. That still wasn't an issue to him. Mayor McCain was very supportive of San Francisco's arm of the law. It was an extension of the mayor's office by right. It was also an extension that the Mayor continually used to his advantage and to the advantage of the citizens from time to time. As for Giovanni and Juan, they were the ones that Hector was supposed to be hunting. The crime lords. They were the ones that he promised to rid the city of at all costs, and now he was doing business with them. Hector had no idea how it got to this point, or how his goals had been changed. He once again thought of his brother Franc with resentment. Hector was first introduced to Robert Baron through his brother, and at first like any one else in the world, he was quite impressed with Robert and in awe of his presence. He quickly got over his admiration, and could cut right through Baron's crust. Robert had funded his way into the hearts of every city official, and had also been given a quick route to the services of the law. It was a relationship that Hector learned to live with, and actually had little problem with. The relationship between Robert Baron and his brother Franc was not. At the beginning of the group Franc seemed to fully be in the same corner as Hector. Everyone was separated at the beginning. It seemed to be the Mayor and the businessman; the mafia boss and drug lord, and Hector and Franc. Slowly they became accustomed to each other, and the group began to solidify. As time pasted on, and the group became more intertwined, Franc seemed to distance himself from Hector. Franc began to have private meetings with Robert. Sometimes the Mayor would attend. When Franc started proposing ideas to the group that were foreign to Hector was when he started to pay closer attention. Then, things began to go into motion without consulting the rest of the group at all. Franc started collaborating with Robert, and "things" were done without the groups approval or even knowledge. And as before, the same thing that got the two brothers involved started happening again. Franc's private ideas necessitated resource from the arm of the law. When Franc's first "big idea" went sour, and it involved the cops, Hector put his foot down. He still became tense just reminiscing the turn of events. He had spoken to Franc later that night after they had cleaned up his mess, and for once he did not hold back on his brother. Two had died, and the department's fingerprints were all over the whole operation. Franc had risked his brother's job, reputation, and staff for gain. Hector raged at his brother that night swearing to turn his brother in if he continued to risk his department's safety and continued as he had planned. Unfortunately Franc's idea had reached two influential people in the city, and his planned seemed, to them, financially sound enough to pull the right strings. Those two were the Mayor of the city, and the CEO of the most powerful company in the world. Hector was ordered by the Mayor of the city to put together a "drug task force" that would be the main team to enforce laws regarding producing, trafficking, and selling any and all drugs. The state enacted a set of laws which allowed drug enforcement operations to work covertly, which allowed them to work separate from the police. This gave the task force the ability to remain silent about upcoming and previous operations which was the key to Franc's new "big idea." General Forge and Foundry supplied the funding and technology, which got Baron's foot in the door on Franc's plan. Someone representing Columbia was needed, and no one else fit the description as well as Juan Pedro. Finally Giovanni was brought into the group because of his locked down status of the industry, and his knowledge base of the "who, when and where." At that point the group had been formed, and they had: someone to fund, someone to govern, someone representing the "good guys", someone representing "the bad" sellers, someone representing "the bad" buyers, and Franc to spear head the whole deal.
The phone rang. Hector was startled by the late night call, and rolled over to reach his bedside phone. He answered expecting business, "Chief Priam."
"We have the full task force plus units from all the precincts on call and waiting for the order to move out." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:15 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 14 October 2005 Chapter 7 - "Hector Upbraided Him"Comments[0] |
Fri, 14 October 2005 Chapter 6: The Kingpiece (Where?) Just as morning broke a man walked down the hall towards his breakfast. He ignored the numerous decorations that he had to walk by to get anywhere in the house. He passed the many paintings, sculptures, and busts of fame as he did repetitiously almost everyday. Several flags, plaques, and important letters also seemed to pass by the man as if they were just a part of the beige colored walls, and of nothing fancy. His mind was somewhere else.
He arrived at the table and sat down to his breakfast. He stared at it knowing it was what he had pursued since he had thrown on his clothes a couple minutes ago, but the next step eluded him at the moment. He tried very hard to culminate his mental processing power. In the process of trying to come to some sort of conclusion his vision went fuzzy. A helpless feeling came over him. He rubbed his eyes in utter exhaustion.
He was rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and index, as she called. His head rose up slowly as his eyes were coming into focus. His wife sat in front of him in her robe.
Before the man had anytime to respond a tall black man, also dressed in black, approached, "Good morning Mr. President. I hope you slept well. The Attonery General would like to convene with you in the west wing in several minutes to discuss the penalty increase of the controlled subâ?¦" George could see the glimmer of sweat on Thomas' head as he nodded in reply. Without any noise, even from his footsteps, he made his way and turned the door knob. As the door opened slightly, the President said calmly, "Thomas?"
The serviceman turned, but still made no noise. The President could tell by the stillness that Thomas had turned towards him in attention, and he proceeded, "I am not angry with you personally Thomas, but will you please reiterate to the team that when the President of the United States says 'you may leave now' he does not want you out of his face. He just wants you to obey him. I must retain that caliber of command" Thomas left, and the attention was now on George as he turned to his family's gaze. His face wore a serious look on it. He started to think of something fatherly or husbandly to say to someone, but that was about as hopeful as his breakfast. Inside, thoughts ran in and out of grasp. This couldn't be lack of sleep. His mind was on overload with the state of events. When he started his election campaign he was sure he was doing what he had always wanted to do. He had so much support from everyone. Everyone kept reassuring him that he was the "right man for the job." Everything made sense back then. When the only goal was to become the president. Now that he had assumed the role, all his supporters became competitors for his ear. Everyone had a demand, and a priority level. He thought he had his own list of priorities coming into this, and he thought that's what got him the job in the first place. His agenda. There was that word again agenda. He heard the word a million times a day. That was the problem. He heard about his agenda all the time, but he was never the one to put it together. He said to himself 'how come someone else has me in order? How come I don't get to decide where I am and when? Maybe that's the irony of a position such as mine.' He rolled these thoughts over in his head, and a deep feeling of loneliness set in. He was the President, and answered to no one besides the citizenry. He had no one to escalate things to or manuals on how to do his job. It was completely out of the question to approach someone for help. What would anyone think of a president who needed something, or anything. Things were out of control, and he found no one around to help.
Then he remember as he lowered his head, "Thank you God for providing us with this blessed food that we are about to eat, and thank you for providing us with the necessities of life. Amen." George's family had instinctively lowered their heads as George began, and now as they raised them, "Also Lord, please help my staff to put up with me and help them to stay together through these difficult times. In your son's name; Amen." Although The President tricked himself into believing that the last bit of prayer was for his staff's sake, he himself needed the strength more than anyone. Category: novel text -- posted at: 5:15 PM Comments[0] |
Wed, 5 October 2005 Chapter 6 - "The Kingpiece"Comments[0] |
Wed, 5 October 2005 Chapter 5: The Tasking (Where?)
Fr. Enoch Augustine felt shivers run up his back as he finished his creed. He felt the presence of beings behind him as he had hundreds of times before, and like hundreds times before he was still frightened to turn around. This, however, was almost a comfort to the priest as it was one of the emotions which reminded him of his miraculous state of existence. That he actually still lived and breathed, and feared after all this time. It also was a firm reminder that he had been chosen to bear this task since the earliest of days. And as he had done each time before he reminded himself that what came to pass had been determined a long time ago, and that he needn't hold fear.The fear drained away, and he turned to face two great beings. Two great men whom in their plainclothes would strike terrible fear into any foreign being in all existence, save the evilest of them all. Each with their hands folded behind their back, and both staring straight into the eyes of the priest with no emotion present on their faces. Their presence seemed to make everything else in the room completely insignificant as they towered in front the priest. The men continued to stare into Father Augustine's eyes waiting for him to speak. For they knew what he was to say. "Gabriel," Augustine called to the man on the left. The man nodded in reply. The priest continued, "It has been the longest of time since I have seen you last. I believe it was Ste. Marie-du-mont?" Without any facial change the man named Gabriel drew in a breath signaling his feelings for the last meeting with the priest. "The moment of Glory and Sorrow. The Father received many that day." "Yes I remember. That was the strongest I've seen the enemy." Father Augustine bowed his head and clenched his jaw. The last meeting, no matter how glorious, apparently had its cost. The priest slowly regained himself and turned to the other, "Raphael." The taller of the two great men showed a slight sign of a smile. Augustine continued similarly, "It has not been as long since I saw you last." Now the priest wore what might be called the smallest of smiles. The man named Raphael spoke, "Very true, though I have greatly missed you as always Leaf. I know it is not understood by mere mortals, but the army awaits the day that you shall return; never to depart again." "You are forgetful Raphael. I am no mere mortal, nor is it beyond me to partially understand, much less acknowledge, the grace I shall receive upon my final ascension. You also forget," Fr. Augustine's voice and expression changed to a drastically more serious tone, "That the time you speak of is nigh." Then the priest's eyes squinted, and he seemed to be occupied by thought. "Where is Michael?" Augustine looked to both of the men for answers, and received none. He continued in a more tenacious tone, "Gabriel where is Michael?" "He has been made mortal." Fr. Augustine was floored. Gabriel's answer was a less than sufficient explanation, both angels now had heads bowed in what looked like shame, apparently not wanting to speak of something. Father Augustine noticed apprehension in the two which he had never noticed before in them or any of their high order. Uneasiness grew inside him, and he looked at both the great men again for a better explanation, "In the name of Jesus Christ the Savior I command you to answer my question! Where is the arch-angel?!?!" At the very end of Father Augustine's command a celestial light shone behind the two great men, and there eyes widened, almost in anger or fear. Their hands unfolded and drop stiffly to their side, and in unison they began, "Oh Sheppard, the end is near. All that was, is no more. You have arrived at this final crusade, and the end battle for you is nigh, and in the end, all that has been told to you by the Arch-Angel Michael will come to be. But before then you are tasked. As of this hour much of your power has been stripped of you, and your future is no longer clear. You now suffer the mortality that your original sins of ancient time have brought you. And now, as a mortal you are commanded to fulfill the prophecy that you once accepted back on the mountain with Michael before your ascension in the first days. You no longer are the Sheppard of my children, but are the Sheppard of my chosen. The keybearer has come into the light, and the darkness is fully aware. You are tasked with protection, and though you have but few holy powers left, my power stands the test of all time, and is unfathomable. Be strong Enoch, for if you are not… you will be broken, and many shall suffer the gnashing and taring of teeth. Be strong, for I shall be by your side." The two great men became silent. Tears were pouring out of theirs eyes, and they looked drained of energy. They looked to Fr. Augustine, but this time for answers. For the two great men, the throne angels Gabriel and Raphael, were no more omnipotent than the mere mortal in front of them. "Augustine," Gabriel began, "The Lord has stripped us of much of our power. The future is as hidden to us as His objective. We are being tested; the same as the humans." Fr. Augustine seemed to be deep in thought. He starred at the hard wood floor in the room. His mind reeling in an attempt to piece together the bit of information he just received in tongues. And then it hit him… "Kin of Constantine???" The priest repeated in his head. "Bradley," he said out loud. The two great men were very surprised and did not know of what the Priest was referring to. The Priest noticed this and changed tones, "Gabriel," he looked to the man on the left and received a nod, "Raphael," he received another, "The end of days is near. The enemy is at his strongest, and the kin of Cain have taken the offensive. Both of you, as well as I, have lost most of the powers on which we have relied on for so many years. We must continually remind ourselves that the real cornerstone of our power… the true rock that we have relied on for all those years was the power of the Lord. With that in mind I task you both now. Speed to the corners of the earth and call upon the Apostles through their dreams. They all are to meet here by sun up, in two days." Both great men nodded, but stood still. Augustine felt as though he were lost, and picked up that the two angels felt the same way. He could not explain why the Lord had revoked any powers at all in a time like this. Although it was not his place to doubt anything, he felt like a totally different being. Much less sure of himself, and he could only assume that both the great men present had similar feelings about this. The Priest felt that he should say more to his partners, "Both of you, we are to embark upon the greatest of all crusades. Looking at ourselves at this moment brings feelings of confusion about anything we have ever done in the name of the Lord in the past. I will admit that I am unsure, and fear has never felt like such an enemy to me before. Though, I must remind you, as well as myself, that only by our faith shall we overcome fear. I know it always has been, but right now I am humbly reminded that faith is our greatest virtue, and our strongest weapon." Raphael and Gabriel both stood a little straighter as the somewhat comforting words of the priest ran over them. The Priest was right in his assumption that fear had never been more present, and they were positive of Augustine's explanation of faith; for they had experienced it only in a lesser amount than their leader Michael. "The time is nigh," Ft. Augustine finalized, "You must make haste, and spread the word to the Apostles, and your brethren. In these last days we will truly be side by side. Let the light of God guide you, and your faith in him protect you. Amen"
With that the Priest made the sign of the cross and both of the great men ran to the other side of the room and exited through the window in flight.." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:20 AM Comments[0] |
Fri, 23 September 2005 Chapter 5 - "The Tasking"Comments[0] |
Fri, 23 September 2005 Chapter 4 - The Proposal (Where?)
The room was silent aside from Franc's detailed proposal. Each of the members of the Darkest Group were uneasy with what needed to be done, but were all in agreement that there was no other way to achieve their goals."Now I have been successful in the past because of the way I deal with hindrances such as these. I have always treated any problem in the very same fashion. You are met with the obstacle. Then you identify and become familiar with it… then you obtain it and use it to your own advantage." Franc scanned the faces of everyone in the room. He saw that both Giovanni and Juan-Pedro seemed apprehensive to the role that each would have to play. Franc then turned to his brother Hector. Chief Hector was an extremely large and broad person, even compared to any other officer on the force. He had the frame of a warrior, and his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. Not that he was unintelligent, but as if he had something more important to ponder. When Franc finally caught his gaze, hector returned a nod of approval to let his brother know he was in support even though Franc knew that Hector had been weary of the group since the beginning. Franc now turned to the Mayor. Mayor McCain was a highly educated man who was the least complex in the room. His main goal, within the group and in life, was control. Not how much, but that no one had more. He made no attempt to hide it, and his people, the citizens of the city, wanted it. He was elected on the coattails of the recession when the San Franciscan voters had employment and economic stability in mind, and Mayor McCain had all the right friends to make that possible. The most important of his friends being Robert Baron… Robert Baron was arguably thee most powerful business man in the world. His father, grandfather, and he had each been the next in line to control General Forge and Foundry. The first Robert Baron, Robert's great grandfather, had started the company as a private firm which "managed" projects for the American Department of Defense at the beginning signs of the first World War. When the idea of America entering the war became a inevitability General Forge and Foundry became publicly owned, and all over the world, and all at once the Baron family became ranking military officials, members of judicial systems, politicians, and most of all permanently rich. For those that knew the current head of the family, Robert Baron III he was completely unstoppable (his grandfather, Franklin Baron, was named after a close personal "friend", hence the third and not forth). He had his hand in everything, and General Forge and Foundry was the most diversified company in the world, and there were none comparable. The company did everything from studies whose results often turned into accepted practices and industry standards; to consulting the military on the maintenance of their facilities, and inner-city warfare tactics just for random examples. When the economy was hot with start ups General Forge and Foundry specialized in venture capital, and when the bubble burst they specialize in corporate refinancing, and commercial asset liquidation. When the economy seemed to droop a little too low for even GF&F's tastes…. you had war. Since Robert's youngest years everyone around him was immediately aware of his command and quest for power. Even the numerous maids, nannies and butlers that came and went through Baron Manor found it was evident that Robert III was following in the family tradition as his famous fore-fathers did. At a young age Robert had lots of friends in school, but he never gravitated towards one in particular. He seemed to become involved enough to be known, and to know what was going on at all times. When it came to claiming, for instance, a best friend or a travel mate for vacations Robert refused to do either. The only time that someone accompanied Robert on a holiday was when a boy named David asked to be invited to their Christmas getaway in the UK. Surprisingly enough to the others Robert was neither thrilled nor indifferent about the proposal, and he invited his friend without thinking twice about it. So when Franc stared at Robert in expectations of an acknowledgment, Robert nodded the moment their eyes met. Robert still had the same goal he had since he was a child, and in his eye he had not achieved it yet. Franc knew that the group's question at hand had been turned over in Robert's mind only until the point where he was sure it would support his goal. If they were able to pull it off Robert would, at that point, finally have achieved his life quest.
"So gentlemen," Franc prepared, "now is the time. The choice needs to be unanimous, and if we are all in agreement it will start the moment we leave the building. Now I know that you are all in agreement on one thing, and that is that there is no other way to surpass this roadblock. The choice you are making is if the end result is worth what needs to be done. I know my end result is worth anything. Is yours?"
First he looked at Robert, "Of course. There is no other way" the reply came as Robert waved his hand in the air motioning for Franc to continue quickly. Giovanni-Paulo was staring at the desk as he felt the stare of Franc inquisitive eyes. He weighed heavily the words that Franc spoke about whether the task at hand is worth the end result. Everything in his body was uncomfortable with the decision. His muscles became tense, and he gritted his teeth behind closed lips. He knew that he should burst out and irrationally decline, but his desires held out, and "I am with the group." Franc finally turned to Juan-Pedro, "Now Juan you have one of the toughest decisions to make. The rest of the group is at the whim of your decision, and you also have the hardest task. Now if you agree, making it unanimous, you will have to leave for Columbia immediately, for you can do no more here, and only run the risk of exposure." Juan-Pedro sat silent at the table giving no sign of an answer. His silence ran long enough to the point where the rest of the group shifted in anticipation. He was tapping his fingertips together in front of his face in a physical show of meditation. Everyone held there breathe, and straightened up. He stopped tapping his fingertips which signaled that his answer was coming. He then turned, without warning, and looked at Giovanni, and stared. Giovanni eyes widened initially in surprise, but then he tried to look through Juan's gaze for a message, and he felt as though his Columbian associate had second thoughts too. A very foul look came over Franc's face when he saw the connection between Juan-Pedro and Giovanni-Paulo. He had no idea whether Juan had any communication with Giovanni, but right now he didn't like anything but agreement. Franc spoke up, "Juan-Pedro? Are you willing?" Juan continued to look at Giovanni now with a more intense look, as if he were looking back through the Italian's eye for a message that was not to be spoken. Inside Giovanni desired for Juan to call the whole thing off. To upset the unanimity and to make the decision that he himself could not. The words almost came right out of his mouth… "Just say no."
"I am not going to be the one to hold back the group. I am in this to the end, and I expect that everyone should be willing to give up just as much. I am nobody's fall guy, and none are greater than the group." Juan-Pedro still stared at Giovanni and Gio back at him. They now knew that the other had the same growing feeling inside them.
And each member stood up without saying a word, and left conference room 216. Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:55 PM Comments[2] |
Mon, 19 September 2005 Chapter 4 - "The Proposal"Comments[0] |
Fri, 16 September 2005 Chapter 3 - The Shepherd (Where?)
Now in the city of Saint Francis the night was cold, but less than usual. An elder man of the cloth stood at the corner of a skyscraper's room. He commanded a bird's eye view of the city from the highest floors of the building in which he stood. He was facing a corner window, looking out towards the water that surrounded and characterized the city.The man, Father Augustine, was wrapped in a thick black robe of typical Catholic ware. He was an average size man with dark gray hair, and he wore thin framed glasses which gave him a scholarly look. At the moment he stood still, staring out the window at the vast openness of the city. His head wasn't rotating, nor were his eyes darting around to find a certain target. Father Augustine stared blankly through the window waiting for something to present itself. Like a bus rider for his bus, he very slightly rocked forward and backward on his feet with one hand laid gently in the other behind his back, continuing to wait patiently; something he had learned well in his old age. Suddenly, without anything appearing Father Augustine abruptly stopped rocking, and stiffly stood straight, as if at attention. Time seemed to stand still, and it became very quiet. The fog which would always gather around the windows all along the top floor of the building quickly wafted apart as if someone had fanned it away. His eyes opened fully, and his breath was held. Anxiety built up inside the Priest's stomach, and finally what he had been waiting for appeared. A streak of blue light, like a great fire, shot across the sky coming from the west and crossing perpendicularly overhead of the Golden Gate, and plunged down in the bay in the general proximity of Alcatraz.
The Priest began to clear his train of thought, took a deep breath and began, "Dear Father, I praise you for your grace. You have blessed me by allowing that I be part of your hidden plan. You have blessed me by allowing that I be present during the days that have been prophesized. And you have ultimately blessed me with the Miracle of the Messiah. Now, during the final hours of The Last Crusade which I have been tasked with, help make me the grip of your vengeful striking hammer. Empower me with the divinity as you have before. In my own eyes I am not worthy of this task, but I continue on only with the faith that you are omniscient, and have chosen me with a higher reasoning, one which I cannot at this time understand. With my proclamation of faith I will recite the prayer which was taught to me by the angel Mychal whence I was lifted up by You, Oh Lord, in my three hundred and sixty fifth year. Category: novel text -- posted at: 10:35 AM Comments[0] |
Thu, 15 September 2005 Chapter 3 - "The Shepherd"
My Odeo Channel (odeo/92ef39f04cf1b272)Comments[0] |
Mon, 29 August 2005 Chapter 2 - The Darkest Group (Where?)
A sixth floor elevator door slowly opened to reveal a rather quiet sixth floor at an hour passed five as a man made his way out and past the empty secretary's desk. The man steadily bobbed and weaved back and forth through office desks and down hallways on his way to his predetermined destination, which was a corner conference room on the side opposite the elevator lobby where he had entered.The man, who was in his late forties, was built very strong, and appeared quite sturdy for a man his age. He had olive skin, and a thick dark full beard with bits of grey creeping through. He wore a suit of rather high cost and quality, and shoes of the same likeness. A serious look upon his face seemed to tighten with every step he took. He continually clenched his fists bringing his hands to a white knuckle, and then would release the clench along with, ever so slightly, loosening up his tensed expression. All while continually whispering, "Take this to the limit... Take this to the limit... Take this to the limit..." As he approached his destination he successfully calmed himself and slowly pushed open the door of conference room 217, as if to announce his arrival. He peered through the crack of the slightly opened door and scanned the contents of the room. He saw his brother and partner Chief Hector Priam of the city police department, and several other familiars all assembled at the table with the western sunset barely breaking the top of the hill where California St. splits the two luxury landmark hotels at the cusp. Like so many sunsets on the bay are, it would have been something to sit back and take in, but the night before had brought several issues to the attention of the group. There was one, more specifically, of the highest importance. "Franc," one of the fellows calmly acknowledged. "Mayor," Franc acknowledged in return. "I'm sure," another one of the men, dressed more professionally than the rest, burst out, "that you picked six at night because I love coming into work after all the rest of the workforce has already gone..." Franc interrupted abruptly, "It looks like the only piece that is not on our side of the board is the King." This quieted the room immediately. Franc slowly closed the door behind him. He had a collective presence now, somehow able to shrug off his previous white-knuckled tension for the sake of the meeting. "So Robert...," Franc began with the tone of a teacher speaking to a bothersome student, "I picked the only hour that we could possibly meet so that we may discuss my proposal on how to proceed without the king." "I don't see how that is at all possible Franc," said a man, who was more fashionably dressed than he was professionally. "It is Giovanni." replied Franc, "The reason we are unable to even court him about the issue is that he has such strong religious beliefs. This is why I think..." "I don't agree." Giovanni refuted, "Religious beliefs are not impassable, and I don't think they're the issue here. That's just an excuse." "I agree Giovanni-Paulo." Franc stressed the pronunciation of the names, "Religion is not impassable, and it is just an excuse." The statement rolled off of Franc's tongue to the extreme discontent of Giovanni. Since the beginning of the "pact" Giovanni had noticed that Franc and he did not mix well other than issues related to their work. Franc seemed to hold some sort of scrutiny towards Giovanni. Giovanni continually noticed Franc treating another member of the group with similar prejudice. That man's name was Juan-Pedro. Juan was the group's representative in South America, Columbia specifically, and he seldom visited the States. He was rather attractive and suave, but he never gave credit to himself due to his good looks, and mostly acted quite humble; almost in disregard or disagreement of them. Juan did not, however doubt his own personal power, or cut himself short and except less than anything he set out to make. Back in Columbia, and to a certain extent in the U.S., Juan-Pedro was a well known and often times feared man, and he did not attempt to hide it. Giovanni noticed and related to this quality of Juan's. For Giovanni had an extremely similar reputation within the U.S., and had the very same grasp of his own abilities. This was the troubling part for Giovanni. Both he and Juan were very powerful men that would neither accept disrespect nor give up an inch of their power. They were quite at ease with themselves, yet they both received and continually accepted Franc's mistreatment. It was common for Franc to disregard both Juan and Giovanni's opinion, and sometimes completely unacknowledged their statements altogether within the group. Franc seemed to have his ulterior motives just like the rest of the group, but at times it seems that his motives were almost combative to anyone else's, and Giovanni was quickly becoming uneasy of the forward motion of the group led by Franc. He thought to himself that he should speak privately with Juan-Pedro about this matter. Now Franc continued, "Gentlemen, we are now at a fork in the road. We have a major decision placed in front of us, and it is crucial that, with this, we are all in agreement to take this to the limit. Once agreed upon, set in motion, and executed there is no putting the breaks on this. As I had begun before; I picked the soonest hour that we could possibly meet, Mr. Baron, so that we may discuss my proposal on how to proceed without the President... tomorrow." Thanks, 'Brad the Dad' Copyright ©2005 Bradley Harris; Anonymous Category: novel text -- posted at: 11:47 PM Comments[2] |
Mon, 29 August 2005 Chapter 2 - "The Darkest Group"Comments[0] |
Wed, 10 August 2005 Chapter 1: Father and Son (Where?)
As Bradley secured his three-year-old son in his high chair, he finally sat down at the dinner table, and lowered his head in prayer. His son did the same.Little Gregory was obviously too young to comprehend the full meaning of prayer, and what power it held, but he gathered from his father's behavior that it was, without a doubt, an extremely important ritual that was conducted during specific events of focus. Bradley started, "Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord; Amen." Bradley finish the nightly traditional prayer, and in an out of the ordinary act, he proceeded with a personal plea, "and dear God," Gregory raised his brow as to peak quickly at his father, "please bless my wife Elizabeth; Gregory's mother, and bless little Catherine. Both Gregory and myself wish they were both still with us. I know we both miss them terribly." Bradley raised his brow as to peak quickly at his son. Gregory had his eyes closed, and seemed to be rightfully in deep meditation, "Also, Lord, please help both of us to be strong like you, so that we can deal with our hardships. Forgive us for our sins, and thank you for everything you have given us," and in closing he made the sign of the cross. Although Bradley tricked himself into believing that the last bit of prayer was for his son's sake, he himself needed the strength more than anyone. Brad's wife and daughter were killed almost a year ago in a car accident coming back from Catherine & Gregory's daycare. That day Gregory was at home with his father. They were both home sick from their normal daily schedule, with the exact same flu. Bradley and Gregory laid on the couch all day long enjoying an array of shows ranging from the lovable Bear in his big blue house to watching the Giants win a pre-season game against their buddies across the bay. When Bradley received the awful phone call, about five hours after the accident actually happened, he was already terribly alarmed and worried that his girls were not already home. It was the storybook phone call. "Mr. Harris, this is Chief Priam from the S.F.P.D" He open-endedly introduced himself. Bradley replied, "Yes." "Are you Bradley Harris, father to Catherine Mary Harris, and husband to Elizabeth Mary Harris?" "I hope so," Bradley answered. The officer let out a slight breath in reaction to Bradley's response. " Sir, I regretfully have to inform you of some very unfortunate news." At that moment Bradley had all the confirmation he needed to know that he would never kiss his wife or daughter ever again. The informant on the other end of the phone also knew of Bradley's awareness to the fact that his girls were gone, but he continued anyway, "Your Wife Elizabeth, and daughter Catherine were killed this afternoon in a car accident." Chief Priam waited for a split second for a reaction. There was none, so he continued, "The accident was caused by a criminal who was being chased by another officer through downtown. The criminal was crossing Van Ness, and did not have the green light... I'm afraid your wife and child did sir. Your wife's car was blind sided by the criminal's, and the coroner stated that they were both killed upon impact." The rest of the phone call followed typical police protocol. In the end they wanted to know if Bradley would like a public servant to come over to the house to help emotionally and physically. He denied the gesture, and didn't want to ask any questions. Chief Priam asked one more favor, "Mr. Harris we will need some one to come down and identify them." Bradley took a while to mentally process the request and responded, "Catherine is the one next to my dead wife, and Elizabeth is the one next to my dead daughter." The phone call ended. Elizabeth's best friend identified the bodies. Before that, Bradley's only family was Elizabeth and the kids. His parents had died his first year in college. He was now alone except for his son and after that he kept close to Gregory all night long, and every day after that. That day was a turning point for Bradley. What he was from that very day, that very phone call, was nothing like he had ever been prior. Back in Marin, the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge, Bradley grew up well off with little material worries. His father managed a law firm, and made a handsome salary. While Bradley was in high school most of his worries were mainly social. He was well liked among students, peers, and parents. He had a very personable way about him; very cheerful. He seemed to be the universal peer; never associating with any one group of people, but rather being equally accepting by all. After the phone call he had lost all the joyfulness which he was characterized with, and became jaded. While father and son finished their blessed dinner, Bradley noticed that Little Gregory was not as hungry as he usually was. Bradley inquired, "What's up? You're not hungry right now?" Gregory rested his tired head on his fist as he slowly chewed the bite that was in his mouth as though he was forcing it down. He shook his head. "Are you sure, because I made you your chicken fingers, annnnd I remember the dip that Mommy likes to get you." Bradley was capitalizing on the fact that he had remembered the main ingredient to Gregory's favorite meal that he didn't realize that he mentioned the woman who never forgot it. Now as a footnote it was less than a year since the death of Elizabeth and Catherine. Little Gregory still held a solid grasp of his mother and sister, and when a child loses his mother and sister at an age where he can consciously hold onto their memory there will never be a right time to tell him of their passing, because he will learn it everyday. "I want Mommy dip." Since the dip in front of Little Gregory, and the dip that Elizabeth used to get for him was exactly the same, and in the exact same mini-container, and from the exact same grocery store, Bradley understood what this meant. Now Gregory is not mentally challenged in any way. Far from it actually. Bradley knew this, and also knew that when Gregory wanted "Mommy hugs" when he was sad, or "Mommy pillows" when he was tired, that he included a physical item in an attempt to say anything besides, "I want Mommy." In the past Gregory had said, "I want Mommy," and he was also unfortunate enough in the past to see his father's reaction after he had continually repeated it too many times. You could say that when he wanted "Mommy Dip" that he actually was reminding Daddy that there were two boys who missed Mommy and Catherine. Bradley rested his forehead in his palms as he drew a deep breath of composure in through his nose. As his inhale came to an end, Bradley's head and eyes rose to meet Gregory's. In the time of about three seconds of direct eye contact, and what seemed like complete silence, Bradley reminded himself that he needed to be there for his son. He said to himself that there was one young boy who couldn't deal with what life had dealt him without his father. After Gregory's comment Bradley wasn't very hungry himself, and took his time picking at his food, and feeling like not-quite-enough of a parent. Gregory imitated his father, and periodically looked up at him so he could further mimic. Bradley didn't really understand how much unconditional love and trust his son had for him. Gregory looked up to his father more than anything in the world, but for Brad everything seemed a struggle, and it was hard to notice the affection. Dinner was over and Bradley knew he had to rock Gregory's memories out of his head. He took Gregory out of his high chair and brought him up to his chest into a big fatherly bear hug. Gregory laid his head on his father's shoulder, and tried for a while to keep the thought of his sister and mother in his head by keeping his eyes open. But the fluid motion of his fathers swaying sent him to sleep. Bradley was aware how long it took to rock Gregory to sleep after the mention of Mommy, but Bradley also was aware that he still had a good amount of work to do before the night was over. As always he chose the importance of his son's well being over the work at hand. Bradley slowly and silently took Gregory to his room and gently laid him down in his bed. When Gregory touched down on the bed he, as always, rolled onto his stomach, and tucked his knees up to his chest into a tight fetal position. His eyes broke open slightly, and father and son made eye contact. Dread came over Bradley's body, at the thought of having to pick his son up and rock him to sleep all over again. Bradley had a habit of getting short tempered when Gregory acted stubborn about going to bed. Gregory noticed this in his father's reaction, so he decided to not anger him. "Daddy I miss Mommy, and Sissy." First off, that was one of the most complex sentences to come out of Gregory's mouth to date, and usually Brad would praise him for his progress. This moment Bradley had too many emotions running through his heart to commend Gregory. All he could respond with was, "I do too Greg. Big time." Gregory's eyes closed and he seemed to immediately fall into deep sleep. Bradley exited the room, and closed the door behind him. He leaned his back up against it, and rubbed his face with his hands trying to stop the crying. Tears rapidly fell down his face, but Brad held back any sound of sadness. He didn't want Gregory to wake back up, or to hear him crying in general. As the tears streamed down his cheeks, Bradley walked back toward his office. He knew he had dreadfully neglected his work in order to comfort his son, and that meant a lot of catch up. Bradley had placed a picture of his wife on the wall to the left of his office doorway, and a picture of his daughter Catherine on the opposite. He looked at both of the pictures trying to recoup, and did for the most part. He rubbed the remaining tears from his face, and pushed the door open wide. As he looked through the door his heart stopped. On the other side of his "office" he could see his computer screens blinking red with warnings that both the humidity had dropped, and the temperature had risen to a hazardous level. Bradley slowly scanned the two hundred marijuana plants that lined his office, and fell to his knees in despair upon the layers of newspaper which lined the floor. He now could not hold back the loud sobbing. His emotions took over, and an incredible feeling of hopelessness and defeat came over him. He clinched his teeth and pressed his palms against his face as hard as he could in angered release. He began to pound the thin newspaper covered hardwood floor, and he finally let out a savage scream. Shortly after all went black, he fell to the floor, and his bloodied fists soaked the front page of the Chronicle.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 11:14 AM Comments[0] |
Wed, 10 August 2005 Chapter 1 - Father and Son: for chapter in text visit www.attheappointedtime.com Please continue to stay tuned until end of the third chapter.
Thank you Comments[0] |
Fri, 5 August 2005 Greetings brothers and sisters, please listen to my message. I am Brad the Dad and I will be the narrator of the podiobook, and I am really honored to be chosen by the author to do so. At the Appointed Time is an anonymously authored book, but is composed by an author who has written some of the most well read books in current circulation, and I'd be willing to bet that you've at least heard quotes from some of the older works which have been made into movies. I have contributed small bits to the book; mainly to modernize the language of certain younger characters. Stuff like slang, and other mostly unnoticeable things. I am actually really new to the book in general, and continue to be humbled by my unique involvement. I'm still not sure why the author thinks I'm qualified for this. The authorship of the book should not be of focus though. There are more important things you need to be aware of. Thank You, 'Brad the Dad' Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:50 AM Comments[4] |
Fri, 5 August 2005 Introduction - At the Appointed Time. www.attheappointedtime.com Comments[0] |
