Aug 17, 2017

Special Delivery

It was hot. The kind of hot that no matter how long you ran the cold water from the faucet it still ran warm enough to bathe. I'd be taking my pills with warm water just as I'd done most every morning since I began my trip almost 3 weeks before.

I hadn't slept well. Besides being hot, the air conditioner in my motel room just outside of Washington, DC was noisy. This room would have rented for $59 in most places but here in Arlington it was $259 and I was lucky to find it. Camping in Washington suburbs is a good way to get found so I thought it better I spring for the room. I hadn't rode a borrowed Triumph Speed Triple all the way from the deserts north of Barstow, California to the suburbs of Washington, DC. to get caught now.

Why a bike? Because they would be looking for a truck. No one was ready to believe my friends had figured out how to build 4 missiles small enough to carry across the country on a motorcycle. Why four? One each for the White House, Senate, House of Representatives, and Supreme Court. Was President Trump ever going to be surprised when one of those tiny missiles came crashing thru the windows of the Oval Office.

So why weren't we firing on the Pentagon? Because if our plan worked the military would think our plan had failed until it was too late to stop us. Besides, since 911 the Pentagon has been reinforced to the point that our tiny missiles would never penetrate its massive walls. Our tiny missiles can simply fly right through windows and doors of those other buildings.

And if our plan failed? Well if you're alive to read this you've already experienced the worst. At least I hope the worst is behind you. If you're reading this it is because I am already dead for whatever reasons befell me.

Why had the trip taken me so long on such a fast motorcycle? I avoided major cities and interstates all the way. The makers of these tiny missiles were concerned that the electronic signals given off by their components might be detected if I spent too much time near major cities where airports, military installations or other high tech electronics might be found. That's why I had stashed the missiles and the launching equipment on an abandoned farm near Old Tavern, Virginia about 50 miles west of Washington before going on in to check things out. I'd obeyed traffic laws all the way across the country. Want a challenge? Try riding across the country without breaking the speed limit while riding a Triumph Speed Triple. Another reason they wanted an old guy like me to make the trip.

From my motel I was able to watch the local news, access the Internet and make numerous trips into DC so that I would know where everything was at and how everything was going to work. Political schedules aren't posted very far in advance and I had to coordinate everything so that I could ride back to the farm, pick up the missiles, ride to DC, launch them while Congress, Senate, the Supremes, and President Trump were all in, and get the hell out of Dodge before everything lit up just in case things didn't go as planned.

So how did I end up involved in something like this? Well for starters, I'm not a terrorist. And unless something goes wrong these missiles won't kill anyone. A lot of other people were better qualified to do this job. A lot of people have a better chance of making it out alive. It's just that when the doctors tell you that your life is going to be ending soon and there's nothing they can do to stop that from happening, then you get to thinking about what you can best do with your time. Me? I decided to save the world.

You see, these 4 tiny missiles I was transporting weren't some kind of mini nukes or anything like that. Like I said, if things went wrong they could kill but there wouldn't be scenes of the White House being scattered across both sides of the river. Worst case scenario only a few people killed by any one missile. I was delivering what my co-conspirators jokingly called nice bombs.

These nice bombs were chemical weapons that change how people think. This group of peace activists out on the west coast had been working on such a project since the 1960s and finally they believed they had it figured out. The government believed they had it figured out too. That's why it had to be delivered in short range mini missiles such as the ones I was carrying. And it had to be done before the government found out where they were hiding. If we could change the minds of the 4 branches of the United States Government then we could get the government to explode larger nice bombs everywhere.

And finally there would be no more war-- ever again.

Well that was the plan. After 2 miserable weeks in Washington I finally had the timing all worked out, so long before daylight I rode back to the farm, loaded the leather bag containing the missiles and the launcher into the saddle bags and made my way to Fort Dupont Park where I parked the bike, grabbed the leather bags holding everything I needed to change the world, and made my way through the woods to a clearing just big enough to get the mini missiles into the air where GPS and computers would do the rest.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the one number I could remember. A voice on the other end said, "Delivery department."

"I'm ready," I replied.

"We're go here," the voice ordered, "make it happen,"

I put the phone back in my pocket and launched 4 tiny missiles one right after the other. The whole thing took less than a minute. Each missile flew straight up a few hundred feet until the GPS and computers took control then turned horizontally towards their respective destinations just like cruise missiles do.. I put the launcher in the bag, tossed the bag into the woods and walked back to the bike where I sanely rode back to my motel room in busy Arlington.

Once back in my room I turned on the television and checked the Internet for news. All the networks and all the blogs were reporting terrorists attacks but no one had any details. There were no reports of any deaths and only minor injuries due to flying glass and debris. Lots of people had been taken to the hospital after having been exposed to some unknown gas assumed to be a toxic chemical weapon, but as far as anyone knew it hadn't produced what they believed to be the intended results.

For days the talking heads talked about what they thought the attack was supposed to accomplish. The general consensus was that the missiles had been fired by a new Islamic terrorist group who was seeking to prove themselves capable of attacking anywhere at any time. This terrified the media and the public more than we had ever imagined it would.

Adding to the terror was that no one in Congress, the Senate, the courts, or even President Trump himself had anything to say about it. Political squabbling stopped. The politicians simply weren't talking about it. They weren't talking about anything. Republicans and Democrats were all suddenly the best of friends as if none of what had happened in the past had ever happened before. The media proclaimed that our entire government was somehow either being bought off, blackmailed, or scared into doing whatever it was, whoever it was, wanted done. The US Military around the world was being ordered to stand down, pack it up, and return home ASAP. And while the media was driving the entire nation into a frenzy, no one in Washington cared one way or the other.

I made several trips back to the farm while I was waiting around DC. There was a van there with gear and money for me if I needed it and room to load the bike inside to make the return trip easier. I remembered asking my friend who loaned me the bike, "Are you sure you want to risk your bike for something like this?"

"I believe in the cause," he smiled. "Besides, I've got a $300 deductible, I can always report it stolen if things go wrong."

I admit, I was a skeptic when my friends first recruited me for this job but when I witnessed them test one of the tiny missiles on a house full of gang bangers in Compton, and all the gang bangers came outside, laid down their guns, and started giving all their money and bling to everyone in the neighborhood I was convinced they'd worked out the formula.

That's how I spent most of my time while waiting on that call to tell me when to come back-- just thinking about how it was I came to be involved with the people who recruited me, our friendship, and how happy I was to be able to spend the last of my days contributing to such a great cause.

I also figured the reason for the van was that I was supposed to bring back something other than just myself and the motorcycle. No one had told me so, it just made sense. I figured I was waiting around for someone to place something in the van, upon which time I would finally get the call to head back west.

It had been almost six weeks since I started my trip when I saw on the television that President Trump was going to be making an important announcement from the White House Rose Garden early the next morning. I called the motel switchboard and arranged an earlier than usual wake up call so that I'd be up to watch it live. Then went to bed early.

I got breakfast early the next morning and brought a second cup of coffee back to my room to drink while I watched the press conference. President Trump had brought the Vice President, Speakers from the House and Senate, and a couple of Supreme Court Justices to appear with him for his big announcement. As no one had heard anything out of government in almost 3 weeks, everyone was trying to figure out what Trump was going to say.

"My Fellow Americans," President Trump began, "as you all know something very strange happened here in Washington a few weeks ago. Something like nothing that has ever happened before. And I want you to know that it was the best thing that could have ever happened to us. The greatest thing that could ever happen to us. So great that you cannot possibly imagine."

President Trump went on to explain how the 4 tiny missiles that had been fired had contained a gas that was a first thought toxic, but was later found to be beneficial to life on Earth. Then he dropped the bomb, "Folks, this chemical is so beneficial that Congress, the Courts, and I have decided it is in the best interest of the United States of America and the world that we start releasing this gas to the atmosphere worldwide as soon as possible."

Reporters started shouting questions but before I could hear the President's reply my telephone rang. "Hello," I answered.

"Get the hell out of Washington right now," a voice on the other end shouted. "Get to the farm, get the van and get out while you are still alive! Just do it!"

And then he hung up.

I went straight to the bike and made my way to Old Tavern not concerning myself with speed limits any more than necessary not to get stopped. Less than an hour later I could see the barn in the distance when suddenly the entire barn exploded and a real missile, the kind used by the military, came crashing through the roof,  headed towards space. I slid the bike to a stop, turned around and about a minute later the missile crashed into what appeared to be Washington, DC. sending a giant mushroom cloud high into the sky.

Seconds later the roar and the winds were like nothing I'd ever before experienced, knocking down me, the bike and everything that wasn't tied down.

I picked up the bike, pushed a mirror back in place and looked it over. It was banged up but appeared to be rideable. As the barn had exploded I figured the van was gone so I just started riding south only to see a black military style helicopter come over the hill straight at me, machine guns a blazing! There was nowhere for me to go so I rode straight at them.

They stopped firing. They want me alive, I thought. This is worse than being killed. Fearing torture, I decided to see how well I could ride the Speed Triple. By the time the chopper had made its turn I was at least a mile ahead of it but even a Speed Triple wasn't going to outrun military choppers. Especially not with an old man hanging on to the handlebars.

I pushed the Triumph as hard as I could hold it on those Virginia back roads. Traffic was picking up as more and more people were taking to the road to escape any potential fallout. In and out of traffic I weaved taking chances like I've never taken chances before, leaning into corners until my knees just brushed the road, hoping the tires wouldn't slip.

At some point the helicopter gave up the chase. My guess is that the chase was getting too public so they just backed off planning to pick me up somewhere later. But not knowing I wasn't still being chased I was still pushing as hard as I could go.

And then it happened. I went in the curve deep, really deep, almost against the white line on the opposite side of the road. But a bump I hadn't anticipated pitched the bike into the air just enough to cause the tires to lose traction. I landed on both wheels almost completely vertical but quickly running out of road. I made the choice to low side the Triumph, kick myself away from it the best I could and follow it off the road and down the embankment.

Damn that hurt!

I don't know how long I was out but when I awoke I saw the mangled Triumph on the other side of the creek and I was laying half way in the creek and half way out. I tried to get up then discovered I'd broken my right leg. "Well," I said to myself, "can't stay here. I guess I'll crawl."

I really don't remember crawling up the bank, I just know I must have done so because Carley found me on the side of the road. Who is Carley? She's the key to this puzzle though she didn't know it right away. "Are you alive?" Carley asked looking down on me on the shoulder of the road.

"Not for long," I answered looking up at a young woman standing over me, "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm here to save you," she answered. "Can you get up?"

"If I could get up I wouldn't be laying on the road."

Carley helped me into her minivan where I laid down in the back while she drove me to a quiet spot where she could put a proper splint on my leg and give me something to kill the pain. "So how did you find me?" I asked.

"Your friends installed a tracking device on the bike in case something went wrong," she answered.

"How long have you been following me?"

"Since you left California."

"Are you with the government?" I asked.

"No," I'm a peace activist.

"How's that working out?"

"Not the way we'd planned," Carley answered.

"So was nuking Washington part of the plan?" I asked.

"It wasn't part of our plan," Carley explained. "Somebody nuked Washington to stop our plan."

"So how did you get involved in this?" I asked.

"I own the farm where you...," Carley answered.

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "How is it you just happened to own a farm that happened to be a launch site for an ICBM? Most Virginia farms aren't hiding ICBMs, are they?"

"I grew up on that farm. My mother used to tell me stories about when she was a little girl, how my grandfather let the government build a missile silo under the barn, and how Grandpa padlocked the barn and never let anyone go inside. All my life my momma refused to open the barn and let me go inside. Momma was always kind of crazy and believed in all kinds of conspiracy theories so I just let it go thinking she was making the whole thing up."

"So how did you get involved?" I asked again, still unsure of what I had just heard.

"I went to college at Berkley," she answered. "Then I got a job in Silicone Valley where I met some of the guys involved in this project."

"So when did you finally look inside the barn?"

"After Momma died and left everything to me I bought a pair of bolt cutters and broke in," Carley replied. "There was nothing in there, just a big empty barn. When we started working out the logistics and found we needed a place to hide the van it just seemed like the right spot."

"It's not like you were running a farm, right?"

"That's right," she agreed. "The farm was just sitting there empty."

"So why did they keep me in DC for so long? Was there something I was supposed to haul back?"

"We just wanted to avoid suspicion," she answered. "The bad guys always run away. If anyone suspected you they would be expecting you to run."

"Wow, was I ever the pawn?"

"Apparently we're all pawns," Carley added. "Even the people in charge are pawns."

I woke up early the next morning somewhere near Jackson, Tennessee. Carley was sleeping in the driver's seat. She had driven all day and about all night to get that far. The roads were all bumper to bumper traffic with people stopping to rest everywhere as everyone was trying to head west to avoid any nuclear fallout that might be coming our way should a storm blow in off the coast. Thankfully the sun shined brightly and the winds blew west to east for the next few days sparing most of the country. Of course you already know about the millions who were affected by radiation to the east and north of Washington.

The talking heads on the radio couldn't make up their minds if it was the North Koreans, Russians,  Chinese, or some other country that had fired on Washington. Of course they were oblivious to the fact that while the most of the United States Military remained completely intact, the US wasn't firing on anyone. And why would the United States Military risk starting a world wide nuclear war when the military knew full well where the missile was launched from?

As usual, even after all this, the media was simply talking to fill up empty air space with no idea of what they were saying.

Some group of international bankers based out of Chicago announced that Chicago was the new Capitol and that they were forming an interim government. That's probably what eventually happened but all of you know the military was really in charge.

Anyway, Carley and I kept heading west. Exactly where I won't say because lives are at stake. We thought we could bring peace to the world but as you know that's not anything like what happened. I don't know how bad it actually got for the rest of you because my disease finally caught up with me and if you happen to be reading this on the Internet it's because Carley and some of the others made it long enough after my death to post my story on line.

If you're reading this it means the government or whoever has taken charge still wants you to think I'm alive and has branded my friends and I terrorists when in fact we never killed anyone. It means my friends are still trying to figure out a means to spread large numbers of their nice bombs all over the world while the people who run the Military-Industrial War Complex continue to try and hunt them down.

God bless America, girls like Carley, nice bombs, and Triumph Speed Triples! It was a hell of a ride,

Please continue reading Special Delivery: Part 2, A Girl's Gotta Do...