May 28, 2021

Matt-

Good to hear from you again. Clemente seems like a stand-up guy, and he may “be one of the few honest cops on the force, “but I'm glad you're “back in town. We can use all the friends we can get.

The person who just handed you this package is named Cain. He understands English, even if he can't speak it, and he's “been given explicit instructions to give this to Detective Matt Sung, Seattle Metro Police—no one else. You know what will happen to him if he's caught outside the fence—get him safely “back to the fence, if you would. Thanks.

You should “be alone when you look at the material you now possess. If it fell into the wrong hands, what's in it could cost some people their lives. I'm taking a “big risk just sending it to you like this.

But at this point, I may not have any choice. And you're one of the few people I can trust completely.

As I write this, army troops outside the fence are massing near the two main entrances. Don't know if they're just flexing their muscles again, or if they really intend to use the tanks this time, “but everyone here is preparing for a fight to the finish. I don't think the “boys in green will just start shooting—but I'm sure they'll “be able to find a pretext to “begin the attack, if that's what they decide they want to do.

People here are anxious as well—the water got cut off again, and most of our other supplies are running low as well.

This morning at “breakfast I got a look from Cat Lady that made me feel like Tweety Bird. Got the same kind of look from a few of the other transgenics as well, like I was far enough down the evolutionary ladder to “be part of the food chain.

No—that's not fair. Everybody's gone out of their way to help me fit in—make me feel like one of them, even if I'm not. Makes me feel good—like coming here was the right decision.

I've “been using a landline from my new digs to tie in to the Informant Net—”but yesterday afternoon, somebody out there must have cut it. Third time this week that happened. I'll get it fixed soon, I'm sure, “but for the moment I'm deaf, dumb, and “blind to the outside world—and to the Net. Everything I've “been working on is stopped dead in its tracks. And that can't happen. Lives are at stake.

I'm trusting you to make certain the work goes on—even if I don't. In the package are files on the four most critical investigations I've “been working on, as well as instructions on whom you should consider passing the material on to. I've laid things out so that whoever's looking at the files can see how the investigations played out—and decide which leads to follow up on. Some of these things you already know. Others you don't. You'll see.

Sorry to lay all this on you, my friend—but we “both knew this day might come. If you don't hear from me again, you know what to do.

Stay strong. Fight on.

Logan

To whoever's reading this.

It might be hard to believe—but once upon a time, there was an honest politician in Seattle. Her name was Margaret Curran. When you think about who our elected officials are now—Steckler, and Lans, and Councilor Chambers—you have to wonder what Seattle would be like if Curran hadn't been kidnapped that night, five years ago. If she'd been able to run against Beltran back in 2016. If she'd actually won.

But that wasn't the way it went.

After that night, Curran was never seen again. Beltran got his fourth term, and the police investigation ground to a halt early the following year.

Big surprise.

Her daughter and I never stopped looking, though. After the first few weeks went by, we resigned ourselves to the grim probability that the only thing we would find would be a corpse. After the first few years, we became certain of it.

And then, six weeks ago, I discovered something that showed we might be wrong.

The note came via the Informant Net—a woman who works in one of the big Harbor Island corrections facilities. She overheard a guard talking at lunch—dumped a tray full of food on him, then used the distraction to steal the note (and his wallet, which came with it).

At first I thought it was a joke. No joke, though—Asha recognized her mother's handwriting.

We did an analysis on it. It was a piece of toilet tissue, industrial-grade, single-ply, that had been folded up into a square the size of a postage stamp. Standard prison issue. The ink had been dry for less than three days.

The woman told us the guard's name: Ray Saunders. We started with him.

L: Which one?

Saunders: I don't remember.

L: When did he give it to you?

Saunders: I don't remember that, either.

L: Come on, Ray. You're a smart guy—I've seen your record. Think a little bit harder.

Saunders: That's the best I can do. Sorry, chief.

A: Maybe we can help jog your memory.

Saunders: What, you got a baseball bat back there, or something? That's not gonna help.

L: Not a bat, Ray.

Saunders: Hey!

L: Just a little something to help loosen your tongue.

Saunders: Oh, Christ. Oh hell. What did you do?

L: Relax, Ray. It's just a little dopamine. Now why don't you tell us everything you know about Margaret Curran.

Saunders: Oh goddamn it. Goddamn you.

A: Cut the crap, Ray. Tell us what you know about Margaret Curran. About Sector 55.

Saunders: (Unintelligible)

L: Hey, hold on. Something's wrong.

A: He's faking.

L: I don't think so. Ray! What is it?

Saunders: (Unintelligible)

A: I'll get Leonard.

FILE CONTINUES

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 4/1/21 L = Cale, Logan, A = Barlow, Asha

TO: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

FROM: iionly@pfpfree.net

DATE: 4/3/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

Please accept my sympathies on your brother Ray's death, Ms. Saunders. I know it must have come as quite a shock. However, there's something you should know about the circumstances of his death. The authorities lied to you. Ray didn't have a heart attack.

They poisoned him—put something in his system that made it impossible for him to tell anyone about what they were having him do—what his real work was. I regret to say I had a hand in what happened to him—an accidental one, but a hand nonetheless.

Check Ray's medical records—if they'll let you. You'll find that I'm telling the truth.

I will contact you again.

—A friend.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

DATE: 4/3/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

“Friend”—

Whatever kind of trouble you're peddling I don't need. Leave me alone.

TO: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

FROM: iionly@pfpfree.net

DATE: 4/3/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

My mistake—I thought you cared about Ray.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

DATE: 4/3/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

Where the hell do you get off “Friend” you don't know the first thing about me.

TO: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

FROM: iionly@pfpfree.net

DATE: 4/4/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

You're wrong, Ms. Saunders. I know everything about you.

Your Social Security # is 909-924-9932-21.

You live at 476 Collingwood, Number 12B.

You work downtown, for Colson Import/Export, in sales. Next week you're up for a promotion to district manager. You're not going to get it—your boss already sent a memo to the company president.

Your parents died in the first year of rioting, after the Pulse. Ray took care of you, used his connections to get you your apartment, to get rid of that guy who was harassing you at your old job, to make your life as easy, as good as he could. He looked out for you, Ms. Saunders. Look out for him now.

Help me find out why he died—what he was doing that was so important he had to walk around with poison in his veins.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

DATE: 4/4/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

Oh God I know who you are now I should have guessed by that e-mail address. Ha ha mr last free voice.

You can afford to say anything you want. nobody knows who you are. I can't say a thing.

TO: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

FROM: iionly@pfpfree.net

DATE: 4/4/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

Yes, you can.

All replies to this address go through a server that replaces I.P. headers and machine I.D.'s with random characters—renders you anonymous.

Tell me what Ray was doing.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: Jsaunders48@seattle.gov

DATE: 4/4/21

RE: YOUR BROTHER

I can't believe I'm writing this.

I don't know anything about what Ray was doing these last few years. But I know who he was doing it for. Rollins Miller, Chief Miller.

I'm sure you remember him.

DOB: 10.24.1968

POB: New Haven CT

MARITAL STATUS: Widowed (wife Rachel deceased 9.1.2009)

KNOWN RELATIVES: Rollins Jr. (Son), Andrea (daughter), Karin (daughter)

CURRENT STATUS: Deputy commissioner, Seattle Metro Police NOTES: Beltran administration holdover.

Chief-death squad connection. (See Pacific Press files/Herman Colberg.)

Possible involvement Dylan, Richardson assassinations.

Residence Capitol Hill Gated Community.

No intel—private security firm, no hack videocams.

Daughter Karin—Seattle Art Trust. Met twice at conservancy benefits. Priss.

THE SEATTLE ART & CONSERVANCY TRUST

April 8, 2021

***VIA MESSENGER***

Logan Cale

4983 Germaine Towers Penthouse West

Seattle WA

Dear Mr. Cale:

Of course I remember you, and I am very happy to provide you with a schedule (enclosed) of the Trust's 2021 benefit events. May I infer from your inquiry that the recent problems with Cale Industries don't extend to your individual financial situation? I was terribly sorry to hear about your Uncle Jonas, and have been following events in the paper regarding Cale Industries with some concern.

On the possibility of establishing a scholarship in conjunction with the department, I have taken the liberty of mentioning your interest to my father. He suggested that you contact him directly, using his private line, which is 555-222-8759.

Thank you again for your interest in the Trust, and I look forward to seeing you at future events.

Yours sincerely,

Karin Miller

Chairwoman, Events Council

I've left something out here, I realize. Something that could be critically important.

Whoever you are, if you're from anywhere around Seattle—and you've got a computer—you know about the EYES ONLY Informant Net. On one level, at least. It's a chat room—a safe chat room—a place for people to talk, anonymously, about what's going on in the world. What politicians like Steckler and Beltran, businessmen like Sonrisa and Lemkin, companies like Synthedyne and Arkady Research are doing to our planet. To our city, and our children. You can say whatever you want, and no one can trace you. Secure servers, with constantly shifting I.P. addresses.

But there's a second layer to the Informant Net, a layer that only a few people know about.

That layer consists of a few dozen critically important individuals, people whom I've worked with over the years, who are responsible for getting EYES ONLY the information needed to see that justice is done. People like Mac, who sent me Miller's phone records. Lynn, in the city's corrections department. Gatekeeper, in Homeland Security. Those aren't their real names—just the aliases they go by. I know most of them personally, but their identities have never made it onto any piece of paper. And they never will.

You won't need it to contact them. All you'll need is the following list. I'm passing that on to you as well—with a word of warning.

The system is secure. But not perfect. Be careful with this information.

MS. GALNICK: Good morning. Janna Galnick and Steven Blood on behalf of the Military Protectorate of Seattle.

MR. ZACCARO: Good morning, Your Honor. Carl Zaccaro representing Rollins A. Miller.

THE COURT: Good morning, Counselors.

THE CLERK: Rollins A. Miller, in case number 98-012, it is alleged that while employed by the Military Protectorate of Seattle as police chief you were involved as an accessory in the murder of eighteen persons. Do you admit or deny said allegations?

THE DEFENDANT: I admit.

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor, if I may.

THE COURT: Mr. Zaccaro?

MR. ZACCARO: My client wishes to enter a plea of guilty to the charges, and to waive his right to a trial.

THE COURT: Waive his rights?

MR. ZACCARO: He wishes to throw himself on the mercy of the court. He plans to provide information to assist the protectorate in other prosecutions related to this case.

THE COURT: Madame District Attorney, is this acceptable to you?

MS. GALNICK: The defendant's attorney and I have conferenced on this issue, Your Honor, and the protectorate plans to take into consideration any information that is offered by Mr. Miller.

THE COURT: I'd like to know a little bit about what's being offered here. Chief Miller?

THE DEFENDANT: I am prepared to name names—those individuals who committed the actual murders back in ‘09.

MS. GALNICK: Judge, the protectorate wants to make sure this information is given under oath.

THE COURT: Are you prepared to testify at this point in time, Chief?

THE DEFENDANT: Yes, sir—I am.

THE COURT: Swear the witness.

(Defendant Rollins Miller duly sworn)

THE COURT: All right. Ms. Galnick?

MS. GALNICK: Mr. Blood will begin cross-examination for the protectorate, Your Honor.

THE COURT: Very well. You may proceed.

MR. BLOOD: Thank you, Your Honor. Would you state your full name for the court?

THE DEFENDANT: Rollins Albert Miller.

MR. BLOOD: And from the years 2008 through 2020, you were employed—fi rst by the City of Seattle, and then the protectorate— as Seattle chief of police?

THE DEFENDANT: Yes, sir. That's correct.

MR. BLOOD: Very well. Mr. Miller, I'd like to talk in general first, about July and August 2009—the period immediately following the Pulse.

THE DEFENDANT: It was a terrible time.

MR. BLOOD: Yes, sir. Could you elaborate on that statement?

THE DEFENDANT: There was rioting everywhere—people were just going crazy. We lost—every day, I remember, we lost somebody. John Harriman—my deputy—he was kidnapped and butchered by gang members.

Two cops on patrol—they were just kids, they'd joined up right after the Pulse, wanted to help out—their squad car was firebombed, they roasted in there. God.

MR. BLOOD: So it would be fair to say that there was a great deal of tension between police and the public?

THE DEFENDANT: Some of the public. Most people were happy we were out there defending them. Defending their property.

MR. BLOOD: Very well. I now direct your attention to the events of August 18, 2009. The riots in Gasworks Park.

THE DEFENDANT: I remember.

MR. BLOOD: What do you remember?

THE DEFENDANT: There was a big demonstration down there. I'm sorry—it would be more accurate to say the demonstration started in the financial district that afternoon, and ended up in the park shortly after dark.

MR. BLOOD: Please go on.

THE DEFENDANT: I wasn't actually on duty, so I can only offer you a broad outline of what happened that evening. There were apparently a group of hard-core demonstrators—two or three dozen— who refused to disperse, according to reports from officers on the scene. They actually incited people in the park to attack the officers on crowd control.

MR. BLOOD: And what happened then?

THE DEFENDANT: As I understand it, the officers defended themselves.

MR. BLOOD: They used tear gas. And tasers.

MR. ZACCARO: Objection, Your Honor.

THE COURT: Sustained. Mr. Blood, you're not the one giving testimony.

MR. BLOOD: Chief Miller, how did the officers defend themselves?

THE DEFENDANT: With tear gas. And tasers.

MR. BLOOD: And what happened next?

THE DEFENDANT: Some demonstrators continued to ignore orders to disperse. They continued to assault the officers, physically and verbally.

MR. BLOOD: And then …

THE DEFENDANT: Shots were fired. After that, the demonstration broke up.

MR. BLOOD: What happened as a result of those shots?

THE DEFENDANT: Eighteen people died.

MR. BLOOD: Eighteen unarmed protesters.

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor—

MR. BLOOD: I withdraw that statement. Now, Mr. Miller, can you tell us how you first became aware of the shooting?

THE DEFENDANT: An officer on the scene called me at home. I rushed there at once.

MR. BLOOD: Go on.

THE DEFENDANT: I saw the bodies, and … we decided on a cover-up.

MR. BLOOD: We?

THE DEFENDANT: I did—after consulting with the officers on the scene. We decided to move the bodies, and bury them elsewhere.

MR. BLOOD: Sand Point?

THE DEFENDANT: Yes—although first I consulted with—

THE COURT: Let's stay on the topic here, gentlemen. Mr. Blood?

MR. BLOOD: Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Miller, can you tell the court who was involved in the actual shooting?

THE DEFENDANT: You want names?

MR. BLOOD: Yes, sir.

THE DEFENDANT: All right. Sergeant William Benedict. Patrolmen Charles Lota and Richard Greenberg. Donald Gill. Herman Colberg. Ray Saunders. Timothy Carew. Gregory Kilroy. Doug Moller. I think that's everyone.

MR. BLOOD: Thank you, Mr. Miller.

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor, I'd like it noted that we are now providing the district attorney with a list of the officers involved.

THE COURT: So noted. Does the protectorate have any further questions?

MR. BLOOD: No, Your Honor.

MS. GALNICK: No, sir.

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor, in light of my client's complete and unconditional cooperation, I'd like to move for an immediate dismissal of the charges against him.

THE COURT: I think such a move would require the concurrence of the protectorate. Ms. Galnick?

MS. GALNICK: At this time, the protectorate is unwilling to make such a concurrence, Your Honor.

THE COURT: Very well. Then—

MR. ZACCARO: If it please the court. My client and I would like a moment to confer.

THE COURT: Very well. The court will take this opportunity to recess. We will return at 10:00 A.M., promptly.

THE CLERK: All rise.

Beginning at 10:00 A.M., approximately.

THE CLERK: Court is in session, case 98-012, Military Protectorate of Seattle versus Rollins A. Miller, the Honorable Judge George Herman Speers presiding.

THE COURT: Chief Miller, I remind you that you are still under oath.

THE DEFENDANT: Yes, sir.

MR. ZACCARO: Counselor, at this time my client would like to offer additional information to the court.

THE COURT: Concerning …

MR. ZACCARO: Some related disappearances during the years in question.

THE COURT: Now hold on a minute, Counselor—

MS. GALNICK: Your Honor, this is highly irregular. The protectorate feels strongly that significant consideration due the defendant has already—

THE COURT: There won't be any deals made here without your approval, Ms. Galnick.

THE DEFENDANT: I'm prepared to talk about a lot of things related to the riot squads, Your Honor. The Coffeehouse Crackdown, Sector 55—

THE COURT: Strike that statement from the record!

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor?

THE COURT: You hear me, clerk? Strike that from the record.

THE CLERK: Yes, sir.

THE DEFENDANT: Judge, you can't—

THE COURT: Don't tell me what I can and cannot do in my courtroom. I tell you we're not going to hear testimony on that subject. And I forbid counsel—under the threat of contempt—to discuss the subject outside this courtroom.

MS. GALNICK: Your Honor, I'm puzzled.

THE COURT: See that you stay that way.

MR. ZACCARO: Your Honor, may I approach the bench?

THE COURT: You stay right where you are, sir. Court is adjourned for the day. We'll pick up tomorrow—testimony will be under seal. Court closed to all but essential personnel. Is that understood, bailiff? Very well. That's all.

THE CLERK: All rise.

Session Ends

We were right back where we started from.

Sanders had led us to Miller. Miller had led us to Sand Point and the eighteen buried bodies. But now Miller was dead, and our investigation into Margaret Curran's disappearance—into the mystery of Sector 55—was dead in the water.

Sure, we knew Speers had covered up Miller's testimony, but getting to him would probably have been just as impossible as getting to Lemkin or Marbury.

One good thing came out of the whole mess—the families of those eighteen people killed by the riot squads back in 2010 finally had some closure. But Asha and I had nothing—except for the Sand Point company info, and Miller's phone records.

I looked those over one more time. All the outside numbers Miller had called back then were now out of service … except for one.

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 4/15/21 L = Cale, Logan, A = Ames Brothers Phone Operator

FILE BEGINS

A: Ames Brothers Construction. Can I help you?

L: Hello—this is 879-2638-4638?

A: Yes, it is.

L: Good. My name is John Eastman, and I'm wondering if I can ask you a few questions.

A: This is a place of business, sir.

L: I understand that. I'm with the—ah, Greater Seattle Chamber of Commerce. I'll make this very quick.

A: All right.

L: You're a construction company?

A: That's correct. Ames Brothers Construction.

L: And you've been in business about how long?

A: Almost fifty years.

L: Really?

A: That's right. The company was started by John Ames back in the 1970s.

L: And you've had the same phone number all that time?

A: Well. No. The same number since about a year after the Pulse.

L: So since 2010?

A: That's correct.

L: That's what I needed to know. Thank you very much.

A: Say, what's this for?

L: Just a little survey we're conducting on the stability of area businesses. Say, I wonder if you could tell me a little bit about your company? I'm looking to have a little work done on my house.

A: Well, we're a pretty specialized kind of firm.

L: Is that so?

A: Yes. If you have a fax number, I could send you out some information.

FILE CONTINUES

We were able to find out a little more about Ames Construction—specifically, John Ames, the company's founder. He retired in 2015, and moved to Barbados—where he's apparently living like a king.

It was a safe bet that Ames's 401(k) came courtesy of Sand Point Redevelopment. The question we couldn't answer, though, was what he'd done to earn it. I spent hours scouring the Net for a connection between Ames and Margaret Curran, between Miller and Curran, between Lemkin and Marbury and anything at all to do with a Sector 55.

About midnight I gave up and went for a walk downtown to clear my head. It's pretty desolate down there these days. All the old tourist attractions—places that used to be lit up in neon till two in the morning—got trashed in the first few years of rioting after the Pulse. I remembered them like they used to be—Pike Place, the Space Needle, Pioneer Square …

And bingo—a little lightbulb went off in my head. A little purple lightbulb.

I took that tour when I was a kid. I remember going down a flight of stairs, and suddenly there were all these dusty old streets and storefronts looking like pages out of a history “book. There's a lot more down there than most people realize.

And I also remember looking up through the glass sidewalks, with the light shining down through them. It was purple, Matt. The light was purple. Just like Margaret said in her note.

It didn't prove she was down there, of course. But it was a step forward.

I went “back to the apartment and called Asha. She reminded me that underground Seattle's “been closed off for years—that nobody's allowed down there anymore, ever since the riots in 2014. The Coffeehouse Crackdowns.

“We'll have to “be careful, going in,” she said.

A lot of things suddenly fell into place for me. Ames Construction, for one— they'd worked for Miller during that same time period, 2014, 2015, when the underground was first closed off. Building something for the chief, and his friends at Sand Point.

What if that something was the prison where Margaret was “begin held? What if Sector 55 referred to that facility as well? After all, downtown was Sector 5. Sector 55 might refer to the area underneath that.

It was a lot to assume.

But that morning, I was eager to get out there, and prove—or disprove—my theory.

It was April 18.

That night, my EYES ONLY hack was traced. I was lucky to escape with my life.

Since then, I've “been unable to contact Curran's daughter Asha. Unable to follow up on any of this.

That's where you come in.

Go to underground Seattle. Find out what's down there now.

Find Margaret Curran.

I don't care if you're religious or not—that article should prove something to you.

One man really can make a difference in the world. For those of us raised in the shadow of the church's endless scandals at the turn of the century, it may be hard to believe that the one man was the pope. But what Leo achieved in his first two years as pontiff was just astounding.

Unfortunately, those first two years were all he got.

In retrospect, the press had it right. Leo's death was hardly surprising. All the enemies he made, the way he refused to negotiate on what he considered “matters of conscience”—it's no wonder someone took him out.

The question, obviously, was who. It wasn't the kind of thing EYES ONLY would normally look into.

But then again …

Leo wasn't the normal sort of pope.

Food for thought indeed.

I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. An Iran-Contra, Hussein-Castro, black ops kind of feeling. A feeling like the decision to kill the pope might have been made right here, in the old U.S. of A.

It was just a feeling, of course. I still needed facts to confirm it. Facts about covert U.S. operations—past, present, and future. DoD and NSA position papers. U.S. Army troop movements, unscheduled resupply operations—I had to start with some very broad brushstrokes. It was a lot to ask for.

As a certain someone was quick to remind me.

Arizona Unit. Phoenix objectives.

I had no idea what this Stendahl was referring to, but the memo had Arizona flying into Rome on August 5—the same day that “Pollack” arrived. Could be one and the same flight.

It was also clear that the Mediterranean Coalition was somehow involved. If anyone had reason to want Leo out of the picture, it was them.

That bad feeling I had before was only getting stronger.

And then it became a certainty.

Covert Components:

The post-Pulse world resembles in many ways the post-WWII Cold War period, when the two superpowers—the U.S. and the U.S.S.R.—fought a struggle for world domination through proxies, or client nations. This period is correctly recognized by historians today as an apocalyptic struggle between good and evil.

A struggle of the same kind is being played out today on the world stage, though the struggle this time is not between two countries, but between two different ways of life. Between the civilized world, and the uncivilized. Between the forces of order, and those of chaos. And as in the past, we must not shy from utilizing whatever methods necessary—whatever proxies necessary— to achieve our goals.

These methods can include:

Proxy corporations, following economic policies constructive to Phoenix. Funding to allow the pursuit of otherwise nonprofitable activities can be sought from private and government (“off the books”) sources (Appendix E).

Proxy armies, either state-affiliated or “black ops,” in pursuit of targets actively hostile to Phoenix. Along these lines, DoD has developed a highly versatile weapon—a twenty-first-century soldier that can be utilized in either deep-cover situations (assassination) or field operations (combat scenarios). In either case, training and unit capabilities will both prevent exposure and keep casualties to a minimum. The flexibility that these new units provide us cannot be overemphasized: in cases where we previously might send a thousand soldiers into battle and expect to lose a hundred, we will now be able to send in ten and sustain no casualties (Appendix F).

In conclusion, we believe that when America is strong, the world is safe. When America is able to act unilaterally, free from the constraints imposed on her by a commingling of contradictory impulses from nation-states with differing interests, the world is safe. The image of the Phoenix, rising from the ashes, is the symbol for our project. America, rising from the ashes of the Pulse, to reclaim her place in the world.

Appendixes A–F attached, along with concluding remarks.

Respectfully submitted,

D. Stendahl

This paper was prepared at the direction of the Committee. In addition to the author, valuable input was given by:

Carl Buchanan and Paul Charvel, Department of Homeland Security

George Carson, Department of Defense

John Michael Lodge, Byrd Center for International Relations

Frank Sandoval, Special Liaison

Major General Tai Sunabadum, USAF

Nothing dies as hard as a dream. And the dream shared at heart by every American, ever since the days of Jefferson and Jackson, Lincoln and Grant, Roosevelt and Truman, has been a simple one.

The dream of Manifest Destiny—one nation, under God, destined to rule the world.

People in Washington dreamed that dream more than anyone: they longed for the days when America would speak, and other countries would hurry to obey.

Stendahl had promised them those days back again—and more. No doubt the government had given him what he'd asked for. A fully funded Phoenix Project, in all its overt—and covert—glory.

But Phoenix wasn't just about the good old days. Phoenix was also about the new, twenty-first-century soldier—an extremely powerful weapon, according to Stendahl's memo; so powerful, in fact, that ten of them could take the place of a thousand ordinary men in battle.

A highly versatile weapon capable of being utilized in deep-cover situations as well as in the field. In covert operations—such as assassination. An almost superhuman weapon—one whose capabilities were almost limitless.

Stendahl's paper didn't mention where these twenty-first-century soldiers were supposed to come from. But that was all right. I already knew the answer to that question.

They came from a test tube.

They came from Manticore.

SOURCE: F:/TEMPFILES/NET/EYESONLY/ENGL.ISH/09282020/TEXT

IMAGES:

… /09282020/IMAGES/DODFRM.1

… /09282020/IMAGES/DODFRM.2

… /09282020/IMAGES/DODFRM.3

… /09282020/IMAGES/DODFRM.4

… /09282020/IMAGES/DNA.QT

… /09282020/IMAGES/FETUS.QT

… /09282020/IMAGES/BARRACKS.AVI

… /09282020/IMAGES/GILLETE.3

RUN EYES ONLY INTRO

Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced. It cannot be stopped. And it is the only free voice left in this city.

Since the early 1990s, billions of your tax dollars have been diverted from legitimate government programs in order to fund secret experiments in genetic engineering. This covert operation is known as Project Manticore. Its goal: to create the perfect soldier. Manticore uses recombinant DNA technology to manipulate the human genome. Genetically enhanced for superior strength and speed, these children are held against their will and subjected to relentless training and propaganda. In the fall of 2009, twelve of them escaped from this facility in Gillette, Wyoming.

Manticore spent the next ten years hunting them down, desperate to keep its existence a secret. Some of them were caught, some of them were murdered. Some gave their lives fighting to stay free.

Since these cable hacks began, Manticore has consolidated its operations to a secret location. But they can't hide forever. EYES ONLY will find it. And the people responsible for these crimes will be brought to justice.

BROADCAST DATE: 09/28/20

TIME: 19:10

I “broadcast that hack nine months ago. Now it seems prescient. We did find Manticore, and expose it to the world.

The people in charge responded “by “burning down the facility and trying to destroy the proof of its existence—all the transgenics inside. Living, “breathing people who were treated like matériel, to “be discarded when their usefulness had ended. Max and I helped them escape.

With their facility trashed, and their perfect soldiers scattered, we figured Manticore was finished. But now it seemed as if we might have “been wrong.

Manticore “burned down September 2020. The pope was killed three months later. And his killer sure as hell looked like an X5. One of Max's “brothers.”

Were some of those soldiers still out there? If so, who was giving them their orders? Somebody high up in the government, that was for certain. Troy had promised me minutes from the closed Senate hearings on Leo's visit. He was gone now—”but I still wanted to see them. So I had to go directly to the source.

DECRYPTION: SECURE 9 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 2/14/21 L = Cale, Logan, S = *********

FILE B.EGINS

S: Senator *****'s office.

L: Is this *****?

S: Yes. Who's calling, please?

L: This is Troy's friend.

S: Oh.

L: Don't say my name.

S: All right.

L: I need your help, *******. Can you talk freely?

S: I don't know if I want to do this.

L: People have died. You can help prevent that from happening again.

S: Or I could be next.

L: That's always a possibility—but that doesn't alter the fact that I need your help, if the truth is to be revealed. If those death are to mean anything.

S: You're so reassuring.

L: So I've been told.

S: All right, I'll help.

L: Thank you, *****.

S: But I can't get the transcripts of those hearings. They've changed access protocols.

L: What about an agenda—a list of witnesses?

S: No. Same thing. Although …

L: What?

S: The senator held some private sessions after the hearings—in his office. There may be a record of those on his computer.

FILE CONTINUES

It wasn't any surprise to see Lydecker's name pop up in connection with Phoenix. He'd run Manticore for twenty years—trained every soldier who came out of there. “His kids,” as he liked to call them. It seemed clear that one of those kids had killed the pope.

But a lot more than the pope's assassination was preying on my mind now. That had become part of a far bigger story—Phoenix. And probability that Manticore soldiers were being used to fulfill its ends.

I'd been hearing about those soldiers, and working with them, for years. Seth and Max, Zack and Tinga, Alec and Cece and Gem—from series X1 right on up through series X8. I considered myself as close as there was to an expert on Manticore, and what had gone on there.

But in the transcript Dazzler had gotten me, Lydecker talked about series X5R. In all the investigating I'd done, I'd never come across that reference before.

I wondered if anyone else had.

I was stuck for a couple weeks there. I let the Phoenix investigation slide. A lot of other things were going on … Max getting shot, and almost kidnapped by the CDC. Ames White. Ray White. Ray Saunders. Getting out of my wheelchair for good, thanks to a blood transfusion from Joshua.

When I returned to Phoenix, I questioned as many of the transgenics I knew as possible, asking them about X5R. None of them knew a thing—not the X-series soldiers, not Mole, not any of the refugees holed up in Terminal City.

Dead end.

Then a breakthrough, from one of the computer files I had managed to salvage, with my notes on Dr. Adriana Vertes. She'd been part of Manticore from its earliest stages—finally left when it became too much for her, with what Lydecker was doing to his “kids.”

But she'd been at Manticore after the ‘09 escape. From what she'd revealed afterward, the military brain trust had felt that maybe the X5s had been designed with too much independence. So the order had come down, and the X5s had been simplified. Their behavior altered.

Revised.

X5R.

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 4/7/21 V = Voice-mail stamp, C = Caller

FILE CONTINUES

V: Friday, December 11, 10:20 a.m.

C: Hi Mr. Lydecker, this is Valerie from Consolidated Data Storage calling. I just wanted to remind you that your account is fifteen days past due, and to ask when we might expect to receive payment. Please call me back at 1-555-5434-0925. You can speak to any of the operators, and we're open until 8 p.m. tonight.

V: Friday, December 18, 4:20 p.m.

C: Hey, it's … me. Was hoping you could hook me up with another ex-Manticore doc. Last one left town in a hurry. Said your former employers were looking to kill him. Anyway, really like to hear from you.

V: Thursday, January 14, 10:30 a.m.

C: Deck, it's Jewel. Just wanted to give you a call, touch base. Believe it or not, I'm thinking about making the move finally—getting out of old AZ and heading for someplace cool. Moscow, maybe. Is that a crazy idea, or what? Give me a call, let me know what you think. I'll wait to hear from you.

V: Thursday, January 21, 8:15 a.m.

C: Hello, Mr. Lydecker this is Cathy from Consolidated Data Storage. We're trying to reach you regarding your account. If you could call me back at 1-555-5434-0925 anytime before 8 p.m. tonight to discuss this, that would be great. Thank you.

V: Wednesday, February 4, 8:00 a.m.

C: Hello, Mr. Lydecker this is Scott with Consolidated Data Storage. Your account is seriously past due, and we will be forced to cancel our services to you if we do not receive payment by the fifteenth of this month. The total now due is $110 exactly. If you need to speak with us regarding this account, or have any other questions, you can talk to any of our representatives at 1-555-5434-0925. Thank you. Good-bye.

FILE CONTINUES

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 2/26/21 V = Voice mail, C = Caller

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 4/7/21 L = Cale, Logan, C = Consolidated Data Storage

C: Consolidated Data Storage, can I help you?

L: Yes, I hope so. I've been out of the country the past couple of months, and just picked up a few messages from you about my account?

C: Can I get your name, sir?

L: Ah—Donald Lydecker.

C: Yes, Mr. Lydecker. I have your account information in front of me. I see you're several months delinquent here.

L: Gosh, I'm sorry. Let me take care of that right now. Can I pay by EFT?

C: Of course. Let me set that up for you.

L: Great. Oh—one other thing. I accidentally erased some of the files you folks are keeping for me. Hard-drive problems. Can I ask you to send me the ones I need back?

C: That might very well be possible, sir. I'll switch you over to our tech department after we take care of your bill.

L: Great. Thank you so much.

C: Not at all, sir. Customer satisfaction is our number one priority.

L: Well. Consider me a satisfied consumer, then. I was afraid I'd never get to see some of those files again.

FILE CONTINUES

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 4/7/21 L = Cale, Logan, C = Consolidated Data Storage

Renfro put X5R 600—or “Lane,” if you prefer—on a C-141 to Guidonia AFB in Rome. He did his job there. He killed the pope.

Mystery solved. Case closed. Except …

The other three X5Rs. In her memo to Lydecker, Renfro said they'd been given their assignments. No way of knowing what those assignments were, or where they are today. Renfro is dead. Manticore is gone. Lydecker's missing, and Stendahl seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

Which leaves only the X5Rs themselves. Devon, Keema, and Jewel. Jewel, who left a message on Lydecker's answering machine several months back.

“I'm thinking about heading someplace cool—maybe Moscow … give me a call. Let me know what you think.”

It sounds as if she's waiting for instructions. Waiting to find out if she should carry out some previously arranged assignment, or not.

It's a safe bet what that assignment is.

The new Russian president—Nikolai Kolankov—has been remarkably successful at rebuilding the Soviet military machine. Some say he's preparing to confront the coalition forces currently occupying Turkey. To those people, Kolankov represents the same kind of threat to Phoenix objectives Pope Leo did.

The kind of threat Manticore—and series X5R—were created to deal with.

Jewel's picture has already been sent out over the Informant Net, to sources in Russia. No word back yet on whether anyone's spotted her.

Keep track of that. Keep your eyes—and ears open—for the other two, as well. And try to find Stendahl—it's likely he's the key to the entire Phoenix operation.

Good luck.

The flyers are up all over town. Somebody wants to make sure no one ever forgets what happened at Grand Coulee five years ago.

But things aren't always what they seem.

July 12, 2017. People marched that day because they were sick and tired of living like third-world citizens, watching their tax dollars disappear down a seemingly bottomless black hole for nothing. Sick of seeing politicians like Beltran and Steckler living in mansions lit up like Christmas trees, while they didn't have enough power to keep their refrigerators running in the summer, or keep the heat on during winter.

They thought they knew who the bad guys were. Of course they were right—our last two mayors were both rotten to the core.

But some stories have more than one villain.

This is one of those.

It begins, in a way, with the day that changed everything.

June 9, 2009.

The Pulse.

Electricity for sale: that item intrigued me. Maybe it was because that was the summer the blackouts really hit in full force; the Mercy Hospital emergency room lost power during a particularly brutal heat wave, and three kids who'd been shot up in a gang fight died when they might otherwise have been saved by surgery. Big headlines.

Big story, I thought, and started investigating. How could life go on normally for some folks, and end in an instant for others? I had a couple of leads that looked promising for a while—but nothing panned out. No overt corruption rose to the surface, so I put that story on the back burner.

But the power outages kept right on, like clockwork. Before I knew it, a couple of years had gone by, and it was Halloween—time for my Uncle Jonas's big costume party. An annual “can't miss” event among Seattle society's crème de la crème.

I was a reluctant guest—so I made sure I didn't show up until just before eleven. I thought the action would be winding down.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Darius was shot while resisting arrest, in a failed kidnapping attempt by his May 22 group.

He died November 21, 2019. R.I.P. is not the phrase that comes to mind for most people when you mention his name.

Burn in hell is more like it.

I understand where they're coming from. Perhaps better than most. The last time we met, he tried to kill me. He did kill several innocent hostages—and left a little boy orphaned.

But the man wasn't always like that.

In a lot of ways, Darius was like so many other bored rich kids of his generation. Looking for meaning in a world where nothing seemed to matter but the size of your bank account. You can see it in his studies—jumping all over the map, trying to decide what to major in, what to be. It's a feeling I knew all too well myself.

But like I said before …

The Pulse changed everything. For me, it brought things into focus. Showed me the world in black-and-white, good-versus-evil terms. It gave me something to fight for.

It did exactly the same thing for Jon Darius. I just hope that's where the similarity ends.

MAY 22

OUR CHARTER

OUR PRINCIPLES

OUR PURPOSE

We are May 22.

Our name has historical connotations that we do not deny; rather, we glorify our connection to the past. In the natural order of things, a man such as Ted Kaczyinski was bound to arise. Imperfect within himself, Kaczyinski was yet possessed of a perfect vision of the world as it is, and the world as it should be. A Moses for the modern era.

He predicted the Pulse, and events like it. And we, like Kaczyinski, see that occurrence not as a tragedy, but a call to arms against modern society.

We stand on his shoulders in proclaiming now our existence, and our principles.

We stand in opposition to technological society, and the system of control and subjugation it has spawned across our planet.

We stand with Nature, in all her wild, glorious freedom. Nature, that which is outside the system, and cannot be controlled by it. Nature, by which we mean all the creatures in this world interacting with one another and their environment in defiance of any artificial, imposed order, as intended by God and natural law.

We are May 22.

We wield the twin scythes of chaos and destruction—for from the gray ashes of technology's funeral pyre, Green will inevitably arise again.

So proclaimed, this 22nd Day of May 2008—

Darius was smart. Those first few years, May 22 killed machines, not people. Panama, the Everglades, Del Muerto … he learned his lesson from Kaczyinski, I think. Don't alienate the people you're trying to inspire. Maybe in another place, another time, he would have gotten his message through.

Maybe.

But not in post-Pulse America. Not after people began to realize that the good old days weren't coming back—ever. Nobody was interested in saving the whales, or the Rwandans. They wanted to eat. They wanted clothes for their kids. After a while, it made Darius angry.

It made May 22—and him—more violent. It explained his actions at my uncle's party.

But it didn't explain what Darius had wanted with Mayor Beltran.

That's what I needed to find out.

NORTHWEST SECURITY

2156 IMPERIAL HIGHWAY

SEATTLE WA

November 12, 2016

Mr. Jonas Cale 11 Eyrie Way Tacoma Washington

Dear Mr. Cale:

In accordance with your request of the fifth, we are providing you with a written transcript of the events that took place at your residence last month. As per our previous discussion, the physical recording of the event has been confiscated by federal authorities for use in their ongoing investigation.

The authorities further inform us that the person referred to in the transcript as “Intruder #2 (male)” has been positively identified via voice-print analysis as Jon Darius, founder of the outlawed May 22 Movement. None of the other intruders has been named.

Thank you for your continued use of Northwest Security: we greatly value your patronage and your confidence in our services.

Sincerely,

Walter Buchanan President

NORTHWEST SECURITY

2156 IMPERIAL HIGHWAY

SEATTLE WA

REF: CASE I.D. 44876

Page 13 of 16

This document is provided for the use of the Northwest Security client identified above. Any other usage is a violation of state and federal law.

Audio transcript 10-31-16

Listening Device: 12A (Front Entrance)

Time: 23:15 P.S.T.

Security 1: Roger that, perimeter check complete and secure. Next check is at 23:30 hours. Confirm? Roger. Out.

Security 2: Here come [unintelligible]. Check this out.

Security 1: Can I see your invitations please?

Intruder #1 (male): Hey, nice costume.

Security 1: Please halt right there, sir. Ma'am.

Intruder #2 (male): What's the problem?

Intruder #3 (female): Hey!

Security #1: We need to see your invitations, please. And some identification.

Intruder #3 (female): I get it. You're really security.

Security #1: That's right. Ma'am, please step back.

Intruder #2 (male): Hold on, hold on. It's in here somewhere.

Security #2: Sir, could you step back please—

Intruder #2 (male): Here it is.

[Gunfire is heard]

Intruder #1 (male): The son of a bitch shot me! Damn it. Damn it!

Intruder #2 (male): It's not bad.

Intruder #3 (female): Not as bad as that. Jesus Christ, look at all that blood.

Intruder #2 (male): Don't look. We have a job to do. Find Beltran, and bring him to me. I'm going to wait out here.

Intruder #3 (female): I'll be back.

[Unintelligible]

Intruder #1 (male): What the hell was that?

Intruder #2 (male): The walkie-talkie. Something's happening.

Intruder #1 (male): What is it?

Intruder #2 (male): Shit.

Intruder #1 (male): What are they saying?

Intruder #2 (male): They took out Peter and Sophie at the van. They know we're here.

Intruder #1 (male): Oh Christ. We need to pull back.

Intruder #2 (male): Not before we get Beltran, damn it.

[gunfire]

Intruder #1 (male): John, what are you doing? John, for chrissakes let's get out of here!

NO CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION

Viewpoint

by Thomas Cloud of the CCT

You can bet there will be some kind of celebration next year when the Grand Coulee Dam marks its seventy-fifth year of operation. Largest dam in the country, third most powerful hydroelectric plant in the world, it is an awesome structure, but forgive me if I do not join in the festivities. After you consider the facts of the situation, I don't think you will feel like celebrating, either.

Because for the Colville tribes, the dam was the last and greatest tragedy inflicted on us by the Federal Government. Its construction forced half of our population to relocate—without compensation. Our land was flooded, our hunting grounds destroyed, the graves of our ancestors desecrated. The great salmon and steelhead runs were obliterated, and these fish the heart of our economy, once so plentiful became an endangered species.

Now not even the eldest among us can remember a time before the dam when what is now floodland was our breadbasket the place where our people gathered along the riverbanks to collect berries and hunt game, to build our winter villages and sing our tribal songs. Where each year we gathered for a celebration of our own, the annual First Salmon ceremony, to pay tribute to the fish that sustained our civilization.

In short, the construction of the Grand Coulee Dam was a spiritually deadening and environmentally catastrophic project from which our tribe has never fully recovered.

We would be better off if the dam had never existed, if the great mass of concrete that prevents the Columbia River from resuming its natural course were suddenly to collapse.

We have been promised a fair share of the benefits from the dam by its new operators, Seattle City Light and Power, but like the Federal Government and the Bureau of Reclamation before them, they are long on words and short on deeds. What little power our reservation receives from the dam is often interrupted, and our farmers have yet to see their portion of water to irrigate their lands.

The Seattle city superintendent, Maurice Beltran, has promised to address these issues with us on several occasions, but he has yet to make an appearance at any of our councils. Worse yet, Beltran persists in the same tired rhetoric of the technocrats who wish us to look at the benefits the dam has provided for

(See Grand Coulee, Page 20)

Maybe Dedrick was right—maybe the article in the Journal didn't sound like Tommy Cloud. I had no way of knowing what Tommy Cloud sounded like. But after just a few paragraphs, I knew whom it did sound like.

Jon Darius—some of the phrases were the same ones he'd been using since college— spiritually deadening, environmentally catastrophic, to name just a couple.

And after reading that article, I suddenly had the feeling that Darius hadn't been after the mayor at all at my uncle's party.

He'd been after Beltran's brother—Maurice, the city power superintendent.

Still, I wondered why.

And more, I wondered if Maurice Beltran might have something to say about the attack.

Seattle City Light and Power 12 Republican Street Seattle Washington 98000

Maurice Beltran

Superintendent

District Supervisors

Raphael Arnold

Johnson Black

Michael Bradley

Alison Graves

Timeo Jones Jennifer Krc

Alan Lans Jr.

Laura Lenz

Janice Liberti

Karen Lobosco

Eileen Macy

Anne Mainberger

Craig Marchand

Gerald Nunnelly

Alison Peters

David Rutenberg

Dorothy Sanchez

Malloy Simkins

Yokio Tamamura

Vincenzo Volpe

Board of Governors

Marguerite Gosha

The Honorable Jon Hipps

Edgar Sonrisa

Leopold Steckler

January 11, 2017

Mr. Logan Cale

The Pacific Free Press

21 Second Avenue South

Seattle Washington 98732-3332

Dear Mr. Cale:

Thank you very much for your recent letter. Unfortunately, I will not be able to grant your request for an interview at this time. The authorities have classified the events that took place at your uncle's party as terrorist activities, and thus, under the James-Cheney Act of 2008, I am not permitted to discuss them with media representatives.

Regarding the Colville Indian tribes, that situation is being closely examined, and I can promise you and your readers that this administration is firmly committed to seeing justice done after so many years. I'm afraid that access to those files, however, is strictly limited to workers who have been cleared by the Homeland Security Department.

Notwithstanding the above, I do wish you the best of luck with your article.

Sincerely,

Maurice Beltran

Superintendent

Seattle City Light and Power 12 Republican Street Seattle Washington 98000

Maurice Beltran

Superintendent

District Supervisors

Raphael Arnold

Johnson Black

Michael Bradley

Alison Graves

Timeo Jones Jennifer Krc

Alan Lans Jr.

Laura Lenz

Janice Liberti

Karen Lobosco

Eileen Macy

Anne Mainberger

Craig Marchand

Gerald Nunnelly

Alison Peters

David Rutenberg

Dorothy Sanchez

Malloy Simkins

Yokio Tamamura

Vincenzo Volpe

Board of Governors

Marguerite Gosha

The Honorable Jon Hipps

Edgar Sonrisa

Leopold Steckler

January 21, 2017

Mr. Logan Cale

The Pacific Free Press

21 Second Avenue South

Seattle Washington 98732-3332

Dear Mr. Cale:

Your persistence is admirable.

My admiration, however, does not extend to the point where I can permit you to contact our employees surreptitiously. Just to make it clear to you and your paper, the information you seek is classified as vital to our national security, and thus falls under the James-Cheney Act of 2008. Any unauthorized use of this information will result in prosecution under the terms of that act, and I have been assured by our district Homeland Security personnel that the letter of the law will be strictly observed.

Sincerely,

Maurice Beltran

Superintendent

Darius's invitation resonated with a lot of people.

Maybe it was simply the fact that they were tired of the blackouts, tired of the constant interruptions to their lives, tired of feeling impotent and unimportant. Whatever the reason, on the day of the march, they lined up by the hundreds.

I remember seeing them, all queued up for the buses, sector cops looking on, nightsticks in hand, wearing full riot gear on a day when the temperature hit eighty degrees by nine o'clock in the morning, and having a chill of foreboding run down my spine.

But nothing happened. In Seattle, at least.

When they got to Grand Coulee, though, everything went wrong.

I didn't understand.

According to the papers, it was May 22—prodded by Darius, no doubt—who had turned a peaceful protest march, by all indications a wildly successful protest march, a legitimate expression of civil disobedience—into a violent melee that cost forty-five people their lives.

Why?

I tried e-mailing Darius again, to get a response from him. Nothing. No reply to e-mails sent to any other member of the organization as well.

Weeks passed without another word from the group. May 22, it seemed, had disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving no tangible evidence of their presence.

But it occurred to me that there was the virtual avenue to explore as well.

Darius had lied to me. He'd used me, and the Free Press to publicize his march, when protest wasn't his goal at all. Protesting hadn't been his goal when he tried to kidnap Maurice Beltran from my uncle's party, either.

He'd been out to make a much bigger statement.

He'd been out to blow up the Grand Coulee Dam.

May 22nd's goal was to restore the natural order of things. They were going to destroy Grand Coulee to do that —never mind the thousands of people that would have died in the subsequent flood if they'd succeeded.

What does all this have to do with you?

Take a look at that flyer -the one announcing the anniversary protest march, at the very beginning of this section. Note the name at the bottom -Sector 12's councilman, Arkady Hermann. Hermann is new to the job — elected just last year, to replace Councilor Robert Dominguez.

Now look at the greenworld e-mails again. Note the ones from Herrmann -the Herrmann who worked in a councilor's office. The Herrmann who organized the first Grand Coulee March.

Is it the same man?

I can't be sure. The spelling is different. And I can't access records related to either man from here right now.

But one thing I know for certain.

Darius said May 22nd would try again.

It's up to you to find out if this march is their latest attempt.

I used to wonder why people actually paid money for that rag. They must realize it's a joke—the articles, the pictures, the so-called sources, all of it. It would be too depressing if the public actually believed those things.

On the other hand …

Sometimes, they do get it right. The breeding cult story—that's White and his people, for sure. Sketchy wrote that article a while back. He told me the editors have been pressing him for weeks to find a new angle on the story. “Something fresh,” they said. “Hot. Sexy.”

What wouldn't they give to see these.

The body belongs to Max.

The letters are Minoan—a script called Linear A, that dates back to somewhere around 2000 B.C. They started appearing on her body a couple of weeks ago—it turns out they're part of her genetic makeup, like the barcode on her neck. Programmed into her, apparently, by a guy called Sandeman.

According to Joshua—or as the Weekly likes to call him, Dogman—Sandeman was the guy who actually started Manticore, and ran it until the military took over. For the longest time, Joshua called Sandeman “father.” The symbols popping out all over Max's body are a message from him.

The symbols have multiple meanings, so they're hard to translate, exactly, but the gist of what's there is pretty clear. The message is something like this:

“When the shroud of death covers the face of the earth, the one whose power is hidden will deliver the helpless.”

It sounds like something you find inside a fortune cookie. I've been looking for Sandeman to find out exactly what he meant—what the shroud of death is, and when it's coming.

Thing is, Sandeman's a hard guy to track down. I put the word out on the Informant Net—tried all the university records, medical records, passports, birth certificates, death certificates, etc., etc. Came up with absolutely nothing on the Sandeman.

And then right here in Terminal City, we found this.

The letter was crumpled up in the back of an empty file cabinet—in an abandoned lab right here in Terminal City. A lab that belonged to ARG—Advanced Recombinant Genetics. Sandeman's lab—the place he came after Manticore. From the date on the fax, it seems as if he left ARG right about the time he left his house, heading for parts unknown.

Seems like he left on bad terms with this Marcus—who sounds like part of White's cult as well. But that letter was the only thing we found.

Not much to go on, I'll admit. But it was a starting point.

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 5/01/21 L = Cale, Logan, P = Payton, Brian

FILE BEGINS

P: Hello?

L: Yes, I'm looking for Brian Payton.

P: You got him.

L: The Brian Payton who was a reporter for Post Express, back in the 1990s?

P: That's me.

L: Good. Mr. Payton, my name is Logan Cale. I'm a journalist myself, out in Seattle, and I'm working on a piece—

P: Seattle? You're calling me from Seattle?

L: Yes.

P: Jee-sus. Haven't talked to anybody from the West Coast in years. I used to get out there all the time, back in the day. What's it like out there now? Martial law still, right?

L: Yes, sir. Still the protectorate.

P: And a curfew? You still have a curfew?

L: That's right.

P: Christ. Never thought I'd see the day. A curfew in the United States of America. Guess you live long enough, you see everything.

L: Yes, sir.

P: But I assume you didn't call me up to bitch about your lot in life. What can I do for you?

L: Your name came up in regard to a piece I'm working on, regarding the Davenport Genetics Institute? Do you remember—

P: Are you going after them? You better be armed for bear, son. Those bastards play dirty.

L: Sir?

P: The Morales girl. What they did to her. What they did to me, and the story.

L: Back up a second, if you would. All I know about Davenport is the kidnapping—the scandal that came with that.

P: Scandal? That wasn't a scandal. That was a whitewash.

L: It closed the place down though—didn't it?

P: They closed down when they were damn good and ready. A few years after the kidnapping, yes—but none of them ever went to jail.

L: So the charges against them were true?

P: They were true, and they weren't the half of it. They got away with murder.

L: What do you mean?

P: Just what I said. And the Morales girl wasn't the only one. She was the first one that got away, though. The others—they killed them all. The girls, and their babies.

L: I see.

P: Mr. Cale? You all right?

L: Yes. This conversation is connecting a lot of dots for me, Mr. Payton. Would you mind if I taped our talk, so I can refer to it later?

P: That's no problem. Got nothing to lose, now.

L: Good. Then let me ask

you a few specific questions. Did you ever hear of anyone named Marcus in connection with the institute?

P: No.

L: He may have been one of the people running the institute.

P: No. No Marcus. I remember Dr. Hill, and Dr. Crater, and Sandeman, and—

L: Sandeman was at the Davenport Institute?

P: That's right. Listen, let me save you some time here. Send you my notes on the story.

L: Your notes.

P: Yeah, I have a whole file folder full of stuff. It includes my interview with Morales. The entire transcript. You want it?

L: Absolutely I want it.

CONTINUES

TO: FILE

FROM: PAYTON

DATE: 8/10/96

RE: MORALES INTERVIEW, SESSION 2

Payton: So let's just pick up where we left off, all right Miss Morales? Morales: All right. You could call me Josie, you know. Payton: All right. You want a glass of water, Josie? Morales: Water would be nice. Payton: Hold on.

Payton: Okay. So yesterday, you were talking about meeting this guy-Morales: John. I never even knew his last name. I met him at El Rubio's. Payton: You waited on his table? Morales: That's right. Payton: Go on.

Morales: Well, you know. I mean, we were hitting it off, you know? And he was with some friends, and they left, and he hung out at the bar until I finished.

Payton: And then?

Morales: We hung out, you know. Went dancing, and drinking, only now that I think about it, I was doing all the drinking, and he was just asking me questions, all these weird questions, like where was I from, how old was I. What about my parents, my grandparents, were they still alive, were they healthy, where were they from—weird stuff.

Payton: All right.

Morales: I mean, now it doesn't seem so weird, you know?

Payton: No. Those questions make perfect sense. He was trying to find out your family's genetic history.

Morales: That's right. I thought we were like—hooking up, you know? And he's thinking about me like a lab rat.

Payton: I know.

Morales: Bastard.

Payton: Why don't you go on?

Morales: Well, so I don't hear from him the next few days. Then he shows up at the restaurant again—only this time he's with an older guy. And he's all weird and formal like.

Payton: This is John you're talking about? Who was formal?

Morales: Yeah. I think it was because of the guy with him.

Payton: Who was the older guy?

Morales: Sandman. The guy I told you about yesterday.

Payton: Sandeman.

Morales: Whatever.

Payton: And what did they say?

Morales: They told me about the institute. They asked me to come down and see it.

Payton: Did they offer you money then?

Morales: Yes.

Payton: How much?

Morales: A thousand dollars for the day. Just to come talk with them. Only they said I'd have to sign these forms—

Payton: The nondisclosure forms.

Morales: Yeah. Those. So I said sure. I mean, a thousand dollars. I was like-whatever. Stupid, right?

Payton: You couldn't have known.

Morales: So that's it. The next day they sent a car for me, and I went down. Signed the forms, and they made me the offer. Fifty thousand if I participate in the program.

Payton: If you get pregnant.

Morales: No, see, that was the trick. Fifty thousand if I have a baby for them. It wasn't just the getting pregnant part. Should have had a lawyer look the damn thing over.

Payton: Yeah. I hear that. Anytime anyone asks you to sign anything, have a lawyer look it over.

Morales: Yeah.

Payton: And you said yes?

Morales: Of course I said yes, what are you fucking crazy? Fifty thousand bucks— that's more money than I'm ever gonna see in my life. Only thing was, I miscarried two months in. So I go to see the bastards, and they say no baby, no money. But I'm free to try again.

Payton: Jesus Christ.

Morales: Exactly what I said.

Payton: Back up a second. What did they say when they made you the offer—why did they want you to do it?

Morales: Well, I don't remember a lot of that, to be honest. After they mentioned the fifty thou, I couldn't think about anything else, you know?

Payton: Do you remember any of it? Think back. You're sitting in their office— whose office were you in? Sandeman's?

Morales: That's right. He was there, and John was there, and some creepy old man came in about halfway through and patted me on the head. Uggh. Gave me the creeps—that was the only time I had second thoughts about the whole thing, you know? When that old man touched me.

Payton: Do you remember his name?

Morales: Ummm. No, sorry.

Payton: And nothing at all about what they said?

Morales: Something about how I was an excellent physical specimen—I remember that.

Payton: Well. You're a good-looking young woman.

Morales: You should have seen me before, mister. I feel like I've aged about twenty years in the last two.

Payton: It doesn't show.

Morales: Thank you.

Payton: You're welcome. So—you told them you'd get pregnant, and you signed the papers, and then …

Morales: And then, I got pregnant.

Payton: How?

Morales: What do you mean how?

Payton: Artificial insemination, or—

Morales: Hell no. Nothing artificial about it. John and I went into one of the hospital rooms there and did it—I mean, it was a few days later, they calculated the best time for us to hook up, my period and all, and we did.

Payton: And the same thing the second time?

Morales: Same thing. And I lost the baby again. Only this one was farther along-second trimester. I could feel him kicking around.

Payton: You're sure it was a boy?

Morales: No, but—I had that feeling, you know. I don't like thinking about it, because even though part of the deal was that I had to give up the baby, I was feeling something already. Maternal instinct, I guess they call it. I had a name picked out in my head, too. Antonio. Tony. Like my grandfather. Even though they wouldn't let me see him again, I still …

Payton: You all right?

Morales: Sorry.

Payton: That's okay. You want to take a break?

Morales: No. Bastards. You're gonna nail ‘em, right?

Payton: To the wall.

Morales: Good. See when I lost the baby—the babies—I was the only one upset by it. I mean, none of them seemed to care. Almost like the first two didn't matter.

Payton: The third time was different, though.

Morales: Way different. From the beginning.

Payton: Go on.

Morales: It wasn't John who got me pregnant that time.

Payton: Who was it?

Morales: I don't know.

Payton: You don't know?

Morales: I think they drugged me. I remember going in to see them, and them running some tests, and then—wow. They must have slipped me something, ‘cause I was lying in the hospital bed there, and the next thing I knew, I was flying. I mean, all high and shit, you know. Maybe I was hallucinating, ‘cause I thought I was someplace else entirely.

Payton: Where?

Morales: A big room somewhere—a chamber, or something. And there was a party going on around me, a costume party, people in robes and weird makeup. John was there, and some other people I recognized from the institute, and—

Payton: Sandeman?

Morales: No, I don't remember seeing him, but—I have to say that I don't remember a hell of a lot clearly. I do remember the end, though.

Payton: Go on.

Morales: I don't like to think about it. John was just looking on, with this big smile on his face, and these other people were holding me down, and then this man—he had a hood over his face, so I don't know for sure, but I think it might have been the old man from Sandeman's office. He …

Payton: He assaulted you.

Morales: Yeah. That's the polite way of putting it.

Payton: I'm sorry.

Morales: That wasn't the worst, though. The worst thing was after that—they didn't let me go. Kept me in that place, in their hospital, for nine months. It was like a freaking insane asylum, you know? I saw all these other girls there, young girls just like me, they were all pregnant, too. And they kept me so doped

from the law offices of

Weinreich, Kohler, and McKinley

250 Park Avenue Suite 24G New York New York 10034

August 14, 1996

Montgomery Dozier Publisher Post Express 2 Park Avenue New York NY 10016

Dear Mr. Dozier:

As you requested, I've completed my review of the article by Mr. Payton regarding Davenport Genetics Institute. While there are portions of the piece that are certainly verifiable, it is my expert opinion that at this time you should not proceed with publication. At such a time as you can obtain third-party confirmation of Ms. Morales's story, I suggest resubmitting the piece for review.

I understand that due to the exclusive nature of your reporter's relationship with Ms. Morales, public interest in this piece will be tremendous. Let me suggest—though by no means do I pretend to be expert in your business—that a shorter article detailing the progress of the investigation itself would be more appropriate at this time.

I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news here. No doubt your reporter put a lot of work into this—but as always, my feeling in these types of situations is to err on the side of caution.

My best to your family, and please don't hesitate to call me if you have any questions on this matter.

All best,

George McKinley

Senior Partner

GM/db

TO: lcale@pfpfree.net

FROM: bpayton58@rcn.net

DATE: 5/6/21

RE: <No subject was specified>

No, he never did call, Mr. Cale. You think you know people, but under pressure … some of them just fold up like an accordion. Anyway …

Davenport went on, business as usual, until right after the Pulse. Then they relocated-I was never able to find out where. But this Sandeman guy you're asking about, he left way before that. And not on good terms, either. I know because I was still trying to work the story. There was this lab tech I got friendly with, and one time I asked her about Sandeman. Mistake. She hushed up tighter than a drum and said I shouldn't mention his name again-not around her, not around anyone connected to the institute. If I knew what was good for me.

Makes me wonder if there wasn't some truth to Josie's thought, that he was the one who helped her escape.

As far as the other girl goes, my other source-I'm sorry. Like I told Mike, I made her a promise.

TO: bpayton58@rcn.net

FROM: lcale@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/6/21

RE: The Conclave

Mr. Payton, I appreciate your honesty, and feel you deserve some in return. After you hear what I have to say-as crazy as it may sound to you-I'm hoping you'll give me that girl's name.

What happened to Josie Morales-and to the other girls she mentioned-has been going on for a long, long time. Thousands of years, perhaps.

I'm attaching some pictures to this e-mail. They're from a Kiloma Indian burial site, dating back to the early 1800s. There's a story that goes with these pictures-a story about a young Kiloma girl kidnapped from the tribe by a group of fur traders. Kidnapped, and forced to have a child by a boy the traders had brought with them. A boy described as not much more than fourteen years old-and already well over six feet tall.

The Kiloma girl gave birth to a child, all right-a terribly deformed baby. That's the first skeleton you see. The girl was forced to try again. This time, the infant was healthy-but the traders killed it anyway. The crushed skull, in the second picture. And the third time … the traders were satisfied. They took the child away-and killed the mother.

But I don't think these people were traders at all, Mr. Payton. I think they were part of the same group that a century later was running Davenport. The same group that killed Josie. And they're out there right now, doing it all again.

Help me stop them.

Give me the girl's name.

DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 5/06/21 L = Cale, Logan, M = Chantal, Marisa

M: Hello?

L: Hello. I'm looking for Marisa Chantal.

M: This is Marisa. Who is this?

L: Ms. Chantal, my name is Logan Cale. I was given your name by Brian Payton. Do you remember Mr. Payton?

L: Ms. Chantal?

M: I don't think I want to talk to you Mr. Cale. Good-bye.

L: Don't hang up. Please. People's lives are at stake here. A lot of people's lives.

M: Including mine. Like I said, I—

L: Listen to me. I'm not going to ask you to say anything on the record. I'm not going to ask you to testify anywhere, about anything. I just want information, Ms. Chantal. That's all.

M: How do I know who you are? How do I know you're not with them?

L: I have your phone number, Ms. Chantal. I can easily find out where you live. Why would I bother calling you if I wanted to hurt you?

M: Maybe you're right.

L: So will you talk to me?

M: All right. Hold on a minute.

M: We can talk now. I had to change phones.

L: Thank you. I won't waste your time with a lot of questions. So I'm assuming you remember Mr. Payton. Then can you confirm the story Josephine Morales told?

M: Yes. That poor girl.

Beyond whatever legitimate laboratory work they were doing, it was clear now that the Davenport Institute had been a cover for White's breeding cult. What they'd done to Morales and the other girls—what they'd tried to do to Marissa Chantal—that was the same pattern that had been repeated over centuries. Repeated right here in Seattle, too, with Ames White and his own wife, Wendy. And their son Ray, whom I'd helped escape all that.

I still wasn't any closer to finding Sandeman, though—or to figuring out what the symbols on Max's body meant. What the “shroud of death” referred to.

Except now I realized that maybe a change in approach might be called for.

The old man who scared Marisa Chantal—Dr. Schuler—he was very likely the old man who'd assaulted Morales. Very possibly the Marcus from Sandeman's letter, as well.

Almost certainly, he would know what the symbols meant.

Maybe, I decided, I should try finding him.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: seb2009@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/7/21

RE: Schuler

That name rings a bell, though for the life of me I can't remember why. At any rate …

Trying all variants-Mark, Marcus, Markus, M. Schuler, M. Schyuler-I come up empty. I will keep looking, though-and thinking.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: gatekeeper@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/7/21

RE: Schuler

<No subject was specified>

Nada.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: dazzler@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/6/21

RE: Davenport Genetics Institute

This is weird. I made a mistake and entered search parameters 1900-present instead of 2000-present.

Look what came back.

It can't be the same guy-can it?

INVESTIGATION OF NAZI PARTY ACTIVITIES AND INVESTIGATION OF CERTAIN OTHER UN-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES

PUBLIC HEARINGS

BEFORE THE

SPECIAL COMMITTEE ON UN-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES

HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

SEVENTY-THIRD CONGRESS

SECOND SESSION

AT NEW YORK CITY, N.Y. October 30 and 31, 1934

HEARINGS No. 79-N.Y.-15

United States

Government Publications Committee

Washington: 1934

INVESTIGATION OF UN-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES

WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 31 1934

House of Representatives

Subcommittee of the Special

Committee on Un-American Activities

New York City

The subcommittee met at 10:30 A.M. in the Vanderbilt Auditorium, Forty-third Street, New York, the Hon. Charles H. McIntyre (chairman) presiding. Present also were the Hon. George Honeycutt; the committee counsel, the Hon. Lewis Chimes; and the official interpreter, Mr. Philip Boehm.

THE CHAIRMAN. The committee will be in order. We will call Dr. Schuler.

TESTIMONY OF DOCTOR MARKUS SCHULER

(The witness was duly sworn by the chairman.)

THE CHAIRMAN. Your full name is Markus Schuler?

DR. SCHULER. Yes.

THE CHAIRMAN. And are you a citizen of this country?

DR. SCHULER. Yes. I received my papers ten years ago. I have lived in America for the last forty years.

THE CHAIRMAN. You were not born here, though?

DR. SCHULER. No sir. I was born in Germany.

THE CHAIRMAN. And how old are you now, sir?

DR. SCHULER. I am sixty-eight years old.

THE CHAIRMAN. If you will permit me, Doctor—you seem in remarkable condition for a man of your age.

DR. SCHULER. Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I am very fortunate to have the benefit of good genetics.

THE CHAIRMAN. In fact, it is genetics with which we are concerned today, sir. Specifically, your activities as a member of the World Eugenics League.

MR. CHIMES. Mr. Chairman?

THE CHAIRMAN. Yes, Mr. Chimes.

MR. CHIMES. I wish to note for the record exhibit 32A, which has been submitted to this committee. A document describing the goals and activities of the World Eugenics League.

THE CHAIRMAN. So noted. Dr. Schuler, I direct your attention to the document Mr. Chimes mentioned. You are a member of the organization referred to therein, sir?

DR. SCHULER. Yes, sir. I am one of its directors.

totally without scientific merit. It is based on a myth of German racial superiority. No scientific data exist to support such superiority. Over the last year, the World Eugenics League has—as you gentlemen are aware—funded advertising that notes the difference between true eugenics and the absurd propaganda Mr. Hitler's party spouts.

MR. CHIMES. Identified here as exhibit 32B, Mr. Chairman.

THE CHAIRMAN. Thank you, Mr. Chimes. Now Dr. Schuler—to return to the question of the Nazi Party. I must ask you, sir—are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Nazi Party?

DR. SCHULER. No, sir. I consider that group and its leaders contemptuous. I find their racial purity laws violently disagreeable.

THE CHAIRMAN. This committee appreciates your honesty, Doctor.

MR. HONEYCUTT. I'd like to ask a few more questions of Dr. Schuler, regarding some of the folks that work with you in this World Eugenics League.

DR. SCHULER. I am happy to cooperate with the committee in whatever way I can.

MR. HONEYCUTT. I appreciate that, sir. Let me start by referring you to the membership list you've provided to this committee.

MR. CHIMES. That's 32C, Mr. Chairman.

THE CHAIRMAN. Thank you, Mr. Chimes.

MR. HONEYCUTT. Yes, thank you Mr. Chimes. Now Dr. Schuler, looks to me like a lot of German names here. I wonder if you wouldn't mind sharing with us some of what you know about these people.

TO: dazzler@pfpfree.net

FROM: iionly@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/6/21

RE: Schuler

According to the testimony, he was sixty-eight in 1934. That would make him 155 years old now. Unlikely. But impossible?

Over the last couple of years, I've seen some things that have caused me to redefine that word. So I'm not ruling anything out.

TO: iionly@pfpfree.net

FROM: seb2009@pfpfree.net

DATE: 5/7/21

RE: Schuler

Now I remember why his name sounded so familiar.

I've met him.

It was last March, at a fund-raising dinner for Senator McKinley downtown-ten thousand dollars a plate. I was there as a speaker on the program, to talk about the senator's plan to bring high-tech industry back to Seattle. It sounds good on paper, but of course the final program will bear no resemblance to what actually comes out of Congress. Still, they paid me good money to show up and talk about it.

Let me tell you, everyone who was anyone was there-Mayor Steckler and his wife, Governor Chalfont from Oregon, Johnny and Gina Liberti, and of course McKinley. He was on the dais at the front of the room.

When I went up to speak, my escort introduced me to the senator. We exchanged small talk, then McKinley introduced me to the man on his left. An elderly gentleman named Schuler. No last name, no first name, no title, no information about who or what he was. We said hello, and that was all.

After I spoke, I returned to my seat. Several times during the evening, I saw Schuler and McKinley talk. The nature of their relationship was clear to me.

Schuler spoke. McKinley listened.

Teacher and pupil. Master and servant.

You've seen McKinley on TV. He's been chairing the hearings on the “transgenic threat.”

He used Ames White's testimony before his committee to transform the search for the transgenics into a witch-hunt.

He may very well be the same McKinley who stopped Payton from publishing his exposé on the breeding cult and Davenport, over twenty years ago.

He may, in fact, be a member of the cult himself.

But I have no way to find out.

I'm cut off from everything now—deaf, dumb, and blind to my operatives, the Informant Net, and the world outside.

So now it's up to you. You have the information you need. You have my sources. Good luck.

Peace. Out.

—EYES ONLY

A Del Rey® Book

Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

TM & Copyright © 2003 by Twentieth-Century Fox Film Corporation

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in

the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

www.delreydigital.com

eISBN: 978-0-307-51929-0

v3.0

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part 2

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part 3

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Part 4

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Copyright