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Global Stock Markets Crash: Chapter 3 (Video)
SHADOWS AND LIGHT (An End Times Preview)
A novel in the making on Before It’s News
Dear readers,
Shadows And Light: Read Chapters >> 1 , 2
11/22
8:53 PM
Mitch Anders stepped out of the hospital, grateful that he had only needed three stitches for some minor lacerations under his chin. He stopped on the uppermost step, gazing out at Washington DC. In the fall night, thick fog had settled over the city, and a lone bell rang out in mournful consolation from some church a mile or so away. DC might have been a ghost town. Muffled by the fog, the sound of weeping reached his ears. An old man hugging a younger woman, maybe his grand daughter, shuffled past Mitch.
A city in great sadness.
Less than eight hours ago, this nation had lost its President and Vice President in the most horrific acts of terrorism ever to strike the country. Mitch, accustomed to the hustle and bustle of his fast-paced journalist life, had subconsciously expected riots, screams, throbbing masses of angry people, demanding to know who had killed the two most powerful leaders of the Free World. Stepping out into this crypt like silence momentarily shocked him.
Yes, of course, the nation would mourn — mourn deeply, before any sense of rage would unfold. Made perfect sense.
He pulled his trench coat tight around him as he descended the hospital steps, head down, plunging into the ocean of fog. The lone gong from the church bell continued to punctuate the stillness, as if the church itself wept.
Mitch had voted for Obama in 2008, but not in 2012. He wasn’t overly fond of the President but had still believed him to be a decent human being. His friends either seemed to love the President or hate him. In fact, George had . . .
He caught his breath. The painful, suffocating emotion of loss broke through his brooding. George, his cameraman, killed in the same explosion that had taken the President’s life, had been pronounced dead at the scene. Mitch still hadn’t processed the death of his colleague. George was a co-worker, and although not his closest friend, a good friend nonetheless. He hated that his last exchange with George had bordered on frustration over his forgetfulness concerning the battery pack. Yet, how ironic, it was the absent mindedness of his friend that had saved his own life.
Can’t think about all of this right now, Mitch chastised himself. Have to keep my professional cool. Gotta check my phone. Get to the office. Report all I’ve seen. Too much to do.
Yet, try as he might, he found that he had stopped in his tracks, tears burning his eyes, the bell still tolling, offering a silent prayer for his lost friend.
* * *
11/22 9:07 PM
The man known only as Mr. Migen carefully inspected the ten million dollars held in matching twin suitcases. His eyes caressed the many-layered green bills, as if just by willing it, he could make intimate, passionate love with the spoil spread out on the floor of his hotel room.
A greedier man might have demanded more compensation for his work, but Migen prided himself on his frugality. He looked at himself as a “new man”, one who had dispensed with the bothersome need of a conscience, but still sought a “convenient” morality that helped him find his place in the world. And when that failed to soothe him — he always had his cigarettes.
Migen stared at the muted television with half boredom. He was not one to watch with fascination the consequences of his criminal acts, although lesser, more base men might have been spell bound by the scene. As he watched a news anchor reporting live from an empty Wall Street, he didn’t need to hear the words to know what his double assassination scheme had accomplished. The US Stock Market had plummeted in the hours following the deaths of the President and Vice President. The crash had sent the already precarious global economy into a cascading tailspin. Already markets in Asia had reacted, diving to their lowest levels ever recorded in history.
The assassin clicked shut the metal suitcases and turned off the TV. He still had a great deal of work to do.
After all, killing a President and Vice President was easy. What really required his masterful skills was far more challenging: installing a new leader of the Free World.
And, if he was to be paid the sum of a quarter of a billion dollars from Becker, he would have to accomplish the job in less than six weeks.
A lesser man might have balked at such an obviously futile mission.
But not Mr. Migen. He lifted the suitcases, holding the matching cool metal handles in his clenched fists. No, not Mr. Migen. He embraced the challenge.
And his next stop? He smiled cooly, taking a deep breath.
The office of the Speaker of the House. John Boehner would need some encouragement. And Mr. Migen was a master at giving just the right kind of encouragement to accomplish his purposes.
* * *
11/23 11:23 AM
“What you’re suggesting is nonsense,” Boehner kicked back his chair and stood to his feet. His face, red with anger, his eyes narrowed, he pointed a finger at Migen. “Get the hell out of my office!”
Migen, unaffected by the Speaker of the House’s outrage, simply pursed his lips. “You want to see what kind of power my boss has, Mr. Speaker? Excuse me, I suppose I should now refer to you as Mr. President.”
“I’m calling security,” Boehner pressed a button on his desk.
The crack of a sniper rifle echoed through the courtyard beyond Boehner’s office window. The Speaker of the House spun away from his desk and stared with wide eyes out his window.
Senator Merkley, elected two years ago for the first time, lay dead in a pool of spreading blood only a hundred yards away. People ran for cover. Screams.
Boehner’s reddened face had turned a ghostly grey. His eyes, deadened, shifted toward Migen.
“Now, can I tell Becker what your response will be? Or will you need another demonstration?”
Boehner slumped his shoulders, defeated. “Tell him the answer is yes.”
* * *
11/23 12:17 PM
Mitch felt dizzy. Though he found his ever turbulent news world thrilling, the events of the past twenty-four hours raced with such speed, he felt like a bullet train had zinged him into another dimension.
Financial markets had crashed with such sudden finality across the world, that every global stock exchange had been temporarily shut down. Frantic media reports suggesting roving snipers were determined to take down the rest of the US government. This, in turn, had led the new President, John Boehner, to hold a Press Conference at noon, announcing that the entire Congress and Judiciary were relocating from DC to more secure facilities near Denver, Colorado. And the now deceased former President and Vice President had not even been laid to rest yet.
Dizzying was an understatement.
“You’re reassigned,” Alex Barr, his boss, shouted at him through his office window.
Mitch bolted from his chair, a confused look on his face.
“Denver. Next flight out. I want you to cover this whole government transition thing. From the get go.”
“Alex, I have–”
“Mitch, don’t give me any BS. I need you there by tonight. President just announced they are having some sort of grand gala and special announcements at the Denver Capitol building. I want you reporting there live. Gary will be your cameraman and–”
His boss stopped in mid sentence as Mitch visibly winced. The pain over the loss of his friend and former cameraman had not subsided. It had only deepened.
“Look, Mitch, if you’re not emotionally able to–”
“I’m fine. Next flight out. Got it.”
“And Mitch?”
He stared at his boss, hating the tears that once again stung his eyes.
“You need to know something,” Alex frowned. “Things could get very dangerous in Denver. There’s rumors that both African Americans and Hispanics are planning a mass riot. Accusations and suspicions are flying like crazy. People are saying the Republicans conspired to kill the President and Vice President.”
“That’s ridiculous. No one could believe that.”
Alex sighed. “Don’t take any chances. Be careful.”
Mitch nodded, gathering his coat and briefcase.
“Oh, one other thing,” his boss added. “The flight I got you and Gary on, you’ll be going first class. Courtesy of a Mr. Migen.”
“Who?”
Alex shrugged. “Not sure. But he says he’s eager to meet you. President Boehner himself called my boss about an hour ago. Said he wants you to meet this guy.”
Although Mitch was naturally curious, a deep unease fell like a billowing black robe over his gut. Something didn’t feel right. Even Alex looked nervous.
“You’re not telling me everything.” Mitch blurted.
“Just be very careful,” his boss shot back. “And make sure you come back in one piece.”
Shadows And Light: Read Chapter >> 4
I have been thinking about getting 50% of my money out of stocks. Soon