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    Fifth Estate: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #5
    Fifth Estate: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #5
    Fifth Estate: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #5
    Ebook425 pages6 hours

    Fifth Estate: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #5

    By Jason Blacker

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    About this ebook

    Anthony Carrick's not looking for a case. But when his good buddy, John Roberts asks a favor of him he can't refuse. Two young men have been murdered after visiting a biker bar in the wrong side of town in Jersey City. The only witnesses are the bikers themselves, but they're not saying much.

    In Jersey to try and figure it out, Anthony finds the local police not all that helpful. But a connection that Roberts has in Jersey PD, Detective So-yi Park is eager to help figure these murders out.

    Seems that one of the young men was working on secret weaponry for the DOD and he was talking to a reporter. But when some plumbers come by to fix a leak at Park's apartment things get out of hand. Park ends up dead and Anthony's shot twice in the belly. Could the plumbing company be a front?

    From secret private military groups to pedophile rings, lucrative defense contracts, and world class hackers, there's a lot to unravel if Anthony wants to save his life and solve a couple of homicides.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJason Blacker
    Release dateDec 8, 2018
    ISBN9781927623749
    Fifth Estate: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #5
    Author

    Jason Blacker

    Jason Blacker was born in Cape Town but spent most of his first 18 years in Johannesburg. When not grinding his fingers down to stubs at the keyboard he enjoys drinking tea, calisthenics and running. Currently he lives in Canada.  Under his own name he writes hard boiled as well as cozy mysteries, action adventure, thrillers, literary fiction and anything else that tickles his muse. Jason Blacker also writes poetry and daily haikus at his haiku blog.  You can find his haikus and other poetry at his website www.haiqueue.com.  For FREE books and to stay up to date and learn about new releases be sure to visit www.jasonblacker.com where you can find more information about his writing and upcoming projects.  If you enjoy space opera in the tradition of Star Trek then take a look at Jason Blacker’s pen name “Sylynt Storme”. It is under the name Sylynt Storme where you can find both sci-fi and vampire fiction written by Jason Blacker.  “Star Sails” is the space opera series and “The Misgivings of the Vampire Lucius Lafayette” is his vampire series.

    Read more from Jason Blacker

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      Book preview

      Fifth Estate - Jason Blacker

      Trash Can

      Joseph Severn knew he was onto something. This was going to be his biggest break yet and it might even land him in the fourth estate. That was a rung up the ladder from working the lowly fifth estate jobs. It might not have sounded like much to his friends but it was the pinnacle of his profession. Almost. A Pulitzer would be the icing on the cake. And who knew, this might lead to that as well. But, baby steps. First he had to make it to the Washington Chronicle.

      Arguably the most revered paper in the country. Some would say the New York Times, but he thought it was the Washington Chronicle. They’d excelled lately at breaking news. Big stories. Like the one in Syria they’d coined General John. About generals paying for and keeping a stable of Syrian women as prostitutes to be doled out as rewards for soldiers with the most kills. It was a barbaric practice. But what he was about to uncover was bigger than that. It would rock the nation to its very core.

      But let’s get back to the very beginning. Or at least a beginning of where this started. It was four weeks ago when his editor had come to him at his desk in the Bronx where he was still working at TrashCan. TrashCan’s slogan was Digging in the deep webs for the ugliest stories nobody wants you to read. It was long and cumbersome. Not like the Chronicle’s Shining Light on Democracy’s Dark Corners. But it was true. Both the name and the slogan summed up pretty perfectly what they did. They looked for dirt. TrashCan was a tabloid. Joseph had no problem admitting it.

      TrashCan was the kind of Web 2.0 media that had grown into a large tentacled monster. They had websites writing about pretty much everything and anything. From Android to Zombies, well zombies from TV anyway. But TrashCan was the masthead of this ungainly monster that Webswum Inc. had become.

      I want you to interview this kook who keeps calling, said Rufin Flatter.

      Rufin Flatter was the Editor-in-Chief of TrashCan. He was an older guy in his mid-fifties. That was to say that he wasn’t hip to Web 2.0 and other technologies. But he had been an Editor at The World Post which, at its height, had a circulation of over 300,000. That made it a top 25 newspaper in the US and it was based in Brooklyn. Now it was struggling to stay afloat.

      Rufin Flatter reminded Joseph of J. Jonah Jameson. He was the Editor of the Daily Bugle which was the fictional newspaper that Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, worked at. Rufin Flatter had the same brush cut hairstyle with gray sides and a lampshade mustache. He had bushy eyebrows and he had no idea who J. Jonah Jameson was. The top of his head was dirty dark brown leaning towards dark gray hair and the sides were more silvery. His eyebrows and mustache however were the chestnut brown of a man twenty years younger. Rufin was also found carrying an unlit cigar around, always ready to light it up if he got the chance.

      C’mon Rufin, said Joseph, I’m working on this post about police brutality against seniors. It’s something, I swear.

      Rufin Flatter’s nickname around TrashCan offices was Ruffian. Only because it looked similar to his name. He was grumpy and acerbic but hardly a ruffian. His name, Rufin was happy to let everyone know, was pronounced Raff-in.

      Joseph was actually working on a story about police brutality against seniors. He’d uncovered it when visiting his grandmother at the senior’s home she lived at. It had been a long story in the making primarily because none of the seniors wanted to talk about it. This is what was happening. The particular home his grandmother was at also housed several mothers and fathers of current NYPD police officers. Some of these men, and a policewoman too, were abusing their elderly parents in secret. Not beating them black and blue you understand, but certainly abusing them and taking their frustrations out on their elderly folks.

      Joseph thought it was a good story. Better than the churn he had been putting out lately. This story at least had some bite. He’d even come up with what he thought was a catchy title. Police Brutality: NYPD Beating Up Pensioners! He was particularly fond of the exclamation mark at the end. That gave it the air of gravitas it deserved.

      Listen, I want you to talk to this fella and that’s it. He’s probably got no story. Thinks he saw something that’s not gonna be interesting. Maybe he was pissing at a urinal next to Mayor Vistaysky and the Mayor said something about a budget and he figures it’s a big conspiracy.

      Joseph let out a big sigh. He’d been writing at least three posts a day for over a year now that never gave him much satisfaction. He thought been a journalist was going to be a great job. Something that helped protect the pillars of democracy and contribute to a knowledgeable world. What he’d found out instead was that every blogger in their mommy’s home was masturbating about fake news, and what it was doing instead was undermining the very fabric of this democracy with the stain of this sinister mental ejaculation. Yeah, he felt pretty strongly about it.

      He realized that what he needed to do was to get into the fourth estate. He needed to get into the big leagues where real journalism was hard at work. Working in the blogs, or the clogs, as he liked to call it, or more specifically the fifth estate, was doing nothing but contributing to the problem. It was all about massive amounts of content rather than digging deep into real issues.

      Ok. Is he gonna call back or what?

      He’s on the phone already. Take line 3 and you’ll get him.

      What’s his name? asked Joseph as he picked up the handset, but Rufin had already left his desk.

      Joseph Noah Severn.

      Hello?

      Hello, this is Joseph Noah Severn.

      Joseph had taken to using his full name lately. He thought it added an heir of seriousness to the work he wanted to do. Plus, he’d liked the reason his parents had given him that middle name.

      Who are you?

      I’m a journalist with the TrashCan. You called. Who are you?

      There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

      Hello? asked Joseph.

      Yeah. I’ve got a story, said the voice whispering so that Joseph could barely hear it.

      That’s what my Editor told me, said Joseph.

      Your name really Noah?

      My middle name, yes.

      Like Noah of the Ark?

      Exactly like that, yes.

      That’s a good omen.

      I’ve never thought of it like that. What’s your name?

      Shem’s my middle name, and then in hushed tones, shit, I’ve said too much.

      I’ve heard you’ve got a story for me Shem, said Joseph.

      Call me spiderman, said Shem, one word and lowercase, not like in the comic books.

      Uh.. OK, said Joseph.

      What have you got for me spiderman? asked Joseph.

      I want you to get a burner. Then put the app Pressage on it and then text me at 555-497-7978. The text must say ‘Ark of the Covenant’ or I won’t answer it.

      Why?

      The line went silent on the other end.

      Hello?

      Hello Shem, I mean spiderman?

      It wasn’t like in the old days when you could actually hear the line getting hung up on you with a quiet click. Now the line just went dead. Joseph looked at the phone’s receiver for a minute. Then he put it back to his ear, but there was nothing there. He hung it up.

      He wrote the number down on a piece of paper quickly before he forgot. He sat at his desk for several minutes. One thing was certain. This Shem or spiderman was a kook. That was for sure. But Joseph was intrigued enough. Even the guy’s name was intriguing. He searched Shem on the internet. He learnt that Shem was the oldest son of Noah. The Noah of Noah and the Ark’s fame. Not him, not Joseph Noah Severn. Joseph Severn was a gangly twenty-something without a girlfriend, and without any kids he knew of, but with a mess of curly blond hair. Shem was also blessed by Noah for covering up his father after his father got into the sauce a little too much and ended up naked in a tent. They don’t tell you what was going on in that tent.

      What were the chances that he, Joseph with the middle name Noah, would make conversation with someone crazy named Shem? But he was intrigued, and that very same day he went to the closest convenience store and picked up a burner. His number was 555-365-9936.

      Pressing Presage

      Over the previous four weeks, Joseph and spiderman had conversed through texts and talk. Pressage, Joseph had learnt, was a private messaging app that also allowed for voice calls. Everything was encrypted through it. Spiderman swore by it. Joseph found the naming of this app to be quite intriguing. If you took away an ’s’ you had presage which Webster had informed him meant ‘something that foreshadows or portends a future event’. Kinda like an omen. If you kept the word as it was, it was actually French for ‘pressing’. Perhaps they were both coming to understand a pressing omen as Joseph liked to think. Spiderman being a little crazy seemed to like that too.

      But over these weeks Joseph hadn’t received anything substantial from spiderman. And he felt that heavy rains were coming. If he was to survive the floods he needed the tools and materials to build his ark. And this ark was gonna be an investigative piece of journalism the likes that no one had ever seen before. At least that’s what spiderman kept promising him in vague terms.

      As Joseph sat in his car, ten minutes early for their first meeting, he scrolled through some of their texts.

      Me: Ark of the Covenant

      That’s how it had started. The Ark of the Covenant, Joseph had learned, was made according to God’s instructions as given to Moses after the Israelites had left Egypt. It was said to contain the two tablets that held the Ten Commandments as well as, at least by some accounts, Aaron’s rod and a pot of manna. Everybody needs food for the journey. But manna, Joseph learnt, is more than that. It’s special food that God provided to the Israelites on their journey from Egypt so that they wouldn’t starve. Problem is, like most biblical myths, if you read too deep into it they start to fall apart. Like the fact that manna stored was full of maggots and began to smell... That’s from Exodus 16:20 Joseph learnt. He wondered why, if it was food from God, it rotted like everything else.

      Aaron’s rod, incidentally, was a simple staff imbued with miraculous power, because... God, or magic or mythology. Joseph didn’t particularly care. The thing was, Joseph wasn’t religious. His parents had named him after Noah Webster, the dude who’s dictionary he had consulted on the word ‘presage’. His parents highly regarded education and language. That was all. That was why he was given the middle name Noah. He’d never stepped into a synagogue or church in his life. That was true. Joseph was just a name his parents had liked. Yeah, it was full of religious history, but the honest truth was that his parents had just loved the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and that’s why they’d named him Joseph.

      spiderman: hello

      Me: Hello

      spiderman: ground rules. we never text or talk except through this app

      Me: OK

      spiderman: i have to get comfortable with you first

      Me: OK

      I mean what else could Joseph say? Spiderman went off on tangents about conspiracies, miracles and truth. It seemed to Joseph that spiderman, or Shem, was your garden variety religious whacko. But like a journalist or a bloodhound he thought he smelled a story. Or maybe he just hoped there was one here.

      spiderman: if you lie to me you’ll never hear from me again. lies will be found out. the Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy. proverbs 12:22

      Me: I won’t lie. Now is probably a good time to tell you that I’m not religious

      spiderman: the righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves. proverbs 13:5

      spiderman: you can be righteous but not religious. you cannot be religious and not be righteous

      Me: Proverbs?

      spiderman: spiderman... right now ;)

      It seemed that under all that craziness was someone with a subtle sense of humor. He also seemed pretty easy going, at least through texts, for someone so devout. At least he seemed pretty devout and religious to Joseph. As Joseph scrolled through the texts it was peppered throughout with biblical quotes, especially Proverbs and Psalms. And also a real angst about doing the right thing. Telling the truth or being quiet.

      Me: Who are you?

      spiderman: i’ve struggled a long time with this. but the truth must be set free. if we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth. 1 john 1:6

      Me: Is it really that difficult for you?

      spiderman: yes. you have no idea what i have. what it will do to our country

      Me: Maybe you should be going to the CIA or the FBI or something. Not sure I’m the one to help

      spiderman: you are. it’s a sign. God works in mysterious ways. you are not religious yet your middle name is Noah. my middle name is Shem

      Me: Yes, but it sounds like you might be in danger

      spiderman: resist the devil, and he will flee from you. james 4:7

      Me: OK

      This was the kind of thing that intrigued Joseph. He admired spiderman’s faith. But would spiderman not take responsibility for his own safety. Faith alone will not heal broken bones. That’s where you gotta get help from science and medicine. But about this issue, whatever it was to come, spiderman felt that God would protect him.

      spiderman: i sometimes fear they’re onto me

      Me: Maybe you should go to the police and get real help? I can’t protect you, especially as I know nothing about it.

      spiderman: in time Noah, in time. but you, Lord, are a shield around me. psalm 3:3

      Spiderman preferred to call him by his middle name. Joseph didn’t care. In the blog comments of the TrashCan he’d been called a lot worse.

      Me: If you tell me what it is you know, you might be protected. If we get the truth out it’ll be harder to quash

      spiderman: your trials and tribulations will soon be over. better a patient person than a warrior. proverbs 16:32

      Joseph thought that perhaps the better approach was to fight a proverb with another proverb. At this stage he was starting to get a little frustrated and impatient with the lack of disclosure.

      Me: When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers

      spiderman: ;)

      spiderman: proverbs 21:15. i think it is time to meet

      And so here Joseph was at a dingy bike bar in Hoboken called The Rattlin’ Chain. It was almost nine pm on Thursday November 23rd. It was Thanksgiving Day. It wasn’t like Joseph had anywhere else to be. His parents were in Ashland, Ohio. He’d told them he was too busy to make it out, but he’d see them at Christmas. His sister and her husband would be there too. And his niece. So here he was sitting outside a dingy bar as snow fell from the bruised sky like manna. Spiderman better have something for him.

      Rattling Chains

      Joseph walked into the bar. It wasn’t the kinda place he’d seek out all by himself. It was dark. It was also littered with big dudes with the arms torn from their denim jackets. They had beards and some didn’t have hair. Joseph counted six of them in the bar. They gave him the once over. A couple continued playing pool. The rest went back to their drinks. On the back of their jackets was their crest. These guys were the Seventh Sons. A small outlawed motorcycle gang that was usually up to no good. Their logo was of a skeleton holding a 7 that was also a stylized scythe. Around the skull’s neck was a chain that carried seven 7s.

      Joseph looked around quickly but didn’t see spiderman. None of the bikers were spiderman because Stanley said he’d know him by the camo baseball cap he’d be wearing. None of the bikers wore baseball caps. Joseph found an empty booth in a dark corner of the bar. He sat down.

      Hey, new guy, yelled the bartender.

      Joseph looked around.

      Yeah you.

      Joseph looked at him.

      This ain’t no fancy Manhattan lounge. We don’t do table service. You thirsty, you come to me.

      Joseph smiled uncomfortably. He got up and walked over to the bar. He figured he needed to order a couple of drinks at least or risk getting kicked out.

      Couple of beers, he said, trying to sound tough, but he felt like a child.

      Coors Light for the lightweight, said the bartender.

      A biker seated at the bar laughed at that.

      Just give me a couple of Buds, said Joseph.

      The bartender who looked like he fit right in with the Seventh Sons cracked open a couple of bottles and put them on the counter. He didn’t offer glasses and Joseph didn’t ask. He paid and took them back to his table. He sat down and took a sip from one of the bottles. He started to wonder what the hell he was doing in a place like this waiting for a kook.

      A few minutes later at about five minutes after 9 the door to the bar opened. Joseph looked back towards it and saw a lean young guy walking in. He carried a black backpack and he looked to be around Joseph’s age if not a half dozen years older. He was hard to make out from where Joseph sat, but he was about average height and skinny like Joseph. He had on a hoodie and camo pants. On his head was perched a camo baseball cap that looked like it might fall off if he kinked his neck. Even from this distance Joseph could see his curly hair was plentiful and red.

      Joseph raised his beer to him. Thank God, about time, he thought. Spiderman nodded at him. Spiderman stood still for a moment and looked around. Then he walked up to Joseph and slid into the opposite side of the booth. The two of them got a couple of looks and then everyone went back to their own business.

      Spiderman? asked Joseph.

      He hadn’t been told if there was a secret passphrase for this meeting or not.

      Yeah, you Joseph Noah Severn?

      Joseph nodded.

      I need proof.

      Joseph pulled out his Driver’s License and showed it to him. He also pulled out his media ID that Webswum Inc. had issued him. It had TrashCan Media on the top and underneath that it said A Webswum Inc. Property. Both had his photo on them.

      Spiderman looked at them for a long time and then pushed them back to him over the table.

      Do you have your phone here? asked spiderman.

      Yeah.

      Put it on the table.

      Joseph put his burner phone on the table. Spiderman fished his own phone out of his pocket and punched in some numbers. Joseph’s phone came to life with a notification that said spiderman: testing

      Spiderman nodded. He opened up his phone and took out the battery. He placed the two pieces on the table. He took a look at Joseph’s. He tapped away at it for a while.

      What are you doing?

      Making sure it’s not recording us, he said.

      After he was satisfied he placed it on the table.

      Do you have your other phone with you? asked spiderman.

      Joseph nodded.

      He pulled out his iPhone and put it on the table.

      Shit, said spiderman. I was worried about this.

      What’s wrong with it?

      It doesn’t have a removable battery. Can you unlock it?

      I don’t feel comfortable doing that, said Joseph.

      Look man, I don’t want to look at your porn, I just want to make sure it’s not recording us.

      Joseph looked at spiderman for a while.

      OK, he said and placed his thumb on the sensor.

      Spiderman picked it up and tapped away at it until he was satisfied. Then he put it back down on the table.

      Happy?

      Not yet, said spiderman.

      Joseph watched as spiderman opened up his backpack and took out some plastic self closing bags and a roll of heavy duty aluminum foil. Joseph frowned at it. Spiderman placed them on the table. He took Joseph’s iPhone and put it in a Ziploc bag and sealed it. Then he triple wrapped the phone inside the plastic bag with the foil.

      Can you call your phone? said spiderman.

      Joseph picked up his burner and dialed. He put the phone to his ear. Then he pulled it away and offered it to spiderman.

      It’s gone straight to voicemail, he said.

      Good, said spiderman.

      Spiderman took the phone from Joseph and took out the battery. He placed them in another plastic bag and wrapped it in foil. He did the same with his own burner phone and battery. Joseph looked on quizzically.

      What was all that? he asked.

      Home brewed Faraday cage.

      A what? asked Joseph.

      It prevents these devices from receiving signals so that we can be spied on. They can turn smartphones on from a distance without you knowing. Then they can record and take pictures.

      I don’t believe you.

      Spiderman looked around nervously and fidgeted with the quick on his thumb.

      Are you a cop? he asked, whispering.

      Joseph frowned, shook his head quickly like he heard a mosquito close by and pinched his lips together.

      Fuck no, he said.

      You could probably lie anyway. Doesn’t matter. If you were a cop I’d probably be dead.

      I’m not a cop. Jesus, have some beer and relax dude, said Joseph.

      Spiderman was as nervous as a wounded bird in a cage of alligators.

      Can you not use the Lord’s name in vain? said spiderman.

      Yeah, sorry.

      They sat in silence for a few moments. Both sipping beer.

      I suppose if they got malware onto your phone they could remotely access it, said Joseph, coming around to the first part of the conversation.

      Spiderman shook his head.

      Nope. Don’t even need to do that, he said.

      I don’t believe you, said Joseph. You’re telling me that Google and Apple have backdoors to allow for this shit?

      Spiderman shook his head again. His cap almost came off, so he took it off and put it on the table. His hair reminded Joseph of an Afro. A red Afro with loose curls. It wasn’t as neat either.

      No, they’re doing what they can to offer secure OSes. What I’m saying is that they can access a phone remotely because of their ninja skills man. These guys aren’t messing around. That’s why I only uses burners.

      Who are ‘they’?

      We’ll get to that.

      I don’t know man. I’m pretty skeptical.

      I’ll prove it. After we’ve done here I’ll install it on your iPhone and then you’ll believe me.

      You could have done it already when you were tapping away at it before.

      Spiderman shrugged.

      I wasn’t.

      Anyway, if what you’re saying is true, then this is a huge story. So why didn’t you go to the Times with it or the Chronicle?

      I did. They told me to pound sand. Didn’t believe me.

      Probably because they thought you were a little cray cray, am I right?

      Joseph didn’t know why he said that. He’d been thinking it. This guy sure sounded like a crazy conspiracy crackpot. A triple C as he had called it when speaking to his buddies at TrashCan.

      I’m sorry dude, I didn’t mean it like that, said Joseph, sipping on his beer. Spiderman was taking to pulling the label off of his. He shrugged.

      Not the first time I’ve heard it. At least you’re honest with me and you’re sitting here listening.

      Joseph nodded.

      You’ve gotta understand where I’m coming from. What you’re saying is literally insane. If people knew about this they’d go ape shit. There’d be riots in the streets.

      Dude, this isn’t even half of it. But I think you’re wrong. The ISPs are spying on us already for advertising purposes and nobody’s doing anything about it. In fact it’s only getting worse. We think we live in this great free country. We laugh at the Brits who have a camera on every street corner. Man, we’ve got cameras in every pocket, in every hand. We are literally plugged in 24/7 and just about everything about us is known. The only problem for them, which is a small help for us, is that they can’t sift through it fast enough. That and a lot of them are just plain incompetent.

      OK. So tell me how you know all of this. If I’m gonna write a story I need to be able to verify the veracity of it.

      I work for an international organization that you’ve never heard of.

      And what do they do?

      They’re working towards the coalescence of world power under the authority of a central power.

      And that power?

      That power will be the Bilderberg Consortium. They are our future leaders, though despots is probably a better term.

      Joseph chuckled and drank some beer.

      Build a Berg

      Fucking guy, thought Joseph. He is a crackpot. If nothing else this should be entertaining. Joseph knew about the Bilderberg conspiracies only very vaguely. I mean come on. Yeah the rich probably had aligned goals but that didn’t mean they were actively trying to overthrow democracies and centralize power. I mean shit. We lived in a country that had gone to war with itself just to give everyman a literal chance at freedom and equality.

      Man this is gonna be good, chuckled Joseph some more. Just give me a sec I’ve gotta get us some more beers.

      Joseph stepped out of the booth and went over to the bar. Spiderman frowned at him. He had hardly touched his beer. He didn’t like beer much. In fact, he hardly ever drank. But he waited patiently for Joseph to return.

      Here you go, said Joseph, not noticing that spiderman had hardly touched his first beer. Joseph finished his first in a large gulp and put it aside. So you were gonna tell me about the Bilderbergs.

      You think I’m a conspiracy nut, don’t you? asked Spiderman.

      Joseph nodded, finding it hard to stop grinning.

      Yup, I ain’t gonna lie.

      Spiderman shrugged.

      I shoulda known, he said. He fiddled with the label of his first beer. Maybe I made a mistake.

      Listen man, I’m here aren’t I. Let me hear what you’ve got to say. Worst case I still think you’re a conspiracy nut and I won’t write the story. Best case, you get to tell your story to the world and maybe we do uncover a big New World Order. Isn’t that what they call it?

      Spiderman looked at him from a sideways face. Then he shrugged.

      Yeah, OK, he said.

      Look, I’m gonna listen. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna believe it, but I’ll let you try and convince me. I’m just trying to be honest with you.

      Spiderman nodded.

      So you know what the Bilderberg Consortium is? Spiderman asked.

      Not really. I only know it as this group of rich and powerful people hellbent on taking over the world. At least that’s the conspiracy I hear. I haven’t paid it much attention.

      That’s a pretty accurate description actually. They meet every year and they’re known as the Bilderberg Group officially. To us in the inside the organization is known as the Bilderberg Consortium. It doesn’t really matter what you call them, the fact remains their agenda, which is never made public, is always the same.

      And that is to create a new world order.

      Spiderman nodded.

      Right, the New World Order.

      And what is the purpose of this? asked Joseph.

      Well, to create order for one thing. That’s in the name. They want to do this by eliminating all state actors and creating a planned economy. But how they’re gonna do that is the horrible part.

      Before we get to that, who are these people?

      The official list is always made public before their meetings every year, but they’re the puppets. The real leaders are a group of 13. All men representing every continent. And you’ve never heard of them and they’re the richest men in the world.

      Like Warren Buffett and Bill Gates you mean?

      Spiderman shook his head in annoyance.

      No, not the public faces of the world’s richest people a la Forbes. That’s just for show. Who do you think owns Forbes anyway. These 13 have a combined wealth of 7 trillion dollars. That’s trillion with a T. These guys are off the charts. They’re consolidating power and they’re gonna have the world by the tail by mid-century with a backup plan for the end of the century latest.

      Dude, seriously. They’ll all be dead by then. I mean they’ve gotta be old men already.

      Yeah, the youngest I’ve heard is in his mid-fifties. But you don’t understand. This the long game. The Bilderberg Consortium was only started in 1954 a little after the end of the war. It was started by these guys’ fathers. They don’t care if they don’t see the realization of their goals. Their kids will. They’re like fanatics. It’s the end goal which is so important to them.

      Honestly Spidey, a peaceful world wouldn’t be too bad, said Joseph. Spiderman was telling a mesmerizing tale and Joseph was enjoying it. He didn’t buy it, but he was enjoying it.

      Yeah sure, but the way they’re gonna go about it isn’t gonna be nice and peaceful, and in order to maintain that so called peace, and spiderman put air quotes around it, they’re gonna rule with an iron fist.

      I dunno man, we’ve got bigger problems than some white dudes trying to create a new world order. I mean the terrorists, for example, will kibosh their plans if nothing else.

      Dude, that’s exactly my point, said spiderman, getting more animated than Joseph

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