Edge of Apocalypse (17 page)

Few people saw what Jerry and other media veterans saw coming. But most of the media insiders like Jerry found it easier to keep their mouths shut. After all, he had a family to feed and a job to keep.

By that time almost all of the nation's newspapers and magazines too had fled to the Internet. The print-publishing world had been facing financial ruin, so going electronic was a matter of survival. Television and radio had converted to a single Internet-based system of transmission; all forms of national news and information had now been transferred over to a single platform: the web. It was as if every media company had booked a ticket for themselves onto the same ocean-going cruise ship. But few people had asked the right questions: like who were the pilots of that vessel, and where was it heading?

Jerry and some of his cronies in the industry could see how it could become a ship of fools. The news conversion to the Internet had created the open door for a monopoly over all news and information that could be exercised by a few huge telecommunications companies.

And he didn't miss, either, the effect of the international takeover. Foreign nations used cleverly disguised sovereign wealth funds to buy up a controlling interest in America's news networks and the telecoms during the national economic crisis. Jerry would overhear Bob Kosterman's secretary telling him that the big investors from Paris, Moscow, Beijing, or Bahrain were on the line. He knew it wasn't just about finance. How could it not seep into the decisions that were being made about what news and talk programs to pull and which ones to keep? The same scenario was happening in every other TV network. And the radio syndicates too.

And as for Bob Kosterman's edict about deep-sixing the truth about the Jordan testimony, well, he knew his boss would never go against the flow.

Jerry mouthed to himself the two words he knew were behind what had just happened.

Jessica Tulrude.

In the mountains of Colorado, the members of the Roundtable were taking a break, milling around in the massive meeting room of Joshua Jordan's Hawk's Nest Ranch, grabbing sandwiches and drinks off the twenty-foot-long split-log sideboard. The large wrap-around windows gave a stunning view of the Rocky Mountains and a sweeping panorama of valley down below, full of deep green sagebrush and juniper trees, and a twisting river that ran down the middle.

Judge Fortis Rice, a tall, thin man in his fifties, was standing in front of one of the large plate-glass windows with his hands in the pockets of his Western-cut slacks, looking out.

"Josh, I never get tired of looking at that view of yours. Do you?"

Joshua Jordan shook his head and smiled. "Never."

People who visited his two-hundred-acre ranch often asked such questions. Although he didn't show it, it actually made Joshua feel uncomfortable. It was almost as if they were asking if Joshua was content when he was here. And, of course, he wasn't. He was restless. Despite his splendid varnished-log mansion, where there was always a faint smoky scent from its many fieldstone fireplaces and running jokes about the big grizzly bearskin on the wall, about who really killed the beast as it unexpectedly charged his hunting party, whether it was Joshua or his buddy and ranch security chief, Bill Lawrence. They had both fired simultaneously, and both were shooting identical Winchester Big Bore 94s, so the issue was never settled. Here was a place that spoke to Joshua's soul more than any other place on the globe. A place full of good memories of family and friends. A spot seemingly away from the business decisions that forever badgered and consumed him.

Yet he was never really at peace. Even when he was here.

"It truly is beautiful," Fort continued. "I've told you about the little place Darley and I have on the lake in Idaho. Nothing like yours, mind you. But I think I know a little about how you must feel when you're here. I keep forgetting to bring pictures of our cabin..."

"How's Darley doing, Fort? I know that Abby was looking forward to spending the day with her."

"Well, she's never been to Aspen. It was nice of Abby to put up with her insistence to see the place. Though for the life of me I don't know why she wanted to go. Maybe to get as far away from the Roundtable as possible. I wonder if she thinks we're just way too serious at these meetings, you know, all-business..."

Then Judge Rice turned away from the window abruptly, like he had just remembered something. "But no, Darley is doing fine. Just fine."

Halfway through lunch, Joshua brought the meeting back to order, and everyone sat down back at the long oval table, which was large enough to seat all fourteen members of the Roundtable.

As founder, Joshua was the permanent chairman. The Roundtable was comprised of five subgroups each with a separate focus and chairperson. Each subgroup had one or two additional associate members.

Judge Rice was the chairman of the law group. General Rocky Bridger headed up the national defense unit. The chairman of the media group was silver-haired Phil Rankowitz, a former television network president, current chairman of a satellite network, and founder of several experimental "new media" companies.

Beverly Rose Cortez, was in charge of the free-market business subgroup. Hers was a Cinderella story. At only twenty, she had developed her own clothing and jewelry line for a small single store in New Mexico. She then branched out with several high-end stores throughout the state a few years later. When her company finally went public, her controlling interest skyrocketed to nearly half a billion dollars. She was now on the boards of several Fortune 500 companies.

The political unit of the group was headed up by former U.S. Senator Alvin Leander, a short, fiery man who often spoke with a brutal kind of bluntness, who was familiar with the inner workings of the Washington beltway like few others.

The men and women of the Roundtable met regularly, at least quarterly and sometimes more often, usually at Joshua's Rocky Mountain ranch but occasionally at a few select, conveniently centralized hotels. They were all accomplished in their respective fields. But there was another more important thread that bound them tightly together.

After opening the afternoon session, Joshua turned things over to General Rocky Bridger, who said, "You all have the email I sent to you regarding the arrest of the preacher in San Francisco. There have been numerous incidents like this involving the enforcement of the international treaty of tolerance that America has been roped into. It's sickening, frankly. Judge Rice, I know you can update us on the legal side of things. But from my standpoint, it's another in a continuing series of attacks on our national sovereignty. The mere thought of U.N. officials with offices right here in America singling out citizens of a particular religious persuasion and reporting them to the federal authorities so they can be arrested. This is not the America I fought for. I know nothing about this preacher. But we have got to do something. Isn't this why we started this group in the first place? To try to take back the United States of America from those who are auctioning off our freedoms for international trading terms that lets us buy more cars from China while our own workers are out of jobs here at home."

Judge Rice weighed in. He was by nature a calm man. His excitement over such matters wasn't reflected in his demeanor but in the intensity of his ideas. "I've been in touch with a few legal organizations fighting these tolerance-related treaty cases. Unfortunately, there isn't any good news. In one case, a federal district court presided over by Judge Anne Plymouth ruled that the First Amendment takes precedence over the treaty. Sad to say, her decision was overturned by the U.S. Court of Appeals. That terrible precedent was then cited by another trial judge in Boston where a radio commentator was arrested for criticizing a local Muslim caliph and cited for violating that treaty. So, ladies and gentlemen, as the saying goes, I'm afraid we're on thin ice, and there's an early thaw coming. This all started with a resolution from the U.N. Human Rights Council back in March of 2009. It picked up steam over the years. Nation after nation signed on. And finally our Senate, urged on by our good president, signed it too."

Alvin Leander was ready to explode. "When is the Supreme Court going to resolve this travesty? If I was still in the Senate, I'd vote to move their chambers outside onto the sidewalk until they took one of these cases up for review--"

"The Supreme Court is not going to help us," Judge Rice replied calmly. "The two most recent appointments made by President Corland both favor international law. The globalists now hold a majority in the high court. They would likely affirm the treaty and adjust the meaning of the First Amendment accordingly. At least when it comes to the treaty's defamation of religion section. The court has already stated that crimes allegedly involving intimidation, even if it's just a matter of verbal or written expression with no violence, don't have protection under Freedom of Speech and Free Exercise of Religion. The language is already there from previous court decisions. I've been watching this happen for a while..."

Beverly Rose Cortez likewise had had enough. "This is simply outrageous. That a person cannot speak out about his own private religious beliefs...no matter what they are. And since when can't we as Americans speak our minds about the religious beliefs of others? So I suggest we consider fighting these cases. I will personally pledge a million dollars for the legal defense of this preacher fellow, whoever he is..."

Several other members began chiming in. Then...

"We're missing the forest for the trees, people."

It was Phil Rankowitz. He had been listening intently. Always the pragmatist, he had a scalpel-like ability to cut through to the heart of the matter. He took off his reading glasses and tapped them on the table to quiet the group. "We're missing it. Sure this is outrageous. And I could name a dozen other disgraceful crimes against common sense that are being committed by our government right now. Major infringements to our liberties as Americans. The slow, steady devolution of our nation into a socialist country that is becoming just an amalgam of one big global state. Every one of us could name similar atrocities. Things that would have burned into the hearts of our founding fathers and mothers and incited them to action just as surely as the revolution that actually occurred. But all of that is still missing the point."

"So what is the point, Rankowitz?" Alvin Leander's face was turning red.

"It's the old African proverb," he replied quietly.

"The what?" General Bridger asked.

"The proverb. It goes like this: 'When the lion tells the story, the lion always wins.'"

"More wisdom from the high lama of media," Leander muttered under his breath. The group broke into polite laughter.

"Well, laugh if you like," Rankowitz said, "but the fact is, whoever controls the vehicles of communication controls the message. And in a country where we still have a few remaining vestiges of a republic left, an informed electorate is a powerful tool of liberty. On the other hand, a misinformed public is a pretty dangerous commodity."

"So Phil," Ms. Cortez asked. "What do you suggest?"

"I move that we put our entire focus on one thing right now: our long-awaited media project. We've got to break the monopoly of silence that the big media conglomerates have enjoyed ever since all the news went digital. As a news guy, I can tell you this: the damage that is done by media's sins of commission, such as the wrong facts, skewed information, and biased reporting, can be devastating. But as bad as that is, it doesn't hold a candle to the real threat: journalistic sins of omission. Leaving the truly important stuff on the editing room floor because you simply don't want the people out there to find out about it."

"Is the timing right?" Judge Rice inquired.

"It couldn't be better," Rankowitz announced. "Josh, the media has tied you to a whipping post over this RTS situation in Congress. Twisting the facts. Making you look like a weapons huckster going after the fast buck rather than the patriot we know you are. Okay, that's their sin of commission. But will they allow your side of the story? No. So that's also their sin of omission. And that's where our revolutionary AmeriNews idea comes in. Our media group has the pieces in place. The tech guys have the kinks worked out. We're ready to load our news service onto every Allfone in America. We've got the investment capital. We've got the satellite service. World Teleco is willing to sign the contract. All we need is the green light from you folks here at the Roundtable."

"Josh, you've been pretty quiet on this discussion," General Bridger remarked.

"I was just thinking," Joshua replied. "I told my lawyer I wanted to go to court to do something about this attack against me. He told me that we had almost no legal avenues to retaliate against the leaking of this disinformation. At least none that would be successful. And he was sure that a lawsuit against the media for defamation simply wouldn't fly."

Joshua stopped for a moment and collected his thoughts. Then he concluded.

"On the other hand, just think about the importance of communication to the cause of freedom and national security in American history. The committees of correspondence leading up to the Revolution. The pony express during the westward expansion. The telegraph during World War I. Folks, I think it's time for us to join the ranks of those who came before us. It's time for our own revolution!"

TWENTY-SEVEN

In the north wing of the twelve-bedroom ranch lodge, Joshua and Abigail had their own private quarters and master bedroom. There was a terrace off their bedroom that opened out to a vista of the valley during the day and a canopy of stars embedded in a black sky at night.

After a long day they sat, side by side, rocking ever so gently on their matching rocking chairs. Joshua was taking gulps from a bottle of water while Abigail sipped a cup of herbal tea. She broke the silence in a soft, almost reverent voice.

"Is that the Milky Way?"

"Yeah. It looks like a trail of diamond dust across the sky."