Ridicule, shame and scorn must be visited upon the individual such they destroy themselves, and if unsuccessful, society must be manipulated to turn on and ruin the individual, whether justification exists or not.
The Eternal War | Doctrine | Society | Resentfuls’ Principle
It had been a very long day with doctors, final tests, results of these tests and final differential diagnosis coming in from around the world from the medical team Olivia had quietly recommended Mikel work with. All of the many pieces, conversations, messaging, done in secret, nearly invisibly hidden in his daily routine. Blood, spit, urine and genetic sampling done hourly and daily across a thirty-day span. All in such a fashion only Olivia and he knew of it. All others being kept in the dark, particularly the Watcher’s men who’d been pressed upon Mikel as his housekeeper, security detail and the two drivers.
There could be no doubt of it now, though. Someone’d been poising Mikel with mercury, methylated mercury in his food. All to make it look as if the poisoning was the result of a fish heavy diet. The most disturbing of all. As the results keep coming in. It’s becoming ever more evident given the neurological testing and a volumetric MRI, that a targeted energy weapon is being employed against him. Perhaps regularly. To what end though, is yet to show itself. Who and why would someone wish him to be living with Havana Syndrome?
Mikel, after the long and exhausting day, settles into the split rail giant cowhide sectional he’d had bespoke and flown in from the United States. The massive sofa built for him by Great Blue Heron. A sofa that barely makes a dent in the large living area of his DUO condo in Singapore’s Bugis neighborhood. As he sits back, scotch in hand, he prepares himself for the confrontation’s about to occur. The Watcher having arrived in town only minutes ago demanding Mikel await him at his condo. Seems not all things can be kept secret forever, not from those with immense power and access to nation state and better intelligence assets. Or when one’s ward begins to question, to really question.
Well, nothing for it but to confront. There could be no others responsible for the Parkinson’s-like symptoms Mikel had been living with increasingly over the past two plus years. Ever since he began to question the investment banking projects he was tasked with working on. Questioning why more and more funds were being laundered through deals and banks, pouring at ever greater rates into non-profits oriented to providing aid in large camps. The very camps a steady number of project financing deals, all backed by EU and US governments, were being put together and executed in order to build out very large camps.
Mikel smiles at Olivia, as she moves around the edge of the sofa, having exited the short hallway from the kitchen, a glass of Châteauneuf-de-Pape in hand, to sit down at the far end of the sofa. After smiling back, looking out the floor to ceiling glass windows over nighttime Singapore. Olivia who ‘s proven to not only be increasingly invaluable, but also a considerable enigma. Oh, her pedigree’s quite solid, everything checking out. But there’s something else there. Something not visible at all, yet powerful and profound.
How had she known what to do, how to do it. And how was she able to put it all together in such rapid and capable fashion. Never judge a book by its cover and pedigree. Sometimes, just sometimes, there’s far more there than can be seen. Things intentionally and quite effectively hidden. Hidden in plain sight!
“These games are played across very long stretches of time, decades and centuries if necessary.” The Watcher, an hour after the stern message, seated comfortably, imperiously, in the stuffed leather love seat in the office Mikel had established for himself, here in his DUO condo. The old man looking across to where his ward’s seated in the partnered stuffed leather armchair beside the oversized mahogany desk overlooks a Singapore night skyline. “One simply doesn’t rise up to the higher levels of the game, recognizing or not, without thereafter being a permanent target.”
“Wouldn’t do to allow anyone to become an independent actor?” Mikel, remaining as calm as he possibly can. He’d informed the Watcher of the testing and results upon their having settled into these seats. The Watcher’s two-man detail now moving about the five-bedroom condo. Mikel’s three-man detail ensconced in the den watching a soccer match. Olvia having taken the back bedroom to nap after a tiring day. The only evidence the Watcher demonstrates to Mikel’s statement, being a slight shrug.
“Am I to take it then some form of a final solution is in the later stages of being enacted?” Mikel, looking out the window, the reality processing and rebalancing within him.
“Impossible to kill enough of them in their own countries through war and man-made famine. Given modern connectivity and social media. The fact at least eighty percent of the world would not sit idly by and allow such genocide, no matter how cleverly manipulated and masked.” The Watcher merely looks on impassively as Mikel continues.
“Drive large numbers of your own into poverty, onto streets. While importing desperate immigrants in great numbers. Stir the undesirables to drugs and real violence against citizens in the West. Such citizens are forced to respond in order to preserve their lives and way of life. Ensure sufficient crisis to usher in the political leaders required and willing to bring about a final solution. A return to industrial scale genocide, though all so cleverly hidden and denied. With a population ignorant of or least in such a place of fear and anger as to look the other way.” Mikel breathes deeply, not quite finished with the thought.
“Allow the Marxists to pursue their replacement strategy to convince immigrants that it’s safe to flow in, while terrifying and deeply angering native populations. Backing this all up by preventing free speech, enacting and enforcing hate speech laws but only against natives.” Mikel pauses, the possibility of it all striking him fully. “With never an intent to allow the Marxists to prevail. All to usher in Fascist governments will carry out a structured slaughter far beyond what their Nazi forebears ever dreamed of.”
The shape of it’s taking form in Mikel now. “Usher the desperate, angry and increasingly violent into camps for their own safety and the safety of the citizens.” It seems so obvious now. No wonder so much effort had been put into preventing native populations in the West from protecting themselves, from having any say in who was forced into their communities, funded and living better than most locals.
Native, mostly tolerant populations in the West, having become increasingly comfortable since WWII, needing to be forced into a place of actual hatred. The kind of hatred is only obtained on the other side of genuine fear that is denied remedy. Of course, wouldn’t do to have any elites, true elites, get in the way of a twenty or more-year global operation like this. And so they, any elites would not go along with it all, would need be used and sidelined, killed off, where and when necessary. After all their assets and relationships have been used to further the cause. And this, until it was all too late to stop. Which is exactly where Mikel, having seen the funds flowing into these things in vast numbers, tens of trillions of dollars, believes the West now is. Or very nearly.
“Keep me sick, so I can’t make sound decisions and as such I will continue to find ways to fund the operation in my small part. At your wise and sound guidance of course. And if I resist or push back, kill me off with plausible deniability.” The Watcher merely nods slightly. Ever so slightly. Mikel can now see there’s no intention on the Watcher’s part to allow Mikel to survive the night. The very recognition of it doesn’t shock Mikel, but it does fuel his every nerve and cellular process. Primes him for physical action.
He might very well not make it through the night alive. Could very well be. He’s not ready to give up just yet though! There’s no talking himself out of this, not with what they’d already done to bring him close to death. There has to be a way however.
But how? How does he get past this aging yet still quite dangerous man and the five killers spread about the condo? This is only just beginning to rise up and emerge within his mind as he hears a thud outside the door to his office. A mere instant before the door flies inward, two heavily armed and armored men flowing through the door like murderous dancers, one clearing the room while the other, standing, his back to the wall just inside and to the left of the office door, points his silenced rifle unswervingly directly at the Watcher’s face.
Only five long heart beats behind the two men now standing casually with weapons trained on the Watcher, a tall blond haired and pale blue-eyed, immaculately dressed man enters, casually and calmly. A step behind whom Olivia follows wearing light body armor beneath the linen jacket she’d been wearing all day. Seems she hadn’t been napping, after all. As the tall man looks to the Watcher. Olivia smiles at Mikel ruefully, both concern and a twinkle in her Singaporean Chinese eyes. So, there is something quite more about her.
The tall man to Mikel, “Your Royal Highness, my name’s Bertrand and these are my men.” Motioning with his left hand to the two men he has been careful not to cross into the field of fire of. The two men moving aside, one to the left and the other to the right as this tall Bertrand moves between them towards the glossy wooden desk.
Turning to the Watcher, who has yet to make a move, recognizing well the imminent threat to his life. “Monsieur Sionneau, yes we know who you are. Your men are all dead.” Taking a moment for the situation to settle into the Watcher who’s yet alive for some reason.
“You will of course have already realized we’re jamming and that the emergency alert you’ve pressed upon your phone has not and will not go through.” Bertrand pauses again to let this settle in. The Watcher, sitting back in relaxed fashion, his body’s preparation for movement spent.
“It’s a small matter. That a signal’s no longer being received is a signal in itself. No one will leave the area alive.” It’s not a threat. Merely a statement of what his seasoned and contingency prepared self believes is true. He knows what’s out there in the dark, as he caused it to be so.
Bertrand nods in recognition. “We imagined as much.” Turning to Mikel, “Peter, your Royal Highness, we’ve perhaps five minutes before the net is closed around this building and surrounding areas. Sokhranyayte svoi voprosy. We’ll have time for them later.”
The tall blonde man turns once more to the Watcher, their eyes locking in a form only those of real power in the world are capable. A clash of wills with physical death as the only possible outcome, if not immediately, then one day. “His Royal Highness is no longer in your care. We thank you, but we’ll take it from here.” Bertrand passively looks on, letting the fullness of it all play out within the Watcher. The Watcher merely nods. He knows what comes next. What was always coming for him one day. That it’d taken this long spoke volumes of his capacities. Well, everyone’s capacities run out at some point.
As Bertrand turns to Prince Peter, the man to Bertrand’s left oh so gently squeezes the trigger of his silenced rifle, twice, putting two rounds less than a quarter of an inch apart into the bridge of the Watcher’s nose. This death doesn’t startle Mikel, once more Peter, at all. What does is the absolute lack of reaction in Olivia who’s looking directly at the Watcher as his head moves back, then collapses forward, his body slumping lifeless into the love seat.
“They’ve laundered trillions, in all the many wars of the past twenty years, used them to fund political activities, to buy politicians and entire governments, to steadily increase the numbers of assassinations, color revolutions and regime changes, etc.” Peter, the tension of it all finally flowing out of him in the form of this admission forcing its way out of his mouth uncontrollably.
“Your Royal Highness, you’ll have time to share your knowledge with our analysts. Once we’ve gotten you to a safe location. That man’s people should be in the building already and should be just about closing the net around the building and neighborhood here.” Bertrand states, pointing for the two men to proceed him out the door of the office, to lead along the preplanned path to the stairs will take them down to the service tunnels beneath the DUO. Olivia and Peter falling into step just behind Bertrand as they all exit the office and move to the servant’s entrance in the back of the kitchen, to the stairs hidden there.
As Olvia falls in just a step ahead of Prince Peter, he takes and squeezes the top of her right arm, without stopping. “Believe we’ve much to talk about.” Olivia places her left hand over his hand on her arm, looking back herself, not stopping, to smile briefly at the formerly lost but now returned Russian royal.
“When we’re safe and secure, Prince Peter.” The sound of his name, the name he was born with and has hidden all these years. That it is coming from these people, whomever they may really be. There is something soothing and right about it. Not exactly a return home, as his mother, his father and siblings are all now long dead. Not exactly a return home, but at least a return to reality and to life can only be experienced when living in reality.
“So?” The Germanic tinted voice on the other end of the secure sleeve encrypted Iridium sat call.
“They’re all dead and left where they fell. These were professionals, the shots highly precise. Unknown number of assaulters but could not have been more than two or three.” The powerfully built man wearing a dark navy suit states. “Not a single sign remains to identify who.”
“How?” The voice on the other end of the satellite connection.
“Looks like they entered through the balcony window in the back bedroom. They must have repelled down from the roof in through the window, very quickly. Given the amount of time involved, the confined space of the balcony and need to reduce visual signature when outside the building. There couldn’t have been more than three of them.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a canister on the kitchen counter which tests for heavy concentrations of mercury. Which was placed next the remains of what looks like an energy weapon which looks to have been broken out of an end table in the main room.”
“A message then. All of it.”
“Would appear so.”
“How did they escape your net?”
“Seems they had drugged the security guards in the video surveillance center with a sleeping agent. While using powerful magnets to destroy local hard drives. We were unable to replay video capture from anywhere in the building. There’s a remote copy, of course, however it looks like it was hacked remotely and compromised also. Only our arrival and presence are in the video. We’ve erased the remote copy as well.”
“So, you have nothing to identify who they are?”
“No. We have nothing. Whoever they are, they’re very capable, with seriously capable capacities.”
“Would seem they also knew all of it, exactly who, what and how to strike.”
“Yes. This all looks like a message, sir.”
“Understood. You know what to do. Come on back, to the alternate.”
“Understood.” The well-dressed, muscular and well-groomed darker skinned man hangs up the sat phone. Turning to the two men in the apartment who had moved as far away from him as they could to give him privacy for the call, while still being within line of sight in the event of, whatever. The threat not perhaps being completely gone and over.
The man puts his gloved left hand up in the air, his pointer finger extended, moving the hand around in a slight circle, then pointing to the main door to the condo. His men turning and moving towards the door. There’s nothing for it now but to remove themselves. There will be many questions the local authorities will have once this all comes to light. Sometime within the next hour or two, when the heavy narcotic has worn off in the systems of the security guards. He and his people will be long gone by then. All the way out of the tiny country at the tip of the Malay Peninsula.
Before crossing to where his men are posted up beside the door. He places the mercury cannister and energy weapon remnants in a trash bag he’d found beneath the sink. Once he’s confident there’s no signature remaining but the dead, he turns and crosses the room to his men, allowing them to proceed him out the door.
This seasoned man had been in many actions around the world. Dark and dirty work in the shadows of the big game. He’d seen many things. All types of deaths, minor and gruesome. There’s something about this one however, something leaves him with a deeply uncomfortable sense something’s coming. Something unpleasant. A real fight. Somewhere, sometime. He can’t know when or exactly how but it is coming. He can feel it deep in his bones. A fight unlike any he’d ever been in before. The thought is both exhilarating and disconcerting. In the twentyish years he’d been in the wet work business, and ten years in the intelligence community before. He’d never seen anything this precise and clean, so brazenly done.
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