

CAN'T MAKE IT HERE ANYMORE

BY

R. BRENT NELSON

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 R Brent Nelson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART ONE- THE RALLY

PART TWO- THE TRIAL

PART THREE-THE SONG

PART FOUR- THE TARGET

PART FIVE-THE END

WE CAN'T MAKE IT HERE ANYMORE

"By our readiness to allow arms to be purchased at will and fired at whim... we have created an atmosphere in which violence and hatred have become popular pastimes."Martin Luther King, Jr.
PART ONE-THE RALLY

PROLOGUE

Lansing, Michigan, May 15

Jimmy Parsons could not have imagined what was about to transpire. The birds did.He watched as three chickadees, perched on the statute of Austin Blair, Michigan's Civil War Governor stopped singing and darted away. Jimmy meandered through the crowd, noticing a man with a sign, which read: "You want my Gun Hastings? Open Wide!" The sign depicted a gun pointed at a large, open mouth. Next to the man was a little girl, no more than ten, smiling and waving an American flag.

Tim Wilson, the Chief of Staff to Congressman Brent Hastings, skipped up the steps in front of Michigan's majestic State Capitol Building. He grabbed the microphone attached to the podium and opened his notes. Before he could speak, two loud shots echoed through the crowd. Jimmy held his breath as Wilson's body slammed onto the concrete steps. He ducked his head to avoid being hit with an object hurled from somewhere near the podium.

A seeing-eye dog left his master and ran toward the podium. Jimmy lay on the ground, hearing the sounds of semi-automatic weapons and the screams of men, women and children as they fell to the ground to avoid being hit. The dog returned to his master's side and dropped an object at his feet. The man picked it up. He turned to Jimmy, but before he could ask the question that was on his mind, twelve bullets ripped through his back. He fell to the ground and began to cough up blood. The dog whimpered and licked the old man's face. Jimmy picked up the substance in the man's hand and realized he was holding part of Tim Wilson's brain. Jimmy gagged on the garlic pizza that was still in his throat.

When the gunfire stopped, he surveyed the scene. The concrete in front of the podium was stained with blood. Hundreds of people were scattered across the landscape, some motionless and some cowering next to Blair's statue. There were those who were nursing their wounds, others who had breathed their last breath. Signs that had minutes ago been carried proudly by the crowd were now strewn across the expansive Capitol lawn. One young woman with a Stop-the- Violence button was screaming for all of those who were still alive to hear: "Why? Why? Why?"

Jimmy cursed himself for taking a job with Brady Meyer, who, he now believed, had created the atmosphere, which led to the madness he was witnessing. He cradled the old man in his arms, knowing that there was nothing he could do for him.The dog placed his head on the old man's lap. Jimmy's gaze fell on the little girl who had, minutes before, stood next to her father. She was face down in a pool of her own blood, still clutching the flag. He wondered how far away the chickadees were now.
CHAPTER ONE

Venice, Florida, six months earlier

Jimmy reached into the pocket of his suit coat, pulled out his last antacid and popped it into his mouth. When he had arrived at Brady Meyer's office, over an hour ago, he had an entire roll.

"I'm sure he will see you very shortly, Mr. Parsons," Meyer's secretary assured him. "You know what a busy man he is."

"Of course. I'm really in no hurry."

Jimmy had been planning for the interview for months. The night before he stayed up until 3am studying the pod-casts covering the last three months of Meyer's nationally syndicated radio show. He believed he understood not only what made Meyer tick, but the issues that had recently been the focus of the show. "My friends," he could hear Meyer saying, "I am the Oracle of the Free World, the all-knowing fountain of truth, and I am telling you that your Constitutional rights are being threatened by the terrorist-loving, America-hating crowd in Washington. The folks who are running your government need to be taken out. We need to clean house and that means we're going to have to use every weapon at our disposal. When I say every weapon, I mean every weapon, including thermonuclear devices. There is too much at stake, folks. The progressives in this country are traitors and do not deserve to live here."

Jimmy had graduated from Hillsdale College earlier in the year and had searched in vain for a job with a Conservative think tank. His grades weren't quite good enough to warrant the attention of recruiters and he was running out of savings. When he saw the ad for a research assistant for Brady Meyer, he jumped at the opportunity, having listened to Brady Meyer since the age of fifteen. Jimmy started listening when he came home from school and saw his father glued to the radio after he had lost his job. Jimmy was thrilled when he got the phone call inviting him to Venice, all expenses paid. He was willing to dump his girlfriend in Hillsdale if he received an offer from Meyer. After all, she had only taken to him because he feigned a British accent when they first dated.

As he sat in the waiting room, Jimmy shifted the position of his legs. He had wanted to be alert for the interview, so he started the day with three cups of coffee. He had succumbed to the secretary's offer and had two more cups while he waited for the interview. He had to relieve himself, but didn't want to leave just as Brady Meyer called him into the office. You don't want to keep Brady Meyer waiting. You also don't want to piss your pants during the most important job interview of your life, so he decided to ask the secretary where the restroom was located. As he got up from his chair, she told him that Mr. Meyer would see him. No time for the restroom now, he thought.

When he entered Meyer's office, he immediately noticed the extensive number of photographs featuring Meyer and various dignitaries. There was Meyer golfing with the elder George Bush, Meyer shaking Billy Graham's hand and Meyer on a yacht with Tony Blair. The only person he did not recognize among Meyer's collection of photographs was a voluptuous blonde in a low-cut evening gown. Jimmy assumed it was Meyer's wife.Meyer did not get out of his Italian leather chair to greet Jimmy. He extended his right hand from a sitting position. His left hand held a Cuban cigar. Jimmy was not prepared for the strength of Meyer's handshake. The man easily weighed 320 pounds.

"So you want to do some research, Jimmy boy. Sit down, sit down."

"Yes sir. I do."

"Do you mind if I light this cigar?" Jimmy had an aversion to cigar smoke but was not about to deny that pleasure to his idol now.

"No, not at all."

"Good. I want you to know that I don't usually like to interview potential employees. I decided to only interview a few candidates and picked your resume out of the stack because you seemed like a nice, young virtuous man. I see you went to Hillsdale, which is a great school and that your grades weren't outstanding, but that's fine. I would be suspicious of anyone with really high grades. Now tell me, what experience have you had doing research?"

Jimmy had heard Meyer criticize higher education on his show and was not surprised by his lack of respect for good grades. "Well, one of my assignments in college was to research the campaign promises made in the last four Presidential elections and determine, after the fact, if they'd been met."

"And?"

"And I found out that more than 60% of the promises were wholly unmet and another 28% were largely unmet, meaning that 88% of the promises were largely or wholly unmet."

"Of course, of course. I knew that. That's not really research. Have you ever tried to dig up dirt on a candidate?"

"By dirt, you mean, something embarrassing in the candidate's past?"

"Precisely."

Jimmy's mind raced through the previous research he had done. The cigar smoke and fact that the coffee had filled his bladder did not help him concentrate. He shifted his legs again.

"I can't recall at this time."

"That's all right. Do you remember the name Juanita Broderick?"

Jimmy hesitated again. The interview was not going well. He wanted to impress Meyer but did not want to get caught in a lie. "I don't think I do."

"Don't worry. Her fifteen minutes of fame occurred before your time. In 1995, I sent a research assistant down to Arkansas to interview some of the bimbos that President Clinton had tapped. One of them was Juanita Broderick. It took him three weeks to track her down. When he called me from his hotel one night, I was blown away. Ms. Broderick had told my guy that Clinton had forced his way into her apartment and raped her. He had a taped interview with her. I told him to send me the tape to me immediately. We were able to play that tape on my program the next day and subsequently the national media picked up the story.Hell, even NBC News had a full ten minutes devoted to it on their nightly news. My point is, research can sometimes involve travel and hard work. Would you be able to do that, Jimmy?"

Jimmy grabbed his crotch in attempt to reverse the mounting pressure. Meyer reached over his desk and placed his hand on Jimmy's thigh. Meyer's toothy grin only increased Jimmy's discomfort. "Sure but what if we find out that our sources are lying?"

"Jimmy, let me tell you something. We are not here to judge the veracity of someone's story. If a brave woman like Juanita Broderick is willing to face the scrutiny of the national media, we should give her a platform and let the American people decide whether she's telling the truth. You got it?"

Jimmy just wanted to get out of Meyer's office. "Yes sir."

"Good, you're hired." Jimmy and Meyer shook hands. Jimmy rushed out of Meyer's office and whispered one word to the secretary "Bathroom?"

She pointed him to the restrooms that were some 50 feet down the hall. Jimmy covered the fifty feet in 12 seconds. When he left the restroom, he went back to see the secretary to find out when he could start his job. He was sure he had botched the interview. What, he wondered, did Meyer see in him?

CHAPTER TWO

Lansing, Michigan

Jimmy's first assignment was to "investigate" Congressman Brent Hastings. Meyer was very explicit in explaining what he wanted Jimmy to do. "Jimmy boy," he said, as he wrapped his massive arm around Jimmy's neck. "This guy Hastings has been after me for years. I need you to find something, anything, in his background, that I can use on the air. Can you do that, Jimmy boy?"

Meyer put his right fist on Jimmy's head and twisted it around.

"Well, I'll give it a shot."

"Good, you can start by going to Michigan and talking to folks in his district. There's got to be someone there who has a bone to pick with that smart ass."

Jimmy booked a flight to Lansing, Michigan. He didn't know where to start his search for "dirt" about Hastings. Although Hastings had served in the Michigan Legislature before heading to Congress, Jimmy was surprised to learn that virtually no one at the Michigan State Capitol who served with Hastings was still around because term limits had led to a constant turnover of legislators.

After checking with the Senate Fiscal Agency, he learned that there were several employees of the Legislative Service Bureau, an agency that helped draft the bills for the Legislature, who were employed during Hastings's tenure in Lansing. He decided to set up an appointment with an attorney who had worked at the Bureau for 28 years.

The attorney greeted him as he entered the offices of the Bureau.

"Mr. Parsons, I presume. Come in, come in."

Jimmy followed the attorney into his office, overlooking the State Capitol.

"What can I help you with?"He had been careful not to mention that he was employed by the Brady Meyer show. It would have been too obvious that he was only mining dirt and the attorney would have been less likely to talk to him. "I'm with an independent research agency in Washington and .."

"Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a card?"

Jimmy had been prepared for such a question. He told the attorney that since he had just started his job, the business cards had not yet arrived. Jimmy then told the attorney that his company was doing a study on how term limits affected the way state legislatures worked with their support staffs. After he had asked a few generic questions, Jimmy honed in on Brent Hastings.

"What can you tell me about the direction Hastings provided to you with regard to legislation?"

"He was very direct. He knew what he wanted in a bill and laid it out very specifically. I think he was one of the better legislators in that regard."

"Was there anything you recall about Hastings, anything at all, that you thought was unusual?"

The attorney tilted his head and stared into Jimmy's eyes. "I thought you said this was about term limits. That question is way off the mark, son. Since you don't have a business card, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The attorney stood up and pointed to the door. Jimmy gathered his papers and turned toward the door. He stopped and said, "One more question, if I might."

The attorney tapped his fingers on the desk. "All right, but make it quick."

Jimmy knew this might be his last chance to get help from the Bureau. "I understand the Legislature passed a bill last year that allows concealed weapons to be carried in schools and day care centers." The attorney nodded.

"My question is did the Legislature previously expand gun rights, say maybe 20 years ago?"

"Yes they did. Several times in the 80s and 90s. "

"Is there anywhere to check how someone voted on those bills?

"The Legislature's website only has the votes on bills going back to 1998. However, you can go to the State Law Library, which is located in the Michigan Library and Historical Center, and go through the Senate Journals. You will find out who voted for the resolution there."

"Thank you."

Jimmy did all he could to avoid running out of the attorney's office. He stopped at the receptionist's desk and got the address for the Michigan Library and Historical Center. It was only a few blocks from the Bureau.

It took Jimmy the better part of the day to finally track down a pro-gun bill that was enacted when Hastings was a State Senator. He took his notes and walked out of the building to call Meyer.

Meyer had just concluded his broadcast for the day and took Jimmy's call.

"What do you have son?"

"I was able to find out that when Hastings was a State Senator, there was a bill that went through the Michigan Legislature that prohibited local governments from enacting any law restricting gun ownership."

"I'll bet that son of a bitch voted against it."

"No," Jimmy paused. "He didn't."

"What? Do you mean to say that socialist voted for the bill?"

"No, he wasn't there. The vote was 31-6. He was the only one not voting that day. In fact, that was the only day during the entire session he missed."

Brady pondered the situation. "Was it an excused absence?"

"No, I've got the journal here and it doesn't say he was excused. I'm sorry I couldn't come up with more dirt, sir."

"Never you mind, Jimmy boy. Just catch the next flight back here."

"Will do."
CHAPTER THREE

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer's broadcast on the day following his phone conversation with Jimmy started with a customary attack on Hastings. "My fellow Americans, I have in my formerly unwashed hands, a copy of the Michigan State Senate Journal for October 13, 1990. It shows that Congressman Brent Hastings, when he was a State Senator, was absent from the Senate when they passed a very important bill, protecting the Second Amendment rights of God-fearing Michiganders. I think that's how they say it up there. At any rate, ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed by a reporter about the reason that Mr. Hastings was not there that day and you're not going to believe it. Mr. Hastings, instead of standing up for the rights of gun owners, was holed up in a sleazy motel with a 17-year old girl. I think the good people of Michigan should be outraged by such conduct. Not only did he miss an important vote, he was having sexual relations with a teenager. My God, the man is 56 years old. Come on, Michiganders, throw the bum out."

Meyer smiled as he removed his headphones and motioned for Jimmy to come into his booth. "You wanted me?" Jimmy asked.

"Jimmy, thanks for your hard work on this. I'm going to refer all inquiries aboutthe 17-year old girl to you."

"But, sir, I had no idea why Hastings did not vote that day."

"You don't have to admit that, Jimmy. Just assert your journalistic privilege."

Jimmy left broadcast booth shaking his head.

When Brady returned to the airwaves, he did not let up."I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I was overcome with grief. We know that this country has experienced some horrific mass killings, including school shootings in Connecticut, Colorado and Virginia. Had more people been armed in those locations, the number of innocent people killed could have been drastically reduced. And yet, Congressman Brent Hastings, because he was more concerned about his libido than his duty, did not allow the good citizens of Michigan to arm themselves in order to prevent such massacres. Can you believe it, folks? This man has got to be stopped. We can not be governed by those who are more interested in a little nooky with a rookie playing hooky than with keeping us safe from tough cookies." At the next commercial break, Meyer treated himself to another cigar.

Washington, D.C.

Tim Wilson, the Chief of Staff to Congressman Brent Hastings hurried into his boss's office. Behind Hastings were the flags of the United States and Michigan. There were pictures of Hastings shaking hands with three Presidents on the wall.

"What's got you so fired up today, Tim?"

"Sir, FAB News has picked up on the Brady Meyer story that you were having sex with a 17-year old in 1990. I think we need to respond."

Hastings swiveled in his chair. "I'm not going to, Tim. If they dig too deep, they'll find out where I really was that day."

"What were you doing, if I may ask?"

"I really can't tell you now. Maybe when I step down from this god awful job."

"But, isn't it far worse that the people think you were shacking up with a teenager?"

"No, unfortunately, I couldn't admit to what I was doing that day at the time and now, the people will think I was ashamed of what I did and kept it under wraps all this time. Besides, if only FAB News picks up the story, we should be okay."

Tim shook his head and left Hastings's office.

CHAPTER FOUR

Flint, Michigan

Trenton Fuller could not believe his ears. He had listened to Brady Meyer almost everyday for the last ten years and on numerous occasions had been moved to throw his plastic coffee mug across the room when Brady informed his listeners about the radical elements who were running the government. At times, there would be coffee in the mug and he would order one of the privates in his militia to clean it up. He was appalled when Brady announced that Congressman Hastings had supported a bill in Congress to ban automatic weapons and require extensive background checks. Today's broadcast was even harder to take. The Congressman, someone from Fuller's own state, had failed to vote for a bill that stopped the meddling municipalities from infringing on his Second Amendment rights and he did so because he was engaged in statutory rape at the time.

Fuller had just finished a three-year stint in the Air Force and was in Paris on his honeymoon.He and his new bride Maria were having a late lunch outdoors at a café. His wife got up from her chair to go to the restroom, which was located inside the café. Within minutes she came back to the table in shock. "Trenton, the World Trade Center has been attacked."

"Attacked? Attacked by what?"

"Two airplanes, each one hitting a different tower. I saw it all... inside on television." Maria sat down, grabbing the arm of the chair for support.

"Baby, let's go inside and make sure this was not a hoax."

"It's not a hoax, dear. You can go inside and see for yourself. I don't think I can move now."

"All right. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Trenton made his way into the café. There were thirty people leaning over the bar to see the one television in the place. He muscled his way to the bar, elbowing two young women as he did so. He was mesmerized by the events he saw on the screen, the planes ripping through the towers, then the towers imploding and cascading to earth where they would forever remain. He stayed in the café for 45 minutes before returning to check on Maria. When he arrived at the table, there was no Maria. The plates they had been served were still there, with Maria's half-eaten croissant still on her plate.

"Maria, Maria," he shouted. He looked down the street and saw a van stopped at a light. One of the patrons pointed to the van and yelled "Le femme, le femme!" Although his French was very poor, he understood immediately and began running toward the van. The light changed just as he caught up to the van. The van took off. Trenton raced back to the café and asked the waitress to call the police.

One of the policemen spoke English and Trenton was able to recount the events that preceded Maria's disappearance. The policeman assured him that they would immediately begin their investigation and urged him to go back to his hotel. He returned to the hotel but found no trace of his wife. The next day, the police informed Trenton that someone walking past the café had seen her talking to two young men who were consoling her for America's great loss. They had apparently asked her to accompany them to see people covering an American flag with flowers two blocks away. The witness saw the young men escort Maria to the van.

It took the Paris police four more days to find Maria's body, in a dumpster behind another café several blocks from the one where Trenton last saw her. The two hoodlums who raped and killed her were convicted of murder, but only served seven years in jail. He blamed the loss of his wife on the fact that he couldn't possess a concealed weapon in France, as he did in the U.S. Had he been able to take his Bushmaster 223 rifle with him, he could have shot those bastards. Were it not for their attack on 9/11, he would not have been drawn into the café and Maria would still be alive. He also regretted the fact that Maria could not carry a pistol, even though she was licensed to carry one back in the States. On the plane trip back to the States, Trenton drew up a plan to avenge Maria's death. With the inheritance from Maria's wealthy family, he would start a militia group, the Mentula Militia, The militia would be trained to kill anyone deemed by Fuller to be the enemy with whatever force was at his disposal. Ten years later, with the knowledge that a Congressman from Michigan would have prevented him from carrying in Michigan the very weapon that would have saved his wife, Fuller would finally have a chance to use his militia to implement the plan.

CHAPTER FIVE

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer usually began his broadcasts by talking about current events. At times, he would begin with a diatribe concocted from his own thoughts.

"My friends. Your Second Amendment rights are in danger. The government in Washington wants to take away your guns. Make no mistake, folks. The administration has had this on their agenda from Day One. According to a report I just received from the distinguished Federalist Foundation, the government wants to disarm law-abiding Americans. Now, they claim they only want to ban assault weapons, but we know that once they ban assault weapons, they will move on to banning all hand guns. If you want to go back in history, you'll see many parallels. Hitler wanted to disarm law-abiding citizens in Germany. He was able to take guns from the Jews so they couldn't fight back when he started the Holocaust. Saddam Hussein disarmed the Kurds and was able to kill thousands of them before we, the American people, stopped him in his tracks. The Supreme Court has ruled that every man is entitled to own a gun in this country and the executive branch wants to unilaterally deprive us of the right to carry a gun, like our Founding Fathers intended. Let's take a call from Phil in Omaha. Go ahead, sir."

"Hello, Brady. You're doing a great job."

"Thank you."

"I'm so fed up with the federal government telling me what to do and

then threatening to take the only freedom I really need, the freedom to defend myself, I'm thinking of...

"Now, Phil, I don't want you to go out and shoot someone."

"But this country is going down the tubes..."

"I know, I know. How many guns do you own?"

"Seven."

"And have you ever been convicted of a crime?"

"Of course not."

"Okay. Let's keep it that way. Are you worried that someone may take these guns away?"

"Absolutely."

"Well you should be. You know that's the first thing Hitler did. And just like in Germany, the law-abiding citizens of this great country are being threatened by this administration. When Obama was re-elected, he told his supporters 'We can now crack down on gun ownership.' He's using the Newtown tragedy as an excuse to take away your guns. We can't let this happen folks."

Following the broadcast, Jimmy Parsons, his new assistant producer, caught up with Brady in his office. "The President didn't really say he was cracking down on gun owners, did he sir?"

Brady smiled. "I'm sure that's what he probably intended. He said the country had to do something. Who else could he be cracking down on? At any rate, Jimmy, it's not a question of what he said. It's what we say that counts."

Jimmy shook his head and left Brady's office.

CHAPTER SIX

Venice, Florida

The next day, during one of the commercial breaks, Jimmy approached Brady Meyer again.

"Mr. Meyer, the overnights are in. Yesterday's show was a big hit, even in the 19-24 age group."

"How long have you been assistant producer, Jimmy?" Jimmy's heart was racing. He had tried to impress the great Brady Meyer, but now he wasn't sure he should have interrupted him during the show.

"Three weeks, sir."

"Let me tell you the reality, Jimmy. Ratings don't mean a thing today. Our show is bought and paid for by Charles David Aruma, the major stockholder in Buy-More-Now. He doesn't care about ratings. As long as we put on shows that he likes, we'll be fine."

"You mean we shouldn't try to get more advertisers or even try to keep the ones we have?"

"Jimmy boy, we should always try to get more advertisers. Hell, Buy-More-Now stores want to sell more guns and they really love it when we promote gun rights. However, do you remember when Ben Glick was hounded by the left wing when he went after that slut who was promoting contraceptives?" Brady poured himself a big mug of coffee and stirred in three tablespoons of sugar.

"Sure."

"He lost a slew of advertisers, but his show kept right on going for two more years. Why? Because he had a sugar daddy. Someone who was willing to buy the time that the advertisers who bolted didn't. We've got a sugar daddy, Jimmy."

"Then we should try to do more shows on gun rights?"

"Yeah, but it's going to be hard to come up with new material. What can you say after you've said every man, woman and child should own a gun?"

"What if we invited one of those gun show organizers as a guest?"

Brady smiled. "Not a bad idea, Jimmy boy. He can tell our listeners what guns they could buy at his shows. You get someone lined up and I'll do a promo. If you do this, I'll tell you the secret of my success." Jimmy went directly to his office and began googling gun shows.

Buy-More-Now stores accounted for more than 25% of all gun sales in the country. Aruma called Robert Dachmer when it looked like Congress was about to enact legislation to ban the sale of armor piercing bullets. Dachmer agreed to use FAB News to oppose this legislation. After a three month campaign that featured nearly all of the FAB News commentators, Congress not only didn't enact the legislation, it passed a bill that permitted Buy-More-Now and other retailers to see armor piercing bullets on line. The FAB News commentators, night after night, made their case for Mr. Aruma.

Brady Meyer was the most outspoken. "My friends, you've heard the hue and cry about the need for gun control. Well folks, rest assured, that a majority of the guns on the streets of America are made right here. The gun manufacturers are the folks who create the jobs. The Administration in Washington wants to make it harder for you to exercise your Constitutional right to bear arms. We can't let this happen. We must tell Congress to back off their efforts to cripple this industry. If they succeed, they will be able to cripple all small businesses as well. Why, under the current Administration concealed weapons permits have outpaced gun sales, which means we could be selling lots more guns. Folks, the gun industry keeps our economy booming. The little people in this country invest in gun stocks and if we burden those companies with excessive regulations, the pension funds and the stock portfolios of our seasoned citizens will take a massive hit. We shouldn't be worried about a few deaths here and there. Why, when Australia implemented tough gun control laws, the crime rate went up. We need to get off the back of one of our most important industries, let them compete with the countries whose gun companies get funding from the government. My

God, if we disarm our citizens these other countries could send armies over here with automatic weapons and mow us all down. Let's take a caller from Denver. Tom, you're on the air."

"You know, Brady, I listen to you everyday."

"Thank you. I feel a "but' coming."

"Yes, I don't believe the majority of guns in America are manufactured here. I can't think of an American manufacturer of guns, come to think of it."

"Tom, have you ever heard of Ruger? How about Remington? You've never heard of Smith and Wesson? "

"Well, my point is that the majority of guns are not made here, as you stated."

"Now, Tom. What I said was that the majority of guns on our streets are made here. I'm not talking about the hunting rifles used in the woods. You're missing my point, which is that this Administration is not tolerant of gun manufacturers and we've got to put a stop to it."

Even after another caller questioned Brady's claim about crime in Australia, Jimmy Parsons did not challenge his boss. He knew that the number of mass killings had decreased to almost nothing in Australia since the new gun control laws had been enacted, but he wanted to keep his job and said nothing. Jimmy also knew from growing up in Coldwater that you didn't challenge authority. He had questioned his fifth grade teacher's reliance on creationism and had to sit in a corner for three days. He would not relive that experience now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gageville, Michigan

Ben Fellows turned off the radio in his clothing store in Gageville, Michigan, following the conclusion of the Brady Meyer show. Gageville was located in central Michigan, some 35 miles northwest of Bay City. Until recently, Ben owned the only clothing store in the town of 3500, which he had started when he was a young man. When the Buy-More-Now store opened, his days were numbered. He tried to sell only products made in America, but there weren't enough clothes made in America to make it work. So he put a sign in the front window that said "No products sold here are made in China" and began selling shirts from Singapore, sweaters from South Korea and ties from Thailand. One of his long-standing customers came in the day after the sign went up and said, "I don't see the difference between China and Singapore, Ben. I might as well go to Buy-More-Now and spend $10 less for a shirt." Today a new sign was in the window.

As he examined a stack of brand new men's dress shirts, his son walked in.

"Hey, Pops. What's that sign mean, going out of business?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to close, son. I talked to the bank yesterday and there's no way I can get financing to keep this store going."

"You've got to be kidding." Ken hit his head with the palm of his massive hand. Ken was four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than his father. " Can't you file for bankruptcy again?"

"Nope. It hasn't been eight years yet."

" What in hell are you going to do with this stuff?"

"I don't know, son. There's really no market for it. I may have to donate it to charity."

"Whoa, let me see if I need any of it first."

"Go right ahead. You may find something you could use on a job interview."

"Yeah, right." Ken looked past the dress shirts and grabbed a casual shirt.

"I'm serious. You're going to have to help me get through this. I may have to find a job myself."

"Oh come on, Pops. No one's going to hire you. Besides, I was supposed to inherit this store and now I've got bupkus. I don't have to help you through anything,"

Ben clenched his teeth. He had saved for years for his son's college education. After his wife died, Ken was the only thing he cared about. But before Ken's first semester was over, he had dropped out. That was three years ago and Ken had done virtually nothing since. The boy hadn't even tried to get a job and had been very little help in the store. Ben was tempted to tell his son that they'd both been better off if he'd stayed in college, but he knew Ken would remind him about the next-door neighbor's kid who got his degree and was still looking for a job 9 months later.

"Son, we've got to face reality. I'm not sure I'm going to have any money left when this is all over."

" Say what?"

"I'm serious, son. I've been wiped out. I've got a lot of creditors to pay and I'll have to sell the house."

"But you won't get diddly for the house in this market."

"I know, son. I've got no choice. I've tried everything to keep this store going."

"Yeah, Dad. Like that big Uncle Sam character you had out in front of the store."

Two years ago, Ben had bought a used 30-foot inflatable likeness of Uncle Sam, with sunglasses, from a car dealer who had gone out of business in Detroit. It had taken him all night to blow the thing up and he put it on the sidewalk in front of the store, hoping to attract customers. The only persons attracted to it were a policeman who wrote Ben a ticket for blocking the sidewalk and an inebriated teenager who tried to climb the inflatable figure one night. The teenager fell onto the sidewalk and broke his hip. His parents sued Ben for maintaining an attractive nuisance and Ben had to settle the suit at a cost of more than $80,000, after deducting for his insurance coverage.

"Ken, we were just unlucky enough to have hit a downturn in the economy. It's even worse in Michigan."

"Pops, Michigan is a shit hole. Besides, the economy is not coming back for guys like you. There's no room for the small businessman in this country anymore. They will bail out banks and big corporations, but there's nothing for the little guy."

"Now wait a minute son, the new Governor has given small businesses a tax break."

Ken pounded his fist on the counter.

"Jesus Jennie. Don't you realize that the only way you were going to survive was to have people buy your clothes? If all the tax breaks go to businesses, most of whom can sell their stuff overseas, no one will be able to buy anything."

Ben tried to maintain his calm. "Look, son, the tax breaks also went to individuals."

" Oh, I guess you're right Pops. The middle class lost their payroll tax cut while the richest 1% of Americans kept their tax breaks. Ain't that swell for your business. This store is probably crawling with hedge fund managers."

"Son, this is a great country. Don't run it down."

" What has the country done for you lately? And by the way, why don't you call Brady Meyer and see what he can do for you?"

Ben bit his lip. "Look, son. I know you don't agree with him, but he speaks for the little guy you are so concerned about."

"Oh right, Dad. Like the multi-millionaires who got all the tax breaks he was demanding. He gives lip service to you and other small businesses. But he's bought and paid for by the fat cats who have made a killing in this economy. None of the big boys pay any taxes, pops. General Electric, Exxon, Goldman Sachs, none of them. It's the small business guy and the ordinary citizen who's getting screwed."

Ken stormed out of the store and headed to his favorite bar, Rosco's.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gageville, Michigan

Ken's best friend, Ron, was playing pool at Rosco's with Tony when Ken walked in. The jukebox was playing a Leonard Cohen song:

"Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

Everybody knows that the war is over

Everybody knows the good guys lost

Everybody knows the fight was fixed

The poor stay poor, the rich get rich

That's how it goes

Everybody knows."

"What's happening dude?" Ron asked.

"I'm getting screwed up the asshole, that's what. My dad's going to lose his business and he'll have to sell our house"

"No way man. You promised me a job." Ron dropped his pool cue.

'Way, bucko. I'm really sorry."

"Sorry? Oh man, I got nowhere to go."

Ken clenched his teeth. "Tell me about it."

Ron put down his cue stick and sat down at a booth with Ken. They ordered two Miller Lites.

"Hey dude, you gonna finish this game?" Tony yelled.

"You win, man. I got to talk to my man Kenny here."

Ron had returned from Iraq 3 1/2 years ago. He would remember one incident from his deployment for the rest of his life.

He had been on patrol in a small village and had just handed out candy to a bunch of small children. One of the children, a girl about 8 years old, had smiled broadly after taking a piece of red licorice from Ron and dawdled momentarily as she went back to her family. The delay was costly. As she looked back at Ron some 200 yards away, a loud explosion rocked the stillness of the morning. Ron instinctively dove to the ground, holding his helmet and closing his eyes. When he looked up, he could smell the distinctive odor of burning flesh. The land was littered with debris. As his eyes panned the horizon, he saw something that sent a chill down his spine.

"It can't be", he told himself. Yet as he crawled closer to the object, it's vivid shape left no doubt. When he was within three feet, he began to cry for the first time since he was a young boy.

A child's hand, no bigger than his belt buckle had been severed from its body and thrown more than 150 yards. The hand still clutched the licorice that Ron had held no more than five minutes ago. Ron pointed his rifle at the source of the explosion, but there was nothing left to shoot at.

Ron Palmer did not sleep that night, nor the next night. His buddy Carl told him he should see the medic, but Ron told Carl he could handle it without having to see a shrink.

Ron stuck it out in Iraq for three more months. When he was discharged, his girlfriend convinced him to seek help from the nearest VA hospital. It took 6 months to get an appointment with a psychiatrist. He drove three hours to get there, taking off time from his minimum wage job at the local hardware store. When he arrived at the hospital, he was told the psychiatrist was busy. So he waited two more hours and got in to see the doctor 10 minutes before the building was scheduled to close.

"So what's the problem soldier."

"I can barely sleep at night. When I do sleep, I get up suddenly and fall on the floor, covering my head."

"Well, soldier..."

"Look, doc." Ron grimaced. " I'm no longer a soldier. I've been out for 6 months. I need something to settle me down."

"Okay. I've got to close up now. Here's a prescription for something that should help."

The doctor handed Ron a prescription for Paxil.

"Why don't you come back again in a few months."?

The doctor stood up and walked toward the closet to retrieve his coat.

Ron stared at the prescription for a few seconds.

"Let's go soldier...I mean sir."

Before his next appointment, Ron woke up suddenly one night when he heard a car backfire outside of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. He screamed and began choking her. She was able to struggle away from his grasp and called 911. He was charged with felonious assault, pled guilty and spent 13 months in prison. When he got out, Ken picked him up and drove him to the apartment. His girlfriend would not let him in.

After staying at Ken's Dad's house for three days, Ron moved into a dilapidated trailer on the outskirts of town. His conviction made it easier for the owner of the hardware store, who was struggling to make ends meet anyway, to decline to rehire Ron.Soon thereafter, Ken began talking about hiring Ron to work in his Dad's clothing store. Ron had been unemployed for 10 months.

Now, Ken and Ron sat down at the booth near the pool table, drinking their beer.

"When I was growing up, Kenny, my father told me I wasn't smart enough to go to college but that in this state, it didn't matter. I could always get a job in the auto industry. By the time I was 18, there were no auto jobs. I enlisted, hoping to get a job when I got back to the States. That didn't work out either. I'm telling you Kenny, I can't go on like this. I've got no job, a lousy home, no girlfriend and no future. I may have to have to end it all."

A waitress approached the booth and asked if they needed anything.

Ken waved the waitress away.

"Ron, Ron." His voice was discernable only to Ron. "Give this some thought. I know it looks bleak, but you don't want to let them win. You put your life on the line out there and what did this country give you in return? Zippo. They promised that they'd take care of you and they'd like nothing better than to terminate their obligations to you. You can't let them win. "

"I don't know, man. I guess I don't really care if they win."

" You can't mean that, bro. They owe you. You know who made money on this war? The CEOs of Halliburton and Blackwater. And none of their kids signed up for the war. In fact, this was not a war fought for our country but for them and by spending all of our money on defense contracts, there's nothing left to support guys like you when you come home. We've got to change that."

"Okay, let me give this some more thought. "

Ken's cell phone rang.

"It's Kaylee. I've got to take this call. Now, you stay put and don't do anything rash. Let's have lunch on Friday. I'll have something worked out."

Ken threw a $10 bill on the table and walked out of the bar.

Tony grabbed a pool cue and approached Ron's table.

"Come on, Ron. Let's finish our game."

"All right, Tony. I'll be right there. Just give me a minute."

CHAPTER NINE

Gageville, Michigan

Tony and Ron went back to their game of pool. Ron had lost all interest in the game and sunk the 8 ball prematurely. Tony gently grabbed Ron's arm as he headed back to the booth. Tony had a smile that suggested he was the only one in the room that knew the inside joke.

"I heard some of your conversation with Ken, man. Ken's right you know. We've got to change things. I know some ex-GIs who have formed a militia group. You might want to see what they're up to."

"I don't know. I don't even own a gun."

"I don't either. I hunted with my Dad for twenty years but had to give up my rifle when I went to jail. Anyway, you don't need a gun to attend their meetings. There's one tonight at this place just east of town. I'll join you if you want."

Ron sipped his beer. "Yeah, I guess I've got nothing left to lose." As Ron twirled the cue stick in his hand, the jukebox was playing James McMurtry's "We Can't Make It Here Anymore."

"Minimum wage won't pay for a roof, won't pay for a drink

If you gotta have proof just try it yourself Mr. CEO

See how far 5.15 an hour will go

Take a part time job at one of your stores

Bet you can't make it here anymore.".

Ron and Tony arrived at the militia meeting around 8 pm, just as it was getting started. The building looked like a barn from the outside, but it was more respectable inside, one giant room with a cement floor. There were chairs and tables scattered throughout the room, making it look like an auditorium.

About fifteen men were seated in the chairs, most of whom carried some form of weapon. On the wall above a small podium was a picture of Timothy McVeigh. In the corner of the room stood an American flag made in China. Ron and Tony tried to take seats in the back of the room but within a few minutes, a tall, crew cut man wearing an Army uniform confronted them.

"I need to see some ID."

"Sure," Ron said, pulling out his wallet.

"We can't be too careful these days. A militia group in Ohio was recently infiltrated by the FBI."

"Hmm... Ron Palmer and Tony Crandall. Rick, run a check on these names."

"We'll get started as soon as we compare your names with the list we have of FBI agents and local law enforcement personnel."

Within a few minutes, Rick gave the all-clear sign and Ron and Tony took their seats. Another man in Army fatigues approached the podium.

"Welcome to the Mentula Militia. I am Trenton Fuller, your Captain. I see we have some new recruits in the back. Can you two identify yourselves?"

Ron looked at Tony and Tony spoke with a barely audible voice. "Yeah, we're just visiting. Tony Crandall and Ron Palmer."

"Are either of you former military?"

Ron finally spoke. "Yea, U.S. Army, Iraq."

"Welcome, soldier."

"Tonight we want to discuss the treaty that the Administration in Washington will be signing soon with Russia that will require us to relinquish our guns. We can't allow this to happen. Congressman Brent Hastings is a big proponent of this proposal and, as we've said before, he is our number one target. Remember, Hastings is a big fan of Muslims, the people who attacked us on 9/11. We can't allow this proposal to succeed. However, it is my belief that we have to bide our time for a while. That is, of course, unless Congressman Hastings makes a public appearance in our state. Until then, we'll continue our field training."

Two rows in front of Ken and Ron, an elderly gentleman with an AR-15 stood up and screamed: " We've been biding our time for too long, we need to act now."

"I hear you, Cliff, but we don't want to be rounded up like a herd of cattle and driven off the cliff. We've got to pick our battles. You saw what happened to the militia group in Ohio. They tried to shoot a couple of police officers and then set off some IEDs at the funeral that would follow, but the government spied on them and thwarted their plan. We must be careful in our plans so the authorities don't find out. Now, I want each of you to keep your ears to the ground and call me if you see any opportunities developing for promoting the new order. If you hear that Hastings or any other left wing radical is coming to Michigan, let me know right away. If you don't have my phone number, see me after the meeting. At this time, I want to call up Burt Hopkins, who will do the invocation." Fuller watched Ron and Tony closely as Hopkins led the group in prayer.

The meeting lasted about 45 minutes and despite some fiery rhetoric, not much was accomplished. Afterwards, Tony asked for Fuller's phone number. "Don't call me on your cell," he said. "The government can track us on it. Use one of these disposable phones." Fuller handed Tony a TracFone, just like the one he had himself.

On their way home, Ron asked Tony what "new order" meant.

"It means that we are going to take back our country. For too long the so-called progressives have had their way. "

"But killing police officers doesn't help. Most of the police officers I know are pretty damn conservative. Besides, I don't think we ever lost our country."

" The police officers are agents of the existing order. If we kill enough of them, nobody will want to be a police officer. Eventually, the good hard-working people will demand that we get a new government." Tony smiled broadly.

"I don't know. Police officers are a lot like military. Low pay, lots of sacrifice, no appreciation."

" Yeah, I would really prefer it if we knocked off some of those left-wing kooks, but they don't seem to congregate as much as the right wing crowd."

" I'm not sure killing police officers or left wing kooks does anything for me. We need to quit seeing political opponents as enemies. I fought what I thought was the enemy in Iraq, but I'm not so sure now."

"The enemy is here amongst us, Ron."

Tony smiled like he knew where he and Ron were headed.

CHAPTER TEN

Venice, Florida

One of the assignments that Brady Meyer gave Jimmy Parsons was to scan the news releases and press stories from Congress. One day, Jimmy spotted the following item:

"Associated Press. June 15. Congressman Brent Hastings (D) of Michigan's 7th District today introduced legislation that would subject broadcast stations to heavy penalties for programming that was later determined to have incited violent actions by listeners or viewers.Hastings issued a statement indicating that he believed his bill, if enacted, would restore some civility to the discussion of public issues, something that he finds lacking in the current programming schedule of most broadcasters. The Chairman of the Committee that would take up Hastings' bill, Charles Brachman, had no comment on the legislation. However, the ranking Republican on the Committee, Harrison Watkins from Tennessee, lambasted the legislation as designed to muffle conservative radio talk shows and stifle significant viewpoints on public issues, contrary to the First Amendment.

There are 35 co-sponsors to the Hastings bill. A date for committee action on the bill has not been established. Hastings introduced a similar bill in the last session of Congress but no action was taken on the bill."

Jimmy brought the story to Brady Meyer. "What do you think Boss?"

"What do I think? What do I think? Why Jimmy boy, we're going to pull out all the stops on this guy. Get me this bill. We can't let this guy get away with this."

"Mr. Meyer, do you think you could tell me now the secret of your success?"

"Of course, Jimmy. The secret of my success is to never admit that you're wrong or that you misspoke, even when it's true."

"But with all the fact-checking that's done today, haven't you been burned before?"

"I was burned once, Jimmy, and that's how I learned the secret. When I was first starting out I claimed that Reagan had actually reduced the deficit in his first year. Some smart-ass caller recited actual economic data that proved me wrong and I had to admit that I might have misspoken. Then the guy replayed my actual words that he had taped. I'll tell you, I lost a lot of listeners that day. But I bounced back and have never admitted a mistake since. The more you can fan the flames of controversy, whether its' true or not, the bigger your audience. As for fact-checking, you can always find another source to rebut some clown's figures and when all else fails, you can use the John Kyl defense."

"What's that?"

"Just say that you didn't intend to make a factual statement. Kyl's spokesman made that claim when Kyl was caught saying that 90% of Planned Parenthood funding went for abortions. It was actually only 3% at the time, but thanks to his spokesman, Kyl danced out of that little problem. He never admitted that he was wrong and if anyone challenged him, he could say his spokesman misspoke. Hell, I was reporting the 90% figure long after Kyl conceded it wasn't accurate and my listeners still believed it. Now Jimmy, when is the Committee going to take up the bill?"

"I'll find out and let you know. Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure, Jimmy. Shoot."

"How does promoting more guns on the street help us out?"

Meyer patted Jimmy on the shoulder. "Remember when I told you about sugar daddies?" Jimmy nodded. Well, Buy-More-Now stores sell more guns than any other store in the country and Mr. Aruma is our sugar daddy. We've got to help the man out."

Meyer continued his attack on Hastings when he took to the air that afternoon.

"My friends, you've heard my thoughts about Congressman Hastings, that radical socialist, before. I've told you how he failed to vote for a bill as a Michigan State Senator that would have strengthened the Second Amendment rights of our citizens. Now, Congressman Hastings is not only supporting bills in Congress that would obliterate those rights, he is also supporting a treaty at the U.N. that would allow confiscation of your existing weapons. Folks, if the passengers on the flights that killed more than 3,000 innocent American civilians on 9/11 had been armed they could have shot those Muslim terrorists. You may say that arming all our citizens would lead to more violence, but the opposite is true. If the people in that movie theatre in Aurora, Colorado had had guns, the mad gunmen wouldn't have killed as many as he did. If the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary School had been armed, they could have shot Mr. Danza before he killed those children. We'll take a call from Des Moines, Carl, go ahead please."

"Brady, I'm not so sure arming everyone is a good idea. Those people in the movie theatre were in the dark. They could have panicked and shot each other."

"Carl, let me tell you. I'm talking about making sure that people who own guns are trained."

"But then you're talking about having the government ensure that they're trained, aren't you?"

"No, no, Carl, not the government. The local gun agencies can do the training. I don't trust the government."

"But surely, someone in the government would have to check to make sure the gun owners get the proper training."

"I trust the NRA and the local groups more than the government, Carl. We can't have the government interfering with our Second Amendment rights."

Following the show, Jimmy handed Meyer a copy of the bill introduced by Hastings. "Get Brachman on the phone," Brady barked.

As Brady lit up a Cuban cigar, Jimmy lined up the call with Brachman.

"Mr. Chairman, how goes the battle?'

"Pretty good, Brady. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I understand you may be holding a hearing soon on this silly bill introduced by Congressman Hastings. Can I send you some proposed questions for the witnesses?"

"Sure. Anything I can do for you. You've been good for my career."

"And I want to continue to help you, sir."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Washington, D.C.

Congressmen Hastings called his Chief of Staff into his office. "Have a seat Tim."

"What's this all about?"

"I've made up his mind not to run for re-election. I'm not sure what I will do, but I won't stay in Washington. I wanted you to be able to make your own plans, but you can't tell anyone else, including your girlfriend. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course, but can you tell me why you've chosen not to run? This proposed legislation of yours could be a real winner. The voters are sick of the partisanship in Washington and I believe we can convince them that your legislation can reduce the vitriol in the public debate and perhaps prevent violent episodes from occurring."

Hastings pondered what Wilson told him. His wife had never wanted him to be a politician, but she had stayed with him. She begrudgingly agreed to move to Washington, knowing that the personal attacks on his character would get even more despicable. She knew why he had missed the vote on the gun control bill in Lansing and had forgiven him for it.

"Look, Tim. I don't have the stomach for another election. I've faced the voters in six consecutive elections and the demands of fund raising have been worse with each election. The polls are showing me trailing my expected Republican opponent by a significant margin, thanks to Brady Meyer's assault on my character. Given the Supreme Court's decision in Citizens United, my opponent can raise substantially more money than I can. As for my legislation, I think most of the voters don't believe that talk shows contribute to violent activity."

Hastings let his words sink in with Wilson. As he did so, his mind drifted back to a previous session of Congress when his bill to revive the Fairness Doctrine, a policy abandoned by the Reagan administration went nowhere. He encountered the opposition to it by Free Channel, a multi-billion dollar corporation based in New York that owned 125 radio stations. He vividly recalled a conversation he had had with Lawrence Collins, the CEO of Free Channel shortly before he had introduced the bill. Collins had told him that if he didn't introduce the Fairness Doctrine bill, he would raise $300,000 for his campaign. When Hastings told him that the amount would exceed the statutory spending limits, Collins told Hastings that Free Channel had plenty of employees who would be asked to raise that amount.

"Okay, I'll give this legislation a college try, but I have no desire to serve another term in this circus."

"All right. Thanks for letting me know. You may be the only Congressman in the last 50 years who gave up his seat for something other than a high-paid lobbying job. Anyway, I believe the Free Channel boys are out in the waiting room. Do you mind if I sit in?"

"Of course not. Send them in."

Lawrence Collins led his entourage into Hastings's office.

"'Congressman, its good to see you again."

Three Free Channel employees, two white males with suits and a young, well-endowed female, with a white blouse, the top three buttons of which were unbuttoned, accompanied Collins. Hastings shook hands with each of them and as he did so, the female employee bent over so that Hastings could get a good look at her cleavage. He smiled and looked directly at Collins.

"I'll bet you folks want to line up in support of my legislation."

"No, Congressman. We want to let you know that we think that such a bill will do great damage to our industry."

"Your industry? Aren't the airwaves owned by the public?"

"Well, Congressman, we believe that penalizing stations for airing controversial programming is contrary to the First Amendment."

"Even if the programming inspires people to go out and kill?"

"Well, we don't believe the programming you're talking about occurs all that often."

"I happen to have here in my hands a paper prepared by an independent research group that documents 85 instances in the last two years in which a radio station has advocated violence, either by way of the host, a guest or a caller."

Collins tried a new tact.

"It is our view, Congressman, that the future of public debate is on the Internet, which has been largely unregulated. In fact, there are Internet radio stations right now that provide listeners with daily access to talk shows. It would be unfair to subject broadcast programming to a higher standard than the Internet, which offers the same type of programming but would not be subject to your bill."

"Mr. Collins, you know and I know that there are millions of listeners of radio talk show programs. I doubt that these Internet radio stations you speak of have more than a few thousand."

Collins frowned. This wasn't going as he had planned.

"Congressman, can I have a brief moment with you alone. I have something that might interest you."

Hastings hesitated but then asked his Chief of Staff to leave the office. Wilson bit his lip but then shuffled out of the office, followed by the entourage that Collins had brought with him.

"What information do you have, sir."

"Look, we're willing to contribute $700,000 to your campaign if you drop this bill.

"That's quite a bit more than last session."

"Under the Citizens United Supreme Court ruling, we can spend an unlimited amount to buy advocacy ads on your behalf."

" My answer is the same, though."

"All right. If you don't drop the bill, we are prepared to buy advocacy ads on behalf of whatever opponent you may have this year, to the tune of $1.5 million."

"You can't buy my support, Mr. Collins."

Collins leafed through a folder on his lap and pulled out a photograph. He threw it on Hastings's desk. "We're prepared to leak this to the press."

Hastings took one look at the photograph, which depicted he and another man in the throes of lovemaking. He rose from his chair and began walking toward the door, opening it for Collins.

"Congressman, we haven't finished..."

Without waiting for Collins, Hastings yelled "Tim, get in here. We need to ask for that hearing."

Collins grabbed his coat from the rack without saying a word to Hastings's secretary. The three employees followed Collins to the elevator. "Here's $50" for a cab," Collins told them, "I've got to make a call so I'll take the limousine alone. Oh, and Cindy, you can button up now."

As soon as Collins was seated in the back seat of his limousine, outside the Rayburn office building, he dialed his cell phone.

"Mr. Aruma's office."

"This is Lawrence Collins. Put me through to Mr. Aruma."

"One moment."

"Lawrence, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Aruma, Hastings is not backing down from his bill."

"You made him the offer?"

"I did indeed. He doesn't seem to care that we would be bankrolling his opponent. In fact, he wouldn't even let me finish my pitch. He didn't even react when I showed him the photograph."

"Well, Lawrence. You know how I feel. If this bill passes, I won't be supporting any of your programming."

"But, Mr. Aruma. Mr. Meyer's show would still be as popular as ever."

"Look, Lawrence. I am not going to spend my money on a program that will trigger a left wing tirade, which directly contradicts the message I'm trying to send. My stores sell a lot of guns. I don't want the average American to be afraid to shoot someone in self-defense because the government would then be able to analyze the programs they've listened to. "

"Okay, okay. We'll have to beat this guy."

"You're damned straight we will. Who is the Chairman of the committee that would hear this bill anyway?"

"Congressman Brachman."

"I may want to throw some women at him. Now, I want you to call Brady Meyer and tell him to go into attack mode. He's got to use his program to create a groundswell of public opinion against the bill. If it means digging up something on Hastings, so be it. I'll take care of the other members of the committee. "

Collins heard a loud click as Aruma hung up the phone.

"Driver, Reagan airport. On the double."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Alexandria, Virginia

George Dawson was combing his cupboards for anything edible when he got the call from one of Aruma's henchmen. He had been out of work for 6 months and had barely been able to scrape up enough money to pay his last month's rent. He was overjoyed when he heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Aruma would like you to line up a Thai prostitute for Congressman Austin Brachman. This is going to be a rush job so we'll send an advance to the post office box you gave us. Is it still good?"

"I was about ready to turn it in, but it's still good. How much is this one going to net me?"

"100 grand. And we don't want to hear from you again."

Dawson gulped. He had hoped to continue to earn $20,000 every 6 months or so and keep going for another 5 years. But this looked like the end of the road with Mr. Aruma. Well, 100 grand should take him a long way. He might be able to move into a decent apartment now. "All right. As soon as I get the advance, I'll go to work."

"As usual, George, we can't be traced to this one."

When he hung up the phone, Dawson went directly to his address book to locate his contact at FAB News.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer had received the message. He knew he had to follow through. It was in his make-up. Brady had been raised by a single mother who struggled to put food on the table. The food eaten by Brady and his mother was not the most nutritional available. As a result, Brady began a life-long battle to control his weight. He was bullied and harassed throughout his elementary school years. Some children called him weighty Brady. He did not have many friends and was puzzled when he had his first erection watching fellow male students in the locker room after gym class. When another student noticed the bulge in Brady's gym shorts, he yelled, "Brady's a queer." Everyone in the gym laughed. Brady vowed that he would be faithful to anyone who supported him. The gun lobby had supported him since the inception of his program and he would be faithful to them.

"Folks, this is Brady Meyer, the moral authority of the airwaves. I am endowed by my creator with unlimited wisdom. In our next hour, I'm going to have a lot to say about an issue that is threatening to bring an end to this program. I want you to stay tuned and consider the next hour to be a call to action. But first, I want to tell you about a threat to our Second Amendment rights. The Administration in Washington is on the verge of signing a treaty with Canada that will allow both countries to confiscate your guns. We have a special guest, Allen Simpkins, a man who has organized and promoted gun shows throughout the country. The more guns we buy, folks, the harder it will be for them to confiscate all of them. Welcome, Allen."

"It's good to be with you, Brady."

"Do you have any gun shows coming up, Allen?"

"Yeah, we've got one next week in Ft. Wayne, Indiana and one next month in

Clearwater, Florida."

"Can you tell our listeners what they might expect at one of these

shows?"

"Sure. We will have about 75-80 gun dealers who set up their displays.

The dealers will have between 50 and 300 guns for sale. All kinds of

guns, rifles, shotguns, antique guns, handguns, even some assault

weapons."

"Now, tell us about these assault weapons. They were subject to a

federal ban at one time and it looks like the Administration is trying

to revive the ban."

"You're right, Brady. Reviving the ban would be counter-productive. If

you look at the history of this issue, the fact is the assault weapon

ban didn't work. We had an assault weapons ban from 1994 to 2004.

During that time, we saw that 45 states had the same number or more

homicides from assault weapons than in the ten-year period prior to the ban. Australia tried an assault weapons ban and their crime rate increased."

"Pretty convincing."

"It sure is."

"So you could go to a gun show and buy an assault weapon in just about any state?"

"Yes. You might have to transport it in the trunk of your car, however."

"Let's take a caller from Idaho. Helena, is that right?"

"Yes, Brady. It is. I have a question for Mr. Simpkins."

"Go right ahead."

"Mr. Simpkins, do I need a license to buy an assault weapon?"

"Well, I'm glad to see that your female listeners are interested in assault weapons, Brady. As for the question, it depends on the state. Some states will require that you apply for a license before you own certain firearms, including handguns and assault weapons. In Idaho, for example, you wouldn't need one."

"What about background checks?"

"Yes. Most gun shops are required to make you undergo a background check. However, if you go to a gun show, in most states you can purchase a firearm from a person who is not a dealer and forego the background check."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous."

"Not really. It reflects the true spirit of the Second Amendment. Persons should be able to buy firearms from other individuals at any time they want."

"Now, Allen, you brought with you an AR-15 with you today. That's the weapon that killed all those kids in Newtown, right?"

"Exactly.

"How much is that?"

"I would sell this for $800."

"Great. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll give you 800 smackers right now and give this away to the fifth caller. Jimmy, let me know when you have the fifth caller on the line."

Jimmy signaled Brady when the fifth caller was available. "Whom am I speaking to?" Brady asked.

"This is Charles from Atlanta."

"Charles. Would you like an AR-15 for your very own?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, it's yours and I'm not going to ask whether you are of age, mentally stable or a felon. Just give Jimmy the address of the air and we'll put it in the UPS truck today."

"That's terrific."

"Well, thank you Charles. We'll go to a break now."

At the break, Brady shook hands with Allen and headed off to get a cup of coffee.

Jimmy caught up to him in the break room. He had had serious doubts about some of Meyer's statements in the past, but he thought none of them had been capable of doing any damage. This one was different.

"Mr. Meyer, don't you think you might be creating an atmosphere of violence by giving people guns and telling them can buy guns at gun shows without a permit? Who knows who might end up with a gun?"

"Jimmy, I'm only trying to let my listeners know the truth and the truth is what I ordain it to be."

"But everything that Mr. Simpkins said was not quite accurate."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after Australia passed their assault weapons ban, they never had another mass shooting like the one that prompted the ban. I also checked and there were far fewer homicides after the assault weapons ban."

"Jimmy, let me tell you something. The other side is the master of the misleading statement. They do it all the time. Now, was Mr. Simpkins' statement false?"

"No, sir."

"Of course not. Now, Jimmy, we're in a war. A war of ideas. And the idea that the assault weapons ban makes no sense is the idea that Simpkins wanted to convey. If a couple of people are confused about that idea, it's their problem. The larger issue is that we have to arm our listeners so it will be harder for their guns to be confiscated. Comprende?"

"Yes, sir."

Jimmy recalled a story that his predecessor, Bill White, told him on his first day on the job. White was eager to escape the tirades of Brady Meyer and was showing Jimmy around the studio.

"When Brady's father died," White whispered, "the President called to offer his condolences."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope. The President of the United States called and Brady was on the air so I took the call. He said to be sure and tell Mr. Meyer that he was very sorry to hear about his loss. So I caught Brady at a commercial break to let him know. He screamed at me, told me he didn't want to hear any messages from the President. I told him I thought the President was reaching out to him. He told me he didn't want me to tell anyone about the President's call. If his listeners found out, he would be ruined."

White continued the tour. Jimmy wondered for the first time whether he had made the right decision to agree to work for Brady Meyer. After the break, Meyer opened up on Hastings.

"It's time we put a stop to the socialist takeover of this country. It is unthinkable to me that we have someone in Congress, the Congress of the United States, who is advocating and pushing legislation that would turn the control of editorial content on the airwaves to some bureaucrat in Washington. You, the people of the United States, through the free market, should be able to determine what shows should be on the air and what shows are too violent for you. What Congressman Hastings wants to do is to require, mandate, indeed order all broadcasters to put on some liberal crap on television and radio even though you the American public don't want to watch or listen to that nonsense and even though the liberal programming promotes just as much violence as conservative talk shows. Its' time we stood up to this socialistic clap trap because it will ruin this country. It will force me and others like me off the air. Please call your Congressman right now and tell him or her to oppose HR 3412. If you don't, you may not be able to listen to my program anymore. After you call your Congressman, be sure to send for your personally autographed picture of me, for only $25. Proceeds will go to help with my campaign to stop this bill."

Jimmy Parsons shook his head. He knew that the proceeds from the sale of the photographs would go directly to Meyer's hefty bank account.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lansing, Michigan

It was the phone call that convinced her. She had called Richdale earlier in the week and spoken to one of the staffers. "How's he doing?" She had not anticipated the response.

"He keeps walking around the building, some 8 or 9 times a day. When we ask him what he's up to, he says he's just circling the drain and pacing the cage."

Chesterina Angstman wanted to get her father out of the Richdale Retirement Village, at least for the day. When she had moved him out of his house some two months ago, she had promised that she would see him once a week. She had lived with her father for more than 50 years before deciding to get her own apartment. In that time, her long brown hair had turned pure white.

This would be the seventh Friday that she had visited Henry Angstman at Richdale, just outside of Lansing, Michigan. On the previous six visits, she had lunched with him in the village's dining room. They usually finished lunch a little after 1 pm and went up to his room for a nap. Today, she would take him to the new Italian place a few miles from Richdale.

As she walked the long hallway that led to her father's door, it seemed as if someone had sprayed every inch of the walls with disinfectant. She knocked loudly on his door to be sure that he would hear her. After what seemed like 10 minutes, he answered the door.

"Hi, Chesterina. Come on in."

She gave him a gentle hug, careful not to re-injure his back, which he had been complaining about since trying to move his sofa after the moving company left it in the middle of his living room. A picture of Chesterina and her father in front of the Mackinac Bridge hung on the wall. The picture was taken a year after her mother had died. Chesterina was fifteen and had begun to develop quite a figure. At that time, her father began calling her Chesty. He had named her Chesterina because he had hoped to have a boy and admired President Chester Arthur because he started the Civil Service System. He had a hatred for people who got ahead only because they knew someone.

Chesterina. What a horrible name. Her goal, since she was five years old, had been to raise enough money so she could go to court and change it. Change it to something feminine. Roberta, Josephine, Paula, anything that may have been converted from a boy's name yet was acceptable in society. "You're looking great, Dad. I thought I'd take you out for lunch today. "

His smile became a frown.

"What is it, Dad?"

" I just don't feel like going out today."

"Look. I come to see you just once a week. You never get out and I'm really tired of the food here."

Her father abruptly rose from his lounge chair. "Okay, Chesterina. Let's go to your restaurant."

Chesterina grabbed his arm gently. "Dad, tell me. Why don't you want to go out?"

"Well," he paused. "If you must know. I don't like to miss the Brady Meyer show."

"What?" Chesterina's eyes widened. " You would rather listen to some silly radio show than spend time with me?"

"It's not a silly radio show. It's the only thing I look forward to every day. Brady Meyer is trying to save this country."

Chesterina shook her head.

"Have you ever listened to him?"

"Well, I've caught a little of his rant every now and then. In my view, Dad, he's just a blowhard."

"Okay, Chesterina. I'll make a deal with you. I'll go to lunch, but on the way home, you've got to listen to him."

Chesterina bit her lip. "Fine, Dad. Let's go."

She helped her father put on his hearing aids, then opened the door for him so he could steer his walker through the opening.

Chesterina had the linguine special with clam sauce and her Dad had a plate of spaghetti. She paid for the meal with her credit card. She had cancelled her father's credit card after he had given the account number to a scam artist over the phone six months ago. When she finally convinced him to move to Richdale, Chesterina had also put her name on her checking account and kept the checks with her at all times.

They left the restaurant at 1:15 and turned on the radio as soon as the reached the car. Brady had already started his program.

"My friends, the socialists in Washington are at it again. In the midst of a long and deep recession, they want to increase funding for victims of domestic abuse. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for helping battered wives or battered husbands or battered babies, but the states should be the ones to provide any needed protection for these poor souls. It's the states, after all, who know what the magnitude of their domestic violence problems are. The federal government shouldn't dictate solutions to these problems and you the taxpayers should not have to pay for a domestic abuse problem in another state. Folks, if your state is able to curb domestic abuse, you shouldn't pay for a state like New York where such abuse is rampant. We can't let this happen folks. Let's take a caller from Cleveland. John, you're on the air."

"Brady, I agree with you on most things, but you've got to realize that the states don't have the resources to deal with domestic abuse either. The state budgets have been cut dramatically in recent years. There's no way they can control this problem."

"John, let me ask you, as a citizen of Ohio, did you want to pay for that bridge to nowhere in Alaska?'

"No, but that was a specific local project. You're talking about a national problem here."

"Wrong again, John. It's just another example of the federal government reaching into your pocket to solve a problem that could be solved at the state level. All the state governments have to do is to reduce taxes and they will find the money to address domestic violence. Hell, they can even address global warming, like California, if they want. They might be able to solve that hoax with a lot less spending than the feds. Heh-heh."

As Brady Meyer cut to a commercial, Henry Angstman looked at his daughter. She was shaking her head. "What do you think?'

"I think this guy's a sexist pig."

"You've got it all wrong, Chesterina. Brady is looking out for average Americans. He wants to keep their taxes down and to keep government out of their lives."

"Look, Dad. I really don't believe this guy is looking out for the average American. He is only looking out for the rich and powerful in this country. He only believes in keeping taxes down for them. The average American's income has gone down since he took to the airwaves and the average fat cat's income has more than doubled. As a result of people like you buying his load of crap, the middle class has been raped."

"Rape is an awfully strong word to use, Chesterina."

Chesterina's lips quivered. "You should know, Dad."

Chesterina spent the better part of two weeks looking for her Dad's birthday gift. He had either forgotten or chose not to recognize her last three birthdays, but she was determined to get him something that he would appreciate. When her mother died, she became convinced that her Dad blamed her. She had always believed that her Dad wanted a boy when she was born. This was confirmed in her mind when her baby brother was born. Her brother became the "favorite" of her father. Even though her brother hadn't seen her father in more than 10 years, he was still in the will, in line to inherit more than Chesterina. She kept her feelings about this to herself, but she resented the fact that she had taken care of her dad, without any help from her brother, and was going to get less in the will than her brother.

Despite the fact that men were attracted to her, Chesterina had experienced only one intimate relationship in her 48 years. Roy was very kind and caring, until the day she called him with the news.

"Roy, are you sitting down?"

"Well, I certainly can sit down, dear."

"I'm pregnant. Isn't that .."

Before she had completed the sentence, Roy had hung up the phone. She never saw him again. Her father urged her to have the baby, but she knew she couldn't afford to keep it. Hoping she would have a boy, he was persistent.

"Chesterina, I don't know how you could live with yourself if you abort this baby."

"Look, Dad. You're not going to be the one to get up at night when it screams. It's just going to be a bouncing ball of regret."

Her father slapped her hard across the face. "Don't you ever refer to children in that way."

When a boy was born, her father doted on it, buying a crib and toys. Chesterina lasted three weeks nursing the boy, without much sleep. One day her father left to get an oil change for his car. Chesterina took the baby to an adoption agency and insisted that someone there care for it because she was going in the hospital and no one else could do so. The agency reluctantly agreed and within three days an out-of-state couple took the child out of the lives of the Angstman family.

That night, after Chesterina's father had learned of the baby's fate, Chesterina went to bed with bruises up and down her back.

Chesterina's relationship with her father was never the same. Five years earlier, after her mother's death, he gave her a watch. She didn't like wearing it. He gave her a hard time for not wearing it, even though he should have known, after 48 years, that she never liked wearing one. Now, after trying to come up with an idea for his gift, she had finally asked him what he wanted while visiting him at Richdale. It was just a week before his birthday.

"I need a gun by my bed."

"Dad, this place is very secure. You don't need a gun."

"Someone could break into my apartment at any time."

"Who, pray tell, would do such a thing?"

"I don't know. But last night I heard something stirring outside my door."

"Dad, it's only the staff taking pills to some other resident."

"It wouldn't hurt to have a gun."

Chesterina got up to leave. "We'll see."

Henry Angstman stared out the window as his daughter closed the

door behind her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lansing, Michigan

The next day, Chesterina had lunch with her friend Marta at a small restaurant north of Lansing. Marta chose a dimly lit table in the back of the restaurant so she would not get stares from other patrons. Marta was, by anyone's definition, obese. Chesterina had tried to fix her up with men, but each time they seemed to be more interested in Chesterina. She never forgot what one of them had said about Marta, that she had more than 80 pounds in the hindquarter.

"Look, Chesterina. You might as well buy your father what he wants."

"Yeah, but I'm afraid he's going to shoot himself. He's been very despondent lately. When he lived with me, he was a lot more talkative."

"Why the hell is he despondent? He's got everything he needs."

"He doesn't know how to keep himself busy."

Marta took a bite of her Caesar salad, "Why don't you just buy him a gun and don't give him any bullets? There's no way he can go out and buy bullets. He doesn't have a car."

"Yeah, but he's going to say, 'Why did you buy me a gun without bullets. Don't you trust me?"

"Tell him that even without bullets, he can brandish the gun and scare off any intruder that might ever come to Richdale."

"It might work, but where can I buy a gun?"

"You could drive to Fort Wayne. I listened to Brady Meyer yesterday and his guest said he was hosting a gun show there. You won't even need a license."

"You listen to that pompous windbag? He's the reason my Dad thinks he needs a gun. Meyer keeps harping about how the President's going to send the Army house to house and kill people in their sleep. It's just insane. I hate that guy."

Marta started to speak, but thought about her response for several seconds before doing so.

"Well, I listen to him when I've got nothing else to do. Anyway, the gun show is next Monday."

Chesterina did not let up. "I'm surprised at you Marta. Brady Meyer's views will soon be overtaken by history. He's anti-gay and there's no question that this country is moving toward a greater acceptance of the gay life style. The demographics in this country are such that nearly everyone who agrees with him will be dead in 20 years."

Marta rarely challenged Chesterina on political issues, but she was feeling particularly badgered. "Well thanks a lot. I hope to live longer than that."

Chesterina put her hand gently on Marta's forearm. "I didn't mean you. I meant all those crazy wing nuts who think that everything would be fine if we eliminated government in this country. They'd be the first to scream if they lost their Medicare or the police didn't come to their aid. This country has been taken over by the corporations and the filthy rich. You have been duped Marta and you're shilling for the wealthiest clique of people in all of history. Their only goal is to gain power so they can give themselves tax breaks and they use the money from those breaks to fund campaigns for politicians who do their bidding. Hell, they even held up health care benefits for 9/11 responders and the payroll tax cut for millions of Americans until they got their tax breaks for the super wealthy. Only when our whole economy was at risk did they give in."

"I still believe in limited government, Chesterina."

"With limited government, we wound up with no control over the big corporations. Enron took advantage of limited government, AIG took advantage of limited government, and don't forget, Goldman Sachs took advantage of limited government. The big corporations used their billions in ill-gotten gains to influence politicians and in turn, the unwashed masses. A lot of poor schlubs thought it was in their interest to Chesterina in the Tea party, when in fact the average Tea party member has been taken to the cleaners and will continue to be taken to the cleaners by big corporations. Hell, the Tea party was willing to throw the American economy into a ditch in order to keep the oil company subsidies and tax breaks for corporate jets. "

Marta stiffened. "I want to be rich too, you know."

"You are not wealthy Marta and will never be wealthy. Yet you and millions of others have been duped into believing a fanciful dream so that you will continue to support the fat cat agenda."

"Well, I think it all balances out in the end."

Chesterina came close to screaming. "Did it balance out for middle class when the Governor began to tax their pensions and the corporations got an 87% tax cut? Did it balance out for folks who lost their unemployment benefits while the hedge fund managers were making billions? No, it doesn't always balance out. The rich get richer and people like you... " Chesterina paused. "I'm sorry, Marta. You're my friend and I care about you. I'm just worried that you're being manipulated.I will go to the gun show, though. Thanks for the tip."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bambino's Restaurant in Gageville was only half full at the height of the lunch

hour on Friday. The restaurant had a big screen television tuned to FAB News.

Even though Ron had served his country and Ken had not, Ken was much bigger than Ron. He grabbed his friend by the shoulder and pushed him into the restaurant."Let's go to the back and get away from the noise, Ron."

"All right, but I really don't mind watching FAB News."

"Not today. We need to talk." Ron and Ken sat at a table near the kitchen.

Ron waited for their waitress to get out of earshot.

"So, do you have any ideas for glorifying my departure from this frigging world?"

"You know, I've given this some thought. I really think you should reconsider."

" No way, man. I'm going to be kicked out of my trailer by the end of the week. I've got no prospects for a job and no savings. I'm not going to live on the street. Nobody gives a shit for my life or any veteran's life, for that matter."

As one waitress was exiting the door to the kitchen, another was coming through. The collision caused the exiting waitress to drop a tray full of dishes, which fell to the floor within five feet of Ron's right ear. Ron ducked under the table.

"Are you all right, Ron?" Ken leaned over to check on his friend.

"Yea, I get that way when there's any kind of loud noise."

"Look, you could stay with me at my Dad's house."

"You told me yourself that your Dad's going to have to sell the house."

"Yea, but that may be several months down the road."

" Geez, man. You know you won't be able to put me up for long. I've got to check out, man. I feel just like my buddy Carl, who was killed in Iraq."

"You never told me about him."

"It was too painful." Ron buried his head in his hands.

"Carl was a great soldier. An African-American from the South side of Chicago. He was on his fourth tour of duty and was due to return to the states in two weeks. On the night before he was killed, he told me that he couldn't make it back home. There were no jobs, no place to live and no future. He had hoped that Obama would make the country better for blacks, but that Obama's presidency gave white people more reason to discriminate. He said he would be living like a slave if he came back. He said he couldn't make it in the United States anymore, that all the businesses thought returning soldiers were hotheads and couldn't be trusted. I really believe he wanted to die out there."

"Hell, we're all slaves to the corporations now. It's government of the corporation, for the corporation and by the corporation."

"The corporations didn't send me to Iraq. It was the Army."

"Look, Ron, I hate to tell you this, but the war was waged at the behest of the corporations. The big contractors made out like bandits."

"That makes me even more depressed. I hated those Blackwater guys. They made 5 times the money we made and they were reckless as hell."

"All right. All right. But instead of committing suicide, I think you could make a statement about the lousy treatment Iraq War veterans are receiving in this country. You might be able to convince the powers that be that we shouldn't continue to send our best boys into a no-win situation."

" And how would I do that?."

"You could alert the media, go to the VA hospital and fire a gun in the air. You could say you can't afford to live on what the government gives us and you're willing to go to jail. I think you would get a lot of press and maybe the government would do something for other vets. The only problem I see is that neither you or I own a gun."

Ron covered his ears as a waitress entered the kitchen.

"That's no problem. Tony tells me there's a gun show next week in Fort Wayne. He heard about it on the Brady Meyer show."

"Brady Meyer?" Does he realize that Meyer and those jerks at FAB News were the biggest cheerleaders for the Iraq War and without that fool's bloodthirsty rants, you might not have had to go to Iraq and you wouldn't be suffering from PTSD now? That fat prick never apologized for the thousands of lives that were lost and the tens of thousands of lives that were ruined, and it was all for nothing. We now know that this country went to war on a lie, the lie that Saddam Hussein was an imminent threat to America. We listened to a fraud named Curveball, who has since admitted that he made up the story about Iraq's chemical stockpiles and because Brady Meyer repeated those lies as if they were the gospel truth, young kids like you and Carl, felt obligated to go to war. Not only should Brady Meyer apologize, he should keep his trap shut."

"Face it, man. When it comes to war, no one ever apologizes. War is the cruelest form of terrorism. Besides, you can't reason with Tony. His idea of making a statement would be to kill a bunch of left wing whackos."

"That's why Tony's working at Burger King. Well, he won't get his wish because we can't go to Ft. Wayne. You don't have a car and my Dad's was just repo'd."

"I can ask Tony to drive."

"I didn't know Tony had a car."

"He stole it."

" Then why in hell would I have to go?"

"Because they might not sell guns to felons."

"Is Tony a felon too?"

"Yeah, he had sex with a 16- year old once."

""Great. I'm going to spend five hours in a stolen car with two felons so my best friend can buy a gun and commit suicide."

As they left the restaurant, they could hear the FAB News reporter on the tube.

"Congressman Brent Hastings has introduced a bill that would make it very

difficult for this network to survive. I have spoken to the FAB News Director,

Peter Clark and he has assured me that this legislation would force us out of business because we would be fined for the most trivial of mistakes. If this legislation passes, you would not be able to listen to the fair, accurate and balanced coverage of the news you need to know."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Washington, D.C.

The hearing room in the Rayburn Office Building was packed. Spectators had paid "sitters" $50 to save seats. The sitters had showed up at 6:30 am and waited for the start of the hearing when they could turn over their seats. One of the sitters had been paid $100 by a female reporter from FAB News, who showed up at 8:57 to grab the seat in the front row facing Chairman Brachman. At precisely 9 am, Brachman took his seat and banged his gavel.

"The Subcommittee on Broadcasting of the House Energy and Commerce Committee will come to order." He banged the gavel again. "Today we will be hearing testimony on a bill introduced by the Gentleman from Michigan, Brent Hastings. The bill is HR 3412 and we have an exemplary panel of experts that will testify on the bill. Each witness will be allowed five minutes for an opening statement and at the conclusion of the testimony, committee members can direct questions to any of he panelists. I will now ask Congressman Hastings to explain his bill."

"Thank you, Chairman Brachman. I am pleased that you have agreed to have a hearing on this important bill. Mr. Chairman, there is a radio station in Detroit, which has 50,000 watts of power. The residents of fifteen states and two Canadian provinces can listen to the station's programming every day. And what do these listeners hear everyday? A diatribe of hysterical right wing political programming. From 7am until 10 pm at night, the station airs program after program that are, in my view, designed to stir up anti-Administration sentiments. More importantly, these programs are so vitriolic that they can induce listeners to turn to violence. In my written testimony, I have documented numerous incidents where some person has listened to a radio broadcast and then went out and committed a crime, usually with a gun. It is not my purpose in introducing this bill to prevent the station, or any other station, from broadcasting views on controversial public issues. What I do intend, by introducing this bill, is to ensure that stations like the one in Detroit, and there are many of them, do not deliberately create an atmosphere of violence. There is similar legislation in effect today in Canada and that country is well served by a more civil discourse than we have in this country. I would like now to introduce Professor Samuel Joseph from the University of Michigan who has done a study on this subject. Professor."

Professor Joseph looked more like a Gentleman's Quarterly model than a law professor as he sat down at the committee table.

"Thank you, Congressman Hastings. I am pleased to be able to address this esteemed committee. I have been a professor of political science at the University of Michigan for 15 years and I recently published a study about the number of incidents of violence that can legitimately be traced to words spoken by various talk show hosts and their callers in the United States.I have prepared copies of the study for distribution to the committee. In this study, I examined the five most popular talk shows nationwide, both conservative and progressive, including the Brady Meyer show. I studied more than 5,000 different broadcasts. It is my conclusion that as the animosity in our public dialogue increases, the number of incidents of violence increase. I found that when a show included a discussion of Second Amendment rights, for example, the host often allowed callers to advocate the shooting of persons who disagreed with them. I believe this is the case because the host of the show was not concerned about the consequences of the discussion.

It is my belief that the bill introduced by Representative Hastings would bring a measure of civility to our public discourse that does not exist today. The bill would tone down the national rhetoric and reduce the opportunities for individuals to commit violent acts. I would be happy to answer any questions at the conclusion of the remarks by all the panelists."

"Thank you, Professor Joseph. Our next witness," intoned Chairman Brachman, "is Lawrence Collins, the Chairman and CEO of Free Channel, Inc. Welcome, Mr. Collins."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I come here today in opposition to H.R. 3412. In my view, the bill would stifle free speech in this country and force broadcasters to cancel shows that inform the public about important public issues. Currently our stations carry more than 15 talk shows. Some stations carry as many as six shows a day. Virtually all of these shows would be in danger of cancellation."

"Mr. Collins," interrupted Hastings, "How many of your stations carry the Brady Meyer show?"

"All 125 of them."

"And how can you be sure that his show would be cancelled if we penalized him for advocating violence?"

"Well, Meyer is so unpredictable. On a given day, he might talk about anything from the Afghanistan war to gun rights to creeping socialism. We'd have to check with him every day to see what he would intend to say before he could speak his mind. That's totally impossible. "

"Couldn't you just hire someone to work with Mr. Meyer as he prepares his daily broadcast?"

"And who would pay for that person?"

"Mr. Collins," Hastings' voice rose, " I believe that your corporation had a net profit of $740 million last year. Is that correct?'

"I.. I'm not sure of the exact amount."

"But that's in the ballpark, isn't it, Mr. Collins?"

"Yes."

"I think you could afford to find the money to pay for a person who could check for violent diatribes which, in my view, would satisfy the requirements of this bill."

"We might be able to afford to do so, Congressman, but we don't think it's necessary to go to that expense. Our stations do try to present opposing views on controversial issues today and the public should be able to discern for themselves whether a call for violence is necessary."

"Then tell me, Mr. Collins, when was the last time any of your stations promoted the appearance of an opposing view?"

"Well, off the top of my head, I can't recall."

"I didn't think so. I can assume from your answer that it's never happened."

Collins resumed giving his opening statement. Brachman could not keep his gaze off of the FAB News reporter, seated directly in front of him. She had worn a short skirt and kept crossing her legs throughout the hearing. At the conclusion of the panel's statements, the Chairman zeroed in on the professor.

" Professor Joseph, isn't it true that more than 50 million Americans listen to at least one talk radio show every day?"

"Something like that."

"And isn't it also true that there are more than 315 radio talk shows in the country today?"

"Something likes that."

"And your study was limited to five talk shows?"

"As I testified, I looked at the five most popular talk shows."

"But you would agree that this bill would affect all 315 talk shows."

"It would."

"And when you testified that you checked for violent rhetoric, could you discern that this rhetoric was deliberately incendiary?"

"No. My assumption was that a certain percentage of these remarks were deliberate."

"But that's just an assumption. You have no hard evidence that any of these remarks were deliberate?"

"No."

"Thank you, Professor Joseph."

"Now, Professor, there is also plenty of political dialogue in the blogosphere, on cable television and in newspapers, am I right?"

"Certainly, Congressman."

"And the blogosphere, cable television shows and the newspapers would not be subject to this bill, would they?"

"No, Congressman, but the people who get their views from the blogs and cable TV tend to get the information they want, not a broad spectrum of views. It has been shown that when a conservative talk show host declines to present a view in opposition to his own, it encourages liberal talk show hosts to do the same. As for the newspapers, their readership has declined 60% in the last ten years."

"And do you have any data to support the conclusion that people who get information from the blogosphere tend to get only the information they want?"

"Yes. There have been studies which show that search engines will route users to websites with similar viewpoints to that evidenced in the user's history, reinforcing his or her beliefs."

"And do you really believe that the people who get the information from these sources don't care about the consequences of the information?"

"No."

"That's all. This will conclude the hearing on HR 3412." Brachman banged the gavel loudly. He motioned to the FAB News reporter to join him at the podium.

As the spectators left the hearing room, Tim Wilson went up to Hastings who was still seated in his chair in the committee room and whispered in his ear.

"The Chairman is not going to move this bill unless we get more cover for him."

" I know, I know. I think we should schedule a rally to drum up support. We might even get some of those gun control advocates to help out."

"I don't think so. They're interested in limiting access to guns, not broadcast fairness."

"We can tie the two together. If you don't have broadcast fairness, the gun culture is allowed to flourish. It was only when the media picked up on the injustices in the South that the civil rights movement took hold. The same could happen when we ensure that all citizens hear the truth about the consequences of the gun culture."

" Perhaps, but this country has an obsession with guns. It's embedded into the Constitution."

"So was slavery and the fact that only rich white people could vote."

"I don't know. I just think that we've been shining the light on the disastrous consequences of gun violence for years and it's only made the gun owners more committed to holding onto them. Advanced technologies have only made their guns more dangerous. Anyway boss, where would we hold this rally?"

" I think Lansing would be the best place. See if you can set it up in about two weeks."

"You got it."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Gageville, Michigan

They left at the crack of down. Ron sat in the front passenger seat next to Tony while Ken sat in the back of Tony's stolen1987 Malibu.

They didn't say anything for the first half-hour of the trip. Finally, as they passed Lansing, Tony broke the silence. "That empty parking lot over there used to be filled with cars. There were thousands of workers there. My Dad told me if I got out of high school, I could get a good job there, but by the time I graduated, the plant had closed."

"It's the same all over this country, Tony. We don't make stuff here anymore."

"That's why I enlisted," Ron said.

"And look what that got you," Tony said. "I really don't think it's a good idea to kill yourself in front of the VA building. They would just clean up the blood from the sidewalk and send your corpse home. Besides, they're not going to believe one lone strung-out guy who may or may not be serious. They're more interested in covering some guy who pretends to send his son up in a balloon."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"You're got to go somewhere where the reporters are going to show up. Just wait for a big assembly of people that will be covered by the press anyway. You could yell something about the treatment of veterans in full view of a dozen cameras."

Ken chimed in. "That's just as crazy, Tony. You may have to wait six months for something like that in Gageville."

"It wouldn't have to be in Gageville. You could watch for tea parties in Detroit or Lansing."

"I don't know, man." Ron sighed heavily. " I don't want to associate myself with the Tea Party"

"Hold on," Tony said. "The Tea Party is concerned about us losing our Constitutional rights."

"No way," Ken countered, "They're just a bunch of loud, old white men afraid that their social security payments will be cut by a couple of bucks. They wanted to deprive low-income citizens in Michigan of basic health care and opposed a Republican Governor solely on that issue. At the same time, they want to protect the wealthiest among us and not have them pay a dime more in taxes."

"But they've been left out of the process." Tony was getting agitated.

Ron's voice rose. "The ones who have been left out of the process are the vets, man. We're not getting enough to survive. We just don't have the money to organize and so we let these dumbos get their way because they can scream louder. The Tea party has loads of money and could care less about vets."

"What do you mean they have the money to organize?"

Ken picked up on Ron's theme. "They're funded by Charles David Aruma and the major corporations."

"Well, I still think he'd get better coverage if he blew out his brains in front of a crowd."

Ron turned on the radio and flipped through the stations. He stopped when he heard the booming voice of Brady Meyer. " Look, this guy and his supporters have to be stopped. If his bill passes, you'll never be able to hear the truth. I'm telling you, folks, this guy will, if his bill is enacted, take down this show. No station will have the resources to ensure that every cotton-picking fact any of my guests talk about can lead to violence. And now he wants to have a rally to drum up support for his stupid bill next week in Lansing, Michigan. Give me a break. Probably a bunch of mind-numbed robots will show up. I hope one of my listeners out there is armed and dangerous. Let's start a Brady Brigade, heh-heh. Let's wipe out these characters. We'll take a call now from Sarah in Silver Springs, Maryland. Go ahead, Sarah."

Tony banged the steering wheel. "That's it man. You can go to Lansing next week and you'll have a huge crowd. You might even want to dress up in your old uniform and bring a weapon strapped to your chest, maybe even wipe out a few of those socialists."

"You might be right about the crowd," Ron said, "but I'm not going to wipe anybody out."

Within minutes after Brady's rant, Tony's Malibu pulled into the gun show pavilion's parking lot in Ft. Wayne. The clock in the car registered 1:20 pm. The show was nearly filled to capacity. Ron, Ken and Tony had to muscle their way through the crowd to get to a booth where handguns were sold. A 48-year old woman was talking with a vendor.

"Can you sell me a handgun without bullets?"

The vendor snickered. "Sure ma'am. I'd even give you a discount."

As they waited behind the woman, Ken continued to needle Tony about the Brady Meyer show.

"Who is this crackpot we were listening to?"

" He's not a crackpot. He wants to help us avoid socializing this country. He knows we've got to stop this lunatic Congressman next week. We could make Brady proud of us.""

"Well" Ron said, " I see nothing wrong with a little socialization and I'm not sure we need to stop the Congressman or make Brady proud. I'll think it over."

Ken suppressed a laugh and decided not to explain to Ron and Tony the difference between socialism and socialization.

Chesterina continued to ask questions of the vendor, while Ron, Ken and Tony waited.

After a few more minutes, Tony had waited long enough.

"You guys can wait behind this bitch, I'm going to look at another table."

"All right." Ken sighed. "We'll catch up to you."

Chesterina was still finishing her purchase when Ken pulled Ron aside. She strained to hear the conversation.

"You don't need to do this, you know. We can head back now."

"No," Ron said, "I've got to do this. Doing it in Lansing next week seems to make sense."

. Ken began to whisper. "All right. But killing a bunch of people won't help your cause."

"I know, I know. I won't let Tony tell me what to do."

Chesterina turned away from the booth and headed for her car. She carried the handgun close to her chest in a paper sack, as if she had just purchased some very fragile chinaware.

When Ken and Ron caught up with Tony, he was looking over a table of assault weapons. Ken and Ron were stunned.

"You want us to buy an assault rifle?"

"You're damned straight. It would draw a lot more attention to you, Ron."

"But..". Ken interjected, " it's totally unnecessary, Ron. You don't need an assault rifle. Just show up in your old uniform."

Ignoring Ken's plea, Tony turned to face Ron.

"Look, man. This would be one hell of a statement. Just think of the press you'll get- Iraq war vet mows down crowd with assault weapon at anti-gun rally."

"That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. He'll get no sympathy from the press for bringing heat to a speech by a Congressman," Ken said.

"Hey, man, this ain't about sympathy," Ron countered. " We're in a war here."

Ron was looking at the ground while Ken and Tony argued.

"You bozos can talk all you want. They're not going to sell this weapon to felons and I'm not going to buy it. I'll meet you guys in the car." Ken strode away from the table without turning around.

Ten minutes later, Ron and Tony showed up at the car, carrying an AK-47 rifle.

"What did you guys do?" Ken screamed, "Steal this thing?"

"No way. They sold it to us."

"But they're not supposed to sell these to felons."

"I guess they just did." Tony could not keep from smiling. "Actually, the guy who sold it to me is not a regular dealer, just some private guy. He said he doesn't have to go through the background checks. He didn't even ask me for ID."

"He told us," Ron added, "that the Supreme Court had allowed states to remove all restrictions on gun ownership. It's a free country."

Ken looked the gun over. "Hey, this thing was made in Russia. You couldn't even get an American-made assault rifle?"

"At least it's got ammo, unlike the gun that crazy broad bought."

Ken stared at the assault rifle. He would talk to Ron again, outside of Tony's presence.

"Let's go. It's a long trip back to Gageville."

Tony dropped off first Ron and then Ken before heading home. He couldn't wait to call Trenton Fuller. Fuller was wrongfully convicted of felonious assault in 1989. He blamed his court-appointed attorney for the conviction since he didn't call any witnesses or ask any questions of the police officers. When the real assailant came forward some three years later, Fuller was furious. He hired a decent attorney and received $400,000 from the State for wrongful conviction. After his stint in the Air Force, he used that money, and the inheritance from his wife to buy the drone and to start the Mentula Militia. The drone had a lot of similarity to the radio-controlled airplanes that Fuller spent hours playing with as a teenager. Now, he would spend hours with his drone, programming it to reach designated targets.
CHAPTER TWENTY

Clio, Michigan

Trenton Fuller was tied up with maneuvers and missed the Brady Meyer show. When he entered his house, he put his rifle in the closet and answered a call on his disposable phone. "Captain Fuller, this is Tony, I've been trying to get a hold of you since I returned from Fort Wayne. "

Tony had always had trouble with girls. In fact, quite unbeknownst to his friends, he was still a virgin at the age of 24. He thought the 16- year old that he had drugged in high school really liked him, but she called the cops as soon as she had escaped from his car. He pulled a knife on the cops when they cornered him, but he was soon subdued. Charged with both criminal sexual conduct and assaulting a police officer, he pled guilty to the former crime, while the latter was dropped.

After getting out of jail, he decided that he wanted to be in the military but his conviction for criminal sexual conduct had kept him from joining. He saw the militia as a way to demonstrate his worth as a man.

Fuller felt like hanging up on Tony, but decided to talk to him. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"I wanted you to know that a very left-wing, Muslim-loving Congressman will be speaking in Lansing next week."

"And?"

"And the veteran who came with me to your meeting is thinking of taking his assault rife to the meeting and waving it around. I'm hoping I can convince him to spray the audience with hostile fire."

"I see. This wouldn't happen to be Congressman Hastings, would it?"

"Yes sir, it would."

"What day and time is this gathering in Lansing?"

"Tuesday at 2 pm, at the State Capitol."

"Look, Tony. I appreciate the call, but please don't call me again."

"But....". Tony heard the line go dead.

Fuller picked up his disposable phone and dialed his chief lieutenant, Chuck Wacker.

"Chuck, this is Fuller. We've finally got our opportunity. That good-for-nothing Congressman is going to be speaking next week in Lansing. Do you have two good men we can send there to bump him off, men who can't be traced back to us with guns that can't be traced as well?"

"That's a tall order, Captain. The feds are pretty good at making the link between our soldiers and us. But, come to think of it, we just recruited two veterans from Afghanistan. They live about 45 miles away and they've only attended two meetings. I don't believe too many people in this town have seen them, except our members. They have assault rifles they bought at a gun show so they can't be traced. What time is the rally?"

"Next Tuesday, 2pm at the State Capitol."

"Well, I can talk to them. What do you want them to do?"

Fuller thought for a while. "Let's have them show up with their assault rifles. If they get a shot at the Congressman, we should take it. Just don't let them be traced back to the Militia and by all means, don't let them kill innocent civilians, even those Hastings supporters. We don't want another Newtown or Gabby Giffords situation."

"Why not? This would be a great opportunity to knock off some of those left-wing kooks."

"Hell, Chuck, if that idiot Jared Loughner had only shot at Giffords, she wouldn't have got nearly the amount of sympathy that she generated. We need to stop this Congressman because he's dangerous. We don't want to make him a martyr. We need to save our firepower for killing Muslims and police officers."

"What if there are a bunch of police officers there?"

"I suppose they could use their judgment. If they see a group of police officers at this rally and they have a clear shot at them, I suppose they should blast away. We want to create fear in the public that the police can't help them. They need to arm themselves. However, I don't want our boys traced back to the militia. I can't afford to be nailed me for what might happen. The damned NSA is monitoring everything now. When you call these boys, use one of them disposable phones and throw it away after you use it."

"Will do, Captain, Say, do these guys know what Hastings looks like?"

"Hell, if they don't, they can Google him. He'll be the man behind the microphone."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer had an inspiration. He would send Jimmy Parsons to Lansing to cover the Hastings rally. Jimmy could call into his program and Brady could give a running commentary on the rally, rebutting all of the points that Hastings made. He would make sure this rally did not create the sympathy for the legislation that Hastings wanted. On his show that afternoon, he went on the offensive.

"Folks, make no mistake. The Hastings bill represents a government takeover of the broadcast industry. They want to control what you hear and whom you are allowed to listen to. If this bill goes through, you will hear nothing but liberal programming all day long. This will no longer be the America you and I both know and love." Meyer moved his mouth within inches of the microphone for effect. "The liberal wackos with their foreign cars and French wine will rule this country. Let's take a call from Colleen in Baton Rogue."

"Brady, I agree with you, but I just don't think that, with the popularity of your show, that they would ever take you off the air."

"I'll tell you why they would do that, ma'am. Because the station owners don't want the federal government looking over their shoulder every day, telling them whether each and every fact we discuss on this show might somehow be construed to incite violence. They don't need that aggravation. And that is why we have to do everything we can to stop this bill. Everything."

After the broadcast, Meyer instructed Jimmy about what he should be looking for in Lansing. "If you can do anything to stir up the crowd against this guy, feel free to do so."

"But, Mr. Meyer, this crowd will be made up of Hastings supporters."

"Don't worry, Jimmy boy, plenty of my people will be there too. If they want class warfare, we can give it to them. The only way we're going to win this war is to use the heavy artillery."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lansing, Michigan

When Chesterina arrived at Henry's apartment to celebrate his birthday, her Mom's picture had been replaced with one of Brady Meyer.

"Dad, where is Mom's picture?"

"Its in the drawer."

"Why couldn't you have Mom and this blowhard on your dresser?"

"I only had one frame."

"Hell, I'll buy you a new frame. You can't tell me this guy is not more important than the woman who lived with you for 54 years?"

"Look, Chesterina. I'm not going to get out of this place alive. I want to be able to be reminded of the principles that made this country great and a picture of Brady Meyer is the best way to do that. I paid $25 for the photograph."

"$25? I really am disappointed, Dad. But here's your birthday gift."

Chesterina handed her Dad a box that was wrapped with dark blue wrapping paper and a red bow.

Henry held the gift for a moment before tearing the paper off the box.

"Gee thanks, Chesterina. It's just what I wanted. A 22 caliber handgun." Henry inspected the gun.

"Hey, there are no bullets."

"I know, Dad. You wanted this for your safety. I think it will keep you safe if you just wave this at whoever may be threatening you."

Henry scowled and threw the gun to the floor.

When Chesterina got to her house, she phoned Marta.

"The guy was totally unappreciative."

"Hey, you just gave it to him. He might warm up to it later."

"I don't know. I don't think he gives a damn about me."

"Don't say that. He raised you, after all."

"I suppose."

"Why don't you take him to that Tea party rally next week."

"What Tea party rally?"

"Well, Congressman Hastings is promoting some socialist bill and the Tea party from Lansing is going to do a counter demonstration."

"How did you hear about that?"

"It was on the Brady Meyer show."

"Geez, Louise, Marta. If it isn't my Dad being swept up by that crackpot,

it's you."

"Look, he's not a crackpot. He wants to take back the country."

" Yeah, take it back to the 60's when we had race riots and women were

treated like shit.Don't you remember how our fathers treated us when we were

growing up? You'll have more young girls treated like that if we return to the era

that Brady Meyer wants us to return to."

Marta had met Chesterina in elementary school. They were both very shy, but

got to know each other one day when they waited in the classroom after the bell rang to signify the end of school. They were afraid of being harassed by other students and were soon walking home together.

"Well, I'm going," Marta insisted.

"Can you do one thing for me if you go?"

"What's that?"

"Just listen to what the Congressman has to say. It might enlighten you."

"I guess I can do that much for a friend."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lansing, Michigan

Henry went down to the Richdale cafeteria for lunch. The usual tablemates were there, Shirley, Jeff and Al. Shirley was hard of hearing and refused to wear her hearing aids. When Jeff was talking to the waitress about how he wanted his meal prepared, Al leaned over to whisper to Henry.

"What did your daughter get you for your birthday?."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"That's a hell of a note."

"Yeah. She even has given me a hard time for listening to Brady Meyer."

"Don't tell me she's one of those liberals?"

Henry bit into a three-day old dinner roll. "I'm afraid so. And she left me in this God-forsaken place, with lousy food."

"Damn liberals have ruined this country, Henry."

"Tell me about it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Gageville, Michigan

Ken was getting ready to leave for a night on the town when he got a call from Ron.

"Are you sure you don't want to go with us tomorrow?"

"Nah. I think you know what to do. Make sure you don't let him change your mind."

"Don't worry. Hey, how's it going with you and Kaylee?"

Ken had hoped Ron wouldn't bring up his relationship with Kaylee.

" I don't know. Sometimes I think she's only dating me for the money. When

she found out I wasn't going to inherit the store, the whore seemed to lose interest in me."

"But hadn't you been dating for seven years?"

"Yeah, but she thought I wasn't paying enough attention to her. You know

how that goes."

"Yeah, she'll come around. Anyway, at least you have a place to stay and family to share it with."

After hanging up the phone, Ken heard a deep, sustained cough emanating from his Dad's bedroom. He knocked on his Dad's door and when his Dad didn't respond, he opened the door. His Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a handkerchief to his lips.

"Dad, are you all right?"

"Of course, son. I'll be fine."

"You should see a doctor."

"Son, we really can't afford a doctor now. Besides, I've had this cough for some time. It's nothing."

"Don't you have insurance?"

"The insurance company cut me off after I told them I had a heart condition."

"Why don't you go to the emergency room?"

"It's not an emergency. At any rate, I'm supposed to meet some Chinese investors at 7pm downtown. If all goes well.. " Ben coughed. "If all goes well, they will buy my business and I can use the proceeds to avoid a foreclosure on this house."

"That's great. But are we really that close to a foreclosure?"

" I'm afraid so. This could be our last chance to avoid it. I can't really.." the cough was more sustained. "I can't really be going to the emergency room now. I'll miss the meeting."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Gageville, Michigan

Ken arrived home about 2 am after a night at the Gageville bars. He was glad that he didn't have to get up in the morning and go with Ron and Tony to Lansing. As he walked quietly past his Dad's bedroom, he stopped. Usually at this hour his Dad was snoring. He opened the door to the bedroom and saw, from the light in the hall that his Dad was lying face down on his bed. He knew instantly that something was wrong because his Dad always slept on his side. Ken hurried over to his Dad and shook him. "Dad, Dad. Are you all right?" He placed two fingers on his Dad's wrist but could not feel a pulse.

In the morning, Ken called Ron.

"Has Tony picked you up yet?."

"No, he's supposed to be here in about ten minutes."

"I've changed my mind. I want to come with you. Tell Tony to wait for me." Ken would take care of his Dad's body when he got back from Lansing.

"Fine by me."

" I just don't trust Tony. He still wants you to kill yourself or spray the crowd with your rifle."

"Don't worry. I'm going to do what you told me to- grab the microphone, wave the gun in the air and yell 'Remember the Vets'."

"Okay. But like I said, you can leave your ammo behind."

"Thanks, Ken, I'll think about it."

"All right."

"One more thing. How am I supposed to keep this rifle hidden from the crowd?"

"Keep it under your raincoat. It's supposed to rain today."

Ron hung up the phone and went to get his raincoat. He had not slept at all well and couldn't find his medicine. Oh well, he thought to himself, it will be over soon.

The AK-47 rifle is a compact semi-automatic sub machine gun. It can reel off 10 rounds of ammunition with the squeeze of a finger. While waiting for Tony to pick him up, Ron tried to figure out a way to best keep the gun under his raincoat. He tried putting it under the belt of his pants, but he was not able to walk very well. He finally decided to make a hole in the pocket of his raincoat, stick his hand through the hole and hold the gun against his waist. It would be a bit uncomfortable, but he wouldn't have to hold it very long. He had on his camouflage shirt and camouflage pants under the raincoat. He planned to drop the raincoat just before he fired the gun into the air, so that the crowd would see his uniform.

Ken called Kaylee as he walked to Ron's trailer. "Look, babes, I can't see you today."

"How come?"

"I've got to prevent Ron from either killing himself or causing a lot of damage."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Lansing, Michigan

Marta Bishop rose early on the day of the rally. She put on her favorite and most expensive dress, hoping that she would meet an eligible male. As she left for the rally, she decided to change her shoes. She had been wearing tennis shoes, but decided to put on dress shoes. Anything to attract a man.

There was a light rain falling over the State Capitol as the crowds started to form. The Hastings rally was scheduled for 2pm on the Capitol steps, but the first persons to gather were the Tea party members around 1:15. For the most part, they were comprised of paunchy old white males, but there was a smattering of women and young children. The Tea party members gathered near the statute of Austin Blair, Michigan's Civil War Governor. They brought signs, including: "The Lecher Hastings Should be Shot ", "Brady's Brigade", and "Hands Off Brady." As a result of state budget cuts, there was only one state trooper assigned to the rally, Sgt. Walker. He arrived around 1:45 and stationed himself between the ROW party members and members of the Populate Wall Street group, who had started to gather on the front steps of the Capitol. One of the Hastings supporters carried a sign, which read: "Alice called, She Wants Her Tea Party Back". A podium was set up for Hastings' speech. Ken, Tony and Ron arrived around 1:50. There were a few others in the crowd wearing raincoats, so Ron did not stand out.

"We've got to wait for Hastings to show up before you make your statement," Ken said. Ken had decided to accompany Ron at the last minute because he planned to grab the assault rifle before Ron had a chance to brandish it, sometime after Hastings began his speech. Ron would be upset with him, but in the long run, he would thank him. No one would pay any attention to a crazed Iraq war veteran.

Marta Bishop was standing some 400 yards from the podium with a crowd of about 45 Tea party supporters who held signs with captions critical of Hastings. Marta's sign read " Hands Off Our Guns". She had wanted to visit the Capitol before the rally, but was told she couldn't take signs into the building. As she was turned away by the sergeant at arms, she noticed that two men were carrying pistols in full view of him. When the time for the Congressman's speech approached, Marta left the Tea party with her sign and waded through the crowd toward the podium. She had promised Chesterina that she would listen to Hastings's speech. At 1:53, Ron 's AK-47 dropped below the hem of his raincoat. As Ron tried to reach for it, Ken lunged at the rifle, figuring it was his best chance to dislodge it. Ron pulled the rifle away from Ken.

"Dammit, give me the gun," Ken barked.

"What are you doing, man?" Tony cried.

" Just trying to save both of you from a certain death."

Tony got right into Ken's face. "You're trying to disrupt our plan, you bastard."

Ken turned to look at Ron, ignoring Tony's plea. "Look, you're my friend. I want to help you."

"I know," Ron said. "This was a silly idea. Let's just watch the rally and go home."

At 1:57, two Mentula militia members arrived at the rally. They split up and were standing on the edges of the crowd, one behind the Tea party members and one near the Hastings supporters. They each had a smart phone and planned to send messages to each other if necessary. Tim Wilson approached the podium. He had been told to announce to the crowd that Hastings would be about 15 minutes late. He tapped his finger on the microphone to see if it was working. When there was no amplification of his tapping, he turned to Ned Simmons, the soundman.

"We need sound." No one in the crowd was yet aware that Hastings would be late.One of the militiamen tweeted the other one. "Is that our guy?"

The second militiaman tweeted back "It has to be, it's after 2pm."

"Let's roll."

The two Mentula militiamen opened fire, spraying the man at the podium with several rounds of ammunition, the first round hitting his head and splattering the crowd with parts of his brain. As soon as he heard the sound of the assault weapons, Ron ducked. He pulled out the AK-47 from his raincoat and began firing. The bullets ripped through the crowd of Hastings supporters and ROW party activists like a thunderstorm rips through the ocean. Ken attempted to grab the gun from Ron but Ron was too strong. He rotated his body while maintaining his fire and Tony went down like a sack of potatoes. Ken ducked below the arc of Ron's fire. He yelled at Ron to stop, but Ron was oblivious to any noise except the AK-47. Ken, fearing his own life was in jeopardy, ran toward Capitol Avenue, past Tony's car. In the confusion, no one noticed him leave.

Marta Bishop was standing within ten yards of the podium. A middle-aged man had asked her if she had prepared the sign she was holding. Marta had not been approached by any man in over 10 years. Her heart skipped a beat. "Why yes I did." The man told her it was an "impressive sign", that it was about time the people spoke up about the tyranny in Washington. Just as she was about to thank him for the compliment, the gunfire started. The man took off. As Marta tried to follow him, she slipped on the wet pavement. She could not move quickly in her dress shoes and began to stumble. As she righted herself, a hail of bullets ripped through her face.

Sgt. Walker heard the gunfire and immediately radioed for backup. He then ran toward the podium and spotted Ron, still firing at the crowd.

"Police Officer. Put down your weapon," he screamed.

Ron was in a daze and did not react to Walker's command. When he kept up his assault, Walker fired at Ron's chest. Ron was dead before he hit the ground. Ken Fellows looked back as he ran down Capitol Avenue to see his friend fall. He kept running north, not knowing where he would stop.

The Mentula militia members who had started the shooting ran south toward a waiting van, parked two blocks away from the Capitol. As they sped away, Jimmy Parsons, standing in the crowd, wrote down the license number of the van.

Brent Hastings was breathing a sigh of relief. His plane had been delayed leaving from Detroit and he didn't arrive in Lansing until 2:05. By that time, the massacre had ended. As soon as his plane touched down and he turned his Blackberry on, it started buzzing. The first message was from his Staff. "Gunmen shoot rally participants in Lansing, as many as 95 dead, including the Chief of Staff for Congressman Brent Hastings."

"Omigod." He dialed his secretary. "Virginia, is this story true?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir."

When he got off the plane, his Lansing staff coordinator, Miles Halter, rushed to his side.

"Congressman, there's been..."

"I know, Miles. Take me to the hospital."

"I'm not sure its safe to..."

"Damn it. This is where I belong." Brent pulled a copy of the speech he had intended to give at the rally and tore it into pieces.

Jimmy was still standing at the scene of the massacre when he phoned

Brady Meyer.

"Brady, did you hear what happened in Lansing?"

"Of course, Jimmy boy. I don't think I'll need your report on the Hastings speech now, heh-heh."

"I wrote down the license plate number of one of the getaway cars."

"So?"

"Well, sir. I think I should tell the authorities."

"Jimmy boy, why don't you wait to see if they need this information. I have

a hunch the feds are going to want to pin this on me and there's no need to help them solve this."

Jimmy was aghast.

"Brady, you've got to be kidding. These guys just killed a lot of innocent people. If I don't report this, I could go to jail."

"Now, Jimmy. There's no way they're going to find out that you took down that license number."

Jimmy had had enough.

"Look, you pompous windbag. I quit. You only think of yourself. Hell, there could be more than 90 people dead here, none of whom had done anything to deserve this."

"Anything? Anything?" Brady screamed. "These guys want to put me out of business."

"You can have your business. It was your hatemongering that probably inspired these idiots to massacre all those people."

Jimmy calmly flipped his cell phone shut.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Lansing, Michigan

Captain Kim Charles of the Michigan State Police had been sitting at his desk in the new State Police Building on Grand Avenue in Lansing when he got the news of the Capitol shootings. "We need everyone we can get to the Capitol grounds now. There are at least three men with assault weapons still on the loose. Bill, Bruce, see if you can find someone who saw any of the gunmen and get a report." Charles was still barking out orders when Lts. Bill Summers and Bruce Greenfield headed to the elevators. It was a short three blocks from the State Police building to the Capitol, but this was no time to walk. Bill got behind the wheel of his cruiser and Bruce jumped into the passenger seat. The scene they encountered at the Capitol was straight out of a horror movie. Dead bodies were laid out on the grass. One lone paramedic, who happened to be at the rally, was trying to attend to the wounds of dozens of people wounded by the gunfire. Young children stood next to their dead parents, weeping hysterically. Men and women, injured by the gunfire, were holding makeshift bandages to their wounds. Among the dead was Marta Bishop, who was still holding her "Get the Government off the Airwaves" sign. The sign was splattered with blood from Marta's head. As Bruce surveyed the scene, Sgt. Walker approached him.

"Captain, I shot one of the assailants but it looks like at least two others are on their way out of town. "

"Thanks, Percy. Bill, let's make sure that everyone is taken care of until the ambulances arrive. Then we can start looking for witnesses."

Bill began checking with women and children who appeared to be injured.Bruce called his office to make sure they knew that every ambulance and paramedic in the area should be summoned. As he was hanging up the phone, a young man approached him.

"Officer, I'm Jimmy Parsons. I saw two of the gunmen get into a car and

drive away. I got their license."

"Okay, sir. Thanks for coming forward." Bruce took the license number down and called dispatch. He then took Jimmy's statement.

Chesterina Angstman was listening to a Mozart concerto on WKAR-FM, when an announcer broke in with the news of the shootings. She grabbed her raincoat and jumped into her Prius. Within minutes she was heading south on Capitol Avenue when she spotted a man running north. She recognized him immediately as one of the men who purchased the AK-47 at the gun show. A Lansing police officer stopped her car and told her that she couldn't get any closer to the Capitol.

"Officer, I believe I just saw a man who purchased an assault rifle three days ago. He may be involved in the shooting because he was running away from the scene."

"Ma'am, when did you last see him?"

"About two minutes ago."

"And tell me where he was heading."

"North on Capitol Avenue, toward Saginaw Street."

The officer grabbed his walkie-talkie and announced what he had just learned from Chesterina. Within minutes, another Lansing officer picked up Ken.

. The license number that Jimmy gave to Bruce was registered to a Burton Dahling. A check of Dahling's criminal record revealed that he had once been charged with armed robbery, but the case was dismissed.. Dahling and the other militia killer were arrested at Dahling's apartment in Gageville the night of the rally. Both men demanded attorneys before they would say anything. A sweep of the apartment by the State Police uncovered more weapons and a smart phone. By collecting information from the smart phone, they were able to trace the route that Dahling had taken and established that he had indeed been at the rally around 2 pm. They also were able to determine that he had visited the headquarters of the Mentula Militia one week prior to the rally.

The State Police got a search warrant and raided the Mentula Militia compound at dawn the next day. They confiscated a number of records, but could not find any landline or cell phone bills.

Trenton Fuller was watching FAB News when he heard the breaking news about the Lansing massacre. He called Chuck Wacker on his disposable phone.

"Chuck, I'm going into hiding." He told Wacker where he was heading. " Don't let anyone know where I'm going."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

New York, New York

Robert Dachmer, the founder and CEO of FAB News, had a habit of dipping and diving into the female press pool. One of his conquests was a reporter named Helen Murner, who succumbed to the need to keep her job by agreeing to bed down with the boss. When she threatened to go to the police for enduring physical abuse at his hands, he reminded her that he was prepared to make up all kinds of dirt on her and circulate it among the high rollers in the unwashed broadcast world. She knew he would do what he said and backed off. He then began looking for younger "meat" but allowed her to stay on the payroll because she was a solid reporter. She stayed for another 12 years.

She was taking a shower when her smart phone began buzzing. She grabbed a towel and hurried into her bedroom, picking the phone up just as he was about to hang up. It was Robert. He rarely called her anymore, so she was shocked to see his name on the caller ID. Ten years on the job had started to wear on her. The wrinkles had begun to appear around the corners of her eyes and her waistline was creeping outward.

"Helen, I want you to get up to Michigan right away and cover these shootings."

Helen paused. She had not been watching the news on her day off and had not heard about the Lansing rally. At the same time, she did not want to let her employer know that she was unaware of what was going on in the world.

"I'll try to get a plane out tonight."

"Good. Our angle on this one is that Congressman Hastings brought this violence on himself by enlisting the help of Populate Wall Street, then provoking the Tea party and making them think that his legislation would prevent them from hearing the truth. Brady Meyer is the hero here,he was alerting people to the potential loss of access to the viewpoints they wanted to hear. You got it?"

Helen removed the towel from around her body and dried her hair. Not having any background information on the issue and not wanting to challenge her boss without such information, she decided to go along. "I got it. I'll give you a report tomorrow night."

"That's what I want to hear."

PART TWO- THE TRIAL

"Error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left free to combat it."

-Thomas Jefferson

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lansing, Michigan

Helen Murner arrived in Lansing at 11:45 pm. She took a cab to the Radisson Hotel downtown and checked into her room around 12:30 am. She had begun researching the Lansing rally and massacre at the airport and continued the research in her hotel room. At 7 am, she walked over to the State Capitol to survey the scene. Yellow police tape blocked her access to the Capitol lawn. Two mourners, a man and a woman, were standing on the sidewalk, just feet from the tape. Helen approached them and spoke softly. "Did either of you lose someone yesterday?"

The man turned quickly away from Helen and walked away. The woman began to sob. "Yes, I may have lost my boyfriend. We had planned to get married."

Helen's experience enabled her to press ahead without sounding pushy. "I'm so sorry. Were you with him when he disappeared?"

"No. We live in Gageville, some 90 miles from here. I drove here yesterday to find out if he survived and they said they were still identifying the bodies. I know he would have called me if he survived. I came here just to see where he was if he breathed his last breath."

"What was his name?"

"Ken. Ken Fellows."

Helen decided she would not take notes, thinking it might not sit well with the woman. "So the only reason you think he was killed is that he didn't call?"

"I haven't given up hope, but as I said, he would have called by now."

"Maybe he was injured and went to the hospital."

The woman paused. "I'm tired. I don't think I want to talk anymore."

Helen knew she would probably never see the woman again if she got away. "Why don't I buy you some breakfast? There's a nice restaurant in my hotel, just a couple of blocks from here."

The woman sighed. "I guess I don't have to get back to Gageville right away. Okay, but my car is parked on the street, I'd better plug the meter."

"Great. I have some quarters you can use."

Helen and the woman walked to the car and inserted enough change for an hour and a half. They then made their way to the restaurant and ordered breakfast.

Helen put on a rarely used pair of glasses to appear more motherly. "Look, Kaylee, I know this must be hard, but I'd like to help you. I might be able to help find Ken, if he's alive."

"Why? You don't even know me."

Helen had wanted to be a journalist since she was a ten-year old girl. She didn't play with dolls, but rather enjoyed pretending to be a reporter, interviewing her classmates about subjects ranging from current events to the food in the cafeteria. She developed a sense of journalistic integrity, but lost it after her indoctrination to FAB News. Now, she needed the story and didn't mind lying to get it. "I don't know you, Kaylee, but I knew your boyfriend."

"You knew Ken?"

"Yes. I met him when I visited Gageville last year. He was quite a guy."

"You better believe it. But, how come you didn't tell me when you saw me at the Capitol?"

"I wanted to get to know you first. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't take me the wrong way."

"How did you come to meet Ken?"

" It was at a bar, umm... "

"Rosco's?"

"Yeah, that was it. I needed a drink after driving all day and I asked him for directions. He was very helpful. When I saw his picture in the Lansing State journal, I knew it was the same guy. I'm still curious, why did he come to the rally?"

Kaylee sipped her coffee. "He was trying to stop an old friend of his, an Iraq War veteran, from killing himself. He..." Kaylee set her coffee cup down and stared out the window of the restaurant. "I don't know if I should tell you this, but....."

Helen placed her hand gently on Kaylee's forearm. "You should let it all out. I won't tell anyone."

"Okay. His friend, Ron Palmer, was down on his luck. He'd lost everything since coming back from the war and still suffered from what they called PTSD."

"Yeah, Post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I think so. Anyway, he wanted to kill himself in front of an audience, you know, make a statement, and this rally in Lansing was going to be his opportunity. He really hated the war and felt that many lives, like his own, had been wasted. He had hoped that somehow the people would get the message that future wars like Iraq were unnecessary. Ken tried to talk him out of it and agreed to go along with him. If Ron tired something, Ken was going to grab his assault rifle from him at the last minute and save his life. Something went terribly wrong. Ron was killed by the police."

"It looks to me, from watching the news last night, like someone else started shooting and this Ron fellow reacted. Was there anyone else with Ken and Ron?"

"There was a guy named Tony Crandall, a real dirt bag, if you ask me. He probably wanted Ron to shoot himself."

"Do you know if he survived?'

"I don't think so. Look, I really should be getting to the parking meter and making my way home. I didn't want to talk this much."

Helen did not object to Kaylee's departure. She had her story. As soon as Kaylee had left the restaurant, Helen dialed Dachmer.

" I think we've got a real personal interest story, Robert. One of the shooters yesterday was an Iraq war vet. He wanted to kill himself in front of a crowd, to draw attention to his miserable life. I think we could really have something here."

"Helen, that's not the narrative. We don't need anymore Iraq war veteran stories. We need to focus on what's relevant today, like the fact that this kook Hastings is trying to turn this country into a socialist enclave. We can cover the story of the shootings, but it's important that we blame Hastings for this debacle, not Brady Meyer. Now, get your ass back to the office. I don't want you to call me anymore, Helen. From now on you'll deal with Peter Clark."

As Dachmer hung up on her, Helen knew her days with FAB News were numbered. Clark was a notorious skirt-chaser, even worse than Dachmer. She did not want to deal with having to screw the boss to keep her job at this stage of her career. She thought briefly about handing over her story on Ron Palmer to another network, but decided to keep her job for a little longer and wait for something to break. She caught a cab to the Lansing airport and headed home.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dimondale, Michigan

Chesterina Angstman attended Marta's funeral three days after the massacre. There was a light rain falling on the fifteen people in attendance in the small cemetery near the Flint airport. Marta's brother had made all the arrangements and had talked to Chesterina before the service. He was grateful that Chesterina could attend. As the service ended, Chesterina headed back to her car, which had been part of a ten-car procession. She removed the flag belonging to the funeral home and handed it to the smarmy official standing next to her. As she opened the door to her Prius, a woman approached her holding a microphone. "Ms. Angstman, Ms. Angstman?"

"Yes."

"I'm Monica Sayers FAB News. Do you have a moment?"

Chesterina hesitated. She couldn't imagine what the media could be asking her about at this time. "Well, I am in a bit of a hurry, but I could answer a few questions."

"Thank you. I understand you knew the deceased, Ms. Bishop?"

"I did. She was a good friend."

"Do you think she had it coming?"

"Excuse me. You have some nerve asking that question."

"I'm just trying to get the facts, ma'am."

"Well you can go back to your studio or wherever you go and create your own facts. This woman was killed because some..." Chesterina began to cry.

"Because some what, ma'am? Because your friend wanted the government to regulate speech on the radio?"

Chesterina, with tears streaming down her face, got into her car. "Go fuck yourself," she said as she slammed the door in the reporter's face. On her way home, she vowed that she would do everything she could to avenge Marta's death.

Monica had been trained by FAB News in the art of getting into someone's face and spewing forth the "talking point of the day" from the front office. When she was initially hired, she was asked to interview several "men on the street" and demonstrated a certain aggressiveness for the story that attracted her to FAB. It didn't hurt that she had long blonde hair and a body that most men would fantasize about. She had been assigned to cover the Marta Bishop funeral by FAB and her talking point dealt with the belief that Marta was a supporter of Brent Hastings, who was trying to involve the government in the control of the broadcast media. A cursory check of Marta's background would have revealed that she was not a supporter of Congressman Hastings and had in fact been carrying a sign in support of the Tea party at the rally.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Washington, D.C.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Matthew Rogers was getting a lot of heat from Washington. The Attorney General was convinced that many of the 93 deaths at the Lansing rally could be attributed to the Brady Meyer August 17 broadcast. However, the federal crime of inciting a riot required that at least three persons had to assemble together as the result of the encouragement from the person inciting the riot. Although there were at least three individuals who had committed murder and two of them would be prosecuted for that crime, they were not part of a group of at least three persons who it could be proven were encouraged to engage in violence by Brady Meyer. Moreover, the two militia killers were not talking. The only possible way to go after Meyer was to allege that the group of Palmer, Fellows and Crandall had been motivated by Meyer's broadcast. Crandall and Palmer were dead and cutting a deal with Fellows would have to be approved by the local prosecutor. Rogers called the FBI office in Detroit and spoke to the Director.

"Al, this is Matt. I'd like you to check out this guy involved in the Lansing shootings, Ken Fellows, who's sitting in the Ingham County Jail."

"Isn't this a state investigation?"

"Yeah, Fellows has been charged by the County Prosecutor with 15 counts of conspiracy to commit murder and 12 counts of conspiracy to commit great bodily harm, but there is a federal angle here."

"I'm all ears, Matt."

"Someone above my grade level believes that at least one of the killers, possibly the one that was with Fellows, was inspired by a Brady Meyer broadcast on August 17, just four days before the shootings. They want me to look at a charge of inciting to riot by Meyer. Once we establish that Meyer's show was broadcast across state lines, we've got a federal crime. It also doesn't hurt that the gun was bought in Indiana. The local prosecutor doesn't mind because his case against Fellows is a lot more flimsy than the cases against the militia guys."

"Don't you need a lot more than some angry rhetoric to justify a charge like that?"

"That's why I want you to send some men over to see this fellow Fellows." Rogers laughed at his unintentional alliteration. "See what you can dig up. You know, I've been thinking about this whole sad episode. It seems that we have more to fear from home grown terrorists now than from foreigners."

"I hear you, but if this guy Meyer is acquitted, he'll be unstoppable."

"You got that right."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Lansing, Michigan

Henry Angstman was still eating lunch in the Richdale cafeteria when Chesterina came to visit. She went over to his table and said hello to Henry and his tablemates. One tablemate was slowly chewing his food and every third morsel was falling on his lap.

"I'll wait for you out in the lobby, Dad."

Henry mumbled something and Chesterina left him to finish his lunch. Henry kept her waiting more than ten minutes after his tablemates had gone back to their rooms, chewing the last bits of his peach cobbler. Chesterina was tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair in the lobby when Henry approached her with his walker.

"I thought you'd be done by one so you could hear your hero, Brady Meyer."

"He's got a guest host today. I don't need to listen to the whole thing."

As Chesterina gently grabbed Henry's arm, she couldn't resist. "So if Brady was broadcasting live today, you couldn't afford to miss a minute?"

The sarcasm was lost on Henry. "No, I really couldn't."

"You know Dad, that man provoked a massacre last month, in which 94 people died, including my best friend. Hundreds more were injured. "

"Well she shouldn't have been associating with those left-wing loonies."

Chesterina was seething. "She wasn't associating with left-wing loonies, Dad. She was actually carrying a sign protesting the actions of the so-called "loonies". I had told her to at least listen to the speaker and she left her post with the right-wing loonies to get closer to the podium. It was then that some right-wing loony shot her in the face."

"Well, it's your fault then. You shouldn't have told her to listen to that crap."

"Dad, you may call it crap and I may call what you listen to crap, but we have to be able to listen to the other side now and then. Marta was only trying to be open-minded when she moved toward the podium and she didn't deserve to be killed." Chesterina pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. Her father sat down in his recliner and turned on the Brady Meyer show. She thought to herself that he would rather listen to a guest host than listen to his daughter.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

Lansing, Michigan

In his 15 years of solo practice in Lansing, Harold Kane had been assigned to defend more than 20 defendants in the 30th Judicial Circuit in Michigan. Most of them had been charged with drug-related offenses. He had managed to convince all but one of them to plead guilty to a lesser charge and avoid jail time. This enabled him to avoid having to try a case, which he hated to do. The one exception was a drug dealer that he couldn't get the prosecution to agree to offer a plea bargain. Harold lost the case and knew then he wasn't cut out to be a trial lawyer. He had been appointed to represent Ken Fellows and was hoping he could convince Ken to accept a plea bargain, so he could get his fee. He met Ken for the first time in the Ingham County Jail.

"So you must be Ken Fellows?"

"That's right."

"I'm Harold Kane. I was appointed to represent you."

"Great. So you can get me off?'

"Well, that's a tall order. You're charged with conspiracy to murder and conspiracy to do great bodily harm. You could wind up spending a lot of time in prison."

"None of it is true."

"Okay, why don't you tell me what happened."

Ken turned his back on Kane.

"Look, son. You're in a heap of trouble. They say you conspired to kill

more than 50 people."

"I wasn't even there."

"It doesn't do any good to lie to your attorney. I can't tell anyone what you

tell me and I might be able to help you."

"Why do you think I'm lying?"

"Well, for one thing, the police report indicates that there were at least five persons who identified you as near the shooter at the rally and they all said that you fled the scene as soon as the shooting started. In addition, the police have traced the gun to a guy who sells guns in Indiana and he personally identified you as one who was the guy who bought this gun."

"Okay, okay. But we weren't going to shoot anyone, I swear. I had talked Ron out of his plan to shoot himself when these other nutcases started firing. Ron just went ballistic."

Kane moved his face so that it was within inches of his client's. "I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth or I will pull out of this case. Now didn't you help this Ron guy..."

There was a loud commotion outside of Ken's cell. A deputy sheriff opened the door to the cell and announced.

"The FBI is here to speak to your client."

"FBI? This isn't a federal case?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir." Agent Fredericks stepped into Ken's cell, accompanied by Agent Williams.

"Are you the boy's attorney?"

"Indeed I am. I haven't finished interviewing him myself. I would like a few more minutes."

"We'll give you ten minutes. But we need to talk to your client soon. There's a federal grand jury being convened tomorrow."

"All right, give us 15 minutes."

After the FBI agents left the cell, Kane moved closer to Ken. With their faces six inches apart, he made his standard "let's get real" pitch to his client.

"Look, Ken. I have a feeling that these guys are going to offer you a deal. I don't know what the deal is, but I strongly urge you to consider it, in light of what you may have done. You've already lied to me once when you said you weren't at the scene of the crime. I really don't believe you when you said you didn't intend to shoot anyone. Now I'll be present with you when you talk to the FBI, but if they sense that you're lying to them, you won't get the deal they plan to offer and you'll be going to jail for a helluva long time."

"All right. I never intended to shoot anyone. Only Ron actually did the shooting and I tried to stop him."

"It makes no difference who did the shooting, as long as you were part of a group that intended to do so. Now, let's listen to what the FBI has to say and whatever you do, don't lie."

Kane banged on the door to the cell. "We're ready."

FBI agents Fredericks and Williams entered the cell. Fredericks did all the talking.

"Here's the deal son. Even though you've been charged with conspiracy to murder in state court, we've talked to the local prosecutor and he's assured us that if you cooperate with us, he'll take your cooperation into consideration and drop that charge if you plead guilty to the charge of conspiracy to commit great bodily harm."

"What kind of sentence would I get?"

"Tell him, counselor."

Kane put his hand on Ken's shoulder. "You'd get 3 years at the most."

"Not bad when you were facing 15 years."

"Okay, what do I have to do to cooperate?"

"First, we want to ask you a few questions. If you answer them as we hope

you will, you will testify tomorrow before a federal grand jury here in Detroit.

After that, you will testify in any trial that might result from that grand jury."

"What questions do you have?"

"First, we understand that you were there when Tony Crandall purchased the gun that was used to kill those people last October at the state capitol. Is that correct?"

Kane glared at Ken. "Yes, yes it is."

"All right. Did you listen to the Brady Meyer radio show the day

that he purchased the gun?"

"Why, yes. But what does that have to do..."

Kane rose from his chair. "Just answer the question, son."

Fredericks resumed his questioning.

"Do you recall what Mr. Meyer may have said that day?"

"Let me think." Ken paused. "Yea, I do remember now. Mr. Meyer said something about how we had to stop these people. We had to start a Brady Brigade."

"Now, this next question is extremely important, Mr. Fellows. Did the subject of Mr. Meyer's broadcast have any effect on the plans that you, Mr. Crandall and Mr. Palmer made that resulted in the shootings at the Capitol?"

Kane glared at Ken. When Ken hesitated again, Kane spoke up. "Can I have a minute with my client?"

"Certainly, Mr. Kane. We'll be right outside."

After Fredericks and Williams left the cell again, Kane became more agitated.

"Look, you're going to blow this deal. Now, you can tell me the truth. Did the Meyer broadcast affect your plans?"

"I believe Tony told Ron that he could get a lot of attention if he shot some people, and he would make Brady Meyer proud of us if he shot some lefties."

"And what did Ron say to that?'

"Ron wasn't sure."

"And yet, that's exactly what Ron did three days later."

"Yeah, but Ron never intended to kill anyone, except maybe himself. He wasn't really thinking about the Meyer broadcast."

"Here's the deal. You don't need to speculate about what Ron was thinking. The fact is that you talked to Ron about the broadcast and Tony told him that it would be a great idea if you shot a bunch of left-wing fanatics"

"That's right."

"Now, did you purchase the gun before or after you talked to Ron about the broadcast?"

"I didn't buy the gun. Ron and Tony did. Tony mentioned the broadcast in the car as we were approaching the gun show. It was sometime later that they bought the gun."

"So, you weren't there?"

"Nah, I didn't think they would sell a gun to a felon."

"Okay, when the FBI comes back in here, I want you to tell them that Tony told Ron about the broadcast, about how it would be a great idea if he killed a bunch of people and that immediately after that, Tony and Ron went to buy the gun."

"Sure, that's all true."

"What I don't want you to tell them is that Ron was at all undecided about the plan. You don't know that. Ron never told you that. Okay?"

"All right."

Kane again knocked on the cell door and summoned the agents.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina picked up the Lansing State Journal from her doorstep. The headline caught her attention immediately. "Meyer Prosecution Relies on Testimony of Accused Felon."

She read through the article quickly and was struck by the third paragraph, which read: "Sources close to the U.S. Attorney's office have confirmed that Ken Fellows, a man charged with 27 felonies, will be a key witness in the trial of Brady Meyer for inciting a riot at the August 21 rally at the State Capitol that was to feature Congressman Brent Hastings (D). A colleague of Fellows, Ron Palmer, was one of three gunmen who shot into the crowd, killing more than 90 people. Palmer and Fellows were allegedly influenced by an August 17 broadcast by Meyer which included statements that 'this guy [Hastings] and his supporters have to be stopped" and "we've got to wipe out these characters." The gun used by Palmer was purchased on August 17 in Fort Wayne, Indiana at approximately 1:25 pm." Next to the story was a picture of Ron Palmer.

Chesterina recognized Palmer. She put down the paper and tried to remember the conversation she overheard at the gun show. She was still grieving for Marta,

who would still be alive today if it wasn't for that big fat buffoon.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Lansing, Michigan

The Lansing courthouse housing the Southern Division of the Federal District Court for the Western District of Michigan was very familiar to Matthew Rogers. He had tried more than 10 cases here, from Medicaid fraud to drug trafficking. This would be his first trial involving the charge of incitement to riot. He knew Judge Fraser on a first-name basis, but would refer to him today as Your Honor. Rogers was concerned that his key witness, Ken Fellows, would wither under cross-examination. Ken, whose testimony would verify that Ron had been inspired by the August 17th Brady Meyer broadcast to begin shooting his assault rifle on the Capitol lawn, was not the most confident witness Rogers had put on the stand. Rogers arrived at the court 45 minutes before the trial was scheduled to begin, hoping to have some time alone to gather his thoughts and go over his opening statement. The crowd had already begun to file into the courtroom when he opened his briefcase.A few minutes later, Fred Molnar, the new Assistant U.S. attorney assigned to work with Rogers, entered the courtroom.

"Matt, can we go somewhere where we can have a private conversation?"

Rogers and Molnar proceeded to the counsel room, down the hall from the courtroom.

"What is it? I have to go over my notes."

"We got a call from a woman named Chesterina Angstman a few minutes ago. She claims that she was at the gun show where Crandall bought the assault rifle and can verify the fact that he was listening to the Brady Meyer show just before he made the purchase."

"Does she know what time this took place?'

"Yeah, 1:15 pm. The exact time that Meyer went into his tirade about stopping Hastings."

"Is she willing to testify?"

"Apparently she was a little reluctant to commit to that."

"Damn it. Our whole case is based on the testimony of a convicted felon. I want you to go find this woman and interview her. If she's at all credible, go back to the office and prepare a subpoena for her. We can then try to get the judge to add her to the witness list at the break this morning."

"But I won't be here to help with the opening statement."

Rogers could barely contain himself, "NOW!" he barked.

Rogers went back to his notes. He decided not to mention Fellows in his opening statement. If they were able to get Ms. Angstman to testify, she would hopefully corroborate Ken's testimony and telling the jury now just about Ken might confuse them later. When he looked up from his notes, the Judge was entering the courtroom.

"This is the case of the United States v. Brady Meyer. Let's have the appearances of counsel."

After Rogers and the three attorneys representing Meyer had identified themselves, it was time for his opening statement. As was his custom, he would make sure that he looked each of the jurors in the eyes as he made his statement. There was one particularly attractive female whose eyes Rogers would look into several times before sitting down.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, your duty today is a simple one. You must apply the law to the facts that will be presented to you in this case. The law is straightforward."

After reciting each of the elements of the crime of inciting a riot, Rogers slowly and almost imperceptibly began to raise his voice.

"There was clearly an act of violence committed by an individual who was part of an assemblage of three persons on August 21 and that act of violence led to the deaths of 53 innocent persons and injuries to 23 more persons. The perpetrators of this heinous crime have either been killed or are behind bars. However, today you will decide whether Brady Meyer, a talk show host, is guilty of incitement to riot. It is the government's contention that Mr. Meyer did indeed, in a broadcast that was listened to by these perpetrators, encourage a riot by those persons, as defined by federal law.

Now, the attorneys for Mr. Meyer will contend that Mr. Meyer was merely exercising his First Amendment rights when his broadcast was aired on Oct. 17. But, listen closely to his words, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Meyer said: 'Look this guy and his supporters have to be stopped.' Later, he said 'I hope one of my listeners out there is armed and dangerous. Let's start a Brady Brigade.' Now, ladies and gentlemen, what other meaning could these words have than to encourage violence by the listeners of Mr. Meyer's radio show? It is not sufficient to say that someone like yourself would not be encouraged to commit an act of violence by these words, but rather, it is your job to determine whether the three persons who executed these reprehensible crimes were so encouraged. The First Amendment does not protect all forms of speech. For example, you cannot yell "Fire" in a crowded building. In the same way, you cannot be shielded from the consequences of words that are solely designed to inflame the passions of other persons, even persons you don't personally know, who then go out and commit crimes against humanity. We intend to prove, so that you are satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. Meyer's broadcast of August 17 did indeed inspire three persons, two of whom are no longer with us, to organize and execute a plan that resulted in the deaths of 94 innocent persons and serious injuries to 23 other persons. You will be able to find, at the end of this trial, that Mr. Meyer was guilty of the crime of inciting a riot, as defined by federal law. It will be your duty to so find. Thank you ladies and gentlemen."

Rogers sat down and pulled out his legal pad. He would have to take notes of the opening statement from one of Meyer's attorneys because Molnar was out trying to find Ms. Angstman. If Molnar were successful, it would be well worth the effort.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Lansing, Michigan

Fred Molnar was beside himself. He wanted to witness Matthew Rogers's opening statement. Fred had given Rogers several suggestions after he reviewed the initial draft. He wanted to see how the jury would react to them, but Rogers had sent Fred off to interview a witness, whom the judge probably wouldn't add to the witness list anyway. He checked with his office and they gave him Chesterina's address. He arrived at her house around 10:30, just as Rogers was starting his statement. It was a small ranch house, with a very small driveway. Molnar parked on the street. Chesterina was dressed conservatively, but Molnar thought to himself as he gazed at her figure that she must have broken some hearts in her day.

"Ms. Angstman. I'm Assistant U.S. Attorney Fred Molnar. I understand you may have some information relating to the shootings at the Capitol in October?"

Chesterina stared at Molnar. There was something about his face that made her wince.

"Ms. Angstman?"

"Yea, why don't you come in and sit down."

"Thank you." Molnar sat down at the kitchen table.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Some water would be fine." As Chesterina handed Molnar a glass of water, he took out his notepad. "Tell me what you saw, Ms. Angstman."

" I believe I saw one of the killers in the company of two other men. I heard them talking about wanting to "kill a bunch of lefties."

"All right, Ms. Angstman. Let me ask you, did any of these three men talk about the Brady Meyer broadcast?"

"Why, yes. As I told your office, I heard one of them say that they could make Mr. Meyer proud of them if they shot some people."

"Are you willing to testify in court about this?"

"Do I have to?"

"Well, we'd like you to testify voluntarily, but if not, we would issue a subpoena."

Chesterina stared at Fred's hazel eyes. "Let me ask you, Mr. Molnar, if I may. How old are you?"

"Twenty eight."

"And did you grow up around here?"

"No ma'am. I was adopted. I grew up in Upstate New York."

"And do you know your birthday?"

"My parents told me it was June 15. Now, Ms. Angstman, I don't know how this

Is relevant. I have to know whether you would be willing to testify."

"I would like to be subpoenaed, Mr. Molnar."

"As soon as we get the judge to sign one, we'll have it served. Here's my business card. Please call me if you have any questions."

After Molnar left, she went to her dresser and removed a photograph from the top drawer. It was a picture of a two-month child with hazel eyes. She went back to the kitchen and placed the glass that Molnar used in a plastic bag.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Lansing, Michigan

Bernie Cuminsky rubbed his chubby hands through his thinning hair. He was planning to hang up his shingle at the end of the year. He had practiced law in Lansing for 42 years and he wanted to sell his house and move to Florida. With weeks to go, he was finishing up loose ends when she was ushered into his office, the first floor of a small, rented house. Despite the 35-degree temperature outside, Chesterina Angstman was sweating bullets as she sat down in the dust-covered chair across from Cuminsky. She was the first client that had sat in the chair for more than 4 months. "How may I help you?" Bernie asked.

"Well, I ... I think I need an attorney."

" And why is that?"

Chesterina pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and gave it to Cuminsky.

"This was handed to me today."

Bernie scanned the document. "So you may have overheard a conversation between the Capitol killer and his friends?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Tell me what you heard that day."

Chesterina recounted her version of the events.

"So, why do you think you need an attorney and how did you find me?"

"I've never been called to testify before and never needed an attorney. I remembered that a friend of mine told me you had done some work for my father years ago." Chesterina chose not to tell Cuminsky that her friend was Marta, who had been killed in the Capitol massacre.

"Okay, let me tell you what you're in for."

After Cuminsky filled Chesterina in on what she should expect, she pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her brow.

"What is the penalty for perjury?"

"Now, why would you ask that? Have you told me the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

"Oh, sure. It's just that when I was interviewed by this guy from the U.S. Attorney's office, he never mentioned what I might be in for if I slipped up."

"Okay, Ms. Angstman. First of all, who was this guy?"

Chesterina rummaged through her purse, pulled out a business card and handed it to Cuminsky.

"Hmm, 'Fred Molnar, Asst. U.S. Attorney', never heard of him."

"He looks very young."

"Okay, you said that he never mentioned what might happen if you slipped up. What do you mean 'slipped up'?"

"Oh, I don't know. I might get rattled on the stand and forget what happened."

"Let me reassure you. I know it's a new and probably frightening experience for you. However, if you are trying to tell the truth and somehow, under the pressure of the moment, you forget to say something, you won't be charged with perjury. You have to intend to deceive the court to be charged with perjury. At any rate, if you testify about something that no one else knows about, there's no way they can come after you. If you hire me, I will be there in the court to object to any questions that might be out of line. Okay?"

"Fine, I guess you're hired, but I need to know what the penalty would be."

"Ms. Angstman, it will never happen, but you could get up to five years in prison."

Later that night, Chesterina called Cuminsky and left a voicemail message. She told him she forgot to mention that she had told several friends, including Marta Bishop, that she hated Brady Meyer. At the time, she didn't think it would mean very much.

Anderson and Rogers took four hours to complete voir dire. Rogers asked each of the prospective jurors if they were regular listeners of the Brady Meyer show. When three of them held up their hands, he asked for them to be excused for cause. The judge granted his motion. He then asked the jurors if they were regular listeners of FAB News. Anderson objected. "Your honor, FAB News is not on trial here." As he voiced his objection, a reporter from FAB News, Monica Sayers, woke from her nap and started to listen to the trial she was covering.

Monica was one of the "Cleverage Crew" that FAB News News Director Peter Clark had hired in the 2006-07 period. Clark dubbed it the "Cleverage Crew" in memos to Robert Dachmer, because the crew consisted of buxom young female reporters who used their cleavage to get leverage with potential newsmakers. Dachmer, who had started FAB News at the urging of Frank Davis, the head of the Republican National Committee, was amused by the appellation given to Clark's new crop of reporters. He recalled the discussion with Davis, which led to the creation of FAB News. "Robert," Davis had said, "We Republicans don't have the demographics going in our favor. You can see this by comparing the Populate Wall Street crowd, mostly young people, with the Tea party crowd, mostly old folks. We need to convince the unwashed masses, young and old, who won't benefit from Republican policies, to vote for us. That's where you come in. If we just outspend the Democrats, we can convince these suckers of anything and it doesn't hurt to use a little sex to make the sale." Several years later, Robert was rewarded with a round of golf with President George W. Bush, who thanked him for his support. Bush recommended to Robert that FAB News hire potential Republican candidates for President as commentators, which he soon did.

In 2008, while the financial markets were melting, Davis called Dachmer.

"You've got to do something about the anger that's building against Goldman Sachs. They're a big contributor to Republican candidates and in turn, those candidates spend a lot of dough on your stations for advertising."

"I don't know how we can tell folks not to blame Goldman for this crisis. They pushed AIG to the brink by demanding a return of their collateral on these sub-prime mortgages."

"You just have to find another scapegoat."

Dachmer found his scapegoat in the new President and spent millions bankrolling theTea party, who railed against the stimulus package and the health care reform bill. It followed a pattern of previous scapegoats Dachmer had conjured up in order to divert attention away from the massive gap between the wealthy and the middle-class; the gays, the Muslims, the abortion doctors and the illegal immigrants. As Dachmer liked to tell Peter Clark, "I enjoy creating boogeyman for the masses. It's a game that I always win. Most of my listeners believe that Obama added more to the national debt than George Bush because we made them believe it."

In 2010, Dachmer attended a meeting with Davis and the CEOs of several major financial services companies. The Supreme Court had just decided the Citizens United case, which allowed unlimited and undisclosed corporate money to flow into the electoral system. "I've got a list of candidates who you should support," said Davis, "we'd like to raise about $650 million in the next two weeks. Keep in mind, that we can make sure that your company will never be linked to these candidates. You will be contributing to a front group who will make sure that the money gets to the right candidate. "

"If you gentlemen can come up with that amount, I can see to it that my reporters give these candidates plenty of face time," Dachmer said.

One of the bankers bristled. "And all the while you're raking in the advertising dollars that we're putting up."

"Look, Barry. I saw your last quarter profits," Dachmer countered. "You can easily do $650 million by yourself." The CEOs quickly agreed to come up with the cash. 95% of the candidates that received support from the CEOs won their elections that year.

With the mention of FAB News, Monica sat up straight and began taking notes. She reviewed the talking points sent to her that morning by FAB News. The judge did not allow Rogers to ask any of the potential jurors whether they watched FAB News. When the jury was seated, the judge called for a recess. Monica followed Rogers into the hall outside the courtroom. "Mr. Rogers, " she shouted, pushing her massive half-exposed chest toward him, "were you insinuating from your questions to the jury that FAB News is somehow biased in their reporting of this case?"

"Who are you?" Rogers intoned, looking down at the two qualifications that had allowed her to get the job.

"Monica Sayers, FAB News."

"Look, Ms. Sayers, I don't have time to discuss this now, I've got to get ready for the trial." Rogers started to walk away, but Sayers pushed a microphone in his face.

"Are you conceding then that you believe FAB News is biased?"

"What I believe is not relevant and apparently what the jurors watch is also irrelevant, according to the judge. I will leave it at that."

Monica persisted. "Does your client, Ms. Angstman, hate Brady Meyer?"

Rogers ignored Monica's question and pushed his way through the crowd of spectators, many of them crowded around Sayers to get an eyeful of her cleavage.

Monica had attended a three-month training session for all FAB News reporters before she was allowed to hold a microphone. The facilitators of the training session were all former Republican operatives and they spelled out the requirements for covering a story for FAB News. If the subject was climate change, the reporter had to end every story, regardless of the credibility of the speaker, with the comment that there has been a serious scientific dispute about the existence of climate change and whether man has contributed to it.

If the subject was health care reform, the reporter had to refer to it as "Obamacare." Monica wasn't sure why it was critical that she had to abide by these directives, but she intended to do so. She had been abused by a husband she had married when she was 16 and bounced from job to job ever since. Her academic record was spotty but she was able to get a degree from a community college and caught the eye of a FAB News executive who spoke at a career day event at the college. Monica had approached him after his speech and he immediately asked her to come back to his office for a private interview.

Monica told herself that she had to do whatever was necessary to get a decent job. She made sure the executive had signed her contract before she provided him with some of the best oral sex he ever experienced.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Lansing, Michigan

Monica Sayers was in her hotel room when she got a call from the FAB News Director, Peter Clark. "Nice job, tonight, Monica."

"Thanks, Peter."

"Look, the boss wants us to turn up the sympathy for Meyer. Make him look like the victim."

"How do I do that, sir?"

"All you have to do is ask questions which undermine the prosecution's theory. I know it's hard to pin down Rogers, but I see that he's got an assistant."

"Yeah, a little twerp by the name of Fred Molnar."

"Whoever. He looks like a rookie. If you can pull him aside, outside of Rogers's earshot, just ask him if this trial is just a charade intended to bring down Brady Meyer for speaking the truth. Even if he declines to answer, you can get him to sweat a bit. That's all we need to plant the seed that this thing is trumped up."

Monica sipped a glass of wine. "Do you really think it's all trumped up?"

"Hell no. They've got a pretty good case and may actually convict him. But we need to convince the public that watches us that the government is out to get conservative programming. Keep pursuing the angle that Ms. Angstman hates Brady Meyer and feel free to make something up when you question this guy."

"All right. I'll try to nab Molnar tomorrow."

"Good girl. And by the way, a little more cleavage tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

Monica had brought eight outfits with her to the trial. When she ended her conversation with Clark, she went to the closet and picked out the most revealing dress she had. "This should do," she said to herself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

New York, New York

Clark dialed his boss as soon as he was off the phone with Sayers. "Mr. Dachmer, I think we're going to get the best of both worlds. If Meyer is acquitted, he will thank us for helping him out and the public will be more convinced than ever that this was a left-wing plot by the government. If he's convicted, we get to portray him as a martyr for First Amendment rights."

"Glad to hear it Peter. Did you tell Monica to reveal a little more of her bounty tomorrow?"

"I sure did."

"Good. I may have to reward her with a trip to the Bahamas when this is over. Just the two of us."

Robert Dachmer got his start when he inherited his father's broadcast stations in New Zealand. His father had suffered a heart attack shortly after reading an article in the New York Times entitled "Dachmer Broadcasting Shades Truth in New Zealand". The story, which followed a six-month investigation by the Times, alleged that the father's stations had consistently engaged in a pattern of slanting the news to support the candidacy of Robert Muldoon for Prime Minister. The story further asserted that Muldoon, a friend of the father, had repaid him by easing regulations on the broadcast industry in New Zealand. Dachmer, a lad of twenty-six at the time of his father's death, vowed to restore his family's name by expanding the breadth of their broadcast empire beyond New Zealand. He did so by following his father's lead and lining the coffers of powerful politicians, who repaid him with access and regulatory support. Since most of the politicians he encountered who were cozy with business interests were conservative, Dachmer's broadcast stations favored conservative candidates. When a reporter seemed to take a side in favor of a more liberal candidate, the reporter would be fired.

Dachmer would often joke with his New Zealand staff that he was determined to "bury" the United States by robbing its wealth and polluting its discourse. Some of the staff did not consider it a joke. His empire included a broadcast network, 32 broadcast stations, four newspapers, a cable network and fifteen cable systems. He owned six homes in different parts of the world, including a $45 million Swiss chalet. As he settled into his Brazilian lounge chair to review the plans for his fourth yacht, this one made in Turkey, he recalled his first encounter with Brady Meyer. They met at a conference in Aspen, Colorado. After swapping introductions, Dachmer asked Meyer how he was able to attract such a large radio audience. "That's' easy. I put the fear of God into them. Tell them that the government is out to get them, to tax them to death and take their guns away. If a listener tries to bring up contrary evidence, and that isn't often, I just shout over them. If necessary, I turn down the volume on their end and raise it on mine. It works like a charm."

You're going to owe us now, Brady, Dachmer told himself.

CHAPTER FORTY

Lansing, Michigan

Ken Fellows kept his part of the plea bargain and testified that he had heard the Brady Meyer show, told Ron and Tony about it and soon thereafter he and Ron purchased the assault rifle. He denied even knowing Trenton Fuller.

Prior to putting Chesterina on the stand, Matthew Rogers looked over his notes and summoned Fred Molnar to sit down next to him at the counsel table. "Fred, do you think she is telling the truth about those conversations at the gun show?"

Fred hesitated. Then, remembering his earlier discussion with Chesterina, said "Absolutely."

"Did you ask her if she had any motive to lie?"

"Like what?"

Rogers fumed. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe she hated Brady Meyer?"

The judge pounded his gavel before Fred had a chance to respond.

Harold Anderson, one of Brady Meyer's attorneys, was itching for a fight. He had represented a number of high-profile defendants before; movie stars, athletes and politicians. He had represented Meyer when he filed a defamation suit against Frank Allen, who had written a book entitled "Brady Meyer, Liar, Liar." Although he did not obtain a favorable verdict, he drained Allen of most of his financial resources in an effort to defend the suit. Allen did not publish any more books. One of the stories highlighted in Allen's book involved Meyer's obsession with Muslims. Allen was able to demonstrate that Meyer had purposely misled his audience when he told them, following the 9/11 attacks, that President Bush had ordered Osama bin Laden's relatives out of the country. In fact, the Bush administration had helped the relatives return to Saudia Arabia, at their request. Another chapter in Allen's book dealt with Meyer's addiction to the drug Percolone, which he started using for back pain. Allen took exception to Meyer's attack on medical marijuana laws, arguing that Meyer would have been far better off using marijuana to ease his pain and would not have experienced the side effects he did, including a dramatic loss in hearing.

Anderson never thought the judge should have allowed the government to bring in a witness at the last minute, without any opportunity for him to depose her. He had already destroyed whatever credibility Ken Fellows had on the stand by getting him to admit that his testimony was colored by the his plea bargain and that he was only facing three years in prison, as opposed to the 15 years under the initial charge. Anderson, with 30 years of experience as a trial lawyer, knew it was unfair that the prosecution could salvage its case in this way. Without this witness, he would surely have secured an acquittal for Brady Meyer. He was also upset that the judge had overruled his objection to Chesterina Angstman's testimony about the gun show conversation on the grounds of hearsay. He walked over to the witness stand and glared at Chesterina.

"Ms. Angstman, you testified that you overheard a conversation between Mr. Ron Palmer, Mr. Tony Crandall and Mr. Ken Fellows on the afternoon of August 17, is that correct?"

Chesterina had been told by Cuminsky to take her time in answering questions from counsel and not to say more than she had to in answering the questions.

"That's correct."

"Now, you also testified that you heard Mr. Crandall discuss a broadcast of the Brady Meyer show. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"Now, tell me as best you remember, what exactly Mr. Crandall said."

Chesterina paused and looked at Cuminsky. He could do nothing to help her. She

had to say more than yes or no. She could feel the sweat dripping from her forehead.

"Well, I believe he said something like Brady Meyer would be proud of them if they shot some people at a rally."

"You believe? You believe?" Anderson's voice was rising. "So you don't know what Mr. Crandall said, you only believe he said something?"

"What I meant was, I don't remember the exact words, but I do remember the gist of what he said."

"And so, he could have said Brady Meyer would be proud of us if we didn't kill anybody, couldn't he?"

"No, that's not what I heard."

"Did you hear the Brady Meyer broadcast in question?"

"No. "

"Do you ever listen to the Brady Meyer show."

"Not really." Brady Meyer, who was sitting at the defense table, turned to the jury and grinned.

"Not really. So you don't particularly agree with Mr. Meyer's views?"

"Your honor," Matthew Rogers rose to his feet. "I object. Whatever Ms. Angstman's political views are is irrelevant to this case. She is testifying about what she heard that day, not whether she agreed with what she heard."

"I would agree, your honor." Cuminsky was glad he could chime in.

"Your honor," Anderson retorted, "I believe the jury is entitled to know whether Ms. Angstman's views about Brady Meyer affected her recall of the events in question."

"That's absurd, your honor," Rogers barked. "There is simply no predicate for questioning her on her political beliefs."

Judge Miller looked down at Rogers. "I will overule the objection."

"Thank you, your honor," Anderson said. "Now, Ms. Angstman, isn't it a fact that you hate Brady Meyer and blame him for your friend's death?"

"No, no. That's not true." Chesterina looked frightened.

"But your friend, Marta, died at the rally in Lansing, did she not?"

"Yes."

"And you told this jury that you didn't' listen to the Brady Meyer show."

"I have heard his program."

"And do you believe that his broadcasts contributed to Marta's death?'

Chesterina hesitated and looked towards Cuminsky, who looked down at the counsel table. "Yes."

"So you were wrong when you said earlier that you didn't hate him?'

Cuminsky rose to his feet. "Objection. The witness has answered the question.

"She certainly has, your honor. She has answered the question twice and I am trying to find out which answer was truthful."

"You have made your point, counsel." Judge Miller said. "Move on to another topic."

Anderson smiled at the jury. "Ms. Angstman, you testified that there were three individuals involved in the discussion you overheard at the gun show. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"And did each of these individuals contribute to the conversation?"

"Yes."

Chesterina was going over in her mind the details of the two conversations she overheard. The first was a conversation between Ron and Tony, with Ken observing. The second was when Ron told Ken that "doing this in Lansing might work" and then Ken telling Ron that killing people wouldn't help his cause. She had heard Ken's testimony about the first conversation on Court TV and could conform her recital of the facts to his. She was counting on the fact that Ken would not be recalled as a witness.

"All right. We know from your testimony that Mr. Crandall said that Mr. Meyer would be proud of them if Ron were to shoot some people at the rally. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And what did Mr. Palmer say in response to this comment."

"That he thought it might be a good idea."

"And what did Mr. Fellows say?"

"That he would think it over." Chesterina knew that Ken had said nothing when Tony was making his proposal and that it was Ron, not Ken, who said he would think it over. However, she was convinced that no one would be able to contradict her answer.

"Now did you at any time, Ms. Angstman, hear Mr. Fellows agree to participate in the proposed shooting at the Capitol?"

"No, but.."

"Thank you. You have answered the question. I notice that you're not wearing a watch. Do you normally wear a watch?"

"No."

"So you weren't wearing a watch on August 17?"

"I don't believe so."

"Well, you said that the conversation you heard occurred at 1:15 pm. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Not approximately 1:15, but 1:15?"

"Well, I didn't mean to the second."

"But you were saying it was 1:15, not 1:14 or 1:16."

"I may have been rounding off the time to the nearest five minutes."

"May have? May have? How did you know it was 1:15 and not 1:20?"

"I think I saw the time on the clock that on a wall at the gun show."

"You think? You don't know if that's where you saw the time?"

"No." Anderson swooped toward Chesterina, like an eagle going after its prey.

"And yet you are telling us, telling the jury, that it was 1:15 when you overheard the conversation."

"Within five minutes."

"So you are telling the jury that you didn't wear a watch on August 17, but you 'think' you looked at the clock and you are certain that the conversation occurred at 1:15?"

"Objection, your Honor," Rogers bellowed, "The question has been asked and answered."

"I will allow the answer."

Chesterina hesitated, looked at Cuminksy, and then said "yes."

"Now, Ms. Angstman, just a few more questions, isn't it true that you only reported this incident to the police after you read an article about it in the November 24 Lansing State Journal?"

"That's right."

"And reading from that article, 'The U.S. Attorney's office believes that the co-conspirators listened to the Brady Meyer program on August 17 and were inspired by Mr. Meyer's reference to "stopping this guy [Hastings]", which occurred at 1:15 pm.' Do you recall reading that part of the article?"

"Yes."

"Now, Ms. Angstman, let me remind you that may be charged with perjury if you know your answers are untrue. Isn't it a fact that you didn't know at what time you overheard the conversation in question and that you only decided to report your knowledge of this event after reading the article in the State Journal?"

Chesterina recalled what her attorney had told her about perjury. If she lied and no one could call her on it, there was no way they could go after her. She stared at Cuminsky, and after a few seconds, very quietly said "no."

"Ms. Angstman, I will remind you again that you are under oath. Do you like Brady Meyer?"

"Objection," Rogers bellowed. "Whether or not Ms.Angstman likes Brady Meyer is irrelevant."

"But, your Honor, This goes to the witness's motive for testifying."

"I will allow the answer."

Chesterina clutched her purse tightly. "I really don't care for him."

"Isn't it true that your dislike of Mr. Meyer's political views motivated you to report this matter and that you made up the conversation that you now have told the court you overheard?"

"I'm not sure..."

"OBJECTION," Rogers screamed.

"Sustained."

"No further questions."

Rogers debated whether he should ask some follow up questions of Chesterina, but decided it was too risky. "I have no redirect, your Honor."

Anderson asked the judge for a ten-minute recess and it was granted. He then leaned over to talk to his co-counsel and waved Meyer over so he could hear the discussion.

" I think we have to put you on the stand, Brady. This woman's testimony has changed the dynamics of the case."

"All right. I think you did a job on her, but I'll do whatever you say."

"Any reason we should keep him off the stand?" Anderson looked at his co-counsel. They both shook their heads.

Fred Molnar left the courtroom during the recess to call his office. As he began dialing his cell phone, Monica Sayers cornered him, with a cameraman in tow. "Mr. Molnar, is it true that the charges against Brady Meyer were politically motivated?"

Molnar stopped dialing. He had been trained to be courteous to the press, no matter how absurd their questions were. His voice was muted as he held his gaze on Monica's breasts. "No, the charges were not politically motivated." The cameraman zoomed in on Fred's face. He looked anything but confident.

"So, Brady Meyer is not being prosecuted for exercising his First Amendment rights?" Monica bent down towards Fred as she asked her question, giving him a good view of her cleavage.

"No, no, of course not."

"Well then why don't you disclose that your key witness, Chesterina Angstman, fathered an illegitimate child?" Monica had not researched Chesterina's background, deciding that if she made up something, there would be no time for a fact-check.

Fred froze. The cameraman caught Fred staring at Monica's cleavage and mumbling, "I have no comment."

"Thank you, Mr. Molnar." Monica smiled at the cameraman and headed back to the courtroom.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Lansing ,Michigan

"Your Honor, the defense calls Brady Meyer." Harold Anderson's voice boomed loudly. He wanted to make sure the press was listening. The courtroom, which had been extremely quiet for the cross-examination of Chesterina Angstman, came alive with whispers, gasps and expressions of surprise when Meyer's name was called. Monica Sayers, who had not been expecting Meyer to be called to the stand, said in a loud voice "My God, he's going to testify."

Judge Miller banged his gavel. "There will be order. If I hear an outburst from anyone in the courtroom, I will have that person escorted out. You may proceed, Mr. Anderson."

Meyer strode to the stand, with a look of sheer defiance. He wore a $1500 Italian suit. "Please state your name for the record."

"Brady Meyer." Meyer's voice boomed throughout the courtroom.

"And what do you do for a living, sir?"

"I am the host of a nationally syndicated talk show, the Brady Meyer show."

"And do you recall sir, the broadcast of your show last August 17?"

"I do."

"Can you tell the jury what you said at approximately 1:15 on that day?"

Rogers rose to his feet.

"Your honor, both sides have agreed that the transcript of that broadcast should be shown to the jury. I don't see any reason why we should ask Mr. Meyer to recite what has already been agreed to."

"Your honor," Anderson argued, "It is important for the jury to know exactly what Mr. Meyer said, in his own words."

"I will allow the answer."

Meyer did not hesitate. He had been fully prepared for this moment.

"I told my listeners that Congressman Hastings' bill was a mistake and that his efforts in this regard should be resisted."

"Did you urge your listeners to take guns to the rally at the State Capitol in Lansing and shoot Mr. Hastings or any of his supporters?"

"No, I did not."

"But you did say that he should be stopped. What did you mean by that?"

"I merely meant that his efforts to enact legislation should be stopped."

"And did you say that you hoped one of your listeners was armed and dangerous?"

"Yes. What I meant was that my listeners should be ready to combat the passage of Hastings's bill, in a symbolic sense."

"Thank you. That's all the questions I have."

Rogers rose from his seat. He took his time as he approached the witness stand.

"Mr. Meyer, let me read to you from the transcript of your August 17 broadcast and tell me if this is accurate."

Anderson could not contain himself. "Your honor, Mr. Rogers has previously objected to my question to Mr. Meyer on the basis that the transcript speaks for itself. Now, he wants to read the transcript into the record. I object."

"Your honor," Rogers smiled. "I am merely trying to compare what Mr. Meyer actually said on August 17 with what he now says he said. I am entitled to impeach the witness."

"You may proceed."

"Now, Mr. Meyer, let me read you what this transcript says and tell me if it is accurate."

"All right."

" 'Look, this guy and his supporters have to be stopped.' Did you say that?"

"Yes."

"And yet, just now, you told Mr. Anderson that what you said was that Mr. Hastings' efforts to pass legislation should be resisted. Isn't there a big difference between stopping someone and resisting his efforts?"

"No, Mr. Rogers. I was saying the same thing. I wasn't saying that he should literally be stopped, merely that his efforts should be."

"But you didn't say anything about his efforts in the quote I read you."

'Well that's what I meant."

"Wouldn't you agree that one of your listeners could take your statement literally?"

"Objection," Anderson yelled.

"Sustained."

"Now, I will read to you another passage from the transcript, and I quote:

'I hope one of my listeners out there is armed and dangerous. Let's start a Brady Brigade, heh-heh. Let's wipe out these characters.' Do you recall saying that?"

"I suppose I did."

"Now, Mr. Brady are you suggesting that one could interpret the phrase "wipe out" to mean 'resisting efforts'?"

"Well, I meant they should be wiped out politically."

"Yet in the same breath, you refer to starting a Brady Brigade and being armed and dangerous. How does being armed and dangerous help one to act politically?"

"Well, I meant to say that we have to be prepared to resist the bill with everything we've got."

"Everything you've got, including shooting people who disagree with you. Isn't that what you meant?" Rogers stared directly into Meyer's eyes as he spoke.

"No. All the political tools at our disposal."

"Now, Mr. Meyer, I want to hand you the transcript of your broadcast of August 17 and I want you to look this over and tell me if the words "political" or "politically" occur anywhere in that text."

Rogers handed Meyer the transcript and turned to face the jury. His facial expression was stern and confident, knowing full well what Meyer's answer would be.

"Now, Mr. Meyer, do you find any reference to political or politically?"

Meyer read through the transcript and quietly said "No."

"So it was your intent to encourage someone in your listening audience to go to the Hastings rally, with a gun, and "wipe out" some people. Isn't that correct?"

"No."

"How many listeners do you have every day, Mr. Meyer?"

"About 20 million."

"20 million listeners? And you don't think even one of those 20 million listeners might reasonably conclude that you were encouraging them to literally wipe out Mr. Hastings and his supporters at the rally?"

"No, just politically."

"And how would such a person wipe out Mr. Hastings or his supporters politically?"

Anderson rose to his feet. "Objection, your honor. The question calls for sheer speculation."

"I will allow the answer."

Meyer looked at Anderson, hoping that another objection might be forthcoming. After 30 seconds, he spoke. For the first time during his testimony, his voice began to quiver.

" Well, a listener could organize a Tea party and protest the Hastings bill."

"And you're telling this jury," Rogers pointed to the jury box with a look of incredulity, "that organizing a Tea party is tantamount to wiping someone out?"

"Yes."

"Can you speak loud enough so the jury can hear you?"

"YES.'

"And are you telling this jury that 94 innocent Americans were killed and hundreds more injured and not one of your 20 million listeners misconstrued your remarks as a call for violent, not political, action?"

"Objection!," bellowed Anderson.

"Sustained," came the judge's quick response.

"No further questions." Meyer glared at Rogers as he left the stand.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Lansing, Michigan

Following Meyer's testimony, the court recessed for 30 minutes. As soon as the judge left the bench and the jury had retired to the jury room, Monica Sayers left her seat and approached Meyer, who was seated behind the counsel table. She had to stand behind the gate that separated the audience from the attorneys and witnesses. "Mr. Meyer," she shouted, "what do you want to say to the millions of your fans who are watching this trial?"

Meyer glared at Sayers. "I will tell them what I need to say as soon as the trial is over." Anderson rose from his seat and told Sayers to leave the witnesses alone. Sayers went back to her seat.

Rogers' closing statement lasted 45 minutes. He recounted the testimony of Ron Palmer, making clear that it wasn't Palmer alone who had testified that Palmer, Crandall and Fellows had been inspired by the Brady Meyer broadcast to attend the rally with the intent of killing innocent civilians. He described Chesterina Angstman as an honest, well-meaning woman who had no axe to grind. Her testimony, Rogers asserted, substantiates the testimony of Palmer that all there of the conspirators were inspired by the August 17 Meyer broadcast to organize and execute a plan that resulted in the deaths of 53 people. Rogers then cited the testimony of Mr. Meyer as proof that the rhetoric he used was inflammatory and could reasonably have led to the actions taken by the conspirators.

The judge ordered a ten-minute recess prior to Anderson's closing statement. When the jury returned, Anderson was on his feet, ready to respond to what Rogers had told them. He started by depicting Palmer, as a common criminal and someone the jury should put not believe. He then turned his sights on Chesterina. She was sitting in the back of the courtroom when Anderson began his attack on her. She was hoping he would not spot her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury," Anderson bellowed, pointing to Chesterina, " this woman is not the saint that the prosecution portrays her to be. To begin with, she didn't come forward with her testimony until the first day of the trial. Now ask yourselves, if she really overheard a plot to kill civilians at a rally, why did she wait until 3 months after the event to come forward? I can offer the only reasonable answer to that question." Anderson paused for effect. " She was uncertain of what she heard. She now tells you that she believes that all three of the conspirators were discussing the Brady Meyer show that day, but can you believe her? Can you believe someone who did not immediately call the police and tell them that she overheard a plot to commit murder?And what you must ask yourselves, because the judge will so instruct you, is whether you can believe her beyond a reasonable doubt. I submit that the evidence you have heard gives you reason after reason to doubt her testimony, particularly since she had no particular liking for Mr. Meyer. In fact, she first denied that she disliked Mr. Meyer and later admitted that she hated him because her friend died in the unfortunate incident five months ago. She therefore had every reason to lie and she did so and...." Anderson paused as he approached the jury and stared at them, one by one, " she had every reason to testify in such a way as to make my client seem guilty of a crime he didn't commit. "

Anderson then went through a list of additional reasons why he thought Chesterina's testimony should be discounted. He wound up his closing statement by appealing to the patriotism of the jury.

" Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen. This may be the end of our democracy, as we know it. If Mr. Meyer can be convicted of a crime for merely discussing the need for law-abiding citizens to protest a piece of legislation that they believe would limit their access to information, this country is in serious trouble. It is up to you to send a message to Washington. That message should be that we don't want to criminalize free speech. We don't want to silence the people who provide us with the truth about our government. I beg you to return a verdict of not guilty." Anderson walked slowly to the counsel table and gently patted Meyer on the back.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Lansing, Michigan

It was time for Rogers to give his summation. He knew that Anderson had created sympathy for Meyer, so he had to address the reasons for the sympathy head on.

Rogers leaped to his feet when the judge called for his summation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Each of us enjoys a tremendous amount of freedom in this country. We should all be thankful for those freedoms. However, with each of these freedoms comes responsibility. The right to bear arms does not mean that each of us can shoot our guns at anytime or at anyone we choose. We must use our firearms in a responsible manner. The same is true with freedom of speech.

Our country allows broad latitude in what people can say and encourages all citizens to engage in public debates about issues of the day. Yet, we must all be vigilant that our words do not rise to the level of inciting violence against our fellow man. That is why Congress passed a law making it a crime to incite violence. You have heard the elements of that crime. There is no question that each of those elements has been proven, beyond a reasonable doubt. Accordingly, you must find Brady Meyer guilty of that crime. You may ask yourselves, can words really inspire people to commit murder? The answer is clearly yes. The holocaust was preceded by hate-filled speeches, broadcast on German radios, from Hitler and Goebbels. More recently, the Rwandan genocide, in which more than 900,000 persons were hacked to death with machetes, was precipitated by radio broadcasts.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it can happen and it did happen here. Was Brady Meyer careful with his words? Did he act responsibly? Not at all. He could have chosen his words more carefully, knowing that 20 million people were listening to him. But no, instead of saying we must oppose this bill or this Congressman, he said we have to "WIPE HIM OUT." Rogers raised his voice. "Wipe him out?' To you and me that may mean one thing, but isn't there a reasonable probability that one of those 20 million listeners might think, "Hey, my hero, Brady Meyer, wants me to kill Congressman Hastings, particularly when Meyer also said that he wanted his listeners to be ARMED and DANGEROUS?" Make no mistake, it was Mr. Meyer's intent to inflame the passions of his listeners, knowing full well that one or more of them would answer his call for violence.

Now, as to Ms. Angstman. Ms. Angstman initially identified Mr. Fellows on the day of the shooting as someone she had seen with two other men who were purchasing an assault weapon. Her testimony corroborates the testimony of Mr. Fellows to a tee. They both testified that Palmer, Fellows and Crandall were aware of the Brady Meyer broadcast on the day they bought the gun and that Crandall had told them that Meyer would be proud of them if they shot some lefties. There is no reason to doubt Ms.Angstman's testimony. She has no reason to lie." Rogers finished his summation and sat down.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Washington, D.C.

Congressman Hastings watched stoically as the verdict was read on CNN. He took a drink of water and then buzzed his secretary. "Mary, get me Chairman Brachman."

After a few minutes, she buzzed back. "I've got the Chairman on the line."

""Henry, I assume you've been watching the Meyer trial?"

"Not really, Brent. But I'm aware of the verdict."

"As you recall, you promised a vote on my bill in committee if there seemed to be public support for the bill. I'm betting that this verdict will convince more people than ever that my bill should be passed."

"We'll have to wait and see."

"Henry, you know there's not that much time to get this done in lame duck. Can you at least schedule a committee hearing for next week? By that time, you'll know if the polls are moving in right direction. If not, you can cancel the hearing."

Brachman breathed heavily into the phone. "Look Brent. You're going to be gone from Congress in less than 2 months. I really don't think I have to take orders from you."

"But Henry, you promised,..."

"I've promised a lot of things in my time and events sometimes alter our commitments."

Hastings had had enough. He made a quick calculation that Brachman was not going to hold a hearing no matter what he said, so he let loose.

"It seems, Henry, that your commitments to the broadcast industry are worth a lot more to you than your commitments to a colleague and a great deal more than your commitments to a free and open debate on issues important to this country. I see where the big networks gave you more than $300,000 this year."

"Brent, I don't have to listen to this." Brachman placed his phone in its cradle. He then called the number given him by George Dawson. Dawson assured him that a Thai prostitute would be waiting for him at the Marriott hotel, room 1245.

"I have to warn you, Mr. Chairman, she does not speak English."

"That's just fine," Brachman said.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Lansing, Michigan

Brady Meyer stood at the top step of the courthouse steps. A microphone and stand was in front of him. Harold Anderson stood next to him and made a few statements about the American jury system, the attention given to the case by the jury and the flaws in the prosecution's case. There were 35 reporters crowding together to get a chance to ask questions, many of them from the national media. Anderson expected to field most of the questions, but they all seemed to be directed at Meyer.

"Mr. Meyer," shouted a reporter from the Associated Press, "Do you feel vindicated."

"Of course I do. These charges were brought by a left wing, socialist Administration that was out to get me. I intend to continue to speak out on the major issues of the day and I will not be silenced by threats and intimidation."

"Mr. Meyer, do you think your broadcasts tend to fan the flames of hatred and in some way contribute to the atmosphere of hostility that exists in our political discourse today?"

"You saw what the jury just did. Twelve independent men and women came to the same conclusion, that my broadcasts do not incite people to commit crimes. People act on their own volition. My words are words of freedom and free enterprise. I seek only to tell it like it is. If people are moved by what I say, I can't control their actions."

Anderson held up his hand and grabbed the microphone. "That's all for today folks." Two of the reporters continued to yell out questions, but the bulk of the press corps dispersed. Anderson turned to Meyer and whispered, "Let's talk in a few days Brady."

As Chesterina was leaving the courtroom, Monica Sayers buttonholed her.

"Ms. Angstman," the reporter blurted out, "does the jury verdict confirm the fact that you were lying under oath?" Chesterina kept walking toward the parking lot, followed by Sayers. Ken Fellows began to follow both women. As Monica stuck her microphone in Chesterina's face, Ken grabbed it and turned it away. "I think this lady needs to be alone now." Monica began to complain about her right to interview Chesterina, but gave up when Ken stared her down. He then went over to Chesterina. "Ms. Angstman, would you like to go somewhere and have some coffee?"

Chesterina recognized the distinctive smell of Jack Daniels on Ken's breath. Her father had been drinking Jack the night he raped her.She had no desire to see Ken, but she was curious about what he wanted to talk about and was grateful that he had kept her from answering questions from FAB News. After all, he was very good-looking., if a bit overweight.

"Sure. I know a place right up the street here."

They walked silently to the coffee shop and each ordered a drink.

Chesterina ordered a latte and Ken had an iced coffee.

"So, Ms. Angstman, were you satisfied with the jury's verdict?"

Chesterina hesitated, not knowing what Ken's views on the verdict were.

"Well, I think the jury seemed to give it their best shot."

"That's not what I mean."

Ken leaned forward, so others in the coffee shop could not hear him.

"Do you think Brady Meyer is guilty?"

"That's not for me to say. I testified as to what I heard."

"Not quite." Ken interrupted. "You know and I know that Ron and I never

agreed to shoot any innocent persons."

"I merely told the jury what I thought I heard."

"Cut the crap, Ms. Angstman. You told them that the three of us conspired to kill a lot of people because we were stirred up by Brady Meyer. You know that's not true. Tony was a Brady Meyer fan but he didn't have a gun and Ron and I weren't going to kill people on his behalf."

Ken was undressing Chesterina with his eyes. She still looked extremely attractive for her age, with long dark hair, hazel eyes and a firm bosom, which filled a size 38 D bra nicely. He lazily rolled an ice cube around his tongue as he stared at Chesterina. She tried to ignore his advances and resumed the conversation.

"Why would I risk going to jail myself by coming forward?"

"Because you hated Brady Meyer and you wanted to stop him."

"What do you want, Ken?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm going to be spending the next three years in jail, so I won't be needing much money. How about if you and me go over to your house and get cozy?"

Chesterina gulped audibly. "How old are you Ken?"

"Twenty five."

"Do you know that I'm 48?"

"So?"

"And if I don't agree to take you to my house, what then?"

"Well, I guess I'd have to talk to the FBI again and tell them what you really heard that day."

"They won't believe you. You were convicted of a conspiracy to commit murder."

"Do you want to take that chance? I've got nothing to lose and you could go to jail."

Chesterina shrugged her shoulders, opened her purse and paid for the drinks. As they left the coffee shop, she began staring at Ken. It's been a while, she told herself, and he doesn't look all that bad, big and strong. Chesterina had not only been without a man, but she hadn't masturbated in more than 10 years. She also felt a little guilty about turning Ken into the police after the rally. She hoped he would never learn the truth.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina went to Richdale immediately after Ken left her house. She told herself that giving in to him would ensure that Fred Molnar, who might be her son, would never find out that she had lied. When she checked in at the front desk she noticed that the receptionist seemed agitated.

"I'm here to see Henry Angstman."

The receptionist's face froze.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hasn't any one told you, Ms. Angstman?"

"Told me what? What's happened to my father?"

"He .. He suffered a stroke earlier today. He's at Sparrow Hospital."

"How come no one called me?"

"I think we called your home number and your cell phone."

Chesterina's face flushed. "I was at a trial. I forgot to turn on the ringer after I got out." Chesterina's voice started to fade.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Angstman."

"Do you know what room number he's in at the hospital?"

"Let me look that up for you."

Chesterina entered her father's room at the hospital quietly, not wanting to wake him up if he was sleeping. She found him staring at the ceiling.

"Dad, Dad. It's Chesterina."

He opened his mouth and directed his eyes at Chesterina.

"Dad. I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you had your stroke. I was at the Brady Meyer trial."

"Uh, .whaa. ."

Chesterina wasn't entirely sure what her Dad was saying, but she had a good idea.

"He was found not guilty."

"Caa....naa."

"I know you liked Mr. Meyer, and you're probably upset that I testified against him. But you should know that I was subpoenaed to testify and I could have gone to jail if I didn't. I could still go to jail for perjury."

Her father closed his mouth and redirected his eyes at the ceiling.

She fluffed his pillow and sat down next to the bed. She remained there for the next 32 hours. During that time, she called her brother in California.

"Dad's had a stroke."

"What does the doctor say?"

"That he'll probably regain his physical strength, but won't ever be coherent again. Can you pay him a visit?"

"Look, Chesterina. It's a bad time. I've got to prepare for a conference I'm speaking at next week."

"Of course, Paul. I'll take care of him."
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer called Harold Anderson on the Monday morning following the trial.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Harold?"

"I just thought your comments at the press conference were setting you up for unnecessary hassling by the media. You don't need to gloat over this verdict. I would still be careful with what I say."

Brady pulled a cigar out of his drawer and lit it. "Harold, my man. You did a fine job in the courtroom. I'm very grateful. However, the airwaves are my domain. I will say what I want to say. This verdict only gives me more license to do so."

"I wouldn't be so confident. There are a lot of people who are unhappy with the verdict. I would lay low for a while."

"Thanks for the advice, Harold. Look, I think that Angstman woman should be prosecuted for perjury. What do we have to do to see that it happens?"

"I doubt that they are going to go after her. She was there key witness and she held her own pretty well."

"She lied about not hating me. If you hadn't got her to admit that, I could have been going to jail myself."

"The only way you're going to get the feds to prosecute her is to contact the Attorney General. I don't think he owes you any favors."

"Maybe he doesn't owe me anything, but I think I know who he does owe."

"Who's that?"

"Never mind. I've got to get ready for my show."

Brady Meyer did not lay low for long. His show that afternoon left no doubt about his feelings on the verdict.

"Folks, I have been vindicated. We have been vindicated. The First Amendment to the Constitution has been vindicated. This Administration can no longer attempt to silence my voice, a voice that 20 million of you depend on each day to get the truth. As a result of this verdict, I am today calling upon Attorney General Harris to resign. Mr. Harris authorized what has now been determined to be a spurious prosecution of me. He has to be removed. I want each of you to contact your Congressman and Senators and urge them to use their influence to get Mr. Harris to step down. And let's not stop there. Each of the attorneys who were involved in this charade should be forced out of the government. We should mow them all down, heh-heh. And while we're at it, let's mow down anyone who testified against me in this miscarriage of justice."

At the commercial break, Meyer turned to his new associate producer.

"Billy, that will get the phone lines to light up in Washington. This trial was the best thing that could have happened to us."

"But do you think someone might take your statement that we should mow down people the wrong way?"

"Let them, Billy boy. Let them. The important thing is that the guy who's paying for this program is happy. He wants us to go after more government officials."

"Even if they are doing the right thing?"

"Billy boy, we can't acknowledge that this Administration is doing anything right. That would kill my reputation and my ratings."

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Wellington, Florida

The temperature was in the mid 80s when Brady Meyer, Robert Dachmer, Charles David Aruma and Peter Clark teed off at the Venice Polo Golf and Country Club. They rode in individual golf carts, but through Meyer's insistence, hired caddies for the match as well. Meyer rode with Dachmer.

"Let's make it $10,000 a hole," Brady announced as the group warmed up with practice swings on the first tee.

Aruma turned to Brady as he asked his caddy for a tee. "Hell, I made fifty grand when gasoline prices rose a penny this morning." The rest of the foursome could easily afford the stakes and did not want to turn down Meyer after he had paid for their trips from New York so the four could celebrate Meyer's acquittal.

Harrison Spencer was Meyer's caddy. He was in his senior year of college at the University of Miami. "What's your major?" Meyer asked as he set up for his approach shot on the first hole.

"Social work, sir. I plan to be a caseworker for low-income clients. Give something back."

Meyer pushed a five-wood into the woods on the right side of the fairway. "You don't need to give anything back, son. The people you want to help will never amount to anything, and they will never help you. You should major in business. That's the only way to succeed." Meyer drove his cart to the edge of the woods, telling Dachmer he knew where his ball was located. Spencer, walking behind the cart, peeked into the woods as Meyer was kicking his ball from behind a tree. "I'll take my 3 iron, " he bellowed at Spencer.

Spencer was dumbfounded. It would be one thing to cheat if no money was involved, but with $10,000 a hole at stake, Meyer was pushing his luck. Perhaps, Spencer thought to himself, if he keeps quiet, Meyer would give him a big tip.

As the foursome teed off on the 18th hole, Dachmer was four shots back of Meyer and Clark, who were tied. Aruma was six shots back. Dachmer hit his second shot into the woods and Meyer raced to the green as Aruma and Clark offered to help locate Dachmer's ball. Meyer's approach shot had landed 30 feet from the hole but, as he looked back to make sure that only Spencer was looking, he placed his ball mark 23 feet closer, seven feet from the hole. Clark's approach shot landed 12 feet from the hole and his putt rimmed out from there.

Meyer calmly drained his seven-footer and proclaimed, "Guess we know who's the best golfer today."

Spencer was now fully convinced that he would be getting a big tip from Meyer.

He cleaned up Meyer's clubs and offered to take them to his car. Meyer threw him the keys and patted him on the back. "Just put them in the trunk and bring the keys into the clubhouse. We'll be in the dining room and I'll have a tip for you."

Spencer hurried to Meyer's car and brought the keys back within minutes.

The foursome was seated at a table overlooking the 18th green. He handed Meyer the keys and waited. After Meyer had finished telling a joke, he turned to Spencer and said "Here's my tip, son. Stay out of social work. Heh-heh."

After Spencer had shuffled out of the dining room, Brady turned to Dachmer and asked, "How did you guys find out that Chesterina Angstman hated me?"

Dachmer leaned over and whispered, " It was simple. We hacked into her attorney's voicemail. We do that all the time."

"Very nice. I'd like to see that bitch prosecuted for perjury. You've helped the President in his previous campaigns. Doesn't his Attorney General owe you something?"

Dachmer smiled. "Of course, Brady. I'll give him a call and see if I can get him to at least scare her. As for Hastings, I've already told my people to pose the question: Did he concoct this rally knowing it was going to lead to a massacre?"

"That's perfect. Then I can report that FAB News has reported that Hastings planned the massacre. That's brilliant. I can't thank you enough."

" Just stay out of trouble yourself."

"Robert, my good man. I don't intend to be in any trouble."

Dachmer leaned over and whispered in Brady's ear. "I'm sure you don't want the local police captain coming after you for say, having sex with an under-aged child."

"How did you find...?"

"We have our ways. At any rate, we have pictures of the captain in, let's just say, a compromising position. I want you to keep your show, Brady, so if you feel like the arm of the law is coming down on you, we can help."

Brady wiped the perspiration off his brow and continued eating his second hamburger.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer opened his show with a news bulletin. "My friends, it has been reported by FAB News that Congressman Hastings, the man who blamed me for causing the massacre in Lansing last year, actually planned it himself. He has now decided to retire, and for good reason. He doesn't' want an investigation of his misdeeds while he's in Congress. Well I say, let's investigate him anyway. I'm calling upon the Attorney General to look into this matter. If he indeed planned to have 94 of his followers killed in order to secure passage of a bill, then he's worse than the scum of the earth. He's a monster. And while the Attorney General's at it, he should look into Chesterina Angstman's perjury during my trial. I could have been convicted if the jury had believed that whore."

Brady turned to his producer who had whispered something to him. " What Snidely? I shouldn't be calling her a whore? She had an illegitimate child after all. Yes, she did. She tried to ruin me by concocting a story and I'm not holding back. My friends, let's make sure that we get a replacement for old hasty Hastings who will support the rights of gun owners above the rights of Muslims and abortion doctors."

CHAPTER FIFTY

Gageville, Michigan

Patrolmen Charles Shapley of the Gageville Police Department had finally got around to the task of checking out Ben Fellow's business in Gageville. The place had been closed since before Ben died, on the eve of the State Capitol massacre. Shapley had been the first officer to check out the Fellows residence the day after the shootings and had found Ben's lifeless body in his bed. Ben was clutching an autographed photograph of Brady Meyer. There was no reason to expedite the search of the business, so Shapley put it off until today, some 3 months after the shootings. The front door to the clothing store was locked but Shapley was able to jimmy the lock and enter the premises. He did not bother to get a search warrant because he knew that the owner had died, his son was in prison and no one else had stepped forward to claim an interest in the building. Racks and racks of clothes caught his eye as he entered the store. He checked the cash register and found $37.85 in cash and two checks totaling $75.

He entered the storeroom, which was in the rear of the building. The room was virtually empty, but as he was about to leave, he spotted a strange-looking pile in the far corner. He went over to check it out and discovered an inflatable vinyl plastic Uncle Sam, about 1/30th of the size it had been when filled with air. A banner was lying on top of the figure, which read: "American-made clothes for Americans."

When Shapley turned the figure over he noticed a small, barely readable label, which read: "Made in China." Shapley called the coroner's office and arranged for a pick-up of Ben's body. Since all of his relatives were deceased, the county arranged for a modest burial.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina dug through her purse and found Fred Molnar's business card. She wasn't sure she should call him. After all, he may not be her long lost son, as she had thought when they first met. And if he were her son, he probably wouldn't be happy to know that his mother played fast and loose with the truth during the trial he was trying to win. After hesitating for a day and a half, she dialed his number.

"Assistant U.S. Attorney Fred Molnar."

"Mr. Molnar, it's Chesterina Angstman."

"Of course, how are you Ms. Angstman."?

" Just fine. I wanted to tell you something."

"Well it's a good thing you called today. It's my last day here."

"What? What happened?"

"I was just finishing my probationary period and Mr. Rogers decided to let me go."

"Did it have anything to do with the trial?"

"I'm afraid so. He wasn't real happy with your testimony and he felt I should have alerted him to some of the possible ..er.. inconsistencies."

"Inconsistencies?"

"Yea, the fact that you weren't sure of the time it was when you overheard the conversations at the gun show and then didn't have a watch. Also, the fact that you couldn't be certain about the details of those conversations. And the worst thing was you never told us that you hated Brady Meyer."

"But, I was trying to ..."

"You should have told the truth. My boss just told me they might pursue a perjury charge against you. "

Chesterina caught her breath. "Just because I said I didn't hate Brady Meyer?"

"You were the star witness for us. Ken was a convicted felon and we needed you to be totally candid. Anyway, I'll be leaving for Canada next Monday."

"Canada? But you can't practice law there, can you?"

"Nope, but I really have a bad feeling about where this country is headed. I guess I'd prefer to live in a country where people don't hate each other just because they disagree on where we should be heading. Now, you had something to tell me?"

"I just wanted to say it was a real pleasure working with you, Mr. Molnar."

"Thank you, Ms. Angstman."

After Molnar hung up the phone, Chesterina dialed Bernie Cuminksy.

"Look, Chesterina," Bernie said as he tried to reassure her, "it's highly unlikely that the U.S. Attorney would want to reopen this can of worms by charging you with perjury. There would have to be some pretty heavy political pressure to do so."

"Maybe Brady Meyer could help to bring that about?"

Bernie's long pause told Chesterina everything she needed to know.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Washington, D.C.

Congressman Hastings held a press conference on the last day of the Congressional session. Reporters who normally covered Congress were surprised to see a new young face behind Hastings.

"As you all know, today is my last day serving the people of Michigan in Congress. I have been privileged to do so. I am pleased to announce that, beginning next week; I will be hosting a radio talk show on CLKW, a Windsor, Ontario radio station. The station's coverage area includes parts of Michigan and Ohio. I was extremely disappointed by the failure of Congress to penalize those who spew forth deliberate lies, as my bill would have done. I hope that, in some small way, my show will provide needed balance to the citizens of Michigan and Ohio that the bill was designed to provide. I now want to introduce Mr. James Parsons, who will be my producer. Jimmy has previously been an associate producer for the Brady Meyer show. Jimmy, will you say a few words?"

"Thank you, Congressman Hastings. I am delighted to be able to join you today and to be a part of this exciting new broadcast venture. Some of you may wonder why I will be now working for a progressive former Congressman, after having worked for one of the more Conservative voices on talk radio. I believe this country needs desperately to hear both sides of every issue, and if they do, it will hopefully reduce the level of vitriol in our public discourse. As a witness to the tragic events at the Michigan State Capitol in August, I am convinced that the words spoken on a talk show contributed to that tragedy, a talk show I was once associated with. Our new show will strive to present a balanced view of the issues of our day. We will now take your questions."

"Congressman Hastings," a young reporter asked, "Brady Meyer has apparently gotten wind of your new venture and is quoted as saying that your show will not last more than 3 months, because it can't compete with the views his show offers and that previous progressive talk shows have fared poorly because they could not do so. What's your response?"

"I cannot guarantee that my show will last 3 days, let alone 3 months. What I can say is that I'd be happy to have my views compete with Mr. Meyer's. The fact that progressive talk shows have not fared well is not attributable to the substance of those shows, but its directly attributable to the fact that conservatives and ultra-conservatives own the vast majority of radio stations in this country. As long as those stations owners are allowed to dictate the programming for those stations, without the need to provide any semblance of fairness, the public is not well served and the incendiary and hate-filled speech we have become accustomed to will continue."

A FAB News reporter leaped to his feet as Hastings tried to wrap things up. "Mr. Hastings, do you accept some of the blame for the massacre in Lansing because you incited a violent reaction to your bill, a bill you knew wasn't going anywhere?"

Hastings bit his tongue. The reporter was no longer addressing him as Congressman Hastings and he was following the latest FAB News talking points.

"No, sir. I only accept responsibility for trying to enrich the public debate on issues."

"Is that why you're leaving this country? Because you've given up on trying to improve the public debate and you can't make it here anymore?"

Hastings ignored the last question and headed home.

PART THREE- THE SONG

"We can have democracy in this country, or we can have great wealth concentrated in the hands of a few, but we can't have both."

Justice Louis Brandeis

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Fred Molnar had not planned to go to law school, that was Plan B. He had written more than 75 songs between the ages of 15 and 22 and had tried to publish them without success. He had written very few songs after entering law school and given up any hope of making a career of songwriting. He had kept his guitar and took it with him when he moved to Canada. It was mid-morning when he opened the door to his hotel room in Toronto to retrieve the newspaper. As he relaxed in a lounge chair, he leafed through the sports pages and then returned to the news. A small article on page 11A caught his eye. It was entitled

"Former Congressman Goes to the Air". Fred's heart beat rapidly as he read the article. Fred went to the window of his fifth-floor room and gazed at the street below.

The rain from the previous night had left a shimmering glow on the street. It had been four months since the trial and he had not found any work in Canada. Somehow he knew he might be able to get Hastings's attention if could write something about Brady Meyer that Hastings could use on his new show. Hastings would not be afraid to take on the Orifice of the New World cathartic. He picked up his guitar and began strumming. Three days later, he called Brent Hastings.

"Mr. Hastings, this is Fred Molnar. I was the assistant U.S. attorney in the Brady Meyer trial last year."

"Yes, yes. I thought you did an outstanding job, despite the outcome."

"Thank you sir. I don't know if you plan to play any music on your show, but if you did, I have written a song that you might be interested in."

"We really don't have any plans to play music, but as a favor to you, I'll listen to it and consider playing it on the air."

"Thank you, sir. I will send it to you by email."

When Hastings received the song, he called in Jimmy Parsons and they both listened to it. Molnar's raspy voice could be heard clearly belting out the lyrics. The last verse caused Hastings to cringe:

Fifty innocents in Lansing met their fate,

All because a classless moron spewed his hate.

His words they did inspire, three thugs to open fire,

And fed his blind desire to make the news.

Which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?

After listening to the song, Parsons let his thoughts be known.

"I think we ought to play this on the show today."

"I don't know, it's a little over the top."

' It's funny, it's satiric and above all, it's truthful."

"Have you researched Canadian law on this? I thought they were much stricter about broadcasting falsehoods."

"There's a lot more leeway with songs. You know, poetic license."

"All right. I think we'll catch a lot of flak for this, but I didn't take this job to run away from controversy."

After the Hastings show, You-Tube made a clip of the song and within 30 minutes, there were more than 3,000 hits. Billy Walters was sent a copy of it within hours of the broadcast. When he first heard the song, Brady Meyer reacted with righteous indignation. He was in his studio when Billy Walters played the tape for him. "How can they imply that I had anything to do with that tragedy? A jury found me not guilty. This is slanderous. Billy, get me Harold Anderson right away."

It took Billy fifteen minutes to get Anderson to return his call. When Meyer finally picked up the phone, he was fuming.

"Harold, you've got to do something about this song."

"Calm down, Brady. What song are you talking about?"

"The damn song that's sung by the punk who tried to convict me, Fred Molnar."

"You mean the former Assistant U.S. attorney?"

"That's the guy. He has impugned my reputation and I want you to throw everything you've got at him. Ask for an injunction. Sue him for everything he has. He's saying that I killed those people in Lansing and you know very well that I was acquitted."

"Well, Brady, you are a public figure and we'll have to prove malice."

" This song is as malicious as hell."

"Do you have a tape of it?."

"I got it right here."

"Can you email it to me?"

"I think my staff can figure out how to do that. Sure."

Anderson tapped his fingers on his desk. "Now, Brady. I will go through this tape and see what it says. In the meantime, don't say a word about this to anyone and especially don't bring it up on your show. It's going to be awfully hard to enjoin anyone from playing this song, so I don't want you saying something that makes it more difficult. By the way, how many radio stations have aired this thing?"

"The only one that my staff knows about is CLKW in Canada."

"I hope you know we're not going to have a chance in hell in a Canadian court."

"By the way, Harold. Has there been a perjury charge filed against that bitch Chesterina Angstman yet?"

"Not that I know of Brady."

"Well do what you can to make sure it happens."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Venice, Florida

Billy Walters had an inspiration. He knew Brady Meyer was reluctant to consider new ideas, especially ones that he hadn't thought of himself. But this was an idea that Billy was sure Meyer would like. He waited for the end of Meyer's program to bring it up.

"Mr. Meyer?"

"What is it Billy?"

"I think I've got a way to expose Fred Molnar for the fraud that he is."

"This better be good."

"Well, I believe if you asked him to be a guest on your show, you could destroy him. You would control the conversation and get him to admit that he's dead wrong about you."

Meyer shook his head. "I don't know if I want to give this guy more publicity. He's had enough already."

Billy hesitated. He didn't know if he should push any harder. He had heard about staffers being fired by Meyer for less cause. But he was sure he could convince the boss of the value of his idea.

"If you let this go on, he's going to get more publicity. This song could be the biggest thing on the Internet if you don't stop it now."

Meyer looked at Billy pensively. "You know, kid. I think you may be right. See if you can line him up for next week. My attorney had told me not to talk about this because it would jeopardize my lawsuit, but I don't think that lawsuit's going anywhere."

Billy got through to Molnar later in the afternoon and offered him an appearance on the show the following week.

"Let me ask you this, Mr. Walters. Will I be allowed to answer any questions Mr. Meyer might have without being interrupted?"

"Of course. Of course. Mr. Meyer wants to make sure both sides of this issue are heard fairly."

"I don't think he's ever covered both sides of an issue before and I seriously doubt that he'll let me finish a sentence. He'll chew me up."

"Oh come now, Mr. Molnar. If you really believe that crap in your song, you'll stand up and defend it. If it's true, he can't chew you up."

Molnar hesitated before he responded. "Look, I'm not going to be intimidated by you or him. And by the way, there's no crap in my song. You wouldn't be calling me if you didn't think there was merit to it."

Walters was not going to be deterred. "I'll tell you what. If you agree to go on the show, he'll agree not to sue you for defamation of character. Even if he loses, it'll drain you of every cent you have."

"You sorry son of a...." Molnar paused. " Let me make a few calls. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

"We'll hold off on the lawsuit until then."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Toronto, Ontario

Molnar called Brent Hastings, who returned his call twenty minutes later. Hastings was just getting ready for his radio show, but decided not to wait to find out what Molnar wanted. "What's up Fred?"

"I've been invited to be a guest on the Brady Meyer show."

"You've got to be kidding. Your song has really struck a nerve. Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know. He can use the control of the microphone to make me look pretty foolish. Besides, he's threatened to sue me if I don't go on. I don't think he has a chance in hell of winning a defamation case, but I can't afford to spend the resources to defend myself."

"You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

" I think you should go on the show. After all, that's why you wrote the song, Fred. You can remove any threat of a lawsuit from that windbag and get your message out at the same time."

"How can I be sure he'll let me get my message out?"

"All you have to do is mention the song. So far, your song has only been played on my show in Canada. If you get a chance to promote the song on his show, it will be the next big hit on You-Tube."

"You don't know that."

"You can't serve in Congress for 18 years without racking up some IOUs. I took Google's side on some legislation and it's time for them to pay me back. . Even if this guy makes minced meat out of you, the publicity will be incalculable."

"Well, I want to get his agreement not to sue in writing. But I guess you're right. I can probably survive fifteen minutes of browbeating from this character. I'll just make sure to have a couple of stiff drinks before I go on."

"That's the spirit. Let me know what date he gives you. I'll make sure to mention it on my show."

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Venice, Florida

Billy Walters couldn't wait to tell Brady Meyer about Molnar's agreement to go on the show.

"Here's what I want you to do, Billy boy. Dig up anything you can on this guy. Talk to the HR people at this law firm, talk to anybody that knows him. I want to blindside him."

"Are you going to ask him about the lyrics to his song?"

"I'm not going to let him get a word in about that damn song. He won't know what hit him."

"But don't you want to rebut the allegation that you conspired to kill those people in Lansing?"

"I will rebut those scandalous charges all right. But I can do so without having to promote his career. I won't even have to mention the song."

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Toronto, Ontario

Fred Molnar was eating breakfast when he received a call. He didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but decided to pick up the phone anyway.

"I understand you're going to be on the Brady Meyer show next week," the caller said.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Frank Allen. I've had some experience with Mr. Meyer."

"Yeah, yeah. You're the guy who wrote that book, what was it called?"

"Liar, Liar, Brady Meyer."

"Of course. What can I do for you."?

"It's what I can do for you that matters. I can help you get prepared for your interview. Do you know what day it's going to be?"

"They told me it would probably be Tuesday, but it might slip to Wednesday."

"It will be Wednesday all right. They want you to squirm a little. Do you have time now to talk about it?"

"Sure."

"I don't know if you've read my book."

"I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well there's a chapter in there that's based on my interview with Meyer's third wife."

"How many wives has he had?"

"He's on his fifth now."

"Holy geez, I thought he was the moral authority of the air waves."

"He only claims to be. Buy get this- when I interviewed his third wife, she swore up and down that the man was gay."

"You're kidding. He's the biggest homophobe there is."

"Precisely. But like most publicly vocal gay bashers, he was overcompensating to divert attention from his gayness. Remember Ted Haggard, Senator Larry Craig and Congressman Mark Foley? Big, big homophobes."

"Didn't his third wife sign a non-disclosure agreement?"

"She did, but then she married a wealthy automobile executive and didn't need the alimony anymore."

"Okay, so Meyer is gay. Big deal. I'm not going to lower myself to name calling just because he'll probably go after me."

"You can throw him off guard by accusing him of hypocrisy."

"I don't know. I appreciate that you're trying to help me, but I'm only going on his show to defend my song and hopefully get more people to listen to it."

"Okay, at least think about bringing this up."

"I'll think about it."

"Good. In the meantime, I'd like your email address so I can send you an article I wrote about how to survive a Brady Meyer interview."

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Jackson, Michigan

Three days before Ken Fellows was scheduled to be released from prison, he was in the courtyard smoking a cigarette, a habit he had given up ten years earlier. However, he had just received a letter from his girlfriend, Kaylee, someone he had been looking forward to seeing since he was sentenced. Kaylee had written that she was engaged to be married to a hotel manager. As he brooded, a young man with a broad smile approached him. "Remember me, Fellows?"

Ken immediately recognized the man. "You're Burton Dahling, one of the militia men convicted for murder at the rally. "

"I am indeed. I thought they sent you to the Bay County jail. What are you doing here?"

"They sent me here because the jail was overcrowded."

Dahling looked around the courtyard to see if any guards were watching. He slammed Ken against the wall with one hand. "Look, cowboy, I want you to do something for me when you get out."

Ken tried to get away from Dahling but the man was too strong. "Why would I want to help you?"

Dahling smiled. "I can make it very difficult for you in your last three days. If we have a little rumble here, you just might wind up in the hole and they can cancel your parole. I've got nothing to lose, baby. I'm here for the duration."

"All right. What do you want me to do?"

Dahling released his hold on Ken. "I want you to find Trenton Fuller and tell him that if he doesn't send me 20 large so I can hire a decent attorney, I'm going to tell the world about his involvement in the massacre."

"What involvement are you talking about?"

Dahling shook his head. "Man, he orchestrated the whole thing. He sent me and Harvey to the rally with our AK-47s."

"So you shot the guy at the podium because he told you to?"

"You got it man.When your Iraq war buddy went crazy, we had no choice but to shoot back. We killed more people than Fuller wanted, but he was the one who sent us there."

"Why didn't you tell the police that? You might have got a plea bargain."

"Good question, brainiac. I wanted to protect the damn militia. Now I hear that Fuller has lost interest in the militia. I can easily pull the plug on him, but I want to give him the ultimatum first. Tell him that I'm sure the FBI would take my call today."

Ken lit another cigarette. "I'll do what I can."

Dahling grabbed Ken by the shirt collar, causing him to drop the cigarette. "Look, you don't expect to get a job now do you? No one's going to want to hire a felon, especially in this job market. So, you're going to go to see my man Fuller and maybe if you ask him to help me, he might see fit to give you a little cash too. You got it?"

Ken nodded his head.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Venice, Florida

Ten minutes before his Tuesday show, Brady Meyer approached Billy in the hall outside the studio. "So what did you dig up on Mr. Molnar?'

"Well, it looks like he left the U.S. Attorney's office because he did not survive the six-month probationary period."

"Hmmm, that probably means he screwed up somehow."

"Exactly. My guess is that his performance at your trial had something to do with it. He was gone two weeks later."

"Did anyone you talk to give you this idea?"

"No. The U.S. Attorney's office wouldn't give me diddly. I threatened to file a Freedom of Information Act request, but they said to go ahead. They know I wouldn't get anything back for at least three weeks."

"How did you find out about the probationary period?"

"Easy. I called the reporter with the Lansing State Journal who covered the trial. He's a big fan of yours. He figured that if Molnar had quit, he would have been denied unemployment benefits. So he checked with his source at the unemployment office in Lansing and they told him that Molnar had applied for benefits and, when he did so, he had listed the failure to survive the probationary period on the form."

"Great work, Billy. Do you have Molnar lined up for today?"

"I told him it would either be today or tomorrow, so it's up to you."

"Let's make it tomorrow. Maybe you'll come up with more dirt by then."

Billy had told Molnar that he should call the special guest line at 2:45 pm on Wednesday. Fred was pretty sure he wasn't going to use the information that Frank Allen had given him about Meyer's suspected homosexuality. He wanted to focus on promoting his song. He was still looking for work in Canada and a hit record could keep him from worrying about making ends meet for a while. As he waited to call in, he perused the article that Allen had sent him about how to survive an appearance on the Meyer show. He was intrigued by a passage in the book which read:

"Meyer's screeners usually keep hostile callers from interrupting the flow of his show. However, once in a while, a well-informed caller catches Meyer off guard. At such times, Meyer will tell his soundman to crank up the volume on his microphone and decrease the volume on the caller. Meyer can then shout over the caller and dominate the conversation. Meyer also tells his producer to use the three-second-delay feature, designed to bleep out words that the FCC might find offensive, to censor compelling arguments against his positions. Finally, you should familiarize yourself with the amount of time Meyer devotes to each segment of the show and have a watch or clock in front of you so you know when time may be running out on the segment."

Fred went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. It would help settle his nerves, he thought. At 2:44, he called the number that Billy had given him. "Hold on for Mr. Meyer", the screener said, after Fred identified himself.

"Folks, we have with us today, the former Assistant U.S. Attorney who tried to convict me of inciting a riot, Fred Molnar. Good afternoon, Mr. Molnar."

"Good afternoon."

"Let me ask you, why did you abruptly leave the U.S. Attorney's office?"

"Well, I decided it was time to start a new career, in Canada."

"Isn't it true, Mr. Molnar, that you were fired by the U.S. Attorney in Michigan because you screwed up my trial?'

"No, no, that's not true."

"I have in my hands a statement from the U.S. Attorney for the Western District of Michigan that indicates that you did not survive the six-month probationary period."

"Where did you get that?"

"So, it is true. You didn't leave for personal reasons, but you were let go."

"But it wasn't because I screwed up your trial."

"Now how can my listeners trust what you say, Mr. Molnar? First you tell them that you left the U.S. Attorney's office to start a new career and now you admit, under my rugged cross-examination, that you were let go, fired, axed."

"I did not screw up your trial, Mr. Meyer."

"Who did, Mr. Molnar? Who screwed up my trial?'

"I don't think.." Meyer did not wait for Fred to finish his sentence.

"We'll take a break here and we'll be back with more from your trustworthy government officials, er, former trustworthy government officials in a moment."

Molnar slammed his fist against the table. Why did I agree to go on this show? He thought to himself. I haven't been able to even mention the song, let alone promote it. I must at least get in one reference to it, even if it's entirely irrelevant to the conversation.

Just before going back on the air, Meyer motioned to his producer to approach his desk.

"Al, get ready to bleep this guy. I have a feeling he's going to be provoked."

"Welcome back, folks. I'm continuing my cross-examination, excuse me, conversation with Fred Molnar, who now admits that he was fired from the U.S. Attorney's office in Michigan following the miscarriage of justice in my trial for allegedly inciting a riot. Mr. Molnar, who screwed up the trial?"

"Mr. Meyer, sometimes no one screws up a trial. We all did our job and the jury, doing their job, found that you were not guilty. That doesn't mean that there wasn't enough evidence to prosecute y our case. It simply means that jury could not find, beyond a reasonable doubt, that you committed to crime of conspiracy to incite a riot. I'd like to mention.."

Meyer instructed his soundman to increase the volume on his microphone. "Let me stop you right there, Mr. Molnar. You say there was sufficient evidence to bring this case to trial. Are you saying that a person's words, words intended to inspire his audience, can be taken out of context and used to charge him with a crime?"

"Under the circumstances, yes. I'd like to point out that my song .."

Meyer interrupted again. "We're talking about the government's right to prosecute someone for exercising his First Amendment rights. Not only did you prosecute me for that, you allowed a certain Ms. Angstman to lie through her teeth and claim that I incited three men to slaughter innocent civilians. You should have been disbarred, Mr. Molnar."

"I don't believe.." The volume on Molnar was cranked way down and it was easy for Meyer to talk over him.

"This is a free country Mr. Molnar and frankly I'm glad that you fled to Canada. They probably will treat you like a hero up there because you tried to silence someone who believes in America." Molnar looked at the clock. There were only thirty seconds remaining in Meyer's program and Molnar had had enough.

"Your ex-wife, Mr. Meyer, was right when she said you were a flaming fag. I should have referenced that in my song."

"Why you lousy two-bit ambulance chaser, you couldn't even write a decent song, let alone try a case."

"Thank you for trashing my song." Molnar then sang the words: "Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use."

"I see we're out of time. I believe my audience was spared the final comments of this so-called attorney. We'll be back tomorrow, folks."

Brady took off his headphones and got out of his chair.

"Al," he said as he buttonholed his producer, "I trust you were able to censor the last few comments of our guest."

"Yeah, I got the 'flaming fag' statement bleeped."

Meyer's face turned white. "What about the last statement he made about his song?"

"I didn't think that was offensive."

The veins in Meyer's neck were clearly visible. "Of course that was offensive, you idiot. He got a chance to promote that scandalous song. Now I want you to make sure that the pod-cast of this program doesn't include his last two statements and his lousy singing. You got it?"

"Sure. I'll take care of it."

Meyer shook his head.

Although listeners of Meyer's pod-cast did not hear the final exchange between Molnar and Meyer, the damage had been done. Progressive bloggers picked up on Molnar's reference to the song almost immediately.

The website ProgressivesnowBlog.net was able to post the lyrics within two hours of the broadcast.

WHICH DEODORANT DOES BRADY MEYER USE?

There's a question that's been running through my brain,

Since a certain hate-filled blowhard rose to fame.

It's really puzzled me, How anyone can be,

So cool and odor-free while in his shoes.

Which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?

He will peddle bullshit just to make his case,

It don't matter if there's a factual base.

It must provoke regret, to make his body wet,

To cover up the sweat and beat the blues.

Which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?

Fifty innocents in Lansing met their fate,

All because a classless moron spewed his hate.

His words they did inspire, Three thugs to open fire,

And fed his blind desire to make the news.

Which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?

Brady Meyer called Lawrence Collins later that afternoon.

"How's the oracle of the Free World doing today?"

"I'm pissed."

"How come? The show's doing great."

" I know, I know. But Fred Molnar has written a song that accuses me of killing innocent men and women and I want to make sure it doesn't get any play on your stations."

"The same Fred Molnar who assisted the government in that ridiculous case they brought against you?"

"The same."

"I can assure you, Brady, that none of my stations will play his song. However, I think you may have to worry about these Internet radio stations. Many of them are run by left wing fanatics."

"I can deal with them. You take care of the real radio stations."

CHAPTER SIXTY

New York, New York

It didn't take long for Molnar's song to draw the attention of the major cable networks. He was asked to be a guest on the Marsha Raddaux show within a few days of his appearance on the Meyer show. It figured to be a friendlier interview.

"My guest tonight is an attorney and songwriter, Fred Molnar. Fred was involved in the prosecution of Brady Meyer last year for incitement to riot. As you recall, Mr. Meyer was found not guilty. Since that time, Mr. Molnar has moved to Canada and has written a song entitled 'Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use?' We are fortunate to have Mr. Molnar with us tonight, via satellite. Good evening Mr. Molnar."

"Good evening, Marsha."

"Mr. Molnar, can you tell us what type of reception your song has received?

"I've been pleasantly surprised by the response. I understand that the clip from my appearance on the Brady Meyer show is the hottest thing on You-Tube now. Everyone seems to want to download the song."

"How do you make money on these downloads?"

"It's easy. I cut a deal with Etunz. They give me 3 cents every time the song is downloaded."

"You could be quite wealthy after this is over, Mr. Molnar."

"That's not my purpose. I want to expose Brady Meyer for the scumbag he is and to make others think twice before they use incendiary language that can be heard by millions of people."

"Well, we here on the Marsha Raddaux show will continue to play this song. Do you think there will be more verses in the future?"

"With Brady Meyer, you never know."

"Thank you, Mr. Molnar."

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Flint, Michigan

Trenton Fuller turned off the radio in an abandoned warehouse near Flint, Michigan. He had found the warehouse three months earlier after searching for a place to build his drone. He had left the Mentula Militia after the massacre and gone into hiding. Only his trusty aide, Chuck Wacker, knew where he was hiding.Wacker had been visited by the FBI several times since the massacre, but because he could not be traced to the crimes, they no longer questioned him. Fuller was even harder to connect to the massacre. He called Wacker on his disposable phone.

"Chuck, we should disband the militia. There's no telling how long we will be subject to surveillance and someone in the militia may talk."

"Captain, no one knows what I told those guys except you."

"What if one of those guys squeals in order to get a reduced sentence."

"They're in for life. They can't possibly get a better deal."

"Did you tell them I was behind the decision to send them to Lansing?"

Wacker hesitated. After a few seconds, Fuller knew.

"I thought so," Fuller said. "Look, tell the members of the militia we will probably reconstitute when this thing blows over. In the meantime, I may need your help with this drone."

"What are you using it for?"

"I want to spy on Hastings. He's a real threat now."

"You probably don't need my help, but call me if you do."

"It may be sooner than you think. When you hang up, throw away the phone you have and get a new disposable one. Call me in a couple of weeks."

Fuller knew he would be doing more than spying on Hastings.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer had had enough. He called Billy into his office following the conclusion of his daily broadcast. "Look, Billy. I thought if we kept that damn song off the radio stations, this thing would blow over. But apparently, the liberal TV media wants to promote this guy's agenda. I want him taken out."

"You know all you have to do is mention that on your show and some nut case will do the job for you. They're not going to try and prosecute you again when you got off the first time."

"The problem Billy is that this guy lives in Canada. None of those Canadians want to help me out."

Billy picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal. "You know, Mr. Meyer, I was reading this article today about Trenton Fuller."

"You mean that crazy Michigan militia guy who organized the Lansing massacre?"

"The same guy."

"What about him?"

"It seems from this article that he is still pissed off at the establishment and all Muslims. I also understand he was a big fan of yours. He may be willing to do the deed, if you know what I mean."

"Indeed I do. Okay, here's what I want you to do, Billy. And by the way, Billy, you are so much more cooperative than that meddlesome little creature who had the job before you. What was his name again?"

"Jimmy Parsons."

"Yeah, yeah. Jimmy Parsons."

"Anyway, I want you to locate this guy Fuller. He may be tough to find, but if you find his associates, and they don't believe you are there on behalf of me, show them this." Meyer handed Parsons a gold medallion, with an inscription that read: "To Brady, keep up the Fight". It was signed by Ronald Reagan and dated May 23, 2004, less than two weeks before Reagan died. "When you finally locate him, you can give it to him. Then, tell him I want him to go to Canada and knock off Fuller. I will have another special reward for him if he does so."

Brady and Billy conferred for over a half an hour. When they had finished, Billy went to his computer and booked a flight to Detroit.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Windsor, Ontario

Brent Hastings looked over the list of topics that his producer had prepared for discussion on his show. "Jimmy, I think I'm going to start with Molnar's song. I know we've played it on the show several times, but we've never discussed its origin and the subsequent controversy that has arisen with his appearance on Meyer's show."

"You have to remember, Brent. This is a Canadian radio station we're on. Canadians usually don't give a whit about all the violence that goes on in the U.S."

"You're right, Jimmy. But our broadcast area covers about 3,000,000 people in Michigan and Ohio. Let's see if the song generates any calls."

Brent went on the air at 2pm EDT. He went through some introductory remarks and then launched into his defense of Fred Molnar.

"Make no mistake, Fred Molnar's song hit a nerve with Brady Meyer. Mr. Molnar has told it like it is- Brady Meyer's words led to the death of more than 90 people in Lansing, Michigan last August. Let me tell you, Meyer wants nothing more than for this song to go away. I urge all of my listeners to download this song. You can go to etunz.net and do so today. Just enter in "Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use?' and you won't regret it. We have got to curtail this angry rhetoric on American talk radio and we have got to get more sensible gun laws in America, like those in Canada. Jimmy, let's hear the song again."

After playing the song, Hastings went right to the phones. " I will now take some callers. Let's see, on line 1, we have Barry from Toledo, Ohio. Good afternoon, Barry."

"Well I guess it's a good afternoon. But I'm not too happy about some Canadian criticizing a true American patriot and telling me to give up my Constitutional rights. As an American citizen, I have a right to take my gun anywhere."

"Okay, let me stop you right there, Barry. Is the Second Amendment the only right you want to maintain?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, did you support the mosque at Ground Zero?"

"Hell, no. That was a slap in the face of America."

"Did you know that most of the Moslems that wanted to build that mosque were American citizens and were only exercising their First Amendment right of freedom of religion?"

"No, I guess I didn't."

"Now, did you support the right of prisoners at Guantanamo to have an attorney?"

"No. Those guys were scumbags."

"Did you know that some of those prisoners were American citizens who were denied their 6th Amendment right to an attorney for more than 5 years and were later found not guilty of any crime?"

"No, I guess I didn't."

"Okay, Barry. Did you support the government's interception of the phone calls and email messages of American citizens in the wake of 9/11?"

"Sure. That was necessary to protect us from terrorists."

"Did you realize that some of these citizens had no relationship to terrorists and they were protected by the Fourth Amendment from having the government intercept those messages, yet the government didn't take the elementary step of securing a warrant?"

"But we had to make sure that Al Queda wasn't infiltrating our country."

"Well, did you agree that these American citizens could be tortured into confessing to crimes they didn't commit, contrary to the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution?"

"Torture is the only way to get useful information from these terrorists."

"Many of those housed in Guantanamo turned out not to be terrorists. At any rate, Barry, are you in favor of doing away with the practice of allowing anyone born in the U.S. to claim citizenship?"

"You're darn right I am. We've got too many of these anchor babies coming in from Mexico."

"Well, you probably didn't realize that that provision is in the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, which was ratified in 1868. For almost 150 years, people from all countries have come to our shores hoping that at least their children, if born here, could continue to enjoy the freedoms that you cherish."

"Look, you're just trying to..."

"Okay, Barry. One more question. Do you think we should ever have another tax increase in this country?"

"Hell no. We're taxed enough already."

"I bet you didn't know that the first power granted to Congress, in Section 8 of Article I of the Constitution, is the power to lay and collect taxes."

"I guess I didn't know that."

"So, in sum, Barry. You want Americans to enjoy the Constitutional protections that you agree with, not those that you don't and it seems that the only one you agree with is the Second Amendment. Am I right?"

"You're twisting my words, I.."

"I'm sorry, Barry, we're out of time." Hastings smiled as he took off his headphones.

"You were a little hard on that guy," Jimmy said as he approached Hastings.

"Yeah, I guess I was. I just don't like these right-wingers spouting off about the sanctity of the Constitution, when they really haven't even read it. They keeping saying that they want limited government, but they want it limited for everyone except themselves. They wouldn't want to do without fire and police protection."

"Won't we lose some advertisers if you are too abrasive? You don't have a sugar daddy like Meyer."

" You're right. I'll try to tone it down." Hastings poured through his emails as he talked. He stopped sifting through them suddenly and looked up at Jimmy.

"You'll never believe this, Jimmy. I just got an email from my nephew Joey. He was just hired by FAB News."

"You've got to be kidding. Is he that conservative?"

"He's pretty conservative all right. But he's also very ethical, something they could use over there. I'll think I'll call and congratulate him."

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

New York, New York

Joey Strong had just completed the three-week orientation given to new FAB News reporters. The orientation consisted of daylong lectures from prominent Conservative voices, including speakers from a group called Taxpayers Up In Arms and the Federalist Foundation. At night, the new reporters would socialize with FAB News personnel and learn how to use subtle inferences to slant a story in a certain way. For example, the reporters were told to always preface interviews with progressive Congressmen by noting that the voters in their districts, according to a FAB News poll, did not support the position he was espousing. Even if the Congressman were to question the poll or ask for more information, the reporter was instructed to say it was a confidential poll.

Joey was packing his carry-on luggage when the phone rang. He had not heard from his uncle in six years, so he was surprised when he heard his voice.

"Congratulations, Joey. You've made the national stage."

"Thanks, Uncle Brent. I know it's not a job you probably wanted me to take."

"Nonsense. I think you can improve FAB News. They need to be more fair and balanced and you can do that."

"I'll try. Hey, you'll never guess what my first assignment is."

"Try me."

"I'm going to interview Brady Meyer at his house in Florida."

" Holy Canoli, Joey. You've got to be kidding. Will it be broadcast?"

"Nope. They just wanted me to get to know Meyer since he and FAB are pretty tight."

"You can say that again. My committee uncovered the fact that Roger Eely, one of the founding fathers of FAB News, talked to Brady every Monday before he went on the air. We also learned that FAB News sent him their talking points every day."

"I guess that doesn't surprise me, but so what?"

"So what? Eely made a pact with Brady that neither FAB News nor the Brady show would mention the fact that 95% of Americans got a tax break in 2009 through the stimulus package. When voters went to the polls in 2010, only 2% of all FAB viewers and Meyer listeners believed they got a tax break in 2009. When the national debt doubled under Obama, FAB blamed him even though they knew that the majority of the seeds of the debt increase were sown under George W. Bush. Eely's talking points were sent to all FAB reporters. They included the fact that the "public option" for health care should be referred to as the "government option" and that any time someone mentions global warming on the air, the reporter had to immediately state that many scientists do not agree that global warming is a problem."

"Okay. I think you're telling me not to swallow the Kool-Aid at FAB."

"Exactly. You've got to maintain a healthy skepticism. Since your interview is not going to be broadcast, you should ask some tough questions. I could even send you a few samples myself."

"No thanks. That would not be right."

"Okay, but let me ask you this. Would you call me after your interview and let me know how it went?"

"Sure. You've certainly done enough for me over the years to warrant at least that."

"Thanks, Joey." Joey resumed his packing, grabbing his digital recorder from the dresser and stuffing it into his carry-on luggage.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Venice, Florida

It was 9 pm the next day when Joey drove his rental car to the Meyer mansion, situated in a large gated community in Venice, on the highest hill in the area. Unlike most homes in Florida, this one had a basement. There was a long, winding driveway that led to the 9500 square foot house. Mrs. Meyer opened the door for Joey.

"I believe Mr. Meyer is expecting me. I'm from FAB News."

Brenda Meyer, all of 32 years old and 30 years younger than Meyer, smiled. "Of course, come on in." Joey couldn't keep his eyes off of Mrs. Meyer as she escorted him back to the study. She wore a silk bathrobe that was unbuttoned except for one button just above her waist. Joey tried his best not to stare at the expansive cleavage and the 38 D breasts underneath the silk, but it appeared to him as if the robe was the only item of clothing that she wore.

As Joey approached the Meyer study, he noticed a young boy with dark skin running down the stairs to the basement.

"Is that your son?"

"Heavens no," Brenda said. "He's just a friend of the family." Joey entered the study, still looking back to see if he could glimpse the boy. The odor of cigar smoke was heavy in the air.

"Mr. Brady, Joey Strong from FAB News. Thanks for agreeing to sit down with me."

"Of course, of course. Anything for FAB News."

"I wanted to ask you a few questions and I'd like to have this digital recorder going while we talk. Is that okay?"

" As long as you don't quote me on the air, no problem. Say, where did you work before you went to FAB?"

"I was previously working for the Mackinac Center in Michigan."

"Great, great institution."

"It is indeed. Let's start with this song that seems to be getting a lot of attention. The song that was written by Fred Molnar."

Meyer began to shift his bulky frame in his chair. "I don't really care to discuss that piece of trash. But I will tell you this, the allegation in the song that I somehow contributed to the deaths of those poor innocent people in Lansing is just not true."

A child's scream echoed from the basement throughout the house.

"Do you think that someone needs help?" Joey asked.

"Nah, Brenda can take care of it."

Joey decided to move to another topic.

"Mr. Meyer, to what do you attribute your tremendous success?"

Meyer smiled broadly. Now he was going to indoctrinate another new reporter. FAB had previously sent him six other young reporters to interview him and each one had nothing bad to say about Meyer ever since.

The interview concluded in less than 25 minutes and Joey headed back to his rental car. He smiled at Brenda Meyer, still clad in the flimsy silk robe. He dialed his uncle's cell phone as he drove to the airport.

"I hope it's not too late, uncle Brent."

"No, I was just going over some notes for my show tomorrow. How did the interview go?"

"Oh, it was pretty much as I expected. I gave him a lot of softballs and he knocked them all out of the park."

"Hmmm, so there were no surprises?"

"Nah. Not in what he told me."

"So there was another surprise?"

"Well, while I was there I heard a scream that I believe came from the basement. It sounded like a child."

"Did you ask Meyer about it?"

"I sure did. I asked him if someone needed help and he said his wife would take care of it."

"Are you sure it was a child. Meyer doesn't have any children."

"Well, when I arrived a saw a young boy, who looked Latino, running toward the stairs that led to the basement."

"My God. Do you realize what this could mean?"

"No. I guess I don't."

"It probably means that Brady Meyer is abusing illegal immigrants in his basement."

"I don't know, Uncle Brent. It's probably just what Mrs. Meyer said, a friend of the family."

"You don't really believe that Brady Meyer would have Latino friends who would leave their children in his care, do you?"

" I guess not."

"You really should call the police, Joey."

"But this was almost an hour ago. The kid's probably gone by now."

"Gone or dead."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"With Brady Meyer, nothing would surprise me. Joey, you've got to call the police, a child's life may be at stake."

"If I call the police and they can't find a kid there, my career will be ruined."

"I'll tell you what. I'll call the police. That way, you can truthfully say that you weren't the one to rat on Meyer."

"I don't know. They'll still know that I told someone and blame me when they don't find anyone."

"Joey, I'm going to call the police. I won't use your name and they won't have to contact you. I'll just say that, as a radio host, I received an anonymous tip that Brady Meyer has a Latino child in his basement."

"All right. I guess I'd like to know the truth about this kid myself."

Hastings knew that he would have little success if he called the Venice police himself, so he called his old friend, Congressman Paul Butler whose Congressional district included West Palm. Paul had battled Brady Meyer on a number of occasions, most recently when Meyer tried to defeat him at the polls by alleging that he had gone too far to the left. Butler was more than happy to help. He mentioned to Hastings that the Chief of Police was an old friend from college.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Venice, Florida

Fifty-five minutes after opening the front door for Joey, Brenda Meyer stood facing Officer Dennis Winston. "Good evening, ma'am, we've received a complaint about a young child being abused in this house. Is Mr. Meyer in?'

Brenda had unbuttoned the last button on her robe and all that was preventing Winston from seeing a full frontal naked body was a sash. Winston looked down at the floor of the Brady mansion. Brenda smiled broadly at Winston and spoke with a slow, Southern drawl.

"I believe he is, but I can tell you officer there's no child in this house."

"I'd still like to see Mr. Meyer."

Brenda flitted her eyebrows at Winston and slowly turned around, fiddling with the sash as she did so. "Just a minute, officer. Brady, Brady," she yelled.

"What is it?" came the response from the kitchen.

"There's a police officer here to see you. He says there's an abused child in this house."

"WHAT?" Brady screamed. "I'll be right there."

Brenda was still tying and untying the sash when Meyer stormed into the foyer.

"What is this all about officer?," he said sternly.

"We've received a complaint that you may be harboring a child in this house and that the child may be in danger, sir."

"You have, have you? Well, do you have a search warrant?'

"No, this was just a follow-up to a phone call we received."

"A phone call? Do you always harass upstanding citizens like myself based on a phone call?"

"If the caller seems to be credible, we do."

"And who pray tell, was the caller?"

Winston looked at Brenda, standing behind Meyer. She was smiling now.

The sash was tight around her waist and she began buttoning up the robe.

"I can't reveal that information, sir."

"You can't reveal that, eh?" Well, here's what else you can't do. You can't come into my house without a search warrant and expect me to answer any of your hair-brained questions. Good day, sir." Meyer slammed the door in Winston's face. Winston returned to his patrol car.

"You were fantastic, Brady." Brenda purred as she began to unbutton her robe again.

"You know who it was? Do you know who had the audacity to call the police on us?"

"No," Brenda said. She undid the sash and grabbed the lapels of her robe. She slowly spread her arms open, like a young child making a fully extended snow angel, exposing herself to Meyer.

"It was that damned Joey Strong from FAB News," Brady bellowed, looking away from Brenda. "Let's get that kid out of here before they come back with a search warrant."

"But what do we do with him?" Brenda asked as she flaunted her breasts in Meyer's face.

"We'll take him to the bus station. Now get dressed. "

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Venice, Florida

Brenda Reynolds had learned not to argue with Meyer. She learned that lesson on the day she met him five years ago at the Cheesecake Factory restaurant in Venice. She was waiting tables when Meyer came into the restaurant with his fourth wife and asked for a table in the back. He stared at Brenda as he and his wife ordered drinks and then began a heated discussion. When Brenda brought the drinks to their table, Meyer's wife was sobbing. "You can't do this to me," she whimpered. Brenda tried to avoid looking at the couple as she set the drinks down on the table. "Are you ready to order?", she asked softly.

"No, we're not. Can't you see we're engaged in a private discussion," Mrs. Meyer barked.

"I'm sorry," Brenda said, "I'll be back later."

Brenda went to serve another customer. After about ten minutes, she went back to the Meyer table. "Are you folks ready to order?" Mrs. Meyer was still crying.

Brady Meyer looked up at the waitress. "You see," he said loudly, "Some women can be attractive and polite at the same time! What's your name, honey?"

"Brenda."

"Brenda, I'll bet you'd be content to have an allowance of $50,000 a week," wouldn't you?"

"Brady," Mrs. Meyer interrupted, "Please don't do this."

"Keep still, Sarah. I'm asking this lovely lady a question. Now, would you be content with an allowance of $50,000 a week?"

"Well," Brenda responded, "What would I have to do to earn this allowance?"

"Good question, Brenda. All you'd have to do would be to not complain about my lifestyle. Could you do that?"

"I believe I could."

"Good. Let's you and I go out tonight, say after your shift is over, and get to know each other."

"But aren't you with your wife?"

"Not anymore." Sarah left the table in tears. Brady and Brenda were married three days after Brady's divorce with Sarah became final. Sarah was awarded $49,000 a week in alimony, an amount that Meyer insisted on because it was less than what he had been giving her during the marriage. Sarah also signed an agreement not to disclose any information about her relationship with Meyer or she would automatically lose any right to alimony.

Officer Dennis Winston finished preparing his report on his visit to the Brady Mansion and handed it to Chief Williams. Since Williams had been contacted by Congressman Butler about the alleged abduction, he had asked Winston to personally report to him after the report was completed. "Hmmm," Williams said, "this sounds pretty interesting. Let me know if anything else develops on this one."

"Of course, Chief." Winston hoped he would have another chance to catch a glimpse of Brenda Meyer. Although quite handsome and well built, Winston had had little opportunity to meet women, especially women as beautiful as Brenda Meyer.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Venice, Florida

Brenda hustled back to her bedroom and got dressed. In the meantime, Meyer went to a corner in the basement, where a 10 x 12 x 12 crate was located. He unlocked the door of the crate and grabbed a frightened, twelve year-old boy by the scruff of the neck. The boy was naked and had duct tape over his mouth. Meyer yanked off the duct tape, causing the boy to scream in pain. Meyer handed the boy some jeans and a sweatshirt. "Put these on."

While the boy was still putting on his sweatshirt, Meyer pushed him up the stairs. "Brenda," he yelled, "Are you ready?"

Meyer drove his late-model Mercedes while Brenda and the boy sat in the back seat. "Donde esta?," the boy asked.

"What's he saying?" Meyer barked.

"He just wants to know where we're going."

"Tell him to shut his trap."

Brenda put her hand on the boy's shoulder and whispered to him to be quiet.

They took 15 minutes to get to the bus station in Venice. Meyer pulled up his Mercedes about 60 feet from the bus station and got out of the car. He opened the back door and yanked the boy out of his seat. "Tell him to catch a bus back to Mexico."

Brenda got out of the car and started to walk the boy to the bus station, translating Meyer's command as she walked. Meyer grabbed Brenda by the collar of her jacket and pulled her away from the boy. "Come on. We've got to get back to the house and get rid of that cage. Don't let anyone see you down here."

Once again, Brenda did not argue with Meyer.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Venice, Florida; New York, New York

The next morning Brady called Peter Clark at FAB News. Peter had been employed by FAB for 15 years, and had managed the news department for the last ten. On virtually all issues Peter and Meyer had been of the same mind. There had been only one genuine disagreement between the two men in ten years. It had occurred when a FAB News reporter had done a story on Frank Allen's book, Liar, Liar, Brady Meyer. The reporter had included in his story the allegation Allen had made, based on conversations with Meyer's third wife, about Meyer's homosexual relationships. Meyer was furious with Peter and spent the better part of an hour chewing him out. When Brady had finished, Peter calmly reminded him that he was running a news organization and had a duty to report legitimate news.

Meyer took issue with Peter and brought up the fact that FAB had not reported on the court hearing which threw out the allegations that the President was not born in this country because it contradicted the narrative that FAB had been promoting for more than two years. He told Peter that FAB was an opinion maker and had a much higher duty to convince the public of the righteousness of its positions and could therefore ignore stories that did not support its narrative. Clark reluctantly agreed with Meyer but stored this episode away in his memory bank. Even as he accepted Meyer's call, he was thinking about their disagreement.

"I want that Joey Strong fellow fired, Peter."

"What ever for, Brady? He's just getting his feet wet. He can't even use the interview with you on the air."

"I know but he called the cops on me."

"You've got to be kidding. Whatever for?"

"He tried to say I was harboring a young Mexican boy in my basement, can you believe it?"

Clark had been used to Brady's wild exaggerations before, but this one was particularly hard to believe. He sipped his coffee and then said in a reassuring voice. "Of course I don't believe that you were harboring a young boy in your basement, but how do you know that it was Joey who called the cops?"

"Who else could it be?" He was the only person who came to see us last night and the police showed up at 10:15, just after he left my house."

"When you say us, you mean you and Brenda?"

"You're not suggesting that Brenda may have called the cops on me?"

Clark paused. "No, of course not."

"You were hesitating, Peter. I can assure you that Brenda wouldn't do such a thing. I'll tell you what though. Why don't you talk to that rat and ask him if he would be willing to take a lie detector test. I'll bet you any amount of money he will refuse. If he does, you've got to can him. You don't want me going off on a rant about FAB News, do you?"

Peter was certain that FAB News could survive one of Brady's rants, but decided to go along with Peter's plan. Maybe Joey was a progressive plant, after all.

"All right. I'll talk to him first thing in the morning. If he agrees, I think we should have the lie detector operator ask him if he called the police or asked anyone else to do so."

"Exactly. We don't need to ask him if he saw a Latino since we know that's not the case."

Peter hesitated. "Well, maybe we should ask him that. If he says he saw a Latino in your house, the needle would go ballistic."

"Look, Peter. We don't need to ask him that. If we find out that he called the police, you can fire him. If not, he probably deserves to stay."

"All right. Hey, did the cops ever show up again?"

"Nah, but they could come back anytime."

" Let me know if they do."

"Will do. And let me know how the lie detector test goes."

After hanging up with Meyer, Peter jotted down a list of questions he had for Joey. The list included whether Peter called the cops on Brady, whether he told anyone else to call the cops and whether he knew if anyone else called the cops. He was about to call Joey when he noticed on his computer screen a news bulletin. The headline of the story read: "Mexican Youth Beaten By Venice Gang". Peter scrolled through the story, which detailed the fate of a young Mexican who attempted to board a bus in Venice. He was surrounded by a group of teenagers, who called him a dumb wetback and then pummeled him with their fists until the police arrived. He was in the intensive care unit at a Venice hospital. Peter read the last line of the story and gasped. It read, "The attack occurred at 10:30 pm."

Peter recalled his conversation with Brady. The police had visited him at 10:15. If Brady had actually been harboring a Mexican youth, he might have driven him to the bus station right after the police visit so he would be gone when the police came back. If so, the kid would have probably been boarding the bus around 10:30, just when the attack took place. He decided to ask Joey if he saw any young Latinos in Meyer's house. After all, he had only told Meyer that he wouldn't have the lie detector operator ask that question, not that he wouldn't ask Joey himself.

"This is Joey Strong."

"Joey, Peter Clark. I've got to ask you some pretty tough questions. Are you still in Florida?"

"Yeah. My flight doesn't leave for another two and a half hours."

"Okay, I want you to stop by my office first thing in the morning."

"Like 8am?"

"No, exactly 8am. I've got one question for you now. Did you call the police after your visit with Brady Meyer?"

Joey didn't hesitate. "Absolutely not."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

Joey realized he would be getting into LaGuardia at 7:30 pm and probably wouldn't get back to his apartment until well after 9, but he didn't hesitate to agree to meet Clark early the next day. He wanted to get this over with.

HAPTER SEVENTY

New York, New York

Peter hung up the phone and stared out his New York luxury apartment window. He had personally been involved in the selection of Joey Strong and was convinced the guy was going to be a great addition to FAB News. But he wanted to make sure he handled the situation with delicacy. He didn't want to lose both Strong and Meyer. On the other hand, he might be able to play the situation to his advantage.

At 7:59 am the next morning, Joey knocked on Peter's door.

"Come in. Have a seat and close the door behind you, please."

Joey sat down and cleared his throat. He could see that Peter was going over some papers and didn't want to interrupt him. After 30 seconds, Peter spoke.

"First of all, Joey, tell me how the interview with Mr. Meyer went."

"I was very pleased. We seemed to get along very well." Joey knew that this was not the reason for asking him to an early morning meeting. If it had been, Peter would have asked him about the interview last night."

"Good, good. Now I have talked to Mr. Meyer and he's a little upset."

Joey knew then that the police had probably been called to the Meyer estate.

"Upset about what? I don't understand."

"Well, it seems that someone called the police after you left his house and reported that an illegal immigrant youth was being held there. I believe you when you say that you weren't the person who made the call, but do you know who did?"

"You've got to be kidding. You don't think that I had anything to do with this?"

"Well, you've only been on the job for a couple of weeks, so I can't say that you're what they call a trusted employee."

"Let me assure you that before I call the police or have someone else call the police on somebody like Brady Meyer I would alert you or someone at FAB that I was doing so."

"All right, Joey, then tell me this. Did you see a young boy in Meyer's house?"

Joey cleared his throat in an attempt to gather his thoughts. "No," he said, his voice cracking.

"Good. Then you wouldn't mind if you were given a lie detector test, would you?" Peter began twisting his solid gold cufflinks.

Joey realized that if he hesitated too long in responding to the question, it might be construed as guilt, so he answered quickly. "No, of course not."

"Okay. I will set one up for later this afternoon. I want to believe you Joey. I think you have a great future here and I really hope you're telling the truth."

"All I can say is that I want to put this behind us and if we can do it this afternoon, I'll be ready." Joey left Clark's office and headed three floors down to his. When they ask me if I called the cops, I'm good, he thought. But when they ask me if I knew who did or if I saw a young boy, I could be in trouble.

Later that day, Peter Clark ushered Max Linderman into his office. Max had been conducting lie detector tests on behalf of various employees for 15 years. Before that, he was trained in the use of a polygraph by the New York State Police, where he worked for 12 years. "Sit down, Max. I appreciate you getting over here on such short notice."

"I aim to please, Peter."

Of course he aims to please, Peter thought to himself. We're paying this guy $8,000 for a few minutes of work. "All right. Let me get right to it." Peter picked up his coffee mug, which had been filled six times already that day. "I need to know if a certain employee is lying about whether he called the cops last night to report the fact that Brady Meyer was harboring a young Latino boy.He denies it but he's agreed to take a polygraph. I know these things aren't foolproof, but can you give him a test that can help us out here?"

"As you say, these tests aren't foolproof, but I've done this for a long time and if someone's lying, I'm 95% sure the test will establish that."

"All right. Let's talk about the questions we should ask him. I'd like to just ask him if he called the cops and we can leave it there."

" You're right in thinking that the fewer questions we ask, the more accurate the results, but I've got to ask him some control questions. Were you born in 1984?, for example. In that way, we can judge his answering style and see if the equipment is accurate."

"Okay, a couple of control questions and did you call the cops on Brady Meyer."

"What if he didn't actually make the call, but told someone else to do it?"

Peter smiled. "That would be all right, I guess. Ask him if he told someone else to call the cops."

"Fine. Let me get some more background from you and I'll be ready in about a half an hour."

Clark filled the polygraph operator in on some of the details of Joey's visit to Brady Meyer's mansion and then went to get Joey. If Joey was nervous, he didn't let on. Joey denied that he had called the cops and denied that he told anyone else to do so. The operator dismissed Joey, without allowing him to see the results of the test, and went to see Peter.

"Mr. Clark, it looks like your boy didn't call the cops and didn't tell anyone else to call them. I'm almost certain."

"So if he was lying about those two questions, you're convinced it would have registered."

"As I said before, I'm 95% sure. Now, there's always the possibility that he knew who called the cops, but we didn't ask him that."

"That doesn't seem likely. Well, thanks for coming over on such notice."

"I aim to please."

Clark decided to keep Joey waiting before he called him with the results. He called Brady Meyer instead because he wanted to see if he could save Joey's job before talking to him. He knew Brady was going to insist on having Joey fired, but he had a plan to change his mind.

"Brady, how's the world treating you?"

"Very well, thank you. I assume you're calling about that traitor Joey Strong.

"I am indeed."

"Did he take the lie detector test?"

"He did."

"I'm floored. How did he do?"

" It looks like our boy is telling the truth when he says that he didn't call the cops on you."

Peter could hear a loud noise and surmised that Brady had thrown something down on his desk. "Did they ask him if he had anyone else call the cops?"

"We did. He denied that and the operator believes he was telling the truth."

"I still want that son of a bitch fired."

"On what basis?"

"On the basis that the timing was too coincidental. Within an hour of his visit to my house, the police paid me a visit. There's got to be a connection. Maybe he didn't tell anyone to call the police, but he could have told someone about it and they could have called the police, with his knowledge."

It suddenly occurred to Peter that Brady was not denying that Joey actually saw the child. If there were no kid, he would have said that Joey could have told someone a "made-up" story, not that someone could have told him about "it". Peter was now convinced that the child who was beaten at the bus station had been living with Brady Meyer. Peter saw a way to save Joey's job, instill a sense of loyalty in him, and get Brady off his back at the same time.

"There was one question that the operator believed that Joey did not answer truthfully."

Brady screamed, "Well, why didn't you tell me? You've got him right there. He lied to his employer. Now you've got to fire his ass."

"I'm afraid you won't feel so happy about it when you hear which question it was."

"Oh, what was the question?"

"The operator asked Joey if he had actually seen a young boy in your house that day."

"And?"

"And Joey said no, but the operator is convinced that he lied."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Brady that the test seems to indicate that there actually was a boy there."

Brady raised his voice. "That's nonsense."

"Maybe so, but if we fire him on the basis of the lie detector, this will all become public. You don't need to have Brent Hastings harping on your "Latino" problem for three months."

"I don't have a "Latino" problem, okay. But I will say this. You can keep this whippersnapper on your payroll for now. But if he screws up on the air, I will be all over him."

Peter knew he had the goods on Meyer and could push back. "Brady, l love you as a brother, but I'm not going to be making personnel decisions on the basis of your likes and dislikes and whether or not you think my people are screwing up. I've been hiring and firing reporters for more than 10 years now."

"Listen, Peter. If I believe this guy has screwed up and you don't fire him, I'm going right to Mr. Dachmer and asking for your head."

"I wouldn't do that Brady. After all, Joey and I are the only ones who know about your Latino problem."

Brady knew that Dachmer was also aware of his taste for young boys. He remembered what Dachmer had said after their round of golf earlier in the year.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

New York, New York

It was another twenty minutes before Peter got around to calling Joey. He was thinking about what Meyer had told him and wanted to find a way to get more leverage over him. Peter strummed his fingers on h is desk.

"Joey, my boy. You passed that lie detector test with flying colors. We're going to keep you at FAB News for a long time."

"That's great. I knew that FAB News would stand behind me. You've always stood for integrity in my book."

Peter could not contain himself. He had worked for FAB News for 10 years and had made a lot of money, but he couldn't let Joey think that the network stood for integrity.

"Look Joey. We at FAB News know we've perpetrated a scam on the American people. We are really a front for the major corporations in this country who want to be free of regulation, free to take their business overseas and free to continue to enjoy unending tax breaks. We are able to outspend anyone who tries to rebut our narrative of smaller government, lower taxes. We want to eliminate government programs that help the little guy and keep taxes as low as possible for the wealthiest among us. Hell, we earned our money, the little guy doesn't deserve to take any of it from us."

"How do you convince this so-called little guy that it's in his interest to support lower taxes for the wealthy?"

" We do that by feeding him, day after day, stories about how high taxes and out-of-control spending are bad for everyone, even though we know that the little guy will get screwed. We fronted for the pharmaceutical companies during the health care debate, the financial services industry during the financial crisis and the military-industrial complex in the run-up to the Iraq war."

"But the war was necessary to protect our national security, wasn't it?"

"Hell no. We at FAB News knew that the case for war was trumped up but we were the biggest cheerleaders for the war because our financial interests were being served. Why do you think Bush didn't try to capture bin Laden in Tora Bora? The war machine wanted him to invade Iraq and bin Laden's death would have removed the need for that war. He even abandoned the bin Laden task force in 2005 and two months later, bin Laden moved into his cozy quarters in Abadabad. Hell, half of our commentators have invested heavily in companies that make the weapons and machinery for the war."

"But how did Congress fall for all that?"

"The masters of war and the Wall Street honchos supported candidates who were committed to maintaining their lavish lifestyles and the money they spent on campaign ads wound up in our pockets. If you want to make a lot of money, you can stay with us. Even when Senator Levin caught Goldman Sachs dead to rights for lying to Congress and their investors, they used their influence to kill any prosecution for their misdeeds and no one went to jail. The public didn't give a damn when they skated. If you believe in integrity, you might as well work for NPR. It's that simple. And the simpletons in this country will buy our line of crap every time. Hell, the middle class doesn't know what hit them."

Joey gulped. "But isn't our fight against Obamacare based on principles?"

"What principles? We claim that we want to hold costs down by denying coverage to folks who need it, but we fund guys like Congressman Andy Harris.

He ran on a platform of repealing the health care law because he didn't think people should be entitled to government-run health care, but he demanded his own government-run health care plan the moment he set foot in Washington.

Look, the big health insurance companies make money by denying people coverage- the more people are forced to stretch their own savings, the more money the companies make. Moreover, we couldn't and will never say anything good about the President."

"You've sort of destroyed my faith in the Conservative movement."

"Hell, the Conservative movement was designed to pad the pockets of those of us who were smart enough to pull the wool over the unsuspecting masses. We all worship Ayn Rand, who could care less about helping those who can't help themselves. Just look at the last few budget debates. The rich get to keep their tax breaks, the defense contractors get a big increase and everyone else gets screwed. Get with it, Joey. You want to make money, stay with FAB News."

Joey got up from his chair. "I don't know. I wasn't really motivated by the money."

Clark restrained a giggle. "That's bullshit, man. There ain't nothing else to work for. If you don't get the dough, you got nothing to show. Mr. Dachmer has built his empire and his wealth on the backs of the poor schlubs who read the sensational stories in his newspapers and watch the one-sided news broadcasts."

"But don't you feel guilty when you read about half of the population living in poverty and diving in dumpsters for their food?"

"Let me tell you something Joey. Guilt is a middle-class phenomenon. We fired two reporters in Tampa who had uncovered a story about the toxicity of the milk supply in this country. Canada had banned certain bovine growth hormones, but the United States had not. The reporters sued us, alleging that we had lied in our reports in order to protect the company that had manufactured the hormones. Since we were able for much better lawyers than the reporters, the suit was thrown out. I don't drink milk from cows anymore, I just drink soymilk. But damn if I'm going to throw away money from a big drug company just so a few kids' health will be better."

"I suppose you're right."

" Give it a day or two and let me know what you want to do. If you want to stay, I've got a great assignment for you."

"All right." Joey left Clark's office and headed back toward the elevator.

PART FOUR- THE TARGET

"....the people do not want virtue, but are the dupes of patriots. ..It has been fully confirmed by experience that they are daily misled into the most baneful measures and opinions by the false reports circulated by designing men."

Elbridge Gerry
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Flint, Michigan

Trenton Fuller had purchased a drone from a former colleague in the Air Force. The colleague was sympathetic to the Mentula Militia and was able to supply Wacker with not only the drone but the GPS system that went with it. Fuller had told the colleague that he wanted to use the drone to engage in surveillance of the military installations in Michigan in case there was an effort to seize the guns of law-abiding citizens. He had told Chuck Wacker that he wanted to spy on Hastings. In fact, he had other ideas.

. He knew that if he was close enough to Dearborn, Michigan, he could arm the drone and kill thousands of Muslims before the American defense system got wind of it. He needed to arm the drone with a small "smart bomb" that could be fired like a mortar round at his target. Wacker, a mechanical engineer, could help him now.

Fuller dialed Wacker on his TracFone."Chuck, I want you to get me some materials." Fuller then ticked off a number of items he needed to construct his bomb.

"You can't be serious, Captain."

"Indeed I am. The Muslims will finally get the message they should have received after 9/11. They are not welcome in this country. Now, I also need some food. Buy about $400 worth of non-perishable stuff and bring the food and the materials to me." Fuller gave Wacker the address of the abandoned warehouse. When Wacker arrived, Fuller helped him stash the food in a corner of the first floor and the material for the bomb in another corner. Fuller looked out the window, with glass shards still clinging to the sill.

"I don't think anyone followed you here. Now here's the deal. I'm not going to see you again."

"Do you really think you can get away with this plan?"

"Hey, it's my Second Amendment right. I can arm myself in any way I choose. Someday every militia member will have a drone they can fire. We will outnumber the drones used by the government. While they are killing Muslims in the Middle East, we will be killing police officers and left wing subversives. Now, I want you..."

"But Mr. Fuller.."

"Don't interrupt. I want you to go back to your house. The FBI will probably come to see you. Tell them you haven't seen me in six months. And most importantly, don't tell anyone where I am, except someone representing Brady Meyer. You got it?"

"How will I know that someone is representing Brady Meyer?"

"I'm sure Mr. Meyer has a way of identifying his lieutenants, but if you have any doubt, don't believe them."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

Venice, Florida- Flint, Michigan

Brady Meyer was watching a FAB News special broadcast on domestic terrorism when Billy Walters called from his hotel room in Flint. "Mr. Meyer, I've located an associate of Trenton Fuller."

"You can't find Fuller himself?"

"No, but I was able to deliver your message to the associate."

"How in the hell did you track him down?"

"I went to the old Mentula Militia headquarters that was identified in the news stories after the massacre. It was pretty much abandoned, but I was able to talk to a guy next door to the place who told me that someone named Wacker had been there two days before. Apparently Wacker wanted to have this neighbor report to him about any suspicious activity there so he gave the guy his contact information. He readily gave it to me and I was able to find Wacker."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yep. I showed him the medallion and told him you needed to get a message to Fuller. He told me he would have to contact Fuller before I could visit him. I asked him how long that would take and he said maybe several days. According to Wacker, Fuller is hiding out somewhere and can't be reached by phone. He's paranoid about being arrested."

"Did you tell Wacker that I wanted Fuller to go to Canada and kill Hastings?"

"I sure did."

"Good. Why is he hiding?"

"Well, he wants to send a drone, armed with a bomb, to Dearborn and kill a mess of Muslims, but I think he'll agree that killing Hastings is a bigger priority. He obviously doesn't want the FBI or the local authorities to see him."

"I'm worried that he'll never make it to Canada."

"Yeah, Wacker said he would tell Fuller to make an initial trip to scout out the building where Hastings does his broadcasts. He could then make a return trip and do the deed."

"Did you ask him to call you if he hears from Fuller after this scouting trip?"

"No, I guess I didn't."

Meyer smashed his fist on his desk. "You fool. We need to make sure he needs all the assistance we can give him. Now I want you to call him back right away and..."

"I don't have his phone number."

"You didn't get Wacker's phone number? How are we going to know if Fuller can get to Canada."

"Sorry, boss."

"Okay, here's what you do, Billy. Get Wacker's phone number, even if you have to go back to Michigan.. You got it?'

"Yeah, I do. Although I think Fuller will get the message."

"Don't challenge me boy. You do your job and I'll do mine. I've got to prepare for my next show and this time I don't even have to be close to the truth. Now you locate Wacker and get his phone number." After Billy left his office, Meyer opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his bottle of Percolone and a Cuban cigar. I've earned this one, he said to himself as he lit it up.

Billy was flabbergasted. He had tracked down Trenton Fuller and Meyer was still upset with him. He identified with Brady's mother, who had recently felt the full force of the Brady Meyer wrath. Brady would visit his mother once a year, between Christmas and New Year's. He would ask a few questions (How are you doing, Ma?, Do they treat you well here?) and then listen to her talk for an hour and a half. He would then kiss her on the forehead and leave. On his last visit, she startled Meyer by talking about Brent Hastings. "You know that Hastings fellow is not such a bad sort .I think he has some good ideas.I can pick up his show every now and then."

Brady bit his lip. " Mother you don't know this guy like I do. He wants to have the government control our lives." As Brady's mother continued to defend Hastings, Meyer got more and more upset. "Look, mom, this guy has promoted a song about me that is slanderous."

"Oh, what's the name of this song?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh come now, Brady. Don't be so sensitive."

"All right, if you must know the song is entitled "Which Deodorant does Brady Meyer Use?" Are you happy? Do you really think this guy has good ideas?"

His mother tried to refrain from giggling, but could not control herself.

"If that's the way you feel about it, then go ahead and listen to that socialist. You won't have to put up with me anymore." With that, Meyer slammed the door to his mother's room and left her sight for good.

Brady's next program dealt with outsourcing. "My friends, I hear the limp stream media complain constantly about the fact that businesses in this country have outsourced jobs. Let me tell you that there is no question, no question at all, that those jobs were outsourced because of the high corporate tax rate in this country and the fact that unions demanded so many benefits for their membership that the products they produced were priced out of the market. If we can reduce the corporate tax rate to the same rate charged by those socialist Western European countries and eliminated unions in this country, we wouldn't be outsourcing jobs. Let's take a caller from Boston. Wilma, go ahead."

"Great program, Brady. I agree that the unions are to blame for our current economic woes. I know that the progressives in this country like to lay the blame at wealthy CEOs, but my husband is a CEO of a major corporation and he earns every penny of his salary."

"You're right on, Wilma. And I bet you and your husband give a lot of money to charity."

"Not really, Brady. We feel the people who claim they need help are getting enough from the government already."

"Well said. I just thought you might give a small amount to some non-profit group."

"Oh, yes. We give quite a bit to the Republican National Committee. That's non-profit, isn't it."?

"Right you are, Wilma. Thanks for the call. Now, my friends, I knew this was coming. The City of Detroit has announced that it will no longer be able to provide its citizens with streetlights. The city of course blames this on budget cuts from the state and the lack of compassion by the Republican Governor. But make no mistake, this all could have been prevented. Instead of providing outrageous salaries and perks to its employees, the city could have long ago found a way to keep its street lights on. I have no sympathy for these people. Hell, they don't need streetlights. Nobody in their right mind would want to walk around Detroit after nightfall anyway. Heh-heh."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

Somewhere near Flint, Michigan

Alone in the warehouse, Trenton Fuller smashed his TracFone on the floor. There would be no more calls that could be traced to him. He waited until dark to leave for Canada, figuring there would be less scrutiny of his border crossing. He took nothing with him except his driver's license and fifteen dollars. He wasn't sure how much it cost to cross into Canada, but $15 should be more than enough. That Muslim-loving talk-show host Brent Hastings would soon be muzzled. Brady Meyer was right. I would be wasting my drone if I only killed a few Muslims in Dearborn. Killing Brent Hastings would be much more effective. It would mean the end of the left-wing propaganda machine.

He packed up his equipment, including the tracking device he intended to attach to the radio station where Hastings work. If he got to the station around 3am, there would probably be nobody around to see him. It wasn't essential that he attach the device to the station, but it would make his job of killing Hastings that much easier.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

New York, New York

Joey Strong thought about calling his uncle before deciding whether to stay with FAB News, but in the end figured that he knew what his uncle would say and didn't call him. He decided to take the stairs up to Clark's office so he could gather his thoughts. As he approached Peter Clark's door at 8:45am, he straightened his tie.

"Come in, come in," Clark said with a smile, "I hope you've decided to stay with us."

"I guess I have one request before I commit to staying."

"You're not in a very good position to be making requests, son. In fact, I have a condition I need to impose on you before we sign your contract. But you first, what's your request?"

Joey was prepared to walk away from FAB News if he didn't get the assurance he wanted, even though he knew it would probably end his career in journalism if he did so. "I want to be assured that I won't be asked to get a story through illegal means, like hacking into someone's voicemail."

"So we have a moralist among us." Clark frowned.

"I just don't think it's necessary to get a story by invading someone's privacy."

Clark's smile slowly returned. "You know and I know that sometimes you have to go the extra mile to get the story. But, what the hey, I'll make that assurance."

"Thanks. I guess I'll hang around. What's your condition?"

"Simply that you hand over all digital recordings of interviews you conduct to me."

"But some of that is raw data. I'm not sure you will be able to use all of it."

"Let me worry about what I can use. Now, let me go over your first assignment. Do you remember that Congressman who was going to speak at the rally last year in Lansing?"

"You mean the guy who left Congress to start a radio show in Canada?"

"The same. I want you to track him down and interview him."

Joey was not about to let on that Hastings was his uncle. "But he's going to be reluctant to talk to someone from FAB News."

"You don't have to tell him you're from FAB News. Just make something up."

Joey had just got Clark to agree that he wouldn't have to hack into someone's voicemail. He realized he could only ask for so much. He gritted his teeth. "I'll do what I can."

"That's my boy."

Joey left Clark's office and headed for his cubicle. As soon as Clark's office door shut, he dialed the South Florida office of FAB News.

"This is Peter Clark, get me Helen Murner." After 30 seconds, the veteran FAB News reporter came on the line. After Helen had failed to deliver the Lansing story that Dachmer wanted, she had become Clark's go-to girl in Florida. When he wanted a story, Helen would get it for him. She reminded him of another FAB News reporter who got her start with FAB by barging into the Venice polling site while the election workers were fly specking ballots in the Bush-Gore Presidential race.

The reporter hollered questions at the workers for so long that they had to close the door on her. She then went to the air with a story asserting that the election was rigged and the election officials would not give her access to the information she needed to report to the people. She compared the election to those held in the former Soviet Union. Peter was so impressed that he began giving her high-profile assignments. Three months later, she questioned a Republican candidate's credentials on the air and incurred Peter's wrath. She was transferred to a local Colorado station owned by FAB and eventually let go. Helen was very much aware of her colleague's fate.

. Peter knew that he would not be keeping Helen on the air much longer, there were many young foxes waiting in the wings and the viewers were demanding younger and younger reporters. Peter was also looking for younger meat. He was going to get one more assignment out of Helen.

"Helen, how's your workload?'

"Not bad, Peter. I've got time to cover about anything you have for me."

"How's your Spanish?"

"I haven't used it in a while, but it's still pretty good."

"Good. There's a young Mexican boy over in intensive care at Columbia Hospital, Room 5-116. He's in very critical condition after being beaten senseless by a mob at the bus station."

"I think I saw that story. Seems like it was last night, about 10:30."

"That's right. I want you to go over there and see if you can interview him. See if he will tell you who dropped him off at the bus station. I got to believe the police have talked to him already, but they're probably focusing on who beat him up, not who dropped him off."

"What's so important about this guy?"

"I'm not going to give away the punch line, Helen, but if you call me back and tell me this guy was staying with whom I think he was, we've got a real story."

"All right. If the kid talks, I'll call you right back."

"Call me back regardless."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina Angstman had resumed visiting Richdale once a week. Surprisingly, she and her father talked more to each other than before his stroke. He was sometimes hard to understand, but Chesterina managed to engage him in an occasional discussion about the events of the day. She had avoided telling him about her role in the Brady Meyer trial, knowing that he would be disappointed if he knew she testified against his hero. On one visit, she turned on her father's radio. He had it tuned to the station that broadcast the Brady Meyer show. To avoid having to debate political issues with him, she turned the dial to another station. Within a few minutes, the disc jockey made an announcement.

"For the first time on this station and I believe for the first time in our state, we have the opportunity to play for you the song that is making waves throughout Canada and the East Coast. It was written by Jimmy Parsons, a former employee of Brady Meyer, but it attempts to shine a new light on Mr. Meyer. It's called "Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use?" The disc jockey began playing the song. Chesterina was in the kitchen fixing supper and did not hear the lead-in to the song. Her father sat within five feet of the radio and heard every word. Midway through the song, he screamed. "Chesterina, Chesterina, get in here."

Chesterina put down the spatula she was using to brown some hamburger meat and went to her father's side. "What is it, Dad?"

"What kind of socialist crap are you making me listen to? This is not my station."

"I'm sorry. I thought you could use a little change of pace."

"What the hell do they mean, which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?"

Chesterina didn't want to risk giving her father another stroke, so she avoided telling him all she knew about the genesis of the song. "Well, this fellow Parsons believes that Mr. Meyer may have shaded the truth a bit and therefore he has a certain odor to him."

"Odor? There's nothing foul-smelling about Brady Meyer."

"Dad, it's just this guy's opinion. I wouldn't give it another thought."

"You don't think he shades the truth, do you Chesterina?"

Chesterina knew she had to lie. "No, Dad, I don't." Chesterina returned to the kitchen to finish frying the hamburger.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Venice, Florida

Helen Murner pinned her long hair into a bun and changed into a matronly outfit, a dull-colored patterned dress that fell well below her knees. She wanted to look like a concerned foster parent. Her best hope was that the police had been unable to identify the young boy. She could claim that her own foster child had been missing since 7 pm last night and that she read about the boy in the hospital and thought it might be hers. She put a photograph of Brady Meyer in her purse. If the boy had been staying at the Meyer mansion, he would surely recognize his captor.

As Helen approached the information desk at the hospital, she put on a pair of granny glasses that she had borrowed years ago from her mother for a Halloween costume. Her mother had died shortly thereafter and Helen kept the glasses. They made her look ten years older than her 36 years. "I'm looking for a young child of Mexican descent. I'm his foster parent. I read about a child who was brought here last night after a beating at the bus station. I hope it's not my child, but I want to be sure."

"Is your child missing?"

"I'm afraid so. He was supposed to walk to a friend's house last night around 7 but never returned home. When I called the friend's mother, she said he had never showed up."

"Let me see what I can do."

"Thank you."

The information desk receptionist made a call to someone upstairs. She explained the situation and hung up the phone. "He's in intensive care but you can go to the fifth floor, Room 5-116. There will be a nurse waiting for you."

"Thanks again."

When she arrived at Room 5-116, Helen did not see a nurse anywhere. She peeked into the room and saw a young boy, hooked up to several monitoring devices and an intravenous tube. Helen tiptoed past the woman toward the boy's bed. She saw a written report attached to the foot of the bed and quickly scanned it. She picked up the words "blunt force trauma" and "lacerations" and then spotted the words she was not expecting: "evidence of possible sodomy." My god, she thought. Either the boy was sodomized at the bus station in front of a crowd or Brady Meyer was really into young boys.

Helen gently roused the boy by tapping him on the shoulder. He awoke with a start and began screaming. She put one finger to her lips to let him know he should be quiet. "Que quando?" the boy muttered.

"Esta bien," she reassured him.

She showed him the picture of Brady Meyer. The boy's eyes opened wide.

"El Diablo!" he cried.

Helen knew at that instant that this was the boy who had been held by Brady Meyer and presumably dumped at the bus station. She used the camera on her cell phone to take a picture of the boy. Just then, the nurse came in the room. "What's going on?"

Helen closed her cell phone and put the photograph back in her purse. "This is my foster child. They told me I could come up to see him."

"Not before checking in with me, ma'am. You need to sign some papers. Come with me."

"But can't I console my child?"

"It will just be a minute ma'am."

As Helen and the nurse walked toward the nurses' receiving station, the nurse mentioned that no one had yet identified the boy and they were glad that Helen had come forward.

"Have the police been here?", Helen asked.

"Yes. They were here within hours after he arrived. I don't think he could tell them much. Now, if you will just fill out these papers, you can probably see him again in a few minutes."

"Can I go somewhere to sit down?"

"Sure." The nurse directed Helen to a small room down the hall from the nurses' station. As Helen expected, the papers included an insurance form asking detailed information about her health care plan. She was not about to pay for the child's treatment. Helen had the information she wanted, the boy had been abducted by Brady Meyer. She waited a few minutes, opened the door to the room and looked down the hallway. When she didn't see anyone in the hallway, she made a dash for the elevator.

As soon as Helen reached her car, she pulled out her cell-phone from her purse and dialed.

"Peter Clark."

"Peter, I saw the child. He was pretty beat up, but get this. I believe he knows Brady Meyer. Peter, I think the boy was held captive by the Oracle of the New World."

"You believe or you think. But you can't be sure. What evidence do you have?"

"I showed him a photo of Meyer and the boy cringed and called him the devil."

"Hmmm, you may have something there. Maybe not enough for a story but we can certainly use this to keep Meyer on our side."

Helen counted slowly to five, as she had been taught to do by her parents when she was about to blow a fuse. "I thought you wanted me to do a story on this creep. I didn't risk my career to help you get leverage on him. And why do you need leverage anyway, aren't you and Meyer in sync?"

"Generally we are, but he thinks he can tell me who to hire and fire and I want to make it clear to him who is running FAB News."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt things if we did a story, would it. You could have all kinds of leverage when the fat bastard is in jail."

"I don't think we have enough at this point to do a story, that's all."

"Peter, the boy was sodomized. At the very least, we've got to go to the police."

"I don't know Helen. The police would probably say this is all speculation."

"Look, I don't want this guy locking up any more young boys in his basement. I'm going on the air tonight with what I've got."

"Don't do that, Helen."

Helen knew she was pushing her luck, but she also knew her days were numbered at FAB anyway. She took a deep breath. "Is that an order?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"Well, then I quit."

"Look, Helen. You don't have to do this. What will you do? Where will you go?"

"I've got plenty of opportunities, Peter. Don't tell me you weren't looking for an excuse to fire me."

"No, no. What makes you think that? Of course were not looking to fire you." Peter had been getting pressure from the FAB affiliates in Florida to bring in younger reporters, but he didn't want to be going through interviews with them this weekend. "Won't you reconsider?"

"Only if you reconsider your decision to deny the people of this country a report on the real Brady Meyer, the one who sodomizes young boys."

"I can't do that. At any rate, why don't you stay until the end of next week? That will give you time to clear out your desk and say good-bye to folks."

Helen was about to tell Peter to perform an unnatural act when something occurred to her. "All right. I'll stay until the end of next week. I'll tell folks that we're departing amicably."

"Good. Good. I'll give you an outstanding reference, if you'd like."

"Thanks, Peter. "

When Helen hung up the phone with Peter, she immediately went to see the secretary who was assigned to the FAB Florida reporters.

"Judy, can you track down a phone number for that new reporter from New York who was down here to interview Brady Meyer?"

"I'll give it a shot, Helen. Hey, how did your call with Mr. Clark go?"

"Oh, typical stuff. He gave me a couple of assignments. Nothing earth-shattering."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Somewhere near Flint, Michigan

Trenton Fuller left the warehouse at 11:30 pm. He planned to take the back roads to Detroit and enter the tunnel leading to Windsor, Canada at around 1 am. When his '98 Chevy Malibu approached the customs station, he rolled down his window. "Can I see your passport, sir," the customs officer said.

""Passport? Do I really need that?"

"I'm afraid so. If you don't have one, let me see your driver's license."

Fuller took his Michigan driver's license from his wallet and handed it to the officer.

"Just a minute sir. I'll be right back."

"Is there a problem?"

"Just checking."

Fuller regretted his decision to enter the tunnel after midnight. He didn't want to be spotted but now he realized that the customs officials had nothing better to do than to stop people at that hour. His heart skipped a beat as the officer returned to his car. "I'm afraid sir you can't enter Canada tonight?"

"Why not?"

"It seems that you have a recent conviction for possessing illegal weapons."

"You must be mistaken. I'm an upstanding citizen."

"I'm sorry sir. You can't go through the tunnel."

Fuller turned his car around and headed back to the warehouse. His first thought was to get a message to Brady Meyer that he couldn't take care of Mr. Hastings. He considered buying another disposable phone but thought it was too risky. Instead he would send Meyer a snail mail report.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

Venice, Florida

Judy Simmons took fifteen minutes to track down the phone number for Joey Strong. She called Helen's cell phone and left a message with her. About two hours later, Helen checked her messages and dialed Joey's number.

"This is Joey Strong, FAB News."

"Joey, my name is Helen Murner, I work for FAB News in Florida."

"Of course. I admire your work."

"Thank you. Look, Joey, I understand you had the opportunity to interview Brady Meyer last week."

"That's right. I went to his house in Venice, but it wasn't supposed to be broadcast."

"I know. I've talked to Peter Clark about it. He tells me that you saw a young Mexican boy in Meyer's house. Is that right?"

"Well, I can't say that he was Mexican, but he had dark skin."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"I saw his face briefly, so I might be able to recognize him if I saw him again."

"I'd like to send you a photograph I took of a young Mexican boy this morning. Can you look at it and tell me if it's the same boy?"

"I'd be happy to do that, Helen. Anything for FAB News."

Helen wasn't about to tell Joey that her days at FAB News were numbered. Peter Clark was unlikely to announce her decision to quit until the last day of her employment. "One other thing, Joey. Do you have a digital recording of your interview with Meyer?"

"I sure do. I was required by FAB to keep recordings of all my interviews. I can email you a copy if you'd like."

"Great. I'll send you the photograph and then you can reply and let me know whether you recognize the boy and zip me a copy of your interview at the same time."

"Just remember, the interview was not for publication."

"Of course." Helen loaded the photograph of the boy onto her computer and sent it to Joey.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

New York, New York; Venice, Florida

When Joey opened his email message from Helen and saw the photograph of a badly beaten young boy, he shuddered. He was pretty sure it was the same boy he had a glimpse of in Meyer's house. I should have done something that night, he thought to himself. Now he would have to make amends. He sent a message to Helen indicating that the boy in the photograph she sent him was indeed the same boy that he had seen in the Meyer mansion several days ago. He also sent her a digital recording of the interview with Meyer.

Helen couldn't wait to get Joey's return message. She gobbled some antacids as she paced her office. When the message arrived, she knew what she had to do. She immediately played the digital recording that Joey had sent her. She was about to stop listening to the softballs that Joey was serving up when she heard a loud scream on the recording. She played the next few words over and over again: "Do you think that someone needs help? Nah, Brenda can take care of it."

My God, she thought. I've got to call the police. She knew if she asked to speak to the officer who had visited the hospital, someone might eventually link her to the person who impersonated a foster parent, so she asked to speak to the officer who visited Brady Meyer's house.

"I believe that's Officer Winston. I'll put you through to him."

"Thank you." Helen waited for 8 minutes before Winston came on the line.

"Officer Winston, what can I do for you?"

"My name is Helen Murner. I'm a reporter at FAB News. I was asked to cover the story of the reported abduction at the home of Brady Meyer. Did you pay a visit to Mr. Meyer?"

"That's right."

"I believe I have some information about Mr. Meyer that may help your investigation."

"We really don't have an ongoing investigation, ma'am."

"But didn't someone call to say that there was a young boy being held there against his will?"

"Ma'am, we don't give out that kind of information, even to reporters."

"Officer, what I have to tell you will confirm the story that caused you to visit Mr. Meyer. You can do whatever you want with the information, but I believe you need to hear this."

Winston had only been a police officer for four years. He had been told to protect the privacy of persons who are being investigated, especially with nosy reporters. However, he also was trained to be open to information that could be useful to the police. "All right, ma'am. What information do you have?"

"I have a recorded transcript of the interview that one of our reporters conducted with Mr. Meyer just before your visit. You can distinctly hear the scream of what appears to be a young child in the background. I can send you a copy of this recording."

"I'm not sure that is enough to justify disturbing Mr. Meyer again."

"Disturbing Mr. Meyer? Officer, there is a young boy who has been savagely beaten and is holding on for dear life in the hospital now and he was released by Brady Meyer just before the beating?"

"Wait a minute. How do you know all this? "

Helen hadn't wanted to involve Joey but decided she had to if she was going to get the officer's attention. "I visited the boy in the hospital yesterday. I took a picture of the boy and sent it to the reporter who interviewed Meyer. The reporter believes that the boy in the hospital is the same one who he saw at Meyer's house just before the interview."

"All right. I need the name of the reporter. "

Helen hesitated. She didn't want to get Joey in trouble with FAB News, but she knew she wasn't going to get anywhere with Officer Winston unless she did.

"His name is Joey Strong."

"I need his contact information. ' '

Helen gave Winston Joey's cell number and told him he could call her at anytime as well. She gave him her cell number since she knew she wouldn't be working for FAB News much longer.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

West Venice, Florida

Officer Winston looked up the police report of the beating of the young boy at the bus station. Officer Dan Samuels had filed the report. Samuels had the day off so Winston called him at his house. "Dan, this is Dennis Winston. I got a question for you."

"It can't wait till I'm in the office?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Do you recall going to the hospital several days ago to see a young kid who was beaten up at the bus station?"

"Sure do. He was a Mexican, maybe 12-13 years old."

"Did you interview him?"

"No. He was pretty beat up. They said he might not make it through the week."

"So you don't know how he got to the bus station?"

"No, we were unable to get any witnesses to talk. He was apparently trying to ask someone about how to buy a bus ticket and could only speak Spanish. A few of the gang members in the area apparently called him a wetback. When he kept trying to get their attention, they smashed his face with brass knuckles. I guess it's just another unsolved crime. Say, why are you interested in this?"

"I went to interview Brady Meyer the night of the incident. I went there because Congressman Butler called the Chief and demanded we send someone over to Meyer's house because he had a "reliable" source who claimed there was a young boy being held captive there. Meyer denied that anyone was there and we dropped the matter. Just now I got a call from a FAB News info babe who tells me that there was another reporter there that night who saw a young Latino boy."

"You better talk to the Chief."

"I suppose you're right. I'm going to listen to the interview this reporter had with Meyer, apparently you can hear the kid scream."

"Well, if anything pops up on the kid, I'll let you know."

"Thanks."

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

Venice, Florida

After listening to the interview of Brady Meyer, Winston went to see Chief Williams. "Chief, I've received some new information on the Brady Meyer case."

Chief Williams had received a call from Billy Walters on Meyer's staff complaining about the fact that Winston had accused Meyer of harboring a young boy without the thinnest shred of evidence to do so. Williams had sent Winston there at the request of Congressman Butler, but he later received a call from someone at FAB News who hinted that if Meyer were prosecuted, certain pictures they had of the Chief would be featured in their lead story that night.

Williams shuffled some papers as he spoke. "What do you have Winston?"

Winston filled the Chief in on what he had picked up from talking to Helen Murner and suggested that she was the one who alerted the Congressman to the story.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought it was FAB. Meyers is not a FAB foe."

"A what sir?"

"A FAB foe. Someone who is out to get FAB News. I thought Meyer and FAB were singing from the same hymnal. Anyway, what evidence does this reporter have, Winston? Hard evidence."

"Well, sir. She has a recording of the interview that Meyer gave to the other reporter. I've listened to it and you can definitely hear a child's scream, at least it seems like a child. Right after that the reporter asks Meyer if they should do something and Meyer says his wife, who by the way is quite a looker, will take care of it."

"How does this reporter know that the kid he saw is the same one who was beaten up at the bus station?"

"The female reporter, the one I talked to, sent the other reporter a picture of the kid that she had taken at the hospital."

"How did she get in to see the kid? The hospital usually won't allow strangers into intensive care units."

"I don't know sir."

"So what do you propose to do Winston?"

"I'd like your permission to call this other reporter. I might have done that anyway but since you were tracking this case, I thought I'd see you first."

"Where is this guy?"

"He's on assignment in Canada, I believe."

"I'm glad you saw me, Winston. Now, here's what I want you to do. Call this reporter. Ask him if he has any doubts, any doubts whatsoever, that the guy in the photograph is the same one he saw at Meyer's house. If he has any doubts at all, tell him thanks and write up your report. If he says that he's sure that this is the kid, I want you to get a search warrant for the Meyer house. When you draft the search warrant, mention the positive I.D. of the reporter and the scream you personally heard when you listened to the recording. Go to Judge Harding. He's the easiest judge to get a search warrant from. I then want you to wait until Meyer is broadcasting his show, when he is away from the house, and go there with Assistant State Attorney Roberts."

"Why do I need to take him along?"

"First of all, you're not an attorney. I want this to be handled by the book. Secondly, you said Meyer's wife is a "looker", you wouldn't have mentioned that if you were just doing your job. I don't want you to be distracted when you search the place. Roberts can keep the wife busy while you do the search."

Winston was miffed that the Chief thought he might be distracted, but did not object. "All right, sir."

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

Venice, Florida

Brenda Meyer had always sought the approval of men since the day her father dropped her off at a day care center when she was four years old. The day care center was scheduled to close at 6 pm and the parents were told to pick up their children no later than 5:30. Brenda had played well with the other children that day, and said good-bye to each of them as their parents came to take them home. When 5:30 came and the last of her friends were picked up, she began to worry. At 5:55 one of the caregivers at the day care center called the number that Brenda's parents had written down on the admission form. No one answered.The caregiver could hear Brenda's tears falling on her faded brown jacket. At 6:30, the day care center operator called the police. Brenda was taken to a juvenile home where her mother, who had been visiting her sister some 250 miles away, picked her up the next day. Neither she nor her mother would ever see Brenda's father again.

Meyer's program began at 1pm and at approximately 1:15, Winston and Roberts arrived at the Meyer mansion. Brenda Meyer was dressed in a tee shirt and shorts when she opened the door. She stared at Winston's muscular 6'4" frame.

"Why, Officer Winston," she purred, "what brings you here today?"

"Ma'am, this is Assistant State Attorney Frank Roberts. We're here to execute a search warrant of your house. You may look this over if you like."

Winston handed Brenda the search warrant and she began to peruse it. "What are you looking for, officer?"

"We're looking for evidence that a young boy was being held here against his will."

Meyer had coached Brenda in the event he was not at home when the police returned. "Why officer, we've never had a young boy stay here." Brenda's eyelashes fluttered as she eyed Winston.

"This warrant has been authorized by a judge, ma'am. I've got to search your house."

"Well, can you wait until my husband gets home from his radio show?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

"Look, Mrs. Meyer," Roberts interjected, "we have to search your house now. One of us has to make sure you don't conceal any potential evidence while we do so. You may accompany us or I can stay here with you while Officer Winston conducts the search. It's up to you."

Brady had told Brenda to notify him as soon as the police arrived, but she knew from past experience that she could not interrupt him during his broadcast.

"I'll stay here with you, Mr. Roberts."

"Fine. Dennis, start searching." Roberts asked Brenda if there were any computers in the house and she pointed him to the den.

Winston went directly to the basement, where Joey Strong believed the boy was heading on the night of the Meyer interview. The basement was fully furnished, with flat-screen 56-inch televisions at either end. Winston scoured the room, looking under sofas and chairs and behind the televisions. The carpet looked like it had been recently swept, with a pattern of grooves left by a vacuum cleaner. He was looking for any evidence of a child, perhaps a toy or a piece of clothing. He was about to head back upstairs when he noticed a six-inch strand of hair stuck to the wood paneling at the base of the wall. The strand was from someone with very dark hair. Winston knew that Brenda was a blonde, probably a natural one, and what little hair was left on Brady's head was gray. He picked up the strand and put it in a plastic bag. He then climbed the stairs to the main floor.

He made a quick search of the main floor and then went back to see Roberts, who was seated on a couch in the living room. "Where's Mrs. Meyer?", Winston asked. "Weren't you supposed to stay with her?"

"She had to go to the bathroom. It's upstairs. I wasn't going to follow her there. Did you find anything yet?"

"I found a dark brown strand of hair. We can compare it with hair from the Mexican kid who's in the hospital."

" I suppose you ought to check on Mrs. Meyer and take a quick look around upstairs as well."

"You're probably right, even though it's unlikely they had the kid upstairs."

Winston climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

"Mrs. Meyer?", Winston called as he arrived at the top of the stairs.

"In here," came a voice from the master bedroom.

Winston walked slowly toward the master bedroom. The door was open. He stepped in and saw Brenda, upside down and strapped to an inversion table, wearing only a pair of gold earrings. Even though her breasts were below her waist, they stood out perpendicular to her body. Her porcelain skin contrasted sharply with the black inversion table. She moved her hands from her thighs to her ears. "Do you like my earrings, officer?"

Natural blonde all right, Winston said to himself. His voice quivered as he replied, "Ma'am, I have to search this room."

"Go right ahead. You can search me while you're at it, but you'll first have to get me out of this contraption that my husband bought."

Winston did not respond to Brenda's entreaty. He surmised that she could get out of the equipment on her own. He hurriedly looked through the closets and the drawers of all the dressers in the room. While he did so, Brenda moved the inversion table slowly upright, so she was standing up. She cooed and turned suggestively toward Winston. "Have you found anything Officer?"

Winston had found more hairs and had put them in plastic bags. They were all blonde and gray hairs, but he figured they might come in handy later on.

"No ma'am."

"What are you looking for?"

Winston knew that Mrs. Meyer had denied that a child had lived at the house, but decided her state of undress and obvious interest in him might change her thinking. His voice was as squeaky as an 8-year old girl. "I'm looking for evidence that a young boy was here. Can you help me with that?"

"Why Officer, I told you there was never any children living here. Why don't you come over here and relax for a minute."

Winston froze for an instant and when he did, Brenda slipped out of the inversion table, moved over to his side and began rubbing his shoulders. Just then, Roberts peeked into the room. "My God, Winston. What are you up to?"

Winston blushed as Brenda tried to kiss the officer. "I'm just trying to collect some evidence."

"You sure got a funny way to collect evidence, officer. Now let's leave this woman alone and go back downstairs." Brenda cooed as Winston pulled away from her.

"We're going to take another look downstairs, ma'am," Winston hollered as Roberts pushed him away from the bedroom.

When they got downstairs, Roberts whispered to Winston "What the hell were you doing up there? Do you want to ruin this investigation?"

"What was I supposed to do? The woman was naked."

"You're supposed to look the other way and say "Excuse me ma'am, I'll be back when you're more decent. Now what did you find?"

"Nothing much. I collected some different hair samples."

"All right, let's take the laptop and get out of here."

"Should we let Mrs. Meyer know we're done?"

"Just go to the bottom of the stairs and yell up there. I don't want you going upstairs again."

Winston walked over to the stairway and looked up to the second floor. Brenda was standing at the top of the stairs, holding a large plastic object. Winston turned to Roberts. "She's got one of those dillybos."

"You mean dildo, you fool. You don't get those at Dairy Queen. Now tell her that we're leaving."

Winston covered his face and announced in a loud voice "We're done here, Mrs. Meyer. We're taking your husband's laptop."

As Winston and Roberts hurried toward the front door, she called out

"What do you want with his laptop? He'll be very mad if it's not here when he returns." Brenda began to descend the stairs.

"Look, Mrs. Meyer," Roberts stated firmly," we're entitled to confiscate this property under the terms of the search warrant." By the time Roberts had finished his sentence, Brenda was standing on the bottom stair, facing Roberts.

Her breasts were within inches of Roberts' face. Without a hint of inhibition, she asked, "But sir, you don't want me to get in trouble with my husband, do you?"

Roberts turned his head. "You can explain to him that we will return it tomorrow. Now, good day."

Roberts turned around and headed for the front door. Winston tucked the laptop under his arm and held his gaze on Brenda for a few more seconds. "Let's go, Winston," Roberts hollered.

When they got back in the patrol car, Roberts let Winston have it. "How long have you been on the force, officer?"

"Two and a half years, sir."

"You should know by now that fraternizing with suspects is not permitted."

"But I wasn't fraternizing."

"You were staring at that woman."

"Sir, I'm a red-blooded American male. I couldn't help but take a few ganders at a body like that."

"All right. When you write up your report, don't you dare mention the fact that Mrs. Meyer was unadorned."

"Unadorned, sir?"

"Without clothes, you idiot."

"But I was trained to report accurately."

"It will be accurate. Do you normally include in your report what the suspect is wearing?"

"No, but.."

"Then you don't have to include that information in this report." Winston started the patrol car and began to head down the long driveway of the Meyer estate. As he did, he looked back at Meyer's house. Brenda was standing on the front porch, still very much unadorned and smiling at Winston.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Venice, Florida

Meyer was just finishing his program when Brenda called. He knew it had to be something important because he had told her not to call unless absolutely necessary, even after the show was over. "What is it?", he asked.

"Brady, there was a police officer and an assistant state attorney were just here."

"Goddamn it. Why didn't you call me while they were still there?"

"You didn't want me to disturb you during the show, did you?"

"Look, Brenda. There are certain things that should be brought to my attention immediately. A death in the family, a call from Mr. Aruma and A VISIT FROM THE POLICE!!" Brady screamed the last phrase into the phone.

"I'm sorry, honey. I thought it could wait until your show was over."

"Of course it couldn't wait, you numskull. You'll be waiting tables again if you keep this up. Now, what did they want?"

"They had a search warrant. They were looking for evidence that Jorge was here."

Brady caught his breath. "You didn't tell them that Jorge was there, did you?"

"Of course not, dear. You told me never to mention his name again."

"That's right. Now, did they find anything?"

"I don't think so, but they took your laptop."

"THEY WHAT?"

"They said they took your laptop because the search warrant said they could."

"All right. Did you tell them anything at all?"

"No, Brady, I didn't tell them a thing."

"Good. Now, if these jokers come back to the house, don't let them in until I get there. I'll be home in about 45 minutes."

"Okay. I'll have dinner for you." Brenda hung up the phone and went to the bedroom to get dressed.

Meyer barked from his office to his secretary, "Sylvia. Get me Harold Anderson, now."

Harold Anderson had not seen Meyer since the trial in Michigan, but he had received a call from him nearly every week. When Meyer's secretary announced he was on the line, Anderson cringed. It was one thing to represent Meyer in the courtroom, where Anderson excelled. It was quite another to deal with Meyer's constant barrage of mundane questions. The pay was good, but Anderson had thought many times about telling Meyer where to go.

"What is it this time, Brady?"

"The damn Venice police carried out a search warrant at my house, without me even being there!"

"If it's a valid search warrant, you don't have to be there. At any rate, what were they looking for?"

"Oh they claim that I was harboring a Latino boy in my basement."

"Were you?"

"I'm surprised at you Harold. Of course I wasn't."

"Okay, okay. Don't get your knickers in a knot. I have to ask that question. Now, was your wife there when they executed the warrant?"

"Yes, she was the one who told me about it."

"Did she tell you if they found anything?"

"She said they didn't find anything, but they confiscated my lap top."

"Hmmm... They are not messing around. What do you have on that lap top?"

"Just the normal stuff, email, photographs, newspaper columns."

"Let me ask you Brady. Does your wife have access to your computer?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You haven't left your password lying around, have you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Okay, here's what we will do. I want to talk to you and your wife. Go to our Ft. Lauderdale office at 9am sharp tomorrow. I will hook you up to a teleconference. That should give you time to get to the studio for your afternoon broadcast."

"Thanks, Harold."

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

Venice, Florida

The next morning, their chauffeur drove Brenda and Meyer to the law offices of Anderson, Sutton and Marvin in downtown Fort Lauderdale. As they were approaching the parking lot, Meyer whispered to his wife, "Now babes, if you want to stay with me, let me do all the talking."

"Of course, Brady."

Brenda was wearing a low-cut pink sweater and tight slacks that generated stares from every male employee that she and Meyer passed on the way to a 15th floor conference room. The couple was ushered into the room by a young associate attorney who, after staring at Brenda's cleavage, dialed Anderson. The room was decorated with original paintings by Degas, Renoir and Monet. Within minutes, Anderson's smiling face was on the screen facing the three of them.

"It's good to see you Brady, Brenda," he bellowed. Anderson would have rather been in the courtroom than talking to his client. Although Meyer paid him well, Brady often ignored the advice of his counsel and did his own thing, much to Anderson's chagrin.

Meyer pushed his pudgy face forward so he dominated the screen. "You look better on closed circuit than you do in person, Harold."

"Thanks, Brady. Now let's get right to it. I have a copy of the first police report that we have been able to obtain, the one that was filed after Officer Winston's visit to your house. There's a second report that was filed after the search warrant was executed, but they haven't made that available yet."

"Can we get that one?", Meyer asked.

"Certainly. It's just that the search warrant was issued so recently that they're still probably putting it together. Now, in the first report, it indicates that Officer Winston, following his visit to your house, contacted this fellow Joey Strong from FAB News. Apparently, Mr. Strong has indicated that he saw a young child, he's not sure if the kid was Latino or not, running toward the basement. Is this true?"

Meyer turned to face Brenda. "How could you?"

Brenda looked stunned. "But Brady, you .."

Brady turned to face the screen. "Look, Harold. I know nothing about this. I had no idea that she was harboring an illegal immigrant. I'm just dumbfounded."

. "Brenda," Anderson asked, "is it true that there was a young boy in your house the night that Joey Strong came to interview Brady?"

Brenda looked at Meyer. "There may have been."

"Either there was or there wasn't, "Anderson said forcefully.

"I guess there was, but Brady..."

"Don't you blame this on me, Brenda. I knew nothing about it," Meyer shouted.

"Then tell me this," Anderson asked, "How did this person get into the house? Did you invite him there?" Anderson stared at Brenda's image on his screen. He was looking for any sign of deceit, something he had quite a lot of experience in assessing.

"No."

"Then who did?"

Brenda looked again at Meyer. She then took a tissue from her purse and began to cry.

"Mrs. Meyer," Anderson said. "I am your husband's attorney. I thought, if there were no truth to these allegations, that I might be able to represent you both in this matter. However, it appears now that I can't do so. I can recommend a good attorney there in Ft. Lauderdale who can take your case, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave the room now while I consult with your husband. You should know that there is a husband-wife privilege in Florida which allows you to keep your husband from testifying against you."

"Could I testify against him?"

Brady gave Brenda a cold stare. Anderson held up his hand to silence his client.

"No. Now, please leave the room. My associate there, Mr. Randall, can help you find another attorney."

Brenda was escorted out of the room, still holding the tissue to her face.

When she and the associate had left, Anderson turned to the screen. "Okay, Brady, give me the scoop."

"I'm telling you man, I never saw this guy. She must have been having an affair with him behind my back."

"Come now, Brady. An affair? The kid was sodomized, for Christ sakes."

"Look, Harold. You know I'm a busy man. You also know that Brenda is in her sexual prime. I don't have time to satisfy her."

"But you're not suggesting that she sodomized him, are you?"

"Indeed I am."

Anderson smiled. "With what, a broom handle?"

"No, a dildo. Haven't you ever heard of pegging?"

"Pegging? What the hell is that?"

"That's where a woman straps on a dildo and has at it with a man's anus."

Anderson laughed. "You're kidding me?"

"I kid you not."

"Well, well. You learn something everyday. Now, I want you to listen to me. If I'm going to represent you, you'll have to keep quiet about your wife's peccadilloes or pick of dildos, if you will."

Meyer laughed. "That's a good one, Harold."

Anderson frowned. "I don't mean to be funny. You're in a lot of trouble and if I'm going to get you out of this, we may have to blame your wife. However, if the press gets hold of what your wife was doing with that boy, it's going to be all over for you. What we have to do is convince the State attorney's office not to charge you and to agree to a plea bargain for Brenda."

"What would she plead to?"

"I don't know if they have been able to get anything out of the kid, but this fellow Strong apparently saw her with him. That's not enough to charge her with kidnapping unless the kid talks. However, if they charge her with another felony, we may want to plead her guilty to contributing to the delinquency of a minor. That's only a misdemeanor and she wouldn't go to jail."

"It would still get into the papers."

"Yes, but you could control the damage. You've got the most pervasive microphone in the country. We just don't need to have this blow up into a major trial."

"I wouldn't have to testify against her, would I?"

"No. She could insist that you not testify."

"Good. Let's get her another attorney and see if we can put this to bed."

Meyer shook Anderson's hand and headed toward the reception area. Brenda was waiting nervously. "What happened?"

"We'll talk about it in the car. Let's get out of here before some snoopy reporter tracks us down." As Brenda and Meyer were driving home, Meyer began fuming.

"Geez, you've got us into a helluva mess Brenda. We could lose everything."

"But you know, Brady," she said softly, "you were the one that wanted to bring the boy into the house."

Meyer pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. "Don't' you ever," he screamed, "tell anyone that I brought that kid into our house. I may be able to get you off on a misdemeanor and you'd better be damn thankful for that." Brenda bit her lip and said nothing for the rest of their trip back to the mansion. When he went back to his den, Brady Meyer called State Attorney Gene Shaw, a man he had known for more than 10 years. Brady reminded Shaw of the financial support Meyer had provided to Shaw for his previous elections and said he'd love to help him out in the upcoming one.

"That's great, Brady. Is there any reason you're calling me today? The election is more than 2 years away."

"I just thought you might want to know that there have been some spurious allegations made against me. I just want you to keep a hand in any investigation that might involve me."

"No problem." Shaw hung up his phone and thought to himself, I can easily stay on top of any such investigation and make sure it doesn't get out of hand. That should satisfy Meyer enough to keep him supporting me.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

Venice, Florida

After getting a call from the lab, Winston hurried into the Chief's office with the results of the DNA test. The chief was downing is third cup of coffee. "Chief, we've got a match."

"What are you talking about, son?"

"The hair sample I picked up at the Meyer mansion matches the hair from the kid in the hospital."

Chief Williams smiled. "Well, the plot thickens. Let's see what's on the hard drive, but my guess is that we still may not have enough to bring the great Brady Meyer in for questioning.'

"What about his wife?"

"Hmm.... She's the one with the bodacious tatas. Right?"

"You've got that right, sir."

"Were you distracted by her Dennis?"

"Hell, any man would have been distracted. Especially after she took off her clothes and started fiddling with a dildo."

Williams choked on his coffee. "She did what? Did this occur while you were executing the search warrant?"

"It did."

"Officer, that's not in your report."

"Roberts told me not to put that in the report."

"All right. Let's see what the hard drive reveals. If it doesn't implicate Mr. Meyer, we'll bring her in for questioning. Can you handle that without getting distracted?''

"I'll give it my best shot."

"Just keep your piece in check."
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

Venice, Florida

Chief Williams met with Shaw in Shaw's office on the morning after he received Winston's report on the contents of the Meyer hard drive. Shaw had been in charge of 175 attorneys in the office of State Attorney for the 17th Judicial Circuit for Florida for 13 years."What did you find that we could use, Chief?"

"Well, there's a message that Mr. Meyer apparently received from a guy named Hernandez in Miami. It says, and I'm quoting here, 'The boy can be delivered tomorrow night to your house at 8 pm. Have the cash or a money order ready.'"

"Hmmm...Can you trace the identity of this Hernandez fellow?"

"We did. He had one of those Hotmail accounts and the Hotmail people have given us all the personal information he gave them. It turns out he lives in Little Havana. He's got quite a record. We've got two officers trying to track him down now."

"It's going to be hard to prove that Meyer actually read this message. Have you checked on the boy lately?"

"Yeah, Winston went over there this morning. The kid is still in intensive care and hasn't uttered a word."

"So let's review what we've got. There's a reporter who claims he saw a boy at the Meyer house in the company of Mrs. Meyer, but not Mr. Meyer. Correct?"

"Right. He didn't see the boy with Meyer."

"And the reporter has verified that the boy in the hospital is the same one he saw at the house."

"Exactly."

"Now, we've also got a tape of the reporter's interview with Meyer in which there appears to be a scream."

"Correct, but there's no way we can know if that's the kid or not."

"Perhaps, but the timing of the scream, just after the reporter saw the kid with Mrs. Meyer, might help substantiate his testimony."

"We've also got a hair sample from the Meyer house which matches the boy's hair and an email addressed to Meyer proposing that the kid would be dropped off for cash. Finally, we've got evidence that the kid was sodomized, but without the boy's testimony, we can't really say that Meyer was the culprit."

"What about Mrs. Meyer?"

Shaw spit a mouthful of coffee onto his desk. "What in tarnation are you suggesting? This women sodomized that little boy?"

"I just learned about something they call pegging. A woman straps on a dildo to her waist and sticks it in a man's butt."

"Do you have any evidence of Mrs. Meyer owning a dildo?"

"We do. Winston saw Mrs. Meyer holding one while he was executing the warrant."

"What? You've got to be kidding me. That's not in the report."

"No it's not. And neither is the fact that Mrs. Meyer disrobed while the search warrant was being served."

Shaw pushed his intercom button. "Irma, get Mr. Roberts in here right away."

"That numbskull should have told me there was something going on there. If we do bring charges, we could lose the case if we don't watch out."

Paul Roberts had his head down as he entered his boss's office. "What's the problem, Gene?"

"What's the problem? I'll tell you what the problem is. You helped execute a search warrant while the potential defendant was taking off her clothes and you didn't mention it, that's the problem."

Roberts looked directly at Chief Williams. "I told Officer Winston not to go up to her bedroom, but he insisted."

"Look at me Paul," Shaw said firmly. "I'm sure you didn't want Winston to be fooling around with the defendant, but you could have told me that she was stark naked during the search. At that point, you both should have excused yourselves and returned later."

"We needed the hard drive from their computer. She might have erased all the contents if we left the house."

"So you think that she took her clothes off to get you to leave the house?"

"Perhaps. I've never been on a search warrant where I couldn't keep my focus."

"I can understand a lack of focus, but why didn't Winston put this in his report?"

"You'll have to ask him." Again, Roberts turned to face Williams.

Williams looked a little sheepish. "You're right. This should have been in the report, but it's really too late to correct it. I doubt if anything will come of it. "

"Right." Shaw said. " We don't want some smart-ass attorney bringing this up on cross-examination. Even though Roberts and Winston did not encourage her behavior... isn't that right, Paul?"

"Absolutely. We tried to discourage it. We just needed the hard drive."

"And Winston apparently was fantasizing about his own hard drive, if you catch my drift."

"You don't know that, Gene." Williams said.

"You're right, Chief. I shouldn't have said that," Shaw said. "At this point, I'd be inclined to prosecute Winston's alleged fantasy, as opposed to her very powerful husband." As Shaw reached for his coffee mug, Irma stuck her head into his office.

"Mr. Williams, there's an Officer Howe on the phone. You told him to interrupt this meeting if he found something."

"Right." Williams turned to Shaw, "Howe is one of the men who went to locate Hernandez."

"Chief Williams here."

Shaw and Roberts looked intently at Williams as he talked to Howe. The call lasted less than two minutes.

"Well, well. I think I know who we're going to prosecute now."

"I'll be the judge of that," Shaw said. "What have you got?"

"Officer Howe visited Mr. Hernandez just now. It appears that he dropped off the young boy he mentioned in his email at the Meyer mansion and a woman answered the door. Hernandez was shown a picture of Mrs. Meyer and said that he believed it was her. He said she had a nice rack."

"Did he say if she paid him at the time?"

"He did indeed. She paid him $10,000 in cash."

"Where did Hernandez get this kid?"

"He says the kid is a friend of the family, if you can believe it. We picked him up for kidnapping and human trafficking."

"We may have to decide if we want to offer him a deal if he testifies against the Meyers or if we want to use the Meyers to testify against him."

"Hold on," Shaw remarked, "we may only want to involve the wife now. She was the one who paid for the kid. If this pegging thing is real, she may have been the one who sodomized him."

"Pegging?," Roberts asked.

"Yeah, Chief Williams tells me that women can sodomize a man by strapping on a dildo."

"Holy shit," Roberts said. "How are we going to prove she did that? The kid may never be able to talk again."

"Well, we should bring her in for a talk," Williams said. "She's probably lawyered up by now, but it's worth a try. At least we can explore the possibility of a plea deal if she agrees to testify against the dirt bag that gave her the kid. At any rate, we should forget about prosecuting Mr. Meyer."

"Yeah," Shaw said, "the sodomy charge seems real shaky. If we can get her to testify against this guy, we might want to let her plea to contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

Williams and Roberts headed back to their respective offices. Shaw began scribbling on a legal pad. "Hmmm.," he said to himself, "I might want to handle this case myself."

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer began his daily broadcast with a diatribe about FAB News. Many of his listeners were also fans of FAB, but he was steaming over a report by Helen Murner the previous night. On her last broadcast with FAB, she had described the beating of a young Mexican boy and concluded her report with the statement that police were looking into a connection between the beating and a "possible" visit by the boy to Brady Meyer's house.

"I have always respected FAB News, but in their desire to compete with the limp-stream media, they have sacrificed journalistic integrity. My friends, I don't want you to stop watching FAB News because it is the only source of legitimate news that's out there. As their slogan indicates, they are normally fair, accurate and balanced. But I want you to express your concerns to FAB about this report. It is utterly false and defamatory. To even hint that I had any connection with a poor illegal alien boy is the height of irresponsible journalism. Tell FAB that they don't need to compete with the limp-stream media story for story. Their adherence to balanced reporting is enough to attract the majority of fair-minded Americans."

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

Venice, Florida

Brenda Meyers arrived for her appointment with Officer Winston and Assistant State Attorney Roberts fifteen minutes late. She was accompanied by J.J. Ford, a new associate attorney with the largest law firm in Miami. Ford was only 29 years old and was dressed like he was going to a senior prom. He had told Brenda to meet him at his office and they would drive to the appointment together. However, Brenda arrived twenty minutes late at Ford's office and Ford had to hurry her to his car to make the half-hour trip to Miami, running a couple of red lights on the way. On the trip to Ft. Lauderdale, Ford stressed that Brenda shouldn't say a word. He would answer all the questions, unless he thought it was appropriate for her to do so. As they entered the office of the State's Attorney, Ford could not help but notice the stares that Mrs. Meyer received from the employees. She had on a tight, short black skirt and a pink jacket that emphasized several of her more obvious physical assets.

"I'm J.J. Ford, with my client Brenda Meyer. I'm here to see Mr. Roberts."

"Just a minute, sir." Roberts's secretary had been instructed to buzz him if Meyer had an attorney with her.

Brenda and Ford were ushered into Roberts's office after cooling their heels for 12 minutes. After introductions, Roberts got to the point. "Look, Mr. Ford," Roberts began, trying not to look at the cleavage Brenda was sporting. "Your client is in a whole lot of trouble. She was identified picking up and paying for a 12-year old boy and that boy, one week later, was beaten up so badly, he's still in the hospital today. Moreover, the boy has been identified as the same one who was seen with your client, in your client's house, on the evening that the beating took place. We've got an open and shut case of kidnapping and we might even want to throw in gross indecency as well."

Ford moved forward in his chair. "You don't have any evidence to prove gross indecency."

"We have the medical report which shows that this kid's rectum was bruised and lacerated," Roberts said.

"There's no way you can connect that to my client."

"At the very least we can introduce that evidence in her trial for kidnapping. It will show that this boy was not simply being treated to a good time at the Meyer mansion."

Ford ignored the sarcasm. "I will object to the introduction of any evidence of sodomy at a kidnapping trial." Ford noticed that Brenda had begun to squirm in her seat. "May I have a moment to talk to my client?"

"Surely. I have another appointment in about a half an hour, so try not to take too long."

"We'll just need five minutes."

Brenda and Ford left Roberts's office and took seats in the reception area. There were four men and two women waiting to see other Assistant State attorneys, in very closed quarters.

"Were you trying to get my attention, Brenda?," Ford whispered.

"I was. I just don't know how they can accuse me of sodomy. Isn't that when a man has sex with another man?'

"Yeah, through the anus. But what I believe they are suggesting is that you somehow inserted something in his rectum."

"That's crazy. I would never do such a thing."

"I hate to be too personal, Brenda, but do you own a dildo?"

Brenda blushed. "I don't know how that is relevant to this conversation."

Ford held Brenda's hand. "I've read the police report, Brenda. It says that you were holding a dildo when the officers executed their search warrant and that you were....you were naked."

"What does that have to do with sodomy?"

"They speculate that you somehow hooked the dildo to your waist and used it like a man would use his....." Ford paused.

Brenda grabbed Ford's forearm. "I know what you're trying to say, but you've got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, their speculation is dead wrong. I could tell you how that kid was sodomized if you really must know."

Ford sighed. "I'm your attorney, Brenda. I really must know."

"Okay. Brady sodomized that boy. He's sodomized many young boys since we were married."

Ford gasped. "Look, Brenda. I know this looks bad for you, but you shouldn't be blaming your husband for your...."

"For my what?"

"For your own failings."

"Failings? What failings are you talking about? You're my attorney. Your supposed to.." Brenda began sobbing.

Ford grabbed a handkerchief from this pocket and dabbed Brenda's tears. "Look, I'll see if I can cut a deal with the prosecutor. Maybe if you testify against the guy who brought you the kid, they might get you off with a misdemeanor."

"Is that possible?'

"I'll give it a shot. But I'll handle it from here in. Don't say a word, especially about your husband. You may not be able to testify against him anyway."

"Oh, yeah. Attorney Anderson mentioned something about...."

"Spousal immunity. With a few limited exceptions, he would be able to prevent you from saying anything in court that might incriminate him."

"Great. I'll have to endure living with that fat gasbag for awhile longer."

Ford looked through his file. "Now, Brenda, is it true what the police report says about your state of undress when the search warrant was executed?"

Brenda held Ford's handkerchief to her face. "You gotta understand. I'm a young woman. I have needs. Brady Meyer can't satisfy me and he doesn't want anyone else to either. When he's not home and I get male visitors, I... I can't help myself."

"All right. Let me talk to the State attorney. I have to believe they want this guy Hernandez more than they want you. He's the one who rounds up these young boys and sells them like cattle."

"Thank you, Mr. Ford."

Ford squeezed Brenda's hand. "You can call me J.J. Now if you can stay here for a half hour or so, I'll see what I can do."

Ford headed for Roberts's office. While she waited for Ford to return, Brenda spotted Monica Sayers, the FAB News reporter about 40 yards down the hall.

"How in hell did she know I was here now?," Brenda said to herself. She made a dash to the ladies' room.

"Mrs. Meyer, Mrs. Meyer," came the shout from down the hall. Brenda ignored Monica and pushed open the door. Monica followed her in.

"Mrs. Meyer, I'd like to ask you a few questions," Monica said as Brenda closed the door to a stall.

"Have you no sense of decency. I'm going to the bathroom."

"I'd just like to know what you're being charged with."

"I wouldn't tell you, even if I were being charged with something."

"Does that mean you've cut a deal?"

"I'm not answering any more questions."

Monica opened the door to the stall adjacent to the one Brenda occupied.

"Is it true, Mrs. Meyer, that you harbored a young Mexican boy in your house, a boy who now is on death's door?"

"I told you, I'm not answering any more questions." Brenda bolted from the stall and headed out of the restroom with Sayers in hot pursuit. Neither woman stopped to wash their hands.

As she exited the restroom, Brenda saw Ford approaching from the State's Attorneys office. "Can we go back to your office, J.J.?" Pointing to Sayers, Brenda said, "This reporter doesn't respect privacy."

"Of course. I'll fill you in on where we stand when we get there."

Sayers muscled her way in between Ford and Brenda, "What is your client being charged with? Does she have a plea deal?"

Ford glared at Sayers. "Look, I understand your need to get a story, but I intend to have a privileged conversation with my client back at my office. I'll let you know if there's anything we want to say at the appropriate time."

Ford and Brenda returned to Ford's office in Ford's car. When Brenda entered Ford's office, he shut the door behind her.

"Do you mind if I take off this jacket? It's warm in here. "

"Sure, Brenda. I'll just get your file here".He caught a glimpse of Brenda as she removed her pink jacket. " My, oh my."

Beneath her jacket, she was wearing a diaphanous white blouse. It was quite obvious that she was braless. She moved closer to Ford, her protruding breasts bouncing around as she did so. Ford had broken off a relationship with his girlfriend six months ago and hadn't had time for dating since then. He repeated to himself a provision from the Michigan Rules of Professional Conduct that a lawyer may be disciplined for conduct contrary to justice, ethics, honesty or good morals.

"Look, Brenda. I have to explain the plea bargain that Roberts offered you. In the interests of maintaining my objectivity, I will be looking down at the file as we talk."

Brenda batted her eyelashes. "Why of course."

"Now, as we suspected, the State Attorney is more interested in prosecuting the human trafficking ring than in going after you. He really has his sites set on whoever this Hernandez guy is working for."

"And Hernandez is..."

"The guy who dropped off this kid to you."

"And they can establish that he did?"

"That's what Hernandez is saying. Anyway, if you agree to testify against him and indicate that he was the one who dropped off the kid, you can plead to a charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor, which is a misdemeanor. It's usually charged when someone gives a minor alcohol."

Brenda looked puzzled. "But I didn't give anyone alcohol. I don't even drink."

"That's not the point. If you agree to this charge, they won't charge you with kidnapping, which could land you in jail for 10 years. If you plead to the misdemeanor, you probably won't get any time. Moreover, whatever you say in your testimony can't be used against you. I would highly recommend you take the plea."

"Will you represent me if I have to testify."

"Of course. But get this. Roberts and his boss really want Hernandez's boss, so if you agree to testify against Hernandez, he will offer him a plea bargain to testify against the boss. You may not have to testify at all."

"If I plead to this misdemeanor, will it make the newspapers?"

"Not if I can help it. I'll ask the judge to schedule your plea late Friday afternoon. I doubt there will be any reporters there then."

Brenda moved even closer to Ford. As he looked up from the file, she stretched her arms out so he could clearly see the imprint of her nipples through the sheer blouse. "I trust you, J.J. I'll take the deal."

Ford looked back down at his desk. "Good. You'll have to go downtown this afternoon to identify Hernandez in a line up. I'll go with you. I suggest you keep your jacket on for that."

"No problem. It was just a little warm in here." Brenda walked slowly to the coat rack and grabbed her jacket.

CHAPTER NINETY

Venice, Florida

Brenda easily picked out Hernandez in the lineup. She entered her plea Friday afternoon, when only the judge, Roberts, Ford, the court reporter and herself were present. As they walked out of the courtroom, she gave Ford a hug.

"Can you help me with my divorce from Brady?"

"I didn't know you were getting divorced."

Brenda sighed. "We talked last night. He wants a divorce after the Hernandez trial, he .." She grabbed a tissue from her purse. "He said if I don't protect his good name when I testify, he will make sure I don't get a penny from him. Can he do that?"

"Well, I'm not a divorce attorney, but there is a guy in our firm who is a very good one. Did you have a prenuptial agreement?"

"Yeah, he insisted I sign one."

"Why don't you call Jim Dalton? I'll give you his number. A lot will depend on the terms of that agreement."

Brenda kissed Ford on the cheek. "Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Ford blushed. "Well, I'm still your attorney, so I really have to maintain my distance, if you get my drift."

"But my case is over, isn't it?"

"Not if Hernandez doesn't play ball. I will be representing you when you testify."

"And when that's over, can I do something for you then?" She batted her eyelashes and gently grabbed Ford's forearm.

"We'll see."

The pre-nuptial agreement that Brenda had signed provided that if Brenda had sexual relations with another man, she would be limited to monthly alimony of $49,000. If she didn't violate the terms of the agreement, she stood to gain $20 million a year. Jim Dalton, the divorce attorney in Ford's firm, told Brenda that she would only be in a position to lose the $20 million if there was proof in a court of law that she had cheated on Meyer. "Would this include what they call pegging?", she asked.

"What the hell is pegging?", he asked.

Brenda blushed and then explained what she meant by pegging.

"I'm afraid that would be included, but you didn't do that did you?," Dalton asked.

"No, of course not."

Dalton scribbled the word "pegging" on his legal pad, intending to Google the word later.

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

Venice, Florida

The preliminary examination for Ernesto Hernandez began on a sunny day in May. Hernandez had refused to implicate the leaders of the human trafficking ring that had been operating in South Florida for 12 years. As a result, Brenda was the star witness for the prosecution. As she and J.J. Ford entered the courthouse, a horde of newspaper and broadcast reporters and crew circled them. Monica Sayers was the first the thrust a microphone in Brenda's face.

"Mrs. Meyer, is it true that your husbands' influence got the charges against you thrown out?"

"Don't answer that, Brenda," Ford whispered. Brenda was wearing a very conservative outfit, a gray pantsuit with a blouse that buttoned all the way to her chin. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore glasses. More questions were shouted at Brenda as she and Ford made their way into the courtroom, but the questions were ignored. Brenda took her seat behind the prosecutor's counsel table and Ford sat next to Roberts. Hernandez was represented by a public defender, Sandra Thompson. She looked over at Brenda and grimaced.

Roberts gave a brief opening statement and Thompson waived hers. Brenda's heart began to pound as Roberts called her as his first witness. Roberts immediately established that Brenda was Brady Meyer's wife and that she had pled guilty to a charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He then took Brenda through the events on the night that she picked up Jorge. Within ten minutes, he offered Brenda for cross-examination.

"Mrs. Meyer," Thompson began, "where did you take Jorge after you picked him up that night?"

Brenda had discussed the possibility of such a question with Ford as they drove together to the court that morning. Ford had told her to limit her response to each question to the basic facts. "I took him back to our house."

"And what did you do with him there?"

"I fixed him dinner."

"And after that?"

"I put him to bed."

"So, when you gave my client money in exchange for Jorge, it was not for any nefarious purpose. You just wanted to care for him, right?"

"Well, that's not all."

"And what other purpose did you have in mind?"

Brenda looked at Ford, hoping that he would object to the question. After a long pause, she said, "We wanted to give him a good home."

"So there was nothing unusual about your dealings with Jorge."

"No."

"No further questions, your honor." Thompson sat down with a smug look on her face.

When the judge asked Roberts if he wanted to ask Mrs. Meyer questions on redirect, he jumped to his feet.

"I do indeed, your honor. Now, Mrs. Meyer. You pled guilty to the charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Exactly how did you contribute to Jorge's delinquency?"

"Objection," Thompson said. "The question calls for a legal conclusion."

The judge leaned back in her chair. "You may rephrase the question, counsel."

"All right then," Roberts countered, "did you have any sexual contact with this boy?"

"Objection," Thompson hollered. "I don't see how what happened to this boy after he was picked up is at all relevant to the charge against the defendant."

"I agree, your honor," Ford interjected. "For all we know, Mrs. Meyer could have shot the kid up with drugs or taken him to Disney World. It doesn't have any bearing on the charges against the defendant, who, according to the testimony, was given money for this child."

"Mr. Roberts," the judge said, "Do you have any response?"

"Well, your honor, the defendant is charged with three felonies. In order to prosecute this case as well as I can, I have the right to explore all facts that may have a bearing on these charges. If Mrs. Meyer was just paying the defendant for the opportunity to make him dinner and send him to bed, the seriousness of the offense is reduced considerably."

"Are you suggesting that the defendant somehow knew what would happen to Jorge after he was picked up by Mrs.Meyer?," the judge asked.

"No, your honor. What I am suggesting is that this young boy was not just going for a Joey ride with Mrs. Meyer and the defendant could care less about what happened to the kid."

"I will sustain the objection. It may be that the trial judge, if this case is bound over, will find the need to explore this issue further. However, for purposes of this preliminary examination, I find no need to take testimony on what happened to Mr. Morales after he was picked up by Mrs. Brady."

Roberts shook his head. "I have no further questions, your honor." As he sat down at the counsel table, Roberts turned to Ford. "If I lose this case because your client was not forthcoming, I'll find more charges to bring against her, maybe even perjury."

Ford tried to respond to Roberts, but the judge banged the gavel to bring any side conversations to a halt. Hernandez did not take the stand and he was bound over for trial. The judge scheduled the trial to begin in December. After Thompson had left the courtroom, Roberts took Ford aside. Brenda waited in the courtroom so she could leave with Ford.

"Look," Roberts said, his face reddening, "Your client has got to at least say that she did something to contribute to this kid's delinquency. That was the charge that she pled to and her deal was based on her being truthful."

Ford covered his mouth so that Brenda would not hear him. "She's willing to say that someone had sexual relations with the boy, she just doesn't want to say who it was."

"I see. She's protecting Mr. Meyer."

"Precisely. If she rats on him, he's going to take it out on her."

"All right, you've got a decision to make then. When this case gets to trial, your client will either testify that her husband abused this boy or I will come after her as a hostile witness. You know if she conspired with her husband to commit a crime, there's no spousal immunity. She got her plea bargain, but part of that bargain was to tell the truth. I don't and certainly the people of Florida don't give a damn what happens between her and her husband."

"I'll talk to her. Is there any chance this boy is going to be well enough to testify in December?"

Roberts closed his brief case. "We're not counting on that. Our whole case is based on your client living up to her deal." Roberts left the courtroom.

Ford sat down beside Brenda behind the counsel table. As they did so, Monica Sayers approached them. "So, you don't want to tell the court what you did to this poor boy Brenda?"

Ford erupted. "Listen here, you two-bit hack journalist. If we want to talk to you, we'll give you a call. Until then, leave us alone. Let's go, Brenda."

When Ford and Brenda returned to his office, he filled her in on what Roberts had said. He told her that the trial would be before a different judge and the ruling that was made today concerning what happened after she picked up the boy might be reversed. "You may have to answer the question next time, Brenda."

"I can't tell the jury that I did anything to that poor boy. It would be a lie."

"Let me explain something." Ford pulled out the transcript of her plea from the file. "You pled guilty to a charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. In doing so you stated 'Yes, your honor, I contributed to the boy's delinquency. I put him in a position which made him vulnerable to abusive behavior.' Do you recall that?"

"Yes, that's what you told me to say. I'm getting sweaty. Can I take off this top?"

"NO," Ford said firmly. "I told you to say that you put him in a vulnerable position because you told me that your husband committed sodomy on this poor boy."

"I did. I did. But you and Mr. Anderson told me that I couldn't bring that up because of the husband-wife immunity thing."

Ford shook his head. "I'm sorry. We did mislead you, at least I did. There's an exemption to the husband-wife privilege if both parties have conspired to commit an illegal act. The prosecution could very easily ask you to detail your husband's escapades if they can establish that you assisted him. I highly recommend that you tell the truth about your husband's relationship to this boy when this case is tried. You're better off risking his wrath when it comes to discussing the terms of your divorce than facing a perjury charge."

"But he'll be ruined. I'll lose whatever alimony I would have received anyway."

"I doubt it. He's made millions with his show and if it ended tomorrow, you'd still be able to collect a lot of alimony, unless you violate the terms of your pre-nup."

Brenda shook her head. "I guess I'll have to tell my husband about this. He's going to come unglued."

"I'll let you take care of that. Just let me know if you need any personal protection."

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

Venice, Florida- Flint, Michigan area

Brady Meyer pondered the letter he had received from Trenton Fuller. In it, Fuller had described his efforts to fire a drone at a mosque in Dearborn during a special prayer session, which was two weeks away. Fuller asked Meyer to send him a message if Meyer wanted to give him another assignment. He would be listening to all of the broadcasts. "Today's the day," Meyer said to himself.

Trenton Fuller was working on his drone as the Brady Meyer show began. He had determined the precise position of the largest mosque in Dearborn and was fine-tuning the GPS system so that the drone would fly below the radar.

On the same morning that Meyer received the letter from Fuller, Ken Fellows was released from prison, after serving less than two years of a six-year sentence. He had no real prospects for a job and no place to stay. While he was in prison, he only thought about Kaylee. Now, he focused on finding Trenton Fuller and using what Burton Dahling had told him for his own benefit. He caught a bus to Flint around 9 am and hitchhiked the rest of the way to the meeting hall in Clio where Tony and Ron had first met Fuller several years earlier. The place was just a shell of what it looked like then. The door was padlocked and the roof was falling apart. A sign on one of the windows indicated that anyone seeking help from the Mentula Militia should contact Chuck Wacker. Wacker's phone number was listed. Ken didn't have a cell phone so he walked to a small diner in Clio and asked to use a phone.

The waitress looked at the overweight man with a two-day beard with disgust. "It will cost you a quarter, if it's a local call, unless you want to have dinner and then we throw in the call for free."

Ken had only $24 dollar on him, but he was hungry. "I'll have a ham sandwich."

"All right. The phone is back behind the counter. Don't take too long."

Ken dialed the number for Wacker that was on the sign.

"Chuck Wacker."

"Mr. Wacker, my name is Ken Fellows. My friends attended one of the Mentula Militia meetings two years ago. I saw your sign on your old meeting place. What happened?"

Wacker had received a few calls since the meeting place had closed, most of them from people who wanted to buy the place. However, he was still cautious about what he told someone who called him. He didn't want to give an FBI man or a local police officer any more information than he had to. "We couldn't keep our group together after the Lansing trials."

"Yeah, if you recall, I was one of those convicted in those trials. I was part of that so-called conspiracy with Brady Meyer, even though I didn't shoot anyone."

"Right. Right. When did you get out of jail?"

"Yesterday. I wanted to see if I could look up Trenton Fuller. He told me to look him up after I got out. He would provide me with weapons so I could help the insurrection."

"I'm afraid Mr. Fuller is in hiding."

"Hey, I'm one of you, man. I'm trying to fight back against our oppressive government. I could have told the jury that Fuller sent two goons to the rally, but I told them that I didn't even know the guy. Fuller would have been convicted of conspiracy. The captain knows all this and promised to get me some weapons."

"He never told me that.'

"Is there some way you can contact him and confirm my story? I need the weapons."

Wacker was suspicious."Look, I know where Fuller is but he doesn't want to see anyone now, including me."

"I think the Captain would be pretty mad at you if he found out you had prevented me from seeing him. Either give me the address or I will track you down."

Wacker had told Fuller he wouldn't give anyone his address, unless the person was delivering a message from Brady Meyer, but if Fuller really wanted to see Fellows, Wacker could be in trouble with his old boss.

"Let me call you back in a half an hour."

"I don't own a phone. I can only use this one for a few more minutes."

"All right. I should be able to track him down this afternoon. Why don't you come by my place tonight around 8." Wacker gave Fellows his address and ended the call.

As Ken gobbled down his ham sandwich, he asked the waitress to turn up the radio volume. The diner's owner insisted that his patrons listen to the Brady Meyer show. Ken hadn't heard the man whose broadcast landed him in jail speak in two years.

"My friends, this fellow Brent Hastings is at it again. He claims that Canada is much safer than the United States because it has far less guns. This is nonsense. We are safer today than we have ever been and it's because we allow our citizens to be armed. It stands to reason that when you have more law-abiding citizens than lawless ones, that arming everyone tilts the playing field in favor of folks who respect the law. If Gabby Giffords or the kids in that theatre in Colorado had been surrounded by people wielding weapons, then the maniacs who shot them wouldn't have gotten off more than a couple of rounds. As I have said many times before, Hastings has to be stopped. If not by a gun, then by some other armament that's protected by the Second Amendment. I believe that the term "arms" in that Amendment includes bombs and missiles. On tomorrow's show, I will let you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Ken paid for his ham sandwich and began his 15-mile walk to Wacker's house.

When Fuller heard the Meyer broadcast, he thought to himself that he would have to recalibrate the flight of his drone. He would be sure to listen to the Brady Meyer show tomorrow.

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

Clio, Michigan

That night, as Fellows approached the address that Wacker had given him, he picked up a beer bottle from the trashcan in front of the house. The house was located at the end of a country road. Wacker lived alone, having inherited the house when his mother died. He had lived with her there for 37 years. The closest neighbor was a good half mile away. As he rang the doorbell, Ken held the beer bottle behind his back.

"You must be Ken Fellows," said the small, balding man who greeted him.

"I am indeed. May I come in?" Ken placed his foot inside the front door.

"Hold on there. I've contacted Captain Fuller and he doesn't want to see you."

Ken pushed his way into the house. "He promised to get me some weapons."

"I really don't think so. He would have told me that when I mentioned your name."

Without saying another word, Ken slammed the beer bottle against the side of Wacker's front door. He held the broken half of the bottle high above his head.

"What the hell are you doing?",Wacker exclaimed.

"I want the Captain's address and I want it now."

"Geez, Louise. Put that bottle down."

"Not until I get that address and it better be the right one."

"All right already. I've got it written down over in my desk. Let me get it."

Ken followed Wacker into his house. "No funny business now Wacker. I don't want to hurt you."

Ken rifled through a desk drawer and pulled out a slip of paper.

"I've got the address," he screamed.

Wacker grabbed the piece of paper from his hand. "That's not an address."

He took the broken bottle and slashed Wacker's face. Wacker screamed.

"Stop, stop. I'll tell you where he is, but don't hurt me anymore."

Wacker gave Ken the directions to the warehouse, as Ken held the broken bottle next to Wacker's throat. "Now, give me the keys to your car."

Ken was four inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than Wacker. Wacker realized quickly he did not hold many cards."Look, you're not going to get away with this. I will call the police as soon as you leave."

"No you won't. If you do, they will confiscate whatever weapons your buddy Fuller has. You won't take the chance of having your boss arrested."

Ken picked up a TracFone from the kitchen counter. "Is this the only phone you own?"

"Yeah," Wacker answered.

Ken pocketed the phone and pointed his finger at Wacker. "If you're smart, wacko, you'll keep quiet here until your boss and I work things out."

Ken left the house, tossed the broken bottle down and got into Wacker's car. As he put the keys into the ignition, he pondered the situation. Wacker might panic and call the police even if doing so might jeopardize his boss. Ken could kill Wacker and make sure the man never got the chance to turn him in. No, he reasoned, he had seen enough carnage. The memories of that awful day on the Capitol lawn came back to him. His two best friends were gunned down in front of him within hours after seeing his father die. He would take a chance of finding Fuller quickly. If Wacker got to the cops and foiled his plan, so be it. With any luck, he would get enough money from Fuller to leave the country. Ken started the car and headed for Flint.

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR\

Somewhere near Flint, Michigan

Ken arrived at the warehouse at 10:30 that evening. He saw a light on at one end of the building but otherwise it was pitch black. He stumbled his way to where the light was and peeked in the window. He recognized Trenton Fuller immediately. Fuller was working on a large object that was on the floor, and was connecting some wires together. He turned his head to get a better view of the wiring and as he did so, slipped on a rock and fell to the ground.

"Who's there?", Fuller shouted, as he grabbed a gun from a desk drawer. Ken raised his hands in the air and walked around to the door. "I'm unarmed. Can I come in?"

"Just a second," Fuller responded. "I've got to open the door."

Fuller opened the door and pointed his Colt 45 at Ken's head. "What do you want?"

"Captain Fuller, my name is Ken Fellows. I was convicted in the Lansing massacre trial. I want to help the Mentula Militia ."

Fuller grimaced. "The Mentula Militia is no longer operational. I don't need your help anymore."

"I shouldn't have to remind you, but when they gave me a plea deal and I testified against Brady Meyer, I refused to implicate you."

"That's because I wasn't involved."

Ken smiled. "You know that's not true. You remember Burton Dahling?"

Fuller shook his head.

"Of course you do. He was convicted of first degree murder for his part in the massacre. He told me you were the mastermind and he intends to spill his guts if you don't send him some money for a new attorney."

Fuller thought about shooting Ken right then and there, but he didn't want to draw the attention of the police before he launched his drone. "Come in. I can give you five minutes."

"Five minutes should be enough to get me some weapons."

"I don't have any weapons, except this pistol that I plan on keeping for myself. The militia is dead, Ken. There will be no insurrection."

"All right, I'll need a few bucks to keep my mouth shut. Then you can deal with Dahling."

"What are we talking about, $50?"

"I'm sure you don't want the police snooping around here. You can keep them away for $5,000."

"$5,000? I'll never agree to that amount."

Ken's gaze caught sight of the drone that Fuller was working on. "What the fuck is that?"

Fuller did not want to trust Ken with the details of his plan. "Oh, that's just a little something I've been working on. My hobby is radio-controlled airplanes."

Ken began walking toward the drone. "Hold it right there, big boy," Fuller barked. "I only gave you five minutes."

Ken slowed his pace, but kept walking. "That's not just an airplane. That's a..."

"I said hold it. Now, I will give you $500 to get lost. Anyone who testifies against Brady Meyer is not a friend of mine. If you come back here, I'll shoot first and answer your silly questions later."

Ken held his hands in the air. "No problem. I'm just curious. Where will you be sending this rocket?"

"It's none of your business. Now here," Fuller pulled five $100 bills from his wallet, "Get the hell out of here."

Ken didn't have a lot to lose. He knew the cops would eventually catch up with him. "Look, I know you think I ratted on Brady Meyer, but I had no choice. I was looking at 10-20 in prison if I didn't cut a deal. But I got to tell you man, they tried like hell to get me to link you to those killings and I didn't turn you in. I'd like to help you man, but I need more than $500."

Fuller grabbed the money from Ken's hands. "I don't need your help and if you even try to contact the cops, I'll tell them you tried to extort money from me. You'll be back in the slammer before you know it. Now get out of here."

Ken shuffled back to Wacker's car. He took the back roads to Lansing, to avoid being picked up by the police. There was only one other person he thought about seeing.

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

Lansing, Michigan

Early the next morning, Ken Fellows drove the '98 Buick Riviera stolen from Chuck Wacker and parked it on W. Ionia Street, about four blocks from Chesterina Angstman's house. He threw the car keys into the sewer and walked the rest of the way. The temperature was starting to rise and Chesterina was working in the garden in front of her house. She turned from at the sound of Ken's footsteps. My God, she thought, he's back. With a trembling hand, Chesterina dropped her small shovel.

"Ms. Angstman, remember me?" Ken called as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the house.

"I'm afraid I do. What can you possibly want from me now?"

"Well, I thought we'd have a little chat."

Chesterina got up from the squatting position and faced Ken. "I really don't think we have much to talk about." She noticed that Ken had a three-day growth of whiskers and smelled like an old dishrag. His massive frame looked threatening to her.

Ken looked down at the ground. "I don't want to hurt you, ma'am, but I do need some money. I just got out of jail and want to start a new life. I want to leave the country."

Chesterina felt like telling Ken to take a hike, but she knew he could be dangerous.

"What do you mean? It's Ken, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am."

As they entered her house, Chesterina asked Ken if he wanted anything to drink and he asked for a glass of water. She noticed that his entire body seemed to be shaking. "Tell me all about it, son." She motioned for him to sit on the couch.

Ken downed the glass of water within seconds and began telling Chesterina what had happened to him after he got out of jail. "I just need money so I can get out of this damned country."

"But why do you have to leave?"

"I'm a convicted felon. I don't have a snowball's chance of finding a decent job. Hell, my friend Ron put his life on the line for this country and couldn't get a decent job. I have no fucking chance. Hell, I'm not even a member of the underclass, I'm in the dead end class."

"All right, but how do you propose to get enough money. I don't have much."

Ken told her about visiting Fuller and about the Brady Meyer broadcast he had heard at the diner. He deliberately left out his visit to Wacker and the stolen car. When Chesterina asked him how he was able to make it to Lansing, he told her he had caught a bus. He said he thought it was curious that Meyer would mention drones on the same day that he saw Fuller calibrating one.

Chesterina sat down on the couch and put her hand on Ken's leg. "You said that Meyer was going to continue his conversation about drones on his show today?"

"Yeah, his show starts in about 15 minutes."

"I think we'd better listen to it, Ken."

"Sure, but it won't do any good. This guy Meyer can't be stopped. If Fuller doesn't launch a drone, some other listener will. Meyer was responsible for those killings in Lansing and he got off scott-free."

"I know someone who is starting a new talk show. It will be different."

"He's probably a liberal."

"So what?"

"So, no one from Meyer's audience will listen to it. It seems to me," Ken said as he removed Chesterina's hand from his leg, "that we will always be a divided nation. Half of the people need health care and the other half don't want to chip in a dime to pay for it. Half of the people smoke pot and the other half want to throw all pot smokers in jail."

Chesterina got up from the couch. "If we can't stop Meyer, we can stop Fuller. Saving only one life will be worth it."

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer popped a couple of Percolones in his mouth as his show started. "As I said yesterday, I believe the Second Amendment gives all Americans the right to not only own and use guns, but to keep and bear 'arms.' The founding fathers did not know about drones, missiles or other projectiles because they weren't around back in 1787. But that doesn't mean that the founding fathers did not want us to use whatever "arms" we have at our disposal to protect ourselves. If someone needs to protect our American way of life by using a drone, I say it's their right to do so.Let's take a call from a listener in Charlotte, North Carolina. Go ahead, Anissa."

"Brady," I'm a member of the Tea party for America Group. I generally agree with you Brady, but I don't think you should be advocating violence."

"Tell me, Anissa, are you worried that the deficit is out of control and that your grandchildren will be buried under a mountain of debt and be slaves to Communist China?"

"I do."

"And who has caused this country to be in this untenable position?"

"Well, Congress has."

"Exactly. Now, if you could send a message to one of the Congressmen whose actions got us into this mess and shake up Washington so they would respond to those of us who want fiscal responsibility, would you do so?"

"Of course."

"That's precisely what I'm proposing to do. Brent Hastings not only advocated getting along with Muslims, he helped dig the hole we're in now by voting for spending increase after spending increase. We have got to stop this madness and stop it now. Do you agree, Anissa?"

"I guess I do, I'm just now sure of the means we should use to do so."

" Thanks for your call, Anissa."

" Folks, if you know of a way to stop former Congressman Hastings, it is your responsibility to do so. He has a show on a radio station in Canada every day at 5pm. This country is running out of time."

Trenton Fuller knew what Brady Meyer was asking him to do. Fifty miles away in Lansing, Chesterina and Ken were almost as certain.

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

Lansing, Michigan

"Holy hell," Chesterina said, as she paced the kitchen floor. "I think Meyer was sending a message to Fuller. A really dangerous message. I'm thinking that he wants Fuller to send that drone over to Canada and kill Hastings and whoever else is with him, perhaps thousands of innocent people. We've got to do something."

Ken sipped his water. "How would Meyer know that Fuller has a drone?"

"I don't know, but I don't think we can't take that chance."

Ken sighed. "He could get into a lot of trouble for telling Fuller to launch a drone at innocent people."

"I'm not so sure. He's already been acquitted when he made a call for violence that was a lot more direct."

"Count me out. I know you hate this guy, but I'm in a lot of trouble as it is. I'm not going to risk going back to jail for some cockamamie scheme that isn't based in reality. We don't know for sure that he's really going to fire that drone and we sure as hell don't know he's going to target Hastings."

Chesterina knew she couldn't stop Fuller on her own. She had to find a way to get Ken to help her. "I'll tell you what, Ken. I really enjoyed the night we shared together after the trial ended. Do you remember that?"

Ken had not forgotten that night. It was his only sexual experience with an older woman. "Yeah, I guess I do."

" We can have another night like that and maybe many more. Not right now, because I'm really worried about this drone and what it might do. But if you help me with this, I'll give you an evening you won't forget. Then you'll be ready to take on the world."

"I don't know, ma'am. My friends Ron and Tony tried to take on the world and got slaughtered. They couldn't make it in this country. I'm not sure I can either."

Chesterina grabbed Ken's hand. "You've got to go to the police. Fuller is the man who organized the attack on those innocent people in Lansing, including my best friend. He is probably up to no good and you can stop him."

"I don't think it's a good idea to tell the police, ma'am."

"Why not?"

"Fuller will tell them I tried to extort money from him and Wacker will back him up. They'll put me back in jail."

"All right, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll drive to the warehouse and try to stop

this maniac. In this country, we are all sitting ducks for the next mad man that comes along. Congress and the media are accomplices. Unless people like you and me act, the mad men win. "

Ken thought for a moment. If they could surprise Fuller, he might be able to steal some more money from him. He could then take Chesterina's car and head for another state, perhaps before the police found out that he had stolen Wacker's car. He didn't like the fact that she was offering him sexual favors to get him to help and decided to play hard to get. "You know, I sort of admired this scumbag."

"Even after he sent his militia men to Lansing, knowing that they would kill innocent civilians?"

"That was never proven."

"Ken, you know better than that. You got off pretty easy because you ratted on Brady Meyer, but I suspect you knew more about Mr. Fuller's participation in the massacre than you let on. If you must know, I was the one that turned you in."

"You've got to be kidding? And you expect me to help you now?"

"You won't be helping just me, but all those who are threatened by this guy. He might kill another 94 innocent people, women and children among them."

Ken sighed. "But how can we stop him? The man is armed. I can't buy a gun in Michigan with my criminal record."

Chesterina thought for a minute. "I bought my father a gun for his birthday. He felt unsafe at the retirement place he's staying at. I just didn't buy him any bullets."

"What good is a gun without bullets?"

"I told him he could wave it around at any intruder that came to his room and scare them off."

"That certainly won't work with Fuller. He's got the warehouse locked up tighter than a drum and if we go there and wave a gun around, he'll just laugh."

"No. I'm thinking we can get my father's gun and buy some bullets. Do you know where we could go to get some?"

"There's a place on the other side of Flint that I know about."

"Good. Here's what I propose we do." Chesterina detailed a plan for her and Ken.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

Venice, Florida

Jimmy Parsons was preparing Brent Hastings for his broadcast later in the afternoon. He made sure no one was in earshot as he whispered to his boss. "Meyer is urging his listeners to use any means necessary to stop you. I think we may be better off broadcasting from another site."

"You've got to be kidding, Jimmy. How is he going to stop me here in Canada? I'm not going to worry about it. Instead, I'm going to talk about his attack on the homeless. He says that they should be able to find jobs and shouldn't be filling the streets with their filth. He claims that the majority of the Populate Wall Street crowd was homeless bums. I'm going to point out that the average homeless person has a life expectancy of thirty years less than everyone else. Thirty years! Can you believe it? Moreover, there are thousands of homeless veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan who would love to have a job, like that guy who was killed in the rally you witnessed, what was his name?"

"Ron Palmer."

"Yeah, Ron Palmer. He risked his life for all Americans and he comes home and no one wanted to hire him. He is only one of many such stories in America."

"But Mr. Hastings, I think we should be careful. You can respond to Mr. Meyer without having to do your show here."

"Jimmy, I'm not going to inconvenience my entire staff because some blowhard wants to stir up trouble."

"Inconvenience? You may be able to save your staff's lives, for God's sake."

"I appreciate your concern, but let's do our show."

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina visited her father that afternoon and, while he was in the bathroom, took the gun from his nightstand. I'll be able to return this before he notices it's gone, she thought to herself. After staying with her father for a half an hour, she went back to her house to pick up Ken.

"Why don't you drive from here, Ken," she said. "You know the way and I'm a little stressed out." Ken grabbed the keys to the Prius and they headed for the gun shop. When they arrived, Ken told Chesterina she would have to buy the bullets since he had a record and wasn't sure they would sell him ammunition. She told him he would have to go into the shop with her in case there were any questions about the type of ammunition they needed. She took the gun from the glove box and put it in her purse. After buying the ammunition, they drove toward Flint. To break the uncomfortable silence, Ken turned on the radio. He was skimming through the channels, when they heard the announcer say, "This is CLKW in Windsor Canada broadcasting with 50,000 watts of power. In 45 minutes, you will hear the Brent Hastings show, hosted by the former Congressman from the United States."

Chesterina asked Ken to stop the car. "That's it."

"What?"

"He wants his drone to drop a bomb on CLKW and kill Mr. Hastings during his show. My God, Ken, we've only got 45 minutes to get there and stop this madness."

"Well, I don't know. Even so, it might not be today."

"We can't take that chance. You've got to step on it."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

Lansing, Michigan

Two officers of the Lansing Police Department pulled their cruiser behind a Buick Riviera on Ionia Street. They had spotted some kids who appeared to be trying to break into the car. The kids ran away as the police car approached. One of the officers got out of the cruiser and yelled back at the other. "No sense chasing those brats. Let's run a LIEN check on it."

The officer who remained in the cruiser soon exited and hollered at the other, "It's been stolen from some guy in Flint. He called it in last night."

"All right. Let's get a tow truck and haul this thing in. In the meantime, call the Flint police and tell them we've found the car."

****

Trenton Fuller knew he didn't have a lot of time. Brady Meyer wanted Brent Hastings to be killed today. Fuller's drone, which had been almost ready to fire mortars at the Dearborn mosque, was now being recalibrated to hit the offices of CLKW in Windsor, Ontario. He had to make sure that the drone's trajectory was low enough to fly under the U.S. radar system and yet high enough to avoid towers and power lines that might be in the way. Flint was a good 65 miles from Windsor and Fuller estimated that it would take about 6 minutes for the drone to travel that distance. Except for the visit from Ken Fellows, he hadn't seen anyone near the ware house in over 3 months.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ONE

Flint, Michigan area

It took the Flint police less than fifteen minutes to match the prints found on the steering wheel of the stolen Riviera with those of Ken Fellows. An all-points bulletin was issued for Ken. Shortly before Ken and Chesterina had entered the gun shop, the clerk had received the bulletin. When Ken came into the store, she immediately recognized him. After Chesterina and Ken left the store, the clerk called the police and reported the fact that she had seen a man matching Ken's description in the company of a woman who purchased some ammunition. The officer asked the clerk what the woman's name and address were and the clerk read him the information from he record of the sale. He was then able to identify the vehicle that Chesterina owned and put out a bulletin for her Prius.

When Ken and Chesterina arrived at the warehouse, just after 1pm, they were surprised to see the drone parked in a clearing, some 40 yards south of the warehouse. It was only three feet wide.

Ken slowed the car and stopped it quietly about 30 yards south of the building. The Prius was barely audible. Chesterina whispered, "I think this moron is ready to launch. We've got to stop him now before that show starts."

"It looks that way. Maybe we can disarm this thing now. I think I know what to do."

"Hold on, Ken. We should peek into the window and see if he's there. We don't want to have him come out with guns blazing."

Ken and Chesterina tiptoed to the window at the southern end of the warehouse. As they approached, they could hear the sound of a radio broadcast. Ken looked through the window and saw Fuller, at the other end of the building reading a book. The radio was on a table, some ten feet away from Fuller.

"I think he's got the radio on loud enough that he wouldn't hear me if I snuck over to the drone now."

"He's just waiting for the Hastings show to start. Okay, I'll stand guard with the gun. Now be careful."

Ken walked slowly toward the drone, which was only ten yards from the Prius. Chesterina was standing at the northern end of the warehouse, holding the gun at her side. Fuller looked up from his book when he heard a noise. He saw what he thought was someone moving. He grabbed his Colt 45 and headed toward the door. Ken was examining the drone when Fuller burst through the door and pointed his gun at Chesterina. He could not see Ken or the drone from where he was standing.

"What the hell are you doing here? This is private property."

Chesterina tried to hide her gun, but Fuller spotted it.

Still pointing the gun at Chesterina, Fuller barked, "Put the gun down."

Ken knew he could make his way back to the Prius and drive away. He would be shielded from Fuller's sight by the building. He would have to leave Chesterina with Fuller, who would now be able to launch his drone. He could head for Indiana and freedom. No, he thought. I'm going nowhere in this country. I might make it to Indiana but they will track me down. There is no future for convicted felons, just as there is no future for veterans. Yelling as loud as he could, he charged at Fuller.

Fuller turned and saw Ken, waving his arms in the air. "Stop or I'll shoot," he yelled.

Ken kept coming. As Fuller lowered the barrel of the gun, Chesterina fired her gun at Fuller. It was too late. Fuller had already fired the gun at Ken and he fell to the ground, grabbing his chest. The bullet from Chesterina's gun landed some fifty yards into the woods. Chesterina raced to Ken's side, ignoring Fuller.

"Ken. Hang in there. Please." She held his head up, using all the strength she had.

Ken looked up at Chesterina. "I knew there was not much hope for me in this country..." He tried to catch his breath, but fell back to the ground. Chesterina sobbed. Fuller approached Chesterina. "You shouldn't be hanging around with scumbags like this. Now give me the gun."

As Chesterina watched Ken breathe his last breath, she handed Fuller the gun. She knew her only chance was to try and buy some time. "What do you plan to do with that drone?"

"Well, since I plan to kill you, I might as well tell you. I plan to send this big boy over to Canada and kill that no-good bastard Brent Hastings. Then, when Brady Meyer gives me the word, I will arm more drones to kill whoever he tells me to."

"Can I ask you if your plan to kill Mr. Hastings was inspired in any way by listening to Brady Meyer?"

"If you must know, it was."

" And were you inspired by Mr. Meyer to send your two goons to Lansing last year to kill scores of innocent people?"

Fuller leveled his gun at Chesterina's head. "Of course I was. Now, I'm tired of your questions."

Fuller cocked his gun and as he did so, a Flint police officer exited his patrol car and shouted: " Hold it right there. Drop your weapon." Fuller dropped his gun and was soon handcuffed by the officer. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

Chesterina fell to her knees. "Yes, yes. I am now. How did you know to come here?"

"We traced the Riviera that your friend stole to a Mr. Chuck Wacker. He told us that Mr. Fuller might be in trouble and where to find him. I guess he's in bigger trouble than Wacker imagined." As the officers led Fuller away, he dropped the medallion that Wacker had given him.

PART FIVE- THE END

" Another of our agreed-upon fantasies is that we do not have a class system in the United States. The few who control the many through opinion have simply made themselves invisible. They have convinced us that we are a classless society in which everyone can make it."Gore Vidal

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer began his next daily broadcast with a diatribe about FAB News. Many of his listeners were also fans of FAB, but he was steaming over a report by Helen Murner the previous night. On her last broadcast with FAB, she had described the beating of a young Mexican boy and concluded her report with the statement that police were looking into a connection between the beating and a "possible" visit by the boy to Brady Meyer's house.

"I have always respected FAB News, but in their desire to compete with the limp-stream media, they have sacrificed journalistic integrity. My friends, don't doubt me on this. I don't want you to stop watching FAB News because it is the only source of legitimate news that's out there. As their slogan indicates, they are normally fair, accurate and balanced. But I want you to express your concerns to FAB about this report. It is utterly false and defamatory. To even hint that I had any connection with a poor illegal alien boy is the height of irresponsible journalism. Tell FAB that they don't need to compete with the limp-stream media story for story. Their adherence to balanced reporting is enough to attract the majority of fair-minded Americans."

Billy Walters caught Meyer at the end of his broadcast. "It looks like your little scheme has worked, boss."

"Now Billy, I never engage in schemes. I only tell it like it is."

"Well, Peter Clark from FAB News called. He wants to talk to you as soon as possible."

"I'll bet he does. All right. I'll wait another half an hour and call him."

Before Meyer returned the call to Clark, he dialed Brenda.

"How did the preliminary hearing go," he barked.

"Just fine. Mr. Hernandez was bound over, I believe that's the term, for trial."

"Yeah, how was your testimony?"

"Just fine."

"Did they ask you any questions about the kid?"

" They did but there was an objection and the judge did not let me answer."

"Good. When is the trial?"

"Early December."

"Damn, that's too far off. That means you're going to have to stick with me until then. I don't want to start the divorce until you've proven that you're not going to testify against me."

"So you know that this immunity thing won't work."

"Yeah, Anderson told me that if the prosecution claims that we conspired together to commit a crime, you can rat on me. Is there a chance they can bring this up at the trial?"

"I think so. My attorney says that we will have a new judge then and he or she may reverse this judge's ruling."

"You sure as hell better not implicate me sweetheart. I'll be in the courtroom when you testify. Oh, and make sure the dinner is on the table tonight at 7."

"Sure."

Brady began his call to Clark with a reminder of their past history.

"You remember, Peter, that it was I who first promoted your network to my listeners. There was a tremendous surge in you're audience after I did that."

"I remember that well Brady. But it gives you no right to attack us for doing our job."

"Doing your job? Spreading scurrilous rumors about kidnappings of small children by prominent talk show hosts is not part of your job."

"Look, Brady. If we didn't report this story, the other major networks would have. We pride ourselves in getting scoops on those left-wing bastards at NBC and ABC. We didn't say that the story was true, merely that it had been reported."

"Did you ask for my views on it before you aired it?" Brady barked in a much sterner tone.

"We had deadlines, my man. But I will give you this. You can come onto any of our shows and deny the rumor."

"I want more than that."

"And what do you want?"

"I want your assurance that before any of your reporters say one more word about me that they will call me. If I tell them that the story is based on falsehoods, they will not broadcast it. You got it?"

"I don't know. That seems to violate our journalistic integrity."

"Journalistic integrity? You guys ignored the hacking scandal that your parent company became embroiled in over in England because you didn't want your audience to think that you were at all tainted by it."

"We didn't think that story merited attention."

"Merited attention? The biggest media conglomerate in the world lost 30% of its stock value in 3 days because it was spying on thousands of people and you didn't even cover it?"

"Well, it's a little different to not cover a story on your own and to be told not to cover it."

"It just shows you that you don't have as much journalistic integrity as you pretend to have. You know you didn't cover the story because it made you look bad."

"Hell, you didn't cover it either, Brady."

"That's' because we're of the same mind and I want to keep it that way."

After Clark ended his call with Meyer, he called Robert Dachmer.

"Boss, your old friend Brady Meyer is in a little hot water." Clark explained the dilemma in which Brady found himself. "He wants us to assure him that he will

have a veto over any of our broadcasts that mention him by name. How much do we owe this guy?"

"We owe him something, but we owe Charles David Aruma a lot more. Let me talk to Aruma and get back to you."

Jimmy Parsons grabbed Brent Hastings at one of the commercial breaks during his show. "Mr. Hastings, FAB News has reported that a young Mexican boy was badly beaten shortly after he was seen at Brady Meyer's mansion. You might want to say something about that on the show."

"Look, Jimmy, I appreciate your zeal, but I'm not in the business of reporting rumors."

"But boss, we're talking about FAB News here. They have a love fest going with Brady Meyer. If they have reported that there may be a connection between this boy's beating and Brady Meyer, there must be something to it."

Hastings put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "I don't doubt that there may be something to it, but we don't have enough evidence to even mention it. We have our standards to uphold. I think you might be looking for a way to get back at your old boss, but he will eventually slip up and destroy himself."

"I hope you're right."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE

Venice, Florida

The Ernesto Hernandez trial began on a cold December day. Brenda Meyer was the first scheduled witness for the prosecution. The night before the trial, Brady has asked Brenda what she planned to say. "I plan to tell the truth."

Meyer grabbed Brenda by the throat and looked deep into her eyes. "You better not say one word about my relations with that boy or you won't get a dime in the divorce. I've got enough proof that you've been cheating on me to do just that under the pre-nup." Brenda pulled Meyer's hand away from her throat and left the room. Meyer called Gene Shaw and told him it wouldn't upset him a bit if Shaw went after Brenda the next day, as long as she didn't implicate him.

Brady Meyer's limo driver was fuming. He knew better than to complain to his boss, so he bit his tongue. Meyer had asked him to take him to the courthouse, but didn't want to be seen by anyone. The limo had tinted windows so Meyer could not be seen as the limo approached the courtroom. However, he kept yelling at the driver to hold back from the front of the building while there were people entering it. Finally, Brady saw his opening. "Andy, pull up to the door now."

"Yes sir." Andy pulled the limo to the front of the courtroom.

Brady put on a baseball cap with a British Petroleum insignia and pulled the lapels of his overcoat over his face. "I will text you as soon as I leave the courtroom. Meet me right here."

"Yes sir." Andy recalled the time that he drove Meyer from his mansion to the front of the building housing his radio studio. A homeless woman approached Meyer as he got out of the limo and asked for money. He pushed her away from the limo and yelled at her to go earn her own money. When Andy drove Meyer home that night, he was told never to drive the limo to the front of the building, but rather to the back entrance where homeless people did not congregate.

Brady entered the courtroom and sat in the back. Monica Sayers was two rows in front of him but did not notice his arrival. Brenda Meyer was on the witness stand. Gene Shaw, who hadn't tried a case in over 10 years, sat at the counsel with Paul Roberts.

"Ms. Meyer," Shaw asked, "What happened to Mr. Morales when you picked him up from Mr. Hernandez?"

Brenda looked at Ford. He had told her to wait at least five seconds before answering any question, to give him time to object. After giving Ford the appropriate amount of time, Brenda answered. "I took him home."

"And for what purpose did you take him home?"

This time, Ford rose to his feet before the five seconds had elapsed.

"Objection, your honor. This is a trial for human trafficking. Whatever happened to Mr. Morales after he was picked up by Ms. Meyer is irrelevant."

The judge looked down at the counsel tables. "Any response, Ms.Thompson or Mr. Shaw?"

"I agree with Mr. Ford's objection," Thompson said.

"Your honor," Shaw countered, "Although the defendant is charged with human trafficking, I believe it is critical that the jury know what happened to this boy after he arrived at Mrs. Brady's home. It is our position that the trafficking occurred for the purpose of subjecting Mr. Morales to involuntary servitude. It has been established that Mrs. Meyer paid Mr. Hernandez $10,000 for the boy. The jury is entitled to know why Mrs. Meyer paid that much and what she did with the boy after he arrived at the Meyer mansion."

The judge looked down at his notes. "As I read the statute, human trafficking involves the sale of human beings for illicit purposes. The prosecution therefore may inquire about the purposes of the sale of Mr. Morales, particularly if Mr. Hernandez knew about those purposes. I will overrule the objection."

Shaw left the counsel table and walked steadily to within three feet of Brenda.

"Now, Mrs. Meyer, will you answer the question. For what purpose did you take Mr. Morales home with you on the night of August 14?"

Brenda looked at Ford and waited five seconds. She then turned her gaze to the back of the courtroom. Brady Meyer was slumped down, but she could feel his cold hard stare as it penetrated her eyes. "I took Mr. Morales home because I wanted to have sex with him."

A hush fell over the jury and the audience. Brenda looked back at Brady Meyer and saw the whites of his teeth in a big, broad smile.

Shaw, somewhat taken aback by Brenda's answer, plowed ahead. "Can you tell the jury, Mrs. Meyer, exactly how you had sex with a 12-year old boy?"

Again, Brenda waited five seconds. This time, Ford rose from his chair and shouted, "Objection! It is irrelevant to the charge in this proceeding."

The judge looked down over the top of his half-glasses. "Mr. Roberts, can you explain why the jury needs the kind of detail you are asking for?"

"Certainly. Mr. Hernandez has been charged with human trafficking. It is our contention that he knew, or should have known, that Mr. Morales would be subjected to sexual abuse. Mrs. Meyer has now admitted that she had sex with this boy. I believe the jury should know the full extent of her relationship with him since it will reflect upon Mr. Hernandez's knowledge of the consequences of his actions."

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Hernandez knew that this boy would be abused by Mrs. Meyer?"

"I am suggesting, your honor, that Mr. Hernandez, in accepting $10,000 from Mrs. Meyer in exchange for the boy assumed the risk that the boy would be abused. I am only trying to establish that the risk he assumed was indeed a real one."

The judge leaned back in his chair. "I fail to see how exploring the details of Mrs. Meyer's sexual relations with the boy would be relevant to the charge of human trafficking. I will sustain the objection."

Brady Meyer had seen enough. He pulled out his I-phone and sent a text to Andy. "I'm ready to be picked up. I will be outside in three minutes."

Meyer waited for Andy's response, which came two minutes later. "Stuck in traffic. I will be there in ten."

Meyer fumed. He did not want to be seen standing outside the courtroom, so he had to wait another seven or eight minutes inside and then make a mad dash to the limo.

Neither Ford nor Thompson had questions for Brenda so she was excused from the witness stand.

Shaw could not restrain a smug smile as he stood to face the judge.

"Your honor, we call Jorge Morales to the stand." No one had noticed a small boy in a wheelchair who was stationed to the side of the courtroom, across from the jury box. A paralegal from the State attorney's Office wheeled Jorge to the witness stand. He was then assisted from his wheelchair into the chair next to the judge. "Your honor, before you swear this witness in, I want to indicate that he does not speak English and we have brought a translator with us today, who will also be sworn in. Her name is Lucinda Flores."

Sandra Thompson rose to her feet. "Your honor, I realize that this witness was identified on the prosecution's pre-trial list, but we were not given notice that his testimony would occur today. We need more time to prepare before we can adequately cross-examine him."

The judge stared directly in Thompson's eyes. "Counsel, you do not need to know the precise time every witness will testify before you can cross-examine them. I will deny the request. This witness was included in the list provided by the prosecution and he may testify now."

After swearing in Flores and Morales, Shaw began his direct examination.

"Please state your name for the record."

Flores translated the question and Morales identified himself.

"Do you know the defendant, Ernesto Hernandez?", Shaw asked, pointing to Hernandez.

After Flores translated the question, Morales said "Si."

"And do you know the woman I'm pointing to now, Ms. Brady?"

"Si."

"Did there come a time when Mr. Hernandez took you to meet Ms. Brady?"

"Si."

"And did Ms. Brady take you somewhere afterwards?"

"Si."

"Where did she take you?"

After the question was translated, Morales said that Ms. Brady had driven him in a car to a big house.

"And did someone in that house touch you without your permission?"

After the question was translated, Jorge covered his face with his hands.

When the question was repeated, he sighed "Si."

" And can you point out for the jury who that person was. " Brenda Meyer sat up straight in her chair, knowing full well that Jorge would not be pointing at her.

Jorge looked at every person seated in the courtroom. When his gaze reached the last row of seats, Brady Meyer got up and started to move toward the door. As he did so, Jorge pointed at Meyer. By the time the judge had noticed where Jorge was pointing, Meyer was out of the courtroom. The judge asked the translator to repeat the question and Jorge told the translator that he no longer saw the person who touched him in the courtroom. "Bailiff," the judge barked as he banged his gavel, "See if there's anyone outside of the courtroom and if so, bring them in here." The bailiff, a 68-year old overweight ex-cop moved slowly and steadily to the courtroom door. By the time he looked out into the hallway, he couldn't see anyone other than a fifteen-year old girl who was doing a paper for school on the trial and had arrived late. She told the bailiff that she hadn't seen anyone leave the courtroom.

Monica Sayers had followed Meyer out of the courtroom in hot pursuit.

"Mr. Meyer, Mr. Meyer," she screamed.

He kept walking toward his limousine, parked near the entrance to the building. "Mr. Meyer," she hollered, " it looks like Mr. Morales was pointing to you when he was asked if anyone in the courtroom had touched his private parts. Do you have a comment?"

Meyer was walking as fast as he had walked in years and reached his limo, almost out of breath. As he opened the back door, Sayers grabbed it and said, "Just answer the question, Mr. Meyer."

Meyer pushed Sayers's hand away and looked at her with utter contempt. "Listen, young lady. I can have you fired in a New York minute. If I see one word of this on FAB, your career is over." Meyer shut the car door behind him and told his driver to take him to his mansion. In the limo, Meyer called Peter Clark.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR

Venice, Florida- New York, New York

That evening, as Monica Sayers was preparing her report on the Hernandez trial, she got a call from Clark. "What's the gist of your story, Monica?"

"I'm going to report that the young Mexican, Jorge Morales, was pointing at Brady Meyer to indicate that he was the one who abused him."

Clark sighed. "I'm going to have to ask you not to do that."

"Why? It's what I saw, Peter."

"It may be what you saw, but as I told you last week, Brady Meyer is our friend. He doesn't want us to cover this."

Monica took a deep breath. "You've got to be kidding me. You only told me last week that he could review any reports we do about him and point our falsehoods. There was nothing false about what I saw."

"I'm sorry, Monica. Just do your story about the trial and be sure to mention that Mrs. Meyer admitted to having sex with this boy."

"But the boy didn't point to her when he was asked if anyone had touched him."

"Just do it, Monica, if you want your job."

Following the newscast on FAB, Monica Sayers called Helen Murner.

"Helen, they wouldn't' let me report on what I say today."

"What did you see?"

Monica recounted the departure of Brady Meyer from the courtroom just as Jorge Morales pointed at him. "That doesn't surprise me, Monica. FAB doesn't give a shit about the truth. They just want their narrative to be out there and the narrative does not include attacks on Brady Meyer. I've been at this a long time. Brady and FAB have a very incestuous relationship. "

"I'm really envious of you. You were able to get out of here with your pride in tact. I've really got to keep this job."

"Of course you do. But don't worry. I'll find a way to get this story out there and you won't be implicated. When this story gets out there, FAB will have no choice but to report on it." When she said good-bye to Monica, Helen called Jimmy Parsons.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE

Venice, Florida

Brenda Meyer arrived home several hours after her husband. He confronted her as she stepped inside the mansion. "All right sweetheart," he said, "I know you saw me leave the courtroom. Did you tell anyone else you saw me?"

Brenda hesitated. She knew she finally had the goods on her husband and it was her chance to secure a substantial amount of alimony. "I had to tell my attorney." Brady started to fume. "But he has to maintain my confidences, as you know."

"I'm not so sure about attorneys anymore. I was told that you couldn't testify against me and then I was told that you could."

"But I didn't testify against you. I saved your ass. I took the blame for what you did to that poor child."

"Weren't you worried that you could be charged with a crime? "

"No. My attorney got me a deal where I have immunity for whatever I said on the witness stand."

"Good. Now I want you to assure me that you won't tell anyone else about what happened in court today, when that boy pointed at me. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't get a dime."

"I'm not so sure you can do that. We had a pre-nup, as you recall."

"Well, dearie, one of the terms of that pre-nup was that you couldn't have sex with another man."

"And I never did," Brenda screamed.

"Well, the transcript of today's trial says otherwise. You admitted today that you had sex with a 12-year old boy. I can take that transcript to the divorce court and clean you out."

"After I saved your ass today? You've got to be kidding."

"Listen, it's my money we're talking about. I earned every cent and if I want to use every legal means to keep it, I will do so. After all, I knew you wanted to screw that police officer who was here. You can't fool me."

"I can always let it be known to your precious audience exactly what happened in court today. You were identified by a young boy as the one who abused him."

"You do that honey and I will go after you with everything I have. You won't even get the lousy $49,000 a month I'm willing to give you if you keep your mouth shut."

Brenda was flummoxed. She was going to use the fact that she saw Jorge Morales identify her husband as a pedophile to pry more alimony from him. Now, she was going to have to scramble to keep a modest amount. She decided to call Jim Dalton. He might find a way to get her more alimony.

CHAPTERONE HUNDRED AND SIX

Flint area-Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina Angstman made sure that Ken Fellows got a decent burial. The local police called in the FBI when the drone was discovered. An agent dismantled the drone and deactivated the explosive device. A reporter from the Flint Journal saw the death notices for Ken Fellows and was able to do a story on his connection to the Brady Meyer trial. The story appeared on page B5 of the paper and the national media did not pick up on it.

Chesterina returned her father's gun to the drawer she took it from, without him noticing. She did not check to see that Ken had filled the chamber with six bullets, only one of which was fired at the Flint warehouse. When she returned home, she called Bernie Cuminsky. His secretary told her he would get back to her as soon as he was able. The next day, Cuminksy called. "How are you doing on my potential perjury charge?" she asked.

"They're still looking into it."

"I've got something that might help."

"Go on."

Chesterina told Cuminksy about her conversation with Trenton Fuller.

"That doesn't help. It might tend to prove that Meyer was more involved in the Lansing massacre than we thought, but he can't be tried again. And it really doesn't help you."

"What if we sued FAB News for hacking into my phone? That's how they found out that I lied about hating Brady Meyer."

"It wouldn't help your perjury liability at all."

"I'm just trying to put pressure on Meyer and FAB News, make them more reasonable."

"Even though they're pressing the issue, it's really up to the Justice Department."

"That's what scares me. I don't have the political clout with the Attorney General that those guys do."

"You got that right. The little guy, or little gal in your case, can't get justice in this country anymore. I'll do what I can."

"I'll tell you what you can do. I'd like to have an object tested for DNA."

"What kind of object?'

"A water glass."

"I suppose it's the least I can do. Just drop it off at my office and let my secretary know what you want done."

"Thanks, Bernie."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN

Windsor-Toronto, Ontario

Jimmy Parsons was pumping antacids every two minutes. He had called Fred Molnar several times in the space of two hours and had not received a return call. At about 3:30, his cell phone rang. Jimmy answered it on the first ring. He recognized the name on the called ID. "Fred, it's Jimmy. I want you to add a verse to the Brady Meyer song. I need it by tomorrow morning."

"Hold on, Jimmy. What's this all about?"

Jimmy explained to Fred about the call he received from Helen Murner, which summarized Monica Sayers's aborted report on the Hernandez trial. Ernesto Hernandez had been convicted of human trafficking, but the real story that Jimmy wanted Fred to hear was the identification of Brady Meyer by a young Jorge Morales.

"Hmmm. I think I could add a verse. I'll try to record it tonight. So you need this tomorrow morning?"

"The earlier the better."

"I'll call you as soon as I have it done."

"Thanks, Fred. I think this will finally poke a hole in the image most people have of that pompous jerk."

"I don't know. He's survived a lot of stuff that most mortals would have never have lived with." Fred pulled out his guitar and began composing a new verse to the song that was now starting to fade from the airwaves.

*******

The next day, Jimmy approached Hastings. "I just got a new verse to the Brady Meyer song from Fred. You've got to play it on your show today."

"Let me see the lyrics." Jimmy was hoping Hastings would not ask to see the lyrics. He knew that Hastings was hesitant to include unverified facts in his show.

Hastings read over the new verse. "That's hitting below the belt, Jimmy. I don't think we can use it." He started to walk away when Jimmy grabbed his elbow. "It's all true, boss. Every word of it."

"Come now. Do we know his junk is longer than his fuse?"

"All right, that's the poetic license part of the verse. The rest of it, the raping of young children, and the payoffs to the prosecutors, it's all true. I talked to Helen Murner, formerly of FAB News, who assures me that the young Mexican boy pointed to Brady when he was asked who raped him."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I most certainly am not. You've got to expose this guy."

"Well, let me hear the song."

After listening to the song, Hastings called his nephew, Joey Strong.

"I understand that you've been trying to interview me for FAB."

"That's right, Uncle Brent. I was asked to do so several days ago and they're putting some heat on me to get it done. Do you have some time now?"

"Certainly, Joey. But first, I have a question for you. I've been asked to play a song that mocks Brady Meyer. It suggests that he raped children. I know you interviewed him. Is there any truth to that allegation?"

Joey paused. "I can tell you this. When I interviewed him, I saw a young Mexican boy run down the stairs and later heard a scream that sounded like it came from a young boy."

"Apparently a former colleague of yours at FAB, a Helen Murner, has indicated that a young Mexican boy who recently testified at a human trafficking trial pointed to Brady Meyer as his assailant. What do you know about that?"

"I'm afraid there's probably a lot of truth to that. I wasn't at the trial, but I gave Helen the digital recording of my interview with Meyer and she was able to establish that the boy I saw was the same one who was beaten within an inch of his life. He's the one who testified. I've talked to Helen and I believe she's telling the truth."

"Thanks, Joey. Now what can I tell you about me?"

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT

Windsor, Ontario

After talking to Joey, Hastings took to the airwaves with vigor. "Ladies and gentlemen, most of you have heard by now the song that has captivated much of Southern Ontario and parts of the Midwestern United States and was an Internet smash last month. It is entitled "Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use?" Today, we will play that song for you again, but this time with a new verse. I should warn you that if you have young children in the room, you should probably turn the radio off or get them out of the room. I will give you a few minutes to do so. In the meantime, let me say that I have been accused of defaming Brady Meyer by playing this song. Let me assure you that all of the statements made in the song have been verified. I am not afraid of a defamation suit by Mr. Meyer. This is also true of the new verse, the substance of which may astound you. I believe it is important that listeners of Brady Meyer know the truth about this man. He is not only a habitual liar, but he has committed acts of unimaginable cruelty. He can get away with it because of the laxity of America's laws. He would not get away with it here in Canada, where he would face multiple charges of lying in connection with his broadcasts and be tried and convicted of inciting violence. I am so confident that what this song depicts is true, that I am willing to face the consequences of strict Canadian laws. So here it is, the new version of "Which Deodorant Does Brady Meyer Use?" Hastings played the song and increased the volume when he played the new verse.

He has kidnapped children for the sport of it,

Cause he's sure his friendly DA won't convict.

He knows that it is wrong,

To rape kids with his dong,

Which is a wee bit longer than his fuse,

Which deodorant does Brady Meyer use?

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE

Venice, Florida

The song, with the new verse, was soon back on the Internet and creating a sensation. Brady Meyer learned about the new verse from Billy Walters just before his program went on the air. "Get me Harold Anderson, right away Billy," Meyer barked as he read the lyrics.

"Harold, he's gone too far now. Brent Hastings is airing a song that accuses me of sodomy with young kids. I want you to sue his ass for $35 million."

"I'm afraid I can't do that Brady."

"Why the hell not? You're my attorney. You do what I tell you."

"I can't represent you any more."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No I'm not. I was going to call you today after your broadcast, but now that you've called me, I might as well tell you now. You lied to me Brady. You told me you never had sex with the young Mexican boy. I was there in the courtroom when he pointed to you."

Brady's voice, normally strong and firm, was noticeably lacking in conviction. "But he was mistaken. Can't you believe that?"

"Not when I saw you duck out of the courtroom. I'm sorry Brady. I'll be sending you my last bill."

"Who else can I retain for my defamation suit?"

"You really don't have a defamation suit, not when the defendant is telling the truth. It's been nice knowing you Brady."

Brady could not believe it when Anderson hung up the phone. "Son of a bitch. I'll sue that bastard too. " It was too late to call anyone else before his show so Brady reviewed his notes. He opened the top drawer on his desk and pulled out his last cigar. After rolling it around in his fingers, he tossed it gently in the trash.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN

Venice, Florida

Chief Williams was beside himself. He had hoped that after convicting Ernesto Hernandez, he and Shaw could sit down with Sandra Thompson and get Hernandez to cooperate before his sentencing. If Hernandez ratted on his bosses in the human trafficking ring, the prosecution would ask for a lenient sentence. Now, Roberts was in his office telling him that Thompson and Hernandez weren't interested in a deal.

"Why the hell not?", Williams asked.

"Well, it appears that Thompson believes they have a great case on appeal."

"You've got to be kidding. We had that guy dead to rights. Not only did we get Brenda Meyer to verify that he had sold her the boy, but the boy identified him as well. How the hell do they think they can win on appeal?"

Roberts suppressed a cough. "I'm afraid she thinks that we withheld evidence."

The chief looked bewildered. "What evidence did we withhold, counsel?"

"The evidence that Brenda Meyer was naked during the execution of the search warrant and was holding a dildo." Roberts looked at the floor. "I'm afraid it's my fault. I told Winston not to put that in the report."

"And Shaw and I agreed to leave it out. Look, how does that affect the case? The fact that this broad chose to take her clothes off shouldn't be something that Hernandez needed to know."

"Thompson is going to assert that had she had this information, she would have been able to cross-examine Mrs. Meyer about her character and possibly destroy her credibility."

"Jesus Christ. What do you think are the chances on appeal?"

"I can't imagine the appellate courts will throw the conviction out. They may remand it back for a new trial."

"In the meantime, we can't get this guy to finger the real culprits in this whole scummy affair. He'll probably be released before this works its way through the courts. All because some woman decided to get naked during a search warrant." Williams waved Roberts out of his office and dialed Shaw. When he didn't answer, Williams left a voice mail message on Shaw's phone indicating that he was extremely disappointed that they wouldn't be able to get Hernandez to finger the drug trafficking kingpins.

A FAB News researcher noted on his computer screen that a voicemail message had been left on Shaw's phone. He hacked into Shaw's voicemail and wrote up a report to send to Peter Clark. Clark got the report and phoned Dachmer that night. "We're off the hook for now, Robert. They won't find out about our human trafficking ring for at least two years. By that time, our boy Hernandez will be out of the country."

"Good work, Peter. Bribing that officer for the police report on Meyer's wife was brilliant."

"Thanks, boss."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

New York, New York

Harrison Spencer would not give up. He had called Peter Clark's secretary fifteen times in the space of three days. "I need to talk to Mr. Clark directly. I know he would appreciate what I have to tell him. It will only take a few minutes."

When Peter came out of his office to visit the restroom, his secretary told him about the calls. "I don't know of any Harrison Spencer. Get rid of him."

"I wish I could, but he keeps calling back."

Clark eventually agreed to talk to Spencer. "I'll give you three minutes," he stated at the outset of the call.

"Mr. Clark, I was the caddy for Brady Meyer when you played golf with him last summer in Florida."

"Right, the Venice Polo Golf and Country Club."

"Yes. Anyway, I know your network has been covering the recent allegations against Mr. Meyer. I just want you to know that I saw him cheat at least twice during your match. You would definitely have won the match otherwise."

"Hmmm. You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely, he kicked his ball away from a tree and also marked his ball about 15 feet closer to the hole than it really was."

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer. I appreciate your call."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE

Venice, Florida

Brady Meyer got the message from his producer. Four major sponsors of his show had called since word leaked out that he might be practicing sodomy on 12-year olds. Each of the sponsors thanked the producer for being able to advertise on the program, but indicated that due to budget cuts, they were canceling their sponsorships in the near future.

"Damn it," Brady howled, "I've made money for those guys for years and this is the thanks they give me." His broadcast began with a plea. He didn't like lowering himself to begging, but he felt today it was necessary. "My friends, I have never needed your help more than today. In the last few days, there has been a concerted effort to silence me. The limp-stream media has used every trick at its disposal to smear my good name. It is time for you, dear listeners, to stand up for me as I have stood up for you all these years. Go to your phones, go to your computers, go to your stationery and call, email or write to Free Channel Communications and tell them that you will not listen to any of their programming if they kick me off the air. I have not had the opportunity to rebut the scurrilous charges that have been leveled against me. If you want to continue to hear the truth about what's really going on in this country, it is imperative that you make that call today. Do not let the left-wing media in this country destroy the only outlet for common sense that is available to you. I have not been convicted of any crime, indeed I have not been formally charged with a crime. If I am forced off the air because of some made-up, libelous accusations, honorable men in this country will never be free from such attacks in the future. Whenever someone speaks the truth about their government, they will be buried in avalanche of distortions and lies. Call, write or email now."

When Brady Meyer finished his broadcast, he asked Billy if the phones had been ringing off the hook when he delivered his diatribe. "No, sir, but they were all probably calling their Congressmen. I think you've motivated them again sir."

"Good. Good. I'm afraid we're going to have to start cutting costs around here Billy boy. Free Channel will be auditing us again soon."

"I think I've got a way we can do that, sir."

"How's that?"

"Let's just lay off our researchers. We really don't need them. After all, you're the Oracle of the Free World. What you say is the truth."

"You've got a point, Billy boy. I am the truth. Most of my listeners would believe me before they would believe the limp-stream media. I'm only telling them what they want to hear. But what if someone challenges us?"

"Hell, I can Google enough information to rebut any charge. And you, sir, you can out talk, outsmart, out maneuver any of those damn progressives."

"Now you're talking, Billy boy. All right, let's can the researchers."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN

Venice, Florida

Jim Dalton placed a call to his client, Brenda Meyer. "I've got some good news and bad news, ma'am."

Brenda held her breath. She was hoping to get some meaningful amount of money out of Brady Meyer. After all, he had treated her like dirt since their wedding night. He had gone through the motions of consummating their marriage and immediately went to his laptop to check emails. He never had sex with her again. Now, after protecting him on the witness stand by taking the blame for his heinous acts with a young boy, she wanted to take him to the cleaners. "Give me the bad news first."

"You're not going to be able to keep the house."

"That's no problem. What's the good news?"

"Your husband won't be able to establish that you broke the pre-nup. He would have to show indisputable evidence that you cheated on him and the fact that Mr. Morales did not identify you, but instead identified him as his predator, means that you can't be in violation of the pre-nup. You're going to be getting millions in the settlement."

Brenda could hardly contain herself. "Thanks, Jim. I owe you a lot."

"Just part of the job. But hey, I think you might want to give J.J. a call. You're no longer his client since the Hernandez case ended. I think he'd like to hear from you."

"Maybe I will."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN

Venice, Florida

Three days after Meyer's plea, when it was clear that Congress was being inundated with phone calls or emails urging Free Channel to keep Brady Meyer on the air, he called Charles David Aruma. Aruma had always picked up the phone when Meyer called in the past, but this time told his secretary that he was busy and Meyer should call back. After several attempts during the rest of the day, Meyer finally talked to Aruma. "How's my favorite billionaire today?"

" Cut the small talk, Brady. I'm afraid I'm going to stop funding your show, at the end of the week."

"But sir, I've still got 20 million listeners every day and Congressmen all over the country are up in arms because their constituents have lit up their switchboards in defense of my program."

"I know how to take care of the Congressmen. I can buy them anytime I want. They will make a few speeches on your behalf on the House floor, but eventually they'll forget about you. You don't have the advertisers anymore and I'm not going to pick up the slack. I've listened to the digital recording of your interview with the reporter Joey Strong that FAB provided me. You're a sick man, Brady."

Brady decided to play his last card. "Look, you know and I know that no one can replace me. No one can carry the conservative message to the masses and convince them that it's in their interests to deregulate industries like yours, lower taxes for the wealthy and send jobs overseas."

"As a matter of fact, I do have someone who can replace you. A guy by the name of Brent Hastings."

"You've got to be kidding me. He's a left-wing fanatic. He is against everything you stand for."

"Not everything, Brady."

"What do you mean? He believes we should spend our way out of a recession, building infrastructure, schools, bridges, highways and railroads. He wants to regulate Wall Street and the oil industry. How can you say he stands for what you do?"

"He stands for what I do because he will make me a shitload of money. The demographics are on his side, Brady. Most of your listeners will all be dead in 10 years. His Canadian show, on only one station, has more than 8 million listeners, many here in the U.S. and most of them are under the age of 40. He'll get an audience as big as yours in no time, especially when I throw in a few million bucks to promote the guy. I've already talked to Lawrence Collins at Free Channel and Robert Dachmer at FAB. They're going to put him on the air next week. He'll have a radio show in your time slot on all 126 of the Free Channel stations and FAB will give him an hour in prime time."

"You're outsourcing my show to a Canadian?"

"He's a former U.S. Congressman. But hey, I thought you were a big fan of outsourcing. Remember, the global economy thing. As you've said many times, we've got to let businesses compete and if it means going to Canada for talent, so be it. I really don't like America, Brady. I'm making more money overseas now anyway. "

Brady had one more card to play. "Do you realize sir that Hastings missed a state Senate vote because he was shacked up with a 17 year-old?"

"I asked him about it. He told me that you made that up and that he missed the vote because he was being treated for severe back pain and taking marijuana. This was before medical marijuana was legal in Michigan. When it became legal, he was a Congressman and didn't want to admit to it."

"You're going to believe that ludicrous story?"

"I checked with his doctor. He confirmed it."

Brady sighed. "Mr. Aruma, I've done your bidding all these years. You were my sugar daddy. You can't let me go now."

"Your ratings have gone in the dumper, Brady. This sodomy allegation has put a hole in your reputation, no pun intended."

"But none of it is true, sir."

"Truth is not the issue, as you know Brady. We've survived all these years by making the public think we're telling the truth, but we really don't. If the public knew the truth about how much our refineries pump toxic chemicals into the air, I wouldn't survive. You wouldn't survive if the public knew, contrary to what you've told them, that most Muslims in this country are peaceful, law-abiding citizens and that gays can't be taught to be straight. Hell, you know that from your own personal experience. I was your sugar daddy all right, but the sugar beets have dried up for you. I really don't care if these allegations are true, if the public believes them, you're history. And speaking of history, you're on the wrong side of it Brady. In ten years, we'll all celebrate Muslim holidays and gay weddings."

"But, sir, as a matter of fairness, even basic morality, I think you owe me one."

"Morality is for suckers. You know that. Besides, Dachmer tells me you cheated in that golf match we had earlier this year. I can't trust you."

"But Mr. Aruma, I was just proving your point. Morality is for suckers. If we can find a way to win, in golf or in life, that's what matters."

"You're a loser now. By the way, which deodorant do you use, Brady? I really like that song." Without waiting for an answer, Aruma hung up his phone.

Brady had one more call to make. He may have lost his radio show, but he

could try his hand at television. He dialed Robert Dachmer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brady, but Mr.Dachmer is in Detroit giving a speech."

"When will he be back?"

"He's scheduled to leave the Detroit airport at 5:35pm today."

"Good, please tell him I called."

"I certainly will."

Brady turned on FAB News. "I'm a lot better than these guys," he said to himself, as he watched a panel of conservative talking heads.

Brady rose from his chair and walked to his desk to retrieve a cigar.

As he did so, the FAB News moderator broke in with a news bulletin.

"Robert Dachmer, the founder of FAB News has been rushed to a Detroit hospital after collapsing while giving a speech to a Tea Party convention at Cobo Hall. A Tea Party spokesman is quoted as saying that it took over 35 minutes for the paramedics to arrive after the first 911 call was made."

Brady dropped his cigar. " I wonder why it took so long, " he mused.

After Dachmer passed away on his way to the hospital, the full story of the tragic incident came to light. Dachmer had suffered a cardiac arrest. The quick use of a defibrillator would have saved his life, but when the 911 call was relayed to the paramedic unit responsible for that area of the city, they were assisting a homeless veteran who had been attacked with a knife near Joe Louis Arena. Budget cuts from the state, in the form of reduced revenue sharing, had forced the city to privatize its paramedic crews available at any given hour to a handful. By the time the next available crew was alerted and rushed to Cobo Hall, 35 minutes had elapsed.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN

Venice, Florida

J.J. Ford stopped by the Meyer Mansion and rang the doorbell. Brenda was wearing a low-cut strapless evening gown as she hurried to answer the door. As she did so, J.J. handed her twelve long-stem roses.

"Why Mr. Ford, you shouldn't have."

"I thought we'd celebrate your first night of freedom."

"Of course. I want to get smashed tonight."

As Brenda went to get a vase for the flowers, Brady Meyer rumbled down the stairs. "What's going on here? You can't take my wife out for a date, not while we're still married. You'll violate the pre-nuptial agreement."

"Only if we have sex, sir," responded Ford, "and you'll have to prove that in a court of law."

As Brenda returned from putting the roses in the vase, she reached down and grabbed the hem from her dress. She pulled it above her waist, revealing the absence of undergarments. She smiled at Meyer as she grabbed Ford's arm.

"Don't wait up for me."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN

Windsor, Ontario/New York, New York

Brent Hastings was in his glory. He was taking over Brady Meyer's time slot and would have 20 million listeners to his show. He picked up the phone and dialed his nephew.

"Joey, it's your uncle. Have you heard the news?"

"I sure did Uncle Brent. I'm very happy for you."

"Well, I'd like to make you happy too. How would you like to work for me?"

"Gee, I would love to, but I'm a reporter. Don't you do a talk show?"

"I do indeed. A new kind of talk show. I want to hire reporters, good ethical reporters, who don't have to rely on talking points to get their stories. I want the unvarnished truth and I know you can give that to me."

Joey took a sip from his FAB News coffee mug. "I would really like to do that, Uncle Brent, but I have one problem."

"What's that?"

"I met this woman, Helen Murner. She was just let go by FAB News and she needs me now."

"I know Helen Murner. I think she's an excellent reporter too. I'll tell you what, Joey. I'll hire both of you."

"That's great, Uncle Brent. I'll give my notice today."

"Terrific. Say, isn't Helen Murner a bit old for you?"

"You know what they say about older women, Uncle Brent."

"What's that?"

"They know what they want."

"Well, I want both of you to start here in two weeks."

"I'll talk to Helen, but I'm sure you've got a deal."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN

Toronto, Ontario

The U.S. Attorney's office in Michigan often forwarded mail from former assistants to their last known addresses. When Fred Molnar left the office following the Brady Meyer conspiracy trial, Molnar did not leave a forwarding address. After landing a job with Brent Hastings on his new syndicated radio show, Molnar called his former secretary in Michigan and asked for any mail that may have accumulated. After sorting through stacks of junk mail, he came across a hand-written letter, which read:

Dear Mr. Molnar,

I hope you don't mind that I took your fingerprints from the glass you used when you visited my house prior to the Brady Meyer trial. I had it tested for DNA and I just got the results. It turns out that you are my son. I am ashamed that I have to tell you this way, but I don't have the courage to face you. I abandoned you when you were born and there is no excuse for having done so. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. Your song about Brady Meyer has captivated the country and has put a stop to this madman's access to the public. I am delighted that the Free Channel companies have hired Mr. Hastings. They will be more balanced in their programming now. You should be very pleased that he saw fit to use your song. Keep writing! I know you will do well in whatever you do. I will be following your progress.

Your loving mother,

Chesterina Angstman.

P.S. Mr. Cuminsky tells me I still may be prosecuted for perjury and I can't sue FAB News for hacking my phone.

Molnar had never had a burning desire to find his biological mother. If she didn't think enough of him to keep him, he would not go out of his way to locate her. Now, with the letter, Molnar had a change of heart. Chesterina was someone he had grown to respect, particularly her determination to bring Brady Meyer to justice. His contacts with his old boss might help her escape any possible perjury charge. He looked up her number in the Lansing phone directory and dialed it. When she didn't answer, he left a message. "Ms. Angstman, this is Fred Molnar. I got your letter. I would love to visit you. Please let me know when it's convenient."

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN

Lansing, Michigan

Chesterina Angstman did not answer the phone when Molnar called because she was on her way to visit her father. She walked slowly down the hall at Richdale and knocked on his door. It had been more than three years since her first visit to see him there. She was gloating to herself about Brady Meyer's demise, but did not intend to rub it in with her father.

"Coom...en.."

"How are you doing today, Pop?"

Henry Angstman did not move from his easy chair. He was listening to WFBB, the Free Channel station that used to broadcast the Brady Meyer show. The station was now broadcasting the Brent Hastings show. Chesterina bent down to kiss him and he turned his face away from hers. "I think you may like this guy, he's trying to report the truth," she told her Dad.

Henry scowled.

"I know you think he may have destroyed Brady Meyer, playing that song on his show, but Brady had it coming." Chesterina turned and headed for the kitchen.

The voice of Brent Hastings echoed through the small apartment. "I want to thank all of you for listening in today. I hope to return an air of civility to the political dialogue in this country. I sincerely believe that we can limit the violence bred from the vitriol that previously saturated the airwaves by bringing factual accounts of an issue and opinions from all sides. It is time that we came together as a nation and moved beyond the gun culture that we have lived with for so long. We are better than that. We can solve our differences without resort to weapons, on the international stage and here at home. I know I have been partly responsible for the emotionally-charged atmosphere that has dominated our discourse, but I resolve to change. I only hope that you will give me a chance to do so."

Chesterina did not hear her father get up from his chair and walk toward the kitchen. As she leaned over to open the refrigerator, she felt the first of five shots that were emptied into her back.

The shots were loud enough to be heard at the front desk.

"Blam. Blam. Blam. Blam. Blam."

When the police arrived, Henry Angstman was sitting in his lounge chair, still listening to the Brent Hastings show. Henry mumbled something that was indiscernible as they led him away in handcuffs.

The Richdale staff used three cans of disinfectant on Angstman's walls after they removed the bloodstains.

###

R. Brent Nelson is the author of four short stories, which can be found online or in various Michigan Bar Journals (http://www.michbar.org/) from 2007 to 2013. Contact him at: http://www.twitter.com/rbnelso
