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Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.

Just a soul whose intentions are good


Winston Smith

What is the point of this blog?

Conspiracy is neither my obsession, nor my guilty pleasure. My interest lies in the multifarious ways in which we are, as a society and as a culture, being manipulated from behind the curtain. I became aware of social conditioning/culture manipulation whilst quite young and yet I still somehow failed to see how it had affected my own thinking until well into middle age.

Conditioning is everywhere in our culture and those who practice it in order to advance certain agendas are past masters at its many forms. I therefore offer the information presented within this blog as an overview of the many methods that the manipulators of our society can and do use, to their advantage and our cost.

I’m aware that many who read these posts will be coming to much of what is covered here cold. And so, I have compiled this brief glossary of terms as an aid to understanding the concepts here covered.




Disinformation: The dissemination of false data or the deliberate omission of part or all of the facts pertaining to important information.

Straw man argument: Focusing debate or attention on selected – cherry picked – points of the opponent’s thesis to give a false interpretation of their meaning, or bring their motives into question.

Cognitive dissonance: Mental conflict occurring when assumptions or beliefs are contradicted by new information.

Group think: A lazy form of thinking where the individual prefers to adopt the opinions of their peers rather than make the effort to figure things out for themself. Once an individual has made a commitment to group think, it can be difficult and even dangerous to challenge their paradigm.

Cultural Marxism: Unlike traditional Marxism, which is economics based, Cultural Marxism focuses on culture. It maintains that all human behavior stems from the culture. Adherents can be characterised by their belief in a collectivist future, brought about by infiltration of the system via academia, the media and the political establishment. They believe in change from within enacted incrementally.

False flag: Essentially a self inflicted wound designed to implicate an enemy to justify an intended aggression against them.




Hegelian dialectic: The dialectic, put simply, involves taking two opposing ideas; Thesis and Antithesis (eg. Capitalism and Communism, Left wing and Right wing, Theism and atheism) and putting them into conflict. After a time the two arguments begin to take on aspects of their opposite, in effect creating a third way, known as Synthesis. The blending of Capitalism and Communism creates a kind of collectivist fascism. The blending of Theism and Atheism creates New Age type quasi religions.

Agenda 21: Not what it appears to be, but rather the very epitome of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

New World Order: This is not, I believe, the name of an organisation as is commonly claimed, but rather, a scheme that has been running beneath the surface of our society for well over one hundred years. It is the planned take down of the Nation State by a cabal of elitist Oligarchs. They have been working tirelessly for a world (radically reduced in population) collectivised and controlled by a global police state apparatus.

Illuminati: This name, which you will rarely find used on this blog, should be considered a general term intended to describe the more occult (hidden) aspects of New World Order conspiracy. I feel that it is generally used inappropriately and most often (though not always) by COINTELPRO operatives trying to discredit those who question.

Operation Gladio: Though the code name is only really relevant in Italy, it has come to refer to the top secret ‘stay behind armies’ which NATO put in place, in almost every European country, to act as a sort of behind the lines guerrilla force should the West be overrun by Soviet conventional forces. These largely right wing or Fascist groups had members reaching right up into governments, Police, Military and other Establishment organizations. When WWIII failed to materialise, these CIA backed fanatics began to use their resources and networks against Leftist groups, even going so far as to commit terrorist atrocities and blaming them on the Red brigade. These atrocities are even said to have included the bombing of the Bologna railway station and the kidnapping and murder of Italian Prime Minister Aldo Moro.

Tavistock: The Tavistock Institute pretends to be a benign charitable NGO, but is actually a key component in the creation of social manipulation and mind control techniques.

What they claim to be.

What they are accused of being.

Skull and Bones: A fraternal secret society operating out of Yale University. Included in its list of members are many notables of the power elite including Presidents. This group is, by definition, occult.

I will add more to this section as time permits.


Bibliography of essential texts

I would further wish to direct the reader’s attention to the following essential readings. If you have not had access to any of these books then you have little chance of understanding the world you find yourself living in.

John A Stormer: None dare call it Treason

Gary Allen: None dare call it Conspiracy

Dr Anthony Sutton: Wall Street and the Bolshevik Revolution 

Wall Street & the Rise of Hitler

America’s Secret Establishment: An Introduction to the Order of Skull & Bones

The federal Reserve Conspiracy

Carroll Quigley: Tragedy & Hope: A History of the World in Our Time

The Anglo-American Establishment 

Holly Sklar: Trilateralism: The Trilateral Commission and Elite Planning for World Management

Edward Bernays: Propaganda

Zbigniew Brzezinski: The Grand Chessboard: American Primacy And Its Geostrategic Imperatives

Between Two Ages: America’s Role in the Technetronic Era

John Coleman: The Tavistock Institute of Human Relations

David Ray Griffin: The New Pearl Harbor Revisited: 9/11, the Cover-Up, and the Exposé

Michael C Ruppert: Crossing the Rubicon

Webster Griffin Tarpley: 9/11 Synthetic Terror: Made in the USA

Eustace Mullins: The Secrets of the Federal Reserve

Niki Raapana, Nordica Friedrich: 2020: Our Common Destiny and The Anti Communitarian Manifesto

Cathy O’Brien, Mark Phillips: Trance: Formation of America

David McGowan: Weird scenes inside the canyon 

Programmed to kill: the politics of serial murder

Other books of note: Confessions of an economic hit man by John Perkins, The shock doctrine by Naomi Klein, Debunking 9/11 debunking by David Ray Griffin, Cognitive Infiltration: An Obama Appointee’s Plan to Undermine the 9/11 Conspiracy by David Ray Griffin.

Hey man, what’s with all the wiki quotes?

I have occasionally been criticised for relying too much on a certain online encyclopedia. I am only too aware that Wikipedia is, in general, an unreliable source. Many of the moderators on there are in the employ of the Intelligence community and it has long been a vehicle for the dissemination of disinformation. That said, I made an editorial decision at the very beginning that I would make it as easy as possible for people to check any facts I use to back up my ‘opinions’ (after all, I’m not writing academic papers here, I’m trying to help speed the day that ‘hundredth monkey’ makes the connection).

This should in no way be taken to mean that I use Wikipedia as my primary research tool. I quote it when I know it is correct on a particular point simply because I’m only too aware that many people do use it and, in many cases, simply won’t bother to read anything that isn’t easy to access online. I fact check everything I print, to the best of my ability. And I have a large personal collection of well-thumbed books on history, science and politics to hand. This may only be a blog, but I take what I do here very seriously.

I would also ask that if, whilst using this site, you come across a dead or broken link, please let me know so that I can fix it promptly.

Until I gain control again

– Winston Smith


There are times when we experience an overwhelming sense of free-fall. We go about our lives secure in our notions of who we are and of our place in the scheme of things and then, suddenly, we find ourselves staring hard into a cold, dark void. I personally have experienced such moments, perhaps you have too; moments when the world seems to submit to some weird inversion theory.

It can be the ending of a relationship or a betrayal by one once trusted implicitly, the loss of a career or an unexpected health crisis. Whatever the catalyst, in an instant, the compass is spinning wildly, the ground drops rapidly away and the sky over your head is rent asunder. In that instant you become quite certain that nothing will ever be the same again and, of course, you are entirely correct.

From that moment on, everything changes, because you have changed; irretrievably. You have experienced the deconstruction of your world-view, the dismemberment of your self. Reduced to a ragged baseline, you have but one option beyond complete and final surrender; rebuild.

This is the essence of Jung’s metanoia, the genesis, I believe, of all shamanism. It is pure evolution, not as Darwin understood it, but as angels might.

Imagine universal consciousness reaching out with fingers of lightening, compelling you to shed the detritus of your life up to this moment and emerge, unknown, like a raw-skinned reptile, from the comfortable bondage of old familiar scales.

There is a kind of insanity to it and, for a time, you wear that insanity like a coat. Friends look upon you with pity; some stop calling. Spaces appear and through those spaces, new people find their way into your life; people who have no stake in who you were or what you have let go. Somehow, these latecomers always seem to be the right fit for the new skin you now inhabit. It is as if you have called them into being with the howl of your transformation. And who is to say you have not?

Metanoia, awakening, evolution; call it what you will, but embrace it when it comes, no matter how painful.

Be the phoenix endlessly burning to be reborn.

It’s all Greek to me

We Are All Greeks Now

The destruction of Greece, like the destruction of America, by the big banks and financial firms is not, as the bankers claim, about austerity or imposing rational expenditures or balanced budgets. It is not about responsible or good government. It is a vicious form of class warfare. It is profoundly anti-democratic. It is about forming nations of impoverished, disempowered serfs and a rapacious elite of all-powerful corporate oligarchs, backed by the most sophisticated security and surveillance apparatus in human history and a militarized police that shoots unarmed citizens with reckless abandon. The laws and rules it imposes on the poor are, as Barbara Ehrenreich has written, little more than “organized sadism.”   

~ Chris Hedges

Yanis Varoufakis full transcript: our battle to save Greece

Schäuble was consistent throughout. His view was “I’m not discussing the programme – this was accepted by the previous government and we can’t possibly allow an election to change anything. Because we have elections all the time, there are 19 of us, if every time there was an election and something changed, the contracts between us wouldn’t mean anything.”

So at that point I had to get up and say “Well perhaps we should simply not hold elections anymore for indebted countries”, and there was no answer. The only interpretation I can give [of their view] is “Yes, that would be a good idea, but it would be difficult to do. So you either sign on the dotted line or you are out.”

~ Yanis Varoufakis

Killing the European Project

Even if all of that is true, this Eurogroup list of demands is madness. The trending hashtag ThisIsACoup is exactly right. This goes beyond harsh into pure vindictiveness, complete destruction of national sovereignty, and no hope of relief. It is, presumably, meant to be an offer Greece can’t accept; but even so, it’s a grotesque betrayal of everything the European project was supposed to stand for.

~ Paul Krugman

The problem of Greece is not only a tragedy. It is a lie.

For six months Tsipras and the recently discarded finance minister, Yanis Varoufakis, shuttled between Athens and Brussels, Berlin and the other centres of European money power. Instead of social justice for Greece, they achieved a new indebtedness, a deeper impoverishment that would merely replace a systemic rottenness based on the theft of tax revenue by the Greek super-wealthy – in accordance with European “neo-liberal” values – and cheap, highly profitable loans from those now seeking Greece’s scalp.

~ John Pilger

Greece’s brutal creditors have demolished the eurozone project

What should the Greeks do now? Forget for a moment the economic debate of the past few months, over issues such as the impact of austerity or economic reforms on growth. Instead ask yourself this simple question: do you really think that an economic reform programme, for which a government has no political mandate, which has been explicitly rejected in a referendum, that has been forced through by sheer political blackmail, can conceivably work?

~ Wolfgang Münchau

The Shocking 2008 AIG Report On The Motives Behind Europe’s “Perpetual Crisis” And The Death Of Greece


  • environmental issues: increase control over member countries; advance idea of global governance
  • terrorism: use excuse for greater control over police and judicial issues; increase extent of surveillance
  • global financial crisis: kill two birds (free market; Anglo-Saxon economies) with one stone (Europe-wide regulator; attempts at global financial governance)
  • EMU: create a crisis to force introduction of “European economic government”

And there it is: in four simple bullet points laid out in a 7 year old presentation, a prediction which is about to be proven right. Because once Greece folds, next will be Italy, Spain, Portugal, and so on, until the European Economic Government, also known as the “European Empire”, controlled by a handful of “northern” European players and the bankers financially backing them, shifts from mere vision to reality.

~ Zero Hedge

Lucid dreaming in the belly of a snake

– Winston Smith





Recently I had the opportunity to visit the site of America’s greatest modern tragedy; the 9/11 memorial which now occupies the area where the WTC towers once stood. It actually feels quite strange to me that this was my first visit to the WTC after all the words I have read and written about that fateful day over the past fourteen years.

I arrived in New York from New Jersey via Penn station and, in the spirit of the pilgrim, decided to approach this near sacred site on foot. It was an 87 degree day, but I felt that the 6 km walk downtown would put me in the correct state of mind to appreciate the weight of that which I was about to experience.

I made my way down fifth Avenue past the Flatiron district to Washington square and then on through the Village. By the time I’d reached NYU the improbable mass of the One World Trade Building, also called – in a stroke of Orwellian genius – the Freedom Tower, began to loom large over the skyline. It really is a truly massive structure and its clean, sterile lines seemed to me quite at odds with the bohemian clutter of the village.

There was no need to consult a map, the new building is its own sign post and by simply orienting myself to it I was led inexorably to the site.

I had been unsure of how I would feel upon arrival at the monument. After all it is no secret to my readers that I am a staunch supporter of the alternate explanation* for the events of that day. I thought that perhaps I would feel a sense of conflict; that faced with the reality of the place, I might begin to doubt my own convictions. I had mentally prepared for such a possibility.

What I was not prepared for was the total lack of any emotion at all. Thousands of people had braved the oppressive heat to pay their respects to the victims and I would have expected to have experienced an emotional response to that, if nothing else, but instead I was simply – blank. It was obvious that every other person present was completely onboard with the official story, but just to be sure, there were guides walking about who were only too happy to regale the visitors with the garish tales of individual victims and survivors.

And the visitors were eating every awful detail up with a spoon. There were tears and aghast gazes everywhere I looked. I suppose for some it was cathartic, but all I could think was this is not real. It was like a lucid dream (magnified by the intensity of the relentless heat). I knew I was outside of reality, I just couldn’t force myself awake.

In the end, all I could do was leave; get away. I needed to be out of the sun and out of the shadow of the propaganda dressed up as disaster porn that is clearly still being deployed to keep a nation (and the world) in perpetual war mode.

Completely by chance, as I all but fled through the milling crowd, I came upon the tiny grounds of St Paul’s chapel. Dappled under the boughs of beautiful trees is a tiny and ancient cemetery attached to the rear of the Church. This entire site was inundated by dust and debris during the tower collapses, but as I entered the grounds I was instantly enveloped in a sense of peace and calm, I sat down upon an old wooden bench and sipped my water as I took in the cemetery stones.


And, at last, I began to feel the tragedy of the many stolen lives; wrenched out of existence just meters from where I sat. False flag or true attack, all those lives were cheaply spent for the selfish machinations of evil men. No matter what else was fake, that was real; that was true.

After some moments of quiet contemplation, I left the sanctuary of that timeless spot and began to make my way back towards midtown. As I walked, I stole a look or two back over my shoulder at the massive shape of One World Trade (one world). Despite its immensity, in a certain light, it appears almost invisible; an invisible monument for the invisible empire.

When I got back to New Jersey and scrolled through the photographs I’d taken, I was struck by the nature of the actual memorial – two square holes that exactly match the original footprints of the towers – two negative spaces set beside an almost invisible tower.


What better image could you hope for to represent the Grand Illusion?



*That it was a coup, carried out against the American people by a rogue element within their own government.

Eyewitness Evidence of Explosions in the Twin Towers (Graeme MacQueen / Toronto Hearings 2011)

The Decepti-Con is a transformer.

– Winston Smith


‘If you don’t believe that politicians actually run anything, why are you always dissin’ on Obama?’

This on the face of it seems like a valid point, but in reality it misses said point entirely. When I write about Obama, I’m not singling him out as THE enemy, I’m simply pointing out that he has been a major asset to the powers that shouldn’t be.

They used the Bush Presidency to initiate their false flag and launch their illegal wars of conquest in the full knowledge that the self-righteous Left would rail against him and declare him the antichrist. That was his assigned role and much evil was achieved under his brazen and reckless time in office. However, they knew it would take a different style of puppet to bring it all home.

Enter Obama; black, liberal (bordering on radical), sophisticated, smooth talker, the perfect foil to the folksy, bumbling Bush. Obama promised hope, change and fuzzy feelings. He promised transparency in government, an end to the wars, the closing of Gitmo and, cruelest of all, a better life for the poorest of the country. Instead we got an escalation of wars spreading like a cancer across the globe, the most secretive Administration since Nixon (and believe me, these secret trade deals that are about to come to fruition make anything ol’ Dick Nixon did pale into insignificance), and absolutely no improvement whatsoever in the lives of poor (especially black) Americans.

However, the puppet masters knew exactly what they were getting when they selected Obama for their next tool. His colour, his carefully constructed backstory about community activism, his well-rehearsed charm all combined perfectly to beguile the utopians of the ‘progressive’ Left. The complete evaporation of the anti-war movement the moment he came to office is a prime example of how wisely the oligarchs chose him. Ideologues who couldn’t hate Bush enough for starting the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan conversely gave themselves back-strain heaping praise upon Obama for spreading them throughout the Middle East and Africa.

This is why I criticise him, not because he is the instigator of the coming global police state, but because he is a most effective facilitator of it. He has certain people believing white is black and up is down. No matter what he does or what he says (and rarely do the two match) his loyal robot army march in lockstep behind him. He is transforming the entire world and even though everyone’s life is getting harder and harder each and every day, has millions believing he is leading them into a bright and shining future.

And that is exactly what he was selected to do. This bait and switch President who offered so much false hope to so many, who touted change without ever specifying what he was going to change, who asked us simply to believe, though, never told us in what, and who finally challenged us to go forward; to where exactly?

Obama is no more the antichrist than Bush was, but like Bush, he is all too willing to deceive and betray those foolish enough to believe in him.




Oh yes, and Gitmo is still there.

Conversations at altitude 2

Part one

– Winston Smith

Business as usual

Jonathan returned to the study, having just seen Rupert out to his waiting car. Edwin was still sitting at his desk, fingers steepled, seemingly lost in thought.

‘He’s on his way to the airfield,’ Jonathan said. ‘He wanted me to let you know once again, that you can count on his full cooperation and support on the sustainable development initiative.’

‘No doubt he did,’ the old man replied distractedly.

Another moment or two passed in silence and then he added, almost sadly, ‘Sooner or later we’re going to have to do something about that one.’

‘Do something?’

‘He knows far too much and is entirely too lacking in character or discipline.’

‘I see,’ Jonathan replied, suddenly wondering what his superior’s assessment of his own ‘character and discipline’ might be.

Edwin had fallen into thoughtful silence again, his eyes fixed upon the monitor images of the hospital room where nurses were preparing the body of a once great man for transportation to a much more final resting place.

‘To think we’ll never again see old Henry at Bohemian Grove, walking around balls out amongst the red woods. I suppose there’s a kind of consolation in that.’

‘Er, balls out?’

‘Yes,’ Edwin almost laughed, ‘Henry was quite the nature boy, didn’t you know that?’

‘I did not.’

‘Oh yes. And that was one of his least offensive quirks, I’m afraid.’


Edwin seemed to be in an expansive mood. ‘He had a significant role in the September coup in ‘01, you know.’

‘I’d heard something to that effect.’

‘Yes, in fact, it was his suggestion to use remotely controlled planes to mask the detonations; a stroke of genius really. Very few ever questioned after seeing those planes slam into the buildings like that,’ the old man’s tone betrayed genuine admiration.

‘Wasn’t he also responsible for selecting the date?’

‘In a way, I suppose,’ Edwin replied. ‘It was actually the continuation of a complex numerological sequence that began with the Chilean coup d’état of ‘73 and ended in Benghazi exactly 39 years later.

‘You could say it was Henry who chose the date, but that’s not, strictly speaking, true. There were many factors involved in its selection. He did kick the whole thing off, though, and I believe it was his direct councel that led to George senior giving the all-important New World Order speech on September 11th, ’91. That spell, with its specific repetitions and intonation, made the success of the coup a virtual fait accompli.’

‘I see. And yet his delivery seemed anything but portentous. To my ears he almost came across as folksy.’

Edwin allowed himself a small chortle of amusement. ‘Yes, he was good at that at times, but his delivery was impeccable. In matters of ritual, a Bonesman is generally a safe choice.’

The two men fell silent then, each  contemplating their own perceptions of events. After several moments Edwin broke his reverie. ‘That’s enough self indulgence I’d say, let’s get back to work.’

‘Of course.’

‘Have the Trilaterals made any progress regarding this resistance to the Trade deals?’

‘I’m afraid there’s still a larger than expected number of holdouts in Congress,’ Jonathan replied.

‘These phase two deals absolutely must go through. There can be no exceptions. The entire process depends on this.’


‘This was the whole point of the Trilateral Commission’s inception. If they can’t smooth the path for these negotiations, then what use are they?’

‘They assure us that they are working diligently on this and that they expect to see progress by the beginning of August.’

Edwin did not attempt to conceal his frustration. ‘And I have given my personal assurances to the Olympians that this will all happen within the projected time frames. Global government will likely fail if these deals do not go through.’

Jonathan looked uncomfortable at mention of the Committee of three hundred. The power of this very old and rarefied group was far reaching and potentially fatal. Were they ever to conclude that important plans had been compromised due to his own incompetence or negligence, it would be over for him in every significant sense of the word.

‘I will relay your – request to them with the appropriate degree of urgency.’

‘See that you do. Now bring me the documents on the journalist woman who has been causing us so much grief.’

‘Ah, Ms Allenby.’

Jonathan retrieved the file from his office cabinet and placed it on the desk before Edwin. His superordinate began leafing through the sheets; clucking his tongue with distaste at almost every page.

Jonathan stood by silently, only too aware of the damaging information the pages held. Allenby was that most dangerous of journalistic types; the crusader. She had begun to uncover the truth about institutionalised paedophilia at the highest levels of power and had become a dog with a bone about it. It seemed that with every week that passed she uncovered more damning evidence of just how deeply imbedded in the establishment these ‘Paedo rings’, as she liked to term them, really were.

And of course they are, Johnathan thought. They’re the very glue that holds this entire shadow government together. That was an undeniable truth; when so many are engaged in so far ranging a conspiracy, there must always be effective methods of enforcing the discipline of silence. Secrets can only be bound up with deeper secrets. When all are implicated then all must become one. The corruption of innocents, the snuffing of young lives, these are profane acts. By their participation in such darkly intimate deeds, the bond of blooded dependence indentures all.

For Edwin there were deeper layers of meaning still. Like many of the bloodline elites he followed the oldest religion. The acts of corruption – what cattle such as the abysmal Allenby woman called perversion – had a much more esoteric significance. In his world of almost limitless power there was no greater power than the corrupting of the pure. It was a practice older than the hieroglyph.

After he had read through to the end of the file, Edwin closed the folder and placed both hands palm down upon the cover.

‘I think we are going to need to initiate a code Pandora.’

Jonathan was less than surprised by this invocation of the dreaded crisis response teams. He’d known from the moment she’d appeared on their radar that Jennifer Allenby was doomed.



Planet Earth, your New World Order is ready

I’m not sure that there is any way to stop any of this at this point, but people need to know just how insidious these trade deals actually are. How anyone could find acceptable a trade deal of such enormous scale, orchestrated in complete secrecy is quite beyond me (especially when it involves both sides of the party divide in several countries). Familiarize yourself with what is being done here. In it are the beginnings of Global Government; and not the warm and fuzzy kind.



Murder by pen


Now We Know Why Huge TPP Trade Deal Is Kept Secret From the Public



Conversations at altitude.


– Winston Smith


The passing

Scene: Somewhere in an alternative reality?

‘How long does he have?’ the old man in the patched and threadbare cardigan asked as he turned away from the screen and gazed thoughtfully out at the garden through the open French doors. The other man; younger, expensive Savile row suit, handmade Italian shoes shrugged imperceptibly ‘it’s hard to say. A day or two perhaps.’

‘Well, he had a good run, I suppose,’ the elder remarked, ‘especially for someone so firmly in the public gaze.’ He moved to the decanter of mortgageable scotch and poured two fingers, neat, into a tumbler.

‘If he’d been willing to step back from the limelight we could have given him another seventy years or more,’ he said, taking a long, slow sip of the smokey, smooth heaven at the bottom of the glass, ‘but that wasn’t Henry’s way, I suppose; loved to get his hands dirty, that one. He was like David that way.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Still, he almost made a century, despite all of his questionable – peccadilloes.’

His gaze returned to the garden. He’d spent a scant, happy hour getting his own hands dirty amongst the roses before this business had pulled him back to his study and the too familiar scent of wood polish and old leather. Resigned, he let out a short exhalation, feeling the drag of melancholy for one fleeting moment.

‘He was a good servant.’ he intoned at last.


‘Never balked, not once; no matter what was asked of him.’

‘He obviously relished the trust that you all placed in him.’ the younger man said, finishing the thought in his head, perverted old goat fucker.

The older man snapped his head around as if he’d heard the thought and regarded his young protégé’s expressionless face. ‘You have a talent, Jonathan, for making praise sound like criticism. That is a dagger you should only rarely unsheathe.’

The younger man standing before the tastefully modest oak desk stiffened a little.

‘My apologies sir. I meant no disrespect to the Doctor.’

The old man smiled disarmingly. ‘To be sure,’ he said, taking another sip from his glass. ‘After all, it would be churlish to score points on a dying man’s account.’

His gaze returned to the monitor; to the image of that dying man, hooked up to a battery of machines in a private clinic in Geneva. ‘It will be a different world without old Henry,’ he said with not a trace of irony, though he had a good sixty years on the ancient thing barely clinging to life under crisp, sterile hospital sheets.

‘I’m not sure that I can imagine what a Bilderberg without him would look like.’

A small trill broke the surface tension in the room and the young man leant forward across the desk to depress the button on the intercom. ‘Yes?’

‘His twelve fifteen appointment has arrived.’

The old man, standing now by the open doors, as if longing to flee, nodded once and his subordinate said, ‘Send him in now.’

A moment later the study door opened and a man with a bare remnant of grey hair entered the room. A faint scent of excessively expensive cologne drifted in behind him.

‘Edwin,’ he almost drawled in warm greeting, ‘been at those roses again I see.’

‘Hello Rupert,’ the man named Edwin replied. ‘Have a seat old friend.’

‘Old friend, is it? Shit, this doesn’t sound good,’ the other said as he settled into one of the big leather chairs.

‘Shall I step out sir?’

‘No Jonathan, stay. I may require the benefit of your bottomless Arcanum of facts and figures. Pour Rupert his usual will you?’

‘Of course,’ Jonathan replied, moving towards the liquor cabinet.

A rueful smile spread across the age blemished lips of the man named Rupert so that it looked as if his laugh lines were staging a hostile takeover of his face.

‘Why do I get the sense that I’m about to get raked over some uncomfortably warm coals?’

Edwin let his eyebrows ascend. ‘Come now Rupert, I’d hardly have dragged you halfway across the world just to give you a dressing down.’

As he took the drink from Jonathan, Rupert’s sardonic smile flickered for just an instant; the only indication of his intense relief.

‘Glad to hear it…old friend.’

Edwin sat down behind the desk and said, ‘No, I wanted to have a chat with you about our sustainable development program.’

‘Alright, and what is it that you wanted to say about it?’

‘We’ve had enormous success getting the cattle to adopt the notion, thanks in no small measure to your newspapers.’

The level of irony in Rupert’s smile ratcheted up as he said, ‘ Yes, if you want ’em to go for something, it seems your best shot at success is to get my papers to denounce it. I suppose I should be insulted by that.’

‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,’ Edwin replied. ‘There’s no prestige in being loved by the ignorant.’

‘True enough,’ the old newspaper man conceded.

‘No, you’ve done a stirling job of persuasion,’ Edwin soothed. ‘The thing is, we’re accelerating the program. We’re going to stage five.’

Rupert looked startled for a single heartbeat, then settled further back into his chair.

‘Well now,’ was all he said.

‘We’ve been priming the pump since the mid-eighties,’ Edwin said. ‘As, you know, the original agenda called for stage five implementation in 2030, however, there have been certain – unforeseen developments along the way.’


‘Yes, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about the impact the proliferation of the Internet has had on your own business interests. None of us imagined that the cattle would take to it with such – vigor.’

Rupert winced theatrically, nodding his agreement.

‘This was a serious oversight on our part,’ Edwin continued. ‘We had believed that the sheer volume of available information would be so overwhelming that it would numb, rather than stimulate them. We were apparently quite wrong about that.

‘They’ve seized it with both hands, sifting through the detritus of our hidden history and uncovered an astonishing amount of private knowledge regarding us and our activities.’

Rupert gave an unseemly snort of derision, ‘You certainly can’t be talking about my readers.’

Edwin stared for a long moment at the other man; his expression unreadable. Then he spoke.

‘To be sure, only a miniscule number are responsible for finding and disseminating the information. However, once released onto the net, it spreads at an alarming rate.  Our analytics have tracked the spread of single information packets and returned some truly terrifying data.’

Rupert leaned forward over his drink, ‘Why not, you know, take the trouble makers – out?’

‘That was the policy for a time. The problem was, no sooner did we remove one piece from the board than another sprang up to replace it. It became an exercise in futility.

‘We considered taking their toy away altogether, but it simply wasn’t practical. Again, the speed with which business and commerce embraced cyberspace caught us completely off guard. If we shut down the Internet now, all global trade would grind to a halt.’

‘Hoist on your own petard, eh.’

‘Indeed. All we’ve been able to do to slow the spread is create as much white noise as possible. We’ve filled the web with our own ‘theories’ – safe ones. Many of the most revered voices in the conspiracy community actually belong to us, but you know that, of course, your papers have helped us immeasurably in this regard.’

Rupert was immediately suffused with a look of false modesty. ‘We all do what we can for the greater good.’

‘Quite so,’ Edwin replied, raising his glass in acknowledgement. ‘Which brings us back to our original point. All of this has meant that we are in a race. If we are to fully implement our plan, we must be at stage five before seven percent of the population achieve an awareness of it. We estimate that this will occur well before 2030, therefore it is imperative that we accelerate the program.’

Rupert gave Edwin a sceptically look over the top of his glass.
‘Getting people to indulge in those meaningless recycling rituals or even paying emission taxes is one thing,’ he said, ‘Getting them to voluntarily relinquish all property ownership and worse still, give up their cars? I’m not at all sure they’re ready for that.’

‘And that is why we are having this conversation,’ Edwin concluded for him.
‘We need you to step up the propaganda; steer them onto the right course.’
‘And I’ll be happy to oblige, but I’m not hopeful. We spent a century convincing them that without a car they were nothing, without owning property they were deadbeats. Now we’re turning that on its head?’

Edwin’s expression remained placid, but Rupert was becoming aware of an energy that had crept into the room.
‘Of course, I’ll do all I can,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll have my editors begin the campaign immediately.’

‘No,’ Edwin interjected, raising just his finger tips from the arm of his chair.
‘We need to intensify the debate somewhat. We have a few environmental ‘incidents’ panned for the coming months. We need to let them stew on those for a time – Incidentally, don’t plan any trips to the West coast of the US for the immediate future.’

‘Noted.’ Rupert breathed, squirming a little in his seat.

‘After that’s played out we’ll put our pet environmentalists to work on the television and in some of your ‘rivals’ papers; have them push for greater personal sacrifice. Your job will, as usual, be to decry it, thuggishly. You must be the voice of unreason Rupert.’

The other man sighed. ‘Again, well, I’ve always said you can be powerful or you can be popular, rarely both.’
At that moment, Jonathan, standing by the monitor, broke in, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but according to the readouts, the Doctor has passed away.’




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