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Category: Suspense/Thriller/Mainstream
Description: The Consortium Patriot Acts Part III reaches deeply into the hidden and sinister world of the international banking system and the global power brokers who profit from it. In September, 2008, the Federal Reserve Chairman and the Secretary of the Treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat. Then Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a political gun to his own head and told the president to give them $800 billion dollars or in twenty-four hours the American economy would die and in forty-eight hours, $5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. The Consortium considers what the repercussions for the United States and for the whole world political and economic system would have been if the president of the United States had said, "NO?" This novel will rattle your senses simply because every action taken against America and world powers are actually taking place and bringing international powers to their knees. The Consortium is an amazing journey into the unthinkable and is an amazing conclusion to the Patriot Acts Trilogy. After reading it, watching or reading the news will never be quite the same.
eBook Publisher: ebooksonthe.net, 2012 book
eBookwise Release Date: August 2012

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [561 KB]
Words: 126777
Reading time: 362-507 min.

Chapter 1

Ramallah, Palestine

June 6, 1995 1:46 p.m.

"Four minutes to engage." The operative reported, "Removing safeties."

The asset was perched high up inside a bombed out building that had once been filled with families. Now they were forced to flee Israeli tanks, mortars, and laser-guided bombs. With an uninhibited view, the asset saw the man whose leadership had passed up every opening for peace.

"Copy that," the asset's contact, Peter Barlow affirmed.

There, with his precision automatic ready to accelerate the conflict into a full-blown war, the asset took out a small mirror from his pocket to take a look behind him. The mirror's reflection landed on his tags. They read, Colonel Fisher Harrison. The asset mouthed the words, but he made no sound as he slowly looked around. Fisher Harrison saw the complete and utter destruction of a whole society. He could see the hoards of terrified city dwellers crouching down, never glancing upward, and running through the streets trying to find a loaf of bread and a few bottles of water during a lull in the barrage of attacks and before getting their heads blown off.

The asset saw a large number of security forces walk out of the building he was focused on. They surrounded and shrouded their leader and led him to a speaking area outside the presidential palace. The man who the security forces were shielding was also the asset's primary target.

The world had condemned Israel for its attacks, but Fisher had determined that Israel's retaliation was justified and deserved, just like the evil terrorist Fisher was about to blow away. Blown-up cars lined the streets, dead bodies and silence, at the moment. Smoke rose throughout the capital city of the land of a people without a country, and Fisher doubted they deserved one. Then, he realized that his job, his people deserved scarcely more than these who had been constantly lobbing missiles and sending suicide bombers into the heart of Israel. He knew his present and past homicidal orders had sucked all the saint right out of him.

World Bank Headquarters

Copenhagen, Denmark

June 6, 1995 12:48 p.m.

Three black limousines pulled up to the front of Amerika Plads 37, Copenhagen, Denmark. The cars carrying seven of the world's most powerful leaders drove around and down into the secure VIP parking area. Each of the leaders from the vicious tentacles of the worldwide Consortium stepped out of the cars, ready to make the world do things their way.

The reunion of political, social and economic terrorists convening there simply added reality to the myth of a guiding hand behind the power, which mere people were never allowed to see. At seventy-two, Warren Berkowitz was the Managing Director of the 24 Directors representing the 186 countries or groups of the International Monetary Fund. It actually was one of his least intrusive positions legally held in the entire world, and it only served as a believable cover to make his real job virtually nonexistent. He stood beside his limousine and waited for his cohorts, with a smirk across his aging face.

Michael Bundy, sixty-four, was the Permanent Secretary of the Bilderberger group. He stepped out of the second vehicle and was followed by fifty-seven year old Eric Warburg of the Council on Foreign Relations. Seth Weinstein was the youngest and newest of the heads of the Trilateral Commission. Alex Bauman, sixty-three was the United Nations Secretary General's Chief of Staff who was speaking with Martin Prost, fifty-nine, from the European Union Economic Council and the Chairman of the US Federal Reserve Monetary Council, Timothy Morgenthau; an American government official who hated his country. A large group of armed guards encased them all as they walked slowly toward the entrance of the building that housed the World Bank's central headquarters.

They were the wealthiest men on earth. They were accomplished totally secretive men who operated, schemed, connived and plotted in the shadows. They were joined, intertwines and inseparably woven together to command every aspect of the lives of every person on the planet without the slightest hint that they had so conspired.

Together, they officially had no unified titles for their secret section organization, but they had come to be known as the Consortium, and had the power to implode any or all financial bubbles created to inflict massive panic anytime they wished. They knew there was nothing new about war. It had become a well-designed, highly lucrative skill several millennia earlier. The Consortium knew what made it all gel according to their purposes; it was panic, utter terror; mostly financial in nature. It was the sort that made men leap out of tower windows, preferring to face death rather than their creditors.

In the end, they knew that it was not the massive threat of the tens of thousands of nuclear bombs or the world's most powerful standing armies that ruled the world and who controlled the destinies of the masses. It was sheer and confounding panic and the Consortium was the master of upheaval. After all, those armed forces used materiel provided with the dollars, Euros and international loans that came directly from these men's interests; trillions of pieces of green paper with pictures of dead US Presidents and historic figures on them.

Through control of the high and low tides of the economy, it was all so easy to constantly scrutinize and mold the minds of the world's nations' kids through reprogramming and reeducation. They had effectively rendered the world's population reliant upon the very governments that had impoverished them.

The Consortium knew that self-governance was only possible and sustainable by strong and free markets, strong faith and moral behavior in trade and commerce, and faith could not be tolerated. The masters of the culture of death would never allow the slightest bit of allegiance to anything or anyone except to them. Their D-Day generation would soon be upon them; ready to carry out exactly whatever role the Consortium had scripted for them, according to the Consortium's own self-interests. The Consortium's game plan was to inflate the bubbles until they finally burst forth and imploded; weighted down by mountains of debt, valleys of disasters and rumors of war.

They walked into the not-so-ornate building that housed the World Bank and took the elevator to the second floor. The door slid shut. They looked at each other and laughed at how easy it was to rule the world, in the shadows. They had lived the age old adage that time is money. They did not need to jump into a war. The longer they could string it all out, the more the money flowed in from the very nations they fully intended to destroy, at a time of their own choosing.