BLACK PRESIDENT-Chapter 95. President John sticks to HIS guns, as he figures out, with Kissinger's help, how to get rid of GUNS production worldwide.

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

Kissinger looked confused. He seemed to try a mix of exclamation and to begin to question something, but whatever he was saying had sounded more like a frog’s croak. Perhaps the rich desert dust of his recent ‘diplomatic’ visit with Saudis or some other group of oil-rich arabs had clogged his throat. Whatever it was that had limited his ability to speak clearly, the results were somewhat comical. Kissinger first grabbed for his red wine. took a quick sip, then dragged a fist of blank white paper out from his valise. Grabbing a marker, he wrote two words, “YOU’RE KIDDING?

John wasn’t even sure if Kissinger heard him right about being a switched identical win, being John Little - not his brother - so he just kept to discussing the bigger MIC agenda.

“The world has been teetering on collapse ever since you wrote that book saying that limited nuclear war was an option, back in your tome of 1954. It’s been over sixty-five years since you’ve dared the world to drop the big ones, and your prediction bought you all your friends in high places. Now, as you so delicately insinuated at Bilderberg, I need you to feed some information in the other direction. I need you to be the virus, human virus that is, to bring these people down. Are you with me, Henry?”

Kissinger coughed after a second swallow. He knew the vintage was good, so a little embarrassment crept in. A third sip seemed to free his mouth and thoughts. “My dear boy – man. If I’m reading you correctly, you’re saying that you’ve fooled me, fooled everyone at Bilderberg, fooled all those heads of state and everyone here in D.C and in the press, the whole fucking world, into thinking you are your dead brother?”

John didn’t answer right away.

Kissinger settled back against the cushions and regrouped. He could feel some of the arthritis in his hands – small aches where his thumbs attached to the palm – that made him wish he’d just thrown in some Vicodins before the visit. Beyond that, he knew he’d have hell to pay if a President under his wing was exposed as an imposter, He’d promised Little to help bring down the over-producing military armaments factions, but he didn’t, as yet, see how it could actually be accomplished. Yes, he had been talking a bit through his hat.

“Are you aware of the size of the MIC army – military and civilian – which will, directly and indirectly oppose your current shift of emphasis?”

“I gather you’re referring to that huge number of people who benefit from the employment and manufacturing of arms, missiles, warheads, clothing, all that. How big, Henry, is it really?”

“Probably three out of four civilians work for that military conglomerate, and that’s world wide,” answered Kissinger, “except for maybe those who sit on a pile of Middle East dirt all day, or tool around their one-acre farm in Mississippi cutting their own grass. Even though you may not be aware of the connection, anyone who invests in the stock market is part of the machine were opposing. Their funds, no matter if labeled for soy beans, ‘futures’ or car manufacture, are plowed back into military goods, because those companies invest here, there, everywhere. The Market is just a big sieve for laundering cash that flows toward buying guns. Have you noticed that when something bad happens in either financial markets or world calamities, stock prices rise? Why is that? Because they make money at both ends.

“The depression of 1929 gave these financiers the opportunity to buy foreclosed housing at a dime to a dollar. Or a penny. And that actually happened again around 2008. Wars were great, but terrorism tied to the Patriot Act is pure nirvana, and I’m not talking Buddhism or rock group here. Everything is finally going their way. And no living President can easily oppose the billions of workers and the trillions of dollars being generated around this enterprise.

“One man – you – and an imposter to boot, think you can beat this? Please allow me to save my new and dear Bilderberg friend’s skin, before it’s too late to…”

Henry’s last word trailed off. He was smiling, in a Grinch-looking sort of way. An old watch-maker without the watches, thought Little. So the old dog had heard his confession. He was a damn good card player, that was for sure. The old guy had down-played it like no one else ever could have, after hearing that the leader of the free world was just hiding behind his own dead identical twin. John tried to match Kissinger’s subtle approach to his learning about the biggest secret in history.

“I would quit, quit it all in a second,” stated John, emotionally, “if there was the slimmest chance that someone after me could make a dent in things. But you and I know there isn’t anyone crazy enough to do anything. This is where the buck stops. They’re thinking they can get away with it. Just isn’t ever going to be another chance. I’ll be dead, and you’ll be gone too. Do you really want your legacy to be that of war criminal, as we’ve discussed earlier? I know you were acting on others’ orders and took the fall. But still, it’s your name attached, This is a chance for you to be remembered as someone who saved the world, or at least resurrected the middle class in America and elsewhere. We’re sort of trying to enact one of those ’surrender your guns for credit’ turn-ins at a local police station, only on a grander scale. People around the world will sing your praises…if we ever figure out how to do this.”

“Humm,” was a new sound for Kissinger. He wasn’t fighting it anymore. “Maybe your fake Presidency can actually help our cause somehow.”

“Call it a legacy if you will, but I plan to go down fighting,” added John. “As soon as we can help the world populace identify the problem of military takeover at such a huge scale I hope they can rise up, come to their senses before it’s any later in the game.

“Watch Pinocchio again by Disney. Old Walt, or at least his graphic artists, were trying to show us the illusion we operate under. It’s like all systems, from schooling in childhood to college success, earning a good living, investing well, everything leading us to the same bitter end unless we pay attention to the motives of people in control. I believe this can be stopped – with your help.”

Kissinger sat perfectly still, barely breathing, it seemed. His eyes were closed, body motionless, making John wonder if the old man was still of the world. At just about the point when John needed to intervene the old tortoise-eyes cracked opened. Kissinger stared toward the man he now knew to be John Little.

“Actually there is something I could do, but it will probably mean my head. All I require is that you procure me a two-year supply of the pharmaceuticals that keep me alive – about twelve-hundred pills in all. They’re expensive. Once I have that supply, I can think straight enough to come up with a solution to this mess, the cause of almost all of the world’s current problems.”

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