The Fourth State

By Joseph Foley

This story follows the life of a bright young man from small town USA as he builds his skill at manipulating people. With a combination of today's technology and the ruthless methods of Hitler and Stalin he uses peoples fear and hatred to build his vision of a new world order. His rapid rise from an unknown kid to world leader surprises the entrenched powers that be and he takes advantage of their arrogance to knock them from their power positions. He seems unstoppable as he builds a solid power base and then begins to take over control of the government.
People who get in his way or cause a problem quickly disappear. Even his associates are destroyed when he deems it necessary to accomplish his goals.
As his power grows, his self confidence becomes unrestrained arrogance and just as he seems to have attained success, his goals are suddenly at risk.
This is tense, psychological thriller that, under the right circumstances, could be a true story one day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Foley
• Release date: Apr 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301660100

Joseph Foley

Joe Foley was born and raised, educated and married in St. Paul, Minnesota. He started nine businesses, a couple of them successful. He travelled across the US and Europe, started two businesses in Barcelona Spain. He wrote uncounted technical papers and spoke in technical seminars in many countries. During this period he also wrote numerous short stories and a couple of novels but had no time for publishing and promoting his writing. Finally, with a little more time available, the writing is getting some much needed attention. Two novels and a collection of short stories have been published and work is underway on the third novel.

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The Fourth State

By Joseph Foley

Published by Joseph Foley at Smashwords

The Fourth State

Copyright © 2013 by Joseph Foley

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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.

Chapter 1

The pain in his face burned almost as much as the anger and hatred in his heart. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he struggled to clear his head. He wanted to jump up and kill the old bastard but something still held him back and he stayed on his knees, looking down at the floor. Perhaps some shred of duty or responsibility still held on through all of the beatings. Or maybe it was fear. The old man was bigger and stronger than he was for years. Now he no longer held the physical advantage but the fear was still there.

Anger consumed the Eckhart house and family like the fire ate the logs in the massive old fieldstone fireplace. George’s mother and younger brother cowered in the kitchen while his father exacted his version of discipline on his eldest son.

You, my first son! You are supposed to be giving your brother a good example of how young men should live! And you bring this into my house! I hope you have learned your lesson you vile little heathen! With that his father threw the tattered Playboy into the fireplace.

Yes sir, I have learned my lesson. He obediently told his father, staying down on the floor to avoid any more blows.

As the pages began curling in the flames, the elder Eckhart turned back to George and snarled, That’s where you’ll be soon enough! The flames of hell will be swallowing your sinful body. It’s well past the time that you should be a man. If you need lessons to be a man, study your bible, not foul wickedness like that magazine.

His father stood looking down at him until George feared that a kick may be coming. At last the elder Eckhart turned and walked out of the room leaving George kneeling on the floor alone.

‘Indeed I’ve learned my lesson well you old bastard. Don’t ever, ever get caught.’ he thought as his father walked away cursing him.

George was a tall, strong and athletic young man. He probably could have overpowered his father with ease. But his father’s unrelenting domination over the last seventeen years held him back once more. No one ever made their own choices when old man Eckhart was around. You did as you were told, or you got a beating; it was indelibly imprinted onto the psyche every member of the family.

From George’s earliest memories, his father controlled everything that went on in the Eckhart household. He even decided the most trivial details like what would be served for dinner, and what his wife should wear to church. The Eckhart boys grew up knowing such constant, rigid control, that they simply assumed all fathers told their children how to fold their underwear and where to place it in the drawer.

The boys had often felt the pain of their father’s wrath. Even the smallest violation of his rules would get them a resounding slap. Anything more serious would bring the lash of the strap on their backsides. As they grew older, their punishments continued to get more violent and this time he again had used a closed fist on one of his sons.

His father’s last blow had opened a cut inside his mouth and the blood was beginning to make him feel sick. He ran for the bathroom knowing that a mess in his father’s precious living room would certainly get him another beating.

~ *** ~

George walked out of the house and was nearly out of sight when his younger brother saw him leaving. Running after him, Jim called out, Wait up! George, wait for me.

The Eckhart boys spent a lot of time together since their father made it difficult to have any close friends; they lived in a prison with no walls. Jim caught up to George but had to keep jogging to match his angry, rapid stride as they walked along the edge of the road.

Boy, Pa really whacked you today. I thought he was gonna kill you. Ma did too; she was crying in the kitchen.

Yeah, that old bastard has hit me one too many times. I ain’t gonna stand around and get beat up any more.

What ya gonna do? You can’t leave; you’re still in high school.

I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet. I just know I ain’t takin it any more. I might just bust him in the mouth if he tries to lay a hand on me again. I’m bigger than him and stronger. I could kick his ass anytime, and I will if he tries smackin me around again.

George! You can’t do that. You know what it says in the bible about respecting your parents. Pa’s being a father, that’s all. He was punishing you for having that Playboy; you knew you shouldn’t have that in the house. Look at Abraham; he was going to kill his son because God told him to do it.

That’s a bunch of bullshit, Jim. God don’t want anybody punishing anybody else. As far as I can see, God don’t really care much what we do. Nobody ever gets punished for anything they do except by other people. People love to punish, but I never saw anybody get punished by God. Have you?

What about when that tornado that Ma talks about hit the town. She said God punished a lot of people that time.

A lot of people suffered, but nobody was gettin punished. There were good people and bad people who suffered and lost their houses. Do you think bad people all built their houses in a row so God can bring a tornado in to punish them? Do you really think anybody was gettin punished?

I guess not, but the things you’re sayin sound really bad George. You’re scarin me. I never heard anybody call the bible bullshit before.

Well, I might be scarin you a lot more pretty soon. And I’ll scare a lot of other people too. You’ll see, I’m not gonna be anybody’s punchin bag. If there’s any punchin goin on, I’ll be doin it, you just watch.

The brothers continued to walk off the emotional stress they were feeling until they realized they might be late for dinner. Both of them broke into a fast jogging pace to get back home quickly enough to avoid another violent confrontation with their father.

~ *** ~

Saturday morning was the beginning of a beautiful, crisp fall day. The sun was shining and a light breeze kept everything fresh. Some of George’s classmates, he had no real friends, stopped by on their way to a pickup football game to see if George could join them.

Hey George! C’mon, we’re going to have a game over at the high school field. We could use another player! one of them called to him.

George started walking to the fence to explain why he couldn’t join them when his father’s voice boomed from behind him. George can’t play today. He has some responsibility in his life, unlike many of the children in this neighborhood.

Uh, ok, we’ll see ya later, George. The boys continued walking down the street, talking and laughing among themselves as they went.

Once more George clenched his jaw and remained silent.

George, his father, and his brother Jim were going to be painting the church bell tower. His father always volunteered his family to help out at the church, and George had spent many weekends working there while other kids played baseball or football.

The picture postcard church stood on a small hill near the edge of town. A stubbly, harvested farm field spread out behind it, and the quaint little church cemetery covered the land to the north side. Old maple trees broke up the rows of headstones and gave the place a protected, serene character. An elementary school, located on the south side and a small park with a picnic table was just across the road, completing the picture of small town Americana. An immense old maple tree in front, displaying its brilliant red and gold autumn coat, stood ready to welcome the folks to their Sunday services.

Good Morning! the pastor called to them as they approached the church. It’s always such a pleasure to see the Eckhart family.

Good morning Reverend Winters, the elder Eckhart answered. And thank you. It’s also a pleasure for us to help out here.

Well I can’t thank you enough. You go so far beyond what is expected. If all of our families were like yours, we would have the best congregation in the country. And these wonderful boys of yours, giving up such a beautiful Saturday morning. They are such a wonderful example to the rest of the children in our congregation.

Well Reverend, my boys aren’t angels, but I see that they live up to the responsibilities of life. They’ll be good men when they grow up.

Well I think you are being too humble. They’re better than most of the men of our congregation today, Harold. You should treasure those boys of yours. I just wish I could help you with the painting, I would love to work alongside of such good people.

Reverend, you just forget about that. You can’t be dragging heavy ladders around and climbing thirty feet in the air. You work on tomorrow’s sermon, and we’ll take care of the painting.

With that, the Eckhart family set about their work and the parson returned home.

George worked mechanically as he dreamed about taking charge of his world. As the end of his high school years approached, these thoughts were steadily gaining strength and moving from idle daydreams to real plans. He was feeling a steadily increasing urgency to start taking control of his life, or he would end up just like his father, a frustrated human cipher in control of nothing but trivialities.

"When I’m in charge, George mused, I’ll tell people what they have to do since most people are far too stupid to do anything right on their own. I will make the world a great place. I’ll help the good people who want to accomplish something but are oppressed by the jerks of the world. I’ll eliminate the problem people, the really stupid ones, the mean ones, and those damn people who always want to tell me what to do. And when there is any punishing to be done, I’m going to be the punisher."

Harold, I think it’s time for lunch, his mother called to his father, interrupting George’s private daydream.

Honestly woman, you have no mind at all. Do I have to tell you everything? Go home and get some sandwiches ready. Use the leftovers from that beef roast. We’ll be there as soon as George and I finish the steeple. Jim, start cleaning up, get the stuff put away in the shed. George, come here and hold the ladder while I get the last of that trim at the top of the steeple.

As his father started to climb the ladder, George told him, You shouldn’t talk to Ma that way. She’s trying to be nice. Why are you always so mean to people?

Hold that ladder and shut your mouth or I’ll show you what mean is. It’s God’s law that a man is in charge of his family and it’s God’s law that boys obey their father and don’t talk back. He snarled while climbing to the very top of the ladder.

While watching the little man climb he practiced his French as he thought, "Quelle aventure ! Une Puce dans sa voiture, tirait un petit éléphant!". His father, a little flea, trying to drag his world around. Ha, I could say it out loud and the asshole wouldn’t have a clue what I just said.

Jim was around the back of the church starting to clean up for lunch. The ladder was just a little too short for the job and George’s father, on the penultimate step, stretched as far as he could to paint the last of the trim at the peak of the little steeple while George held the ladder steady for him.

The church was small and the steeple was no more than thirty feet high. George was looking at the distance from where his father stood to the ground, and evaluating the potential of the situation.

"If the base of the ladder were to slip away to the left, the old bastard will fall to the right, landing on the cement entry area in front of the doors." He thought, "A thirty foot fall onto solid concrete will sure as hell kill him."

When he was absolutely sure there was no one watching, George pulled the ladder away to the left with all of the strength his lean, athletic body and a healthy dose of adrenalin could generate. The long wooden extension ladder was very heavy, and with his father’s weight on it, he was barely able to get it sliding. But he was strong, and slide it did. George held on tight as the old rough wood painfully tore the skin on his hands.

When it started to slide, the paint bucket and brush went flying as his father desperately sought any handhold. But nothing was there for his clawing fingers to catch and he plummeted to the ground, landing with a sickening thud in the center of the cement area.

Immediately George started screaming, Pa! Pa! Are you OK?

Hearing the screams and the clatter of falling objects, Jim came running around from the back of the church. George, what happened? What’s wrong?

Stunned at seeing his father on the ground, Jim froze, looking first at his father then at George.

Oh my God, Jim! The ladder started to slip and I couldn’t hold it. He screamed, holding up his bleeding hands for Jim to see.

They both ran to their father who had not moved since he hit the ground. George knelt down and saw that he was still breathing. He’s breathing! Jim, run quick to the parsons house and get help! Hurry!

Jim ran off to get help from the parson who lived past the cemetery, more than two hundred yards away. Jim vaulted over the fence and dashed through the headstones while George carefully put his knee precisely on his father’s throat and shifted all of his weight onto that leg. There was no struggle, he was already unconscious.

"I hope you have learned your lesson you old bastard," his thoughts screamed as he ground his knee into his father’s throat. He watched with satisfaction as his father’s chest and stomach jerked as his body tried to draw in a breath. After a few futile twitches, his body was still.

George knelt there until he saw Jim and the parson approaching the far side of the cemetery. It seemed like hours, but it was probably no more than a few minutes. Quickly he put his knee back on the ground and lifted his father’s head, cradling it in his arms.

Forcing tears to come, he started rocking back and forth lugubriously crying, Pa, Pa, answer me. Oh, Pa. He’s hurt really bad, he has to get to the hospital quick.

The parson knelt down beside him and said, Oh, George, you shouldn’t have picked up his head. If his neck is broken, that could make it worse. Let me help you put him back down very gently. I have an ambulance on the way already.

A moment later a siren could be heard in the distance. The paramedics worked diligently to get his heart beating and lungs working again but they were unsuccessful; Harold Eckhart had died.

George was surprised. He didn’t feel any compunction, no excited giddiness, and no fear of consequences. He just did what needed to be done, and the strongest emotion he felt was a little twinge of satisfaction with a job well done.

"Well, let’s see if God punishes me for that. I’m really not very worried." he thought as they took his father’s body away.

With the death of his father, hatred, the last emotion left in George’s disturbed psyche, receded into a deep dark crevasse. His father had succeeded in destroying any feelings and emotions that George may have had. Everything now was measured and emotionless, life was a job that had to be done, and happiness, love, fear and anger were for the weak people of the world.

There was an investigation of the death, but it was very quick and cursory. Everyone could clearly see what had happened. The investigating officer wrote his report identifying the unfortunate incident as an accidental death and filed it away.

~ *** ~

George’s timid, obsequious mother had never been involved in anything but cooking and cleaning house; his father had dominated everyone and everything in their house. She had no idea about what bills had to be paid or how much money was in the checking account. George doubted that she knew how to properly write out a check.

Now, responsible for all of the day to day problems as well as the multitude of special issues that had to be dealt with after the death of her husband, she was confused, frantic and in tears as she sat at the dining room table. Piles of papers and envelopes were in disarray on the table in front of her.

George put his arm around her shoulders and reassured her, Don’t worry Ma; I can help with all of this. Why don’t you go start dinner. I’ll sort through this stuff and take care of what needs to be done.

Oh George, she said between sobs, I just don’t know what to do. Your Pa always did all of this and I’m so lost. I don’t know what I would do without you to help us out.

As she returned to her comfort zone in the kitchen, George began sorting bills into one pile, legal documents in another, bank statements in another. But the insurance policy stopped him. ‘I didn’t know Pa had any insurance. Let’s take a look at this.’

He unfolded the policy and the payment receipts fell out on the table. Glancing at them he could see that the policy was paid and current. Searching through the pages of the policy he quickly determined that the policy provided seventy-five thousand dollars in basic coverage and double indemnity for accidental death.

‘A hundred and fifty grand! I can put that to good use.’ He thought as he carefully refolded the policy and put it away.

George’s mother had been so thoroughly conditioned to taking direction from a man that she immediately and gratefully accepted George as the new man of the house, and accepted his direction without question. And, of course, he encouraged and reinforced her dependence on him.

One of the first steps he made to arrogate his father’s role was to have his own signature added to the checking account. Once he had control of the account he could manage the money as he wished. He knew his mother would never look at a bank statement, and never question anything he told her. Then he could take care of all the financial issues, both his and the families, without suffering any interference from her.

Don’t worry Ma, I already talked to the bank and they have all of the papers ready. We’ll just stop in and sign a couple of papers. Then you won’t ever have to worry about this stuff again. I’ll take care of everything for you.

I just don’t understand why they need to have me come in there and sign papers, she fretted as she prepared to