Up the Musa Pusa with Whipsnade and the Ugly Baby

By John N Whittaker

I can't tell you what a relief it is to get this off my chest. For too long I have been constrained by the Official Secrets Act and the reluctance of Eliot Whipsnade to take the public into his confidence. But now that the Statute of Limitations has run out and Whipsnade can use the money, at long last I am able to provide a full accounting. I doubt there is anyone in the world who has not heard of Eliot Whipsnade, so widely reported is his crusade against the forces determined to destroy us. It is not too much to say that without his intervention our society would already have collapsed. Whipsnade's preference for anonymity is responsible in large measure for the media's zeal in his pursuit, and, of course, a lot of rubbish has been written about the man and his exploits. In fact, the real story is considerably more chilling than any of the shameless fabrications foisted upon an unsuspecting public.

We became acquainted when I accompanied Whipsnade to the jungles of Venezuela, where he had been sent on a mission. Whipsnade took a dislike to me and refused to discuss the nature of his business, or even our destination, fearing I intended to write derogatory articles about him upon our return. From the moment our plane landed on a make-shift runway in the jungle and throughout the appalling goings-on that we encountered in Musa Pusa, Whipsnade regarded me with suspicion and placed me in harm's way more than once, although I must admit that on one occasion he saved my life. My contribution to his success was negligible. That was to be expected. As I pointed out to him, a journalist's role is to observe and report, not to take sides, much less influence the course of events.

This book, the first of a series, recounts the horrors we faced in what I hope is a lucid and objective manner. Some may find the subject matter shocking. To one who experienced the ordeal first-hand that is entirely understandable.

--R.W.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John N Whittaker
• Release date: Aug 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370770656

John N Whittaker

Former Canadian Foreign Service Officer and Intelligence Analyst now living in Vancouver, Canada.

Book preview

WHIPSNADE: THE LEGEND AND THE MAN

Book One:

Up the Musa Pusa with Whipsnade

and the Ugly Baby

Roger Whetstone

Smashwords Edition

WHIPSNADE: THE LEGEND AND THE MAN

Book One: Up the Musa Pusa with Whipsnade and the Ugly Baby

Copyright © 2016 John N. Whittaker (writing as Roger Whetstone)

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Laura Shinn Designs

http://laurashinn.yolasite.com

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This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and 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 the author.

WHIPSNADE: The Legend And The Man is a work of fiction.

Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

DEDICATION

For my wife, Gertrude C. Whittaker, who

is unusually fond of Whipsnade.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

I would say to Robertson what an old tutor of a college said to one of his pupils: 'Read over your compositions, and where ever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out'.

—Boswell/The Life of Samuel Johnson

CHAPTER ONE

Eliot picked up a toy tractor and skidded it across his desk into the wastebasket. ‘One never knows the future,’ he said. ‘That is why planning ahead is so fraught with uncertainty.’

Granted, Eliot has a high forehead, aided and abetted by a bald head; granted also, he has a degree in theoretical physics from Harvard University and a family tree heavy with illustrious fruit; granted furthermore that his moustache is neither too ragged nor too neatly trimmed, but lies in a natural trajectory along his upper lip. Nevertheless I harbor misgivings about his acumen. Of course, I don’t like the guy, but let me be clear: it has nothing to do with the petty and lascivious rumors that persist about his mother, i.e., that Eliot Whipsnade was conceived in a Turkish bath when she bent over to pick up the soap. I repudiate this despicable slur out of hand and would vigorously refute the allegation, if its inaccuracy could be verified to my satisfaction.

Eliot regarded me with skepticism.

‘Possibly,’ he said, ‘the future is of no interest to you.’

‘The future will be here soon enough,’ I replied. ‘I’ll deal with it when it arrives.’

Whipsnade raised his eyes to the ceiling.

The week before, my editor had called me into his office.

‘Now see here,’ he informed me, ‘today is a watershed in