Killing America; The Great 911 Hoax: Carla Larsen Mystery, #6

By charles fisher

This is a novel. It is largely fiction, based on various theories concerning 911. It does contain a lot of factual information, however. I like a good conspiracy, but it has to be plausible. The official government report is anything but. I started with basics, just like I did with the Kennedy Assassination; the actual event. Keep in mind this was a low bidder  office building, not a reinforced bomb proof building. The 767 that supposedly hit the first tower left an entrance hole that looked  like something out of a Roadrunner cartoon.  How do you crash a 201 foot long, 400,000 pound airliner allegedly  going 500 mph into a flimsy 208 foot square building, and it doesn't come out the other side? Where the hell is the airplane? It only gets worse from there. Who was actually  behind the event? It sure wasn't Osama Bin Laden. Follow the money. That's what Carla does, and she discovers a very "believeable" scenario. There is a lot more to this event than meets the eye, and you have been lied to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393455776

Book preview

Al Dennison sat upright in bed, sweat pouring off him, crazy images flashing in his head. He looked at the clock radio; it was 8:12 AM. He grabbed the phone and called his wife Wendy.

United Global Research, she answered. How may I help you?

You get out of that building right now! Dennison yelled. I am not kidding!

What? Wendy laughed. What are you talking about?

You know me, Dennison said. You know what I can do. Get out of there right now. Immediately.

I can’t just walk off the job, Wendy huffed. I’ll be fired.

Better fired than dead, Dennison said.

What did you see? Wendy said.

A premonition; a bad one. Something is going to happen to that building, and I don’t want you anywhere near it. In fact, I don’t want either one of us near it. Get home as fast as you can; we’re going to Connecticut.

I have to tell my boss something, Wendy said.

Put him on the phone. Dennison spoke to Wendy’s boss for two minutes. By eight fifteen, the ten employees of Global Research were running for the Cortland Street Subway Station.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

September 11, 2001

8:46 AM

Uh oh, Carole said as she opened her breakfast. This doesn’t sound good. She had been listening to Don Imus on WFAN, and he had just said that MSNBC was flashing something on his monitor about an airplane hitting the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Kennedy! Get in here, Carole yelled. She then stuffed an entire pancake into her mouth.

Yes, oh fearless leader? Sergeant Pat Kennedy smiled as he came in. He unwrapped a hot dog and stared at Carole in disbelief.

Oorf, she mumbled, pointing at the radio. Lishen.

Turn it up, Kennedy said. I can’t hear over all the slurping and grunting.

Fluck you, Carole muttered, and turned up the volume.

Warner Wolf came on and described what had just happened. Something just hit the World Trade Center, he said. I think it was a plane. I heard it right over my head, and the explosion rocked the building. And I’m looking at it right now; the smoke is just billowing out of the World Trade Center. I mean, it’s horrible. You can see the fire, you can see the smoke, I mean it’s a monster hole.

Carole pointed at the TV and tossed Kennedy the remote. Puth on M eth M B Thee, she grunted as she shoveled another pancake into her mouth.

You should just write down what you want, Kennedy said as he turned on the TV. Say when. He flipped channels until Carole grunted and pointed. Good girl, Kennedy smiled as he unwrapped a second hot dog.

Chris Jansing, Gregg Jarrett, and Lester Holt were reporting for MSNBC. A live feed of the fire was on the screen behind them.

Get Carla in here, Carole said when she saw the smoke billowing out of the upper floors of the tower. Five minutes later, Carla arrived. She sat down, looked at the damage to the building, and shook her head.

Now we be in for it, she nodded. I seen this before.

When? Carole said as she shoveled eggs and sausage onto a pancake  and covered the mess with maple syrup. She grabbed the pancake by both edges and shoved half of the concoction into her mouth.

Why don’t you just get you a damn trough, Miss Piggy? Carla laughed.

Bluck off, Carole mumbled. She managed to swallow the huge amount of food and let out a roaring belch. There, that’s better, she grinned. Now I have room for more. Where did you see this?

In a dream, five years ago. It were about New York.

You should have alerted the authorities in New York.

And you should get you a Cat Scan, Carla sighed. Folks think I’m crazy as it is. I walk into the NYPD and tell ‘em some asshole is gonna wreck the World Trade Center, and I would be a permanent guest at the Creedmoor Loony Bin.

You’re a Lieutenant now, Carole said. They would listen to you. And Creedmoor isn’t that bad, she shrugged. I had a tour of the place. The sex offender wing is really interesting, she giggled. Some of those guys are cute.

Y’all wanna get your freak on in a psycho ward? Carla laughed. Even I ain’t that horny, and I still hold several state records.

Watch it, kid, you aren’t eighteen yet.

Don’t have to be, Carla smiled. Age of consent in Connecticut be sixteen, and I done wore that puppy out. In Kansas, it be if you got your second teeth, you be fair game. Had us a real nice little  business in the Orphanages, makin’ fake birth certificates in the print shop.

Look at that, Carole said, nodding at the screen. Somebody said it was a small plane, like a Piper Cub.

Piper Cub would bounce of that sumbitch and crash in the street, Carla said. You know how big them buildings be? 208 feet each side. Lookit the size of that hole in yonder wall.  Ain’t but 25 feet or so on either side of it. Wingspan of a 767 be 156 feet. That weren’t no damn Piper Cub. Weren’t no 767, neither.

Why not? Carole said as she prepared her last pancake disaster, as she called them.

Where’s the damn plane? Carla laughed. Damn things weigh 400,000 pounds. At that speed, that bad boy would have come out the other side of the building like a knife through butter, or Billy Joe Collins’ tongue up my........... never mind that. At 400 mph, that thing is going 586 feet per second. That means it would have took about a third of a second to go through that place and come out t’other side. It didn’t. Wasn’t nothing in the way to stop it, so where the hell is it?

How do you know how fast it was going?

Now you’re using your knot, Carla nodded. Like I said, that weren’t no 767. That be an aluminum skin airplane. At altitudes less than 10,000 feet, that airplane will disintegrate at speeds over 285 mph. Why, I do not know, but the engineer who gave me that information did. Had him a damn big propeller, too, she grinned.

Then it makes no sense. Unless the plane  was going a lot slower than they think.

Boys what seen the footage ten minutes ago estimated the speed at close to 500 mph. That be pure horse shit. Plane can’t do that, and it couldn’t be doing less than 160 mph because it would just fall out of the sky. And that were one hell of a maneuver to make for a hijacker. That’s like makin’ a left hand turn at 200 mph with a car.

This is what you warned my mother about, isn’t it, Carole said as she stared at the TV.

Yeah. She weren’t supposed to tell you about that.

She’s my mother. So, if it wasn’t a 767, what was it the people saw?

Have to give that some thought, Carla said. And you know who we got to ask about this.

Vito Antonelli came in, his new Captain’s  bars shimmering on the collar of his freshly starched white shirt, which was stained  with tomato sauce.

Read ‘em and weep, creep, he grinned at Carla. I still outrank your juvy ass.

You can kiss my juvy ass, Carla said. ‘Course good Eye-talians don’t do that, she smirked. Do they."

That’s like disgusting, Vito said. Sticking your  tongue in that. You know what comes out of there?

Your dick, if you’re lucky, Carla muttered.

Youse is still a pig and a slob, Vito sighed.

Thanks for noticing, Carla smiled. How the hell did you make Captain, anyway?

I is a victim of circumcision, Vito shrugged. Miss Capri made the spade an Assistant Chief of Police, because he got too much work to do keeping track of his hair curlers and nylons. So I moved up and took Sambo’s spot. Chief of Patrol. What’s this shit on TV?

An airliner hit the World Trade Center, Carole sighed. She looked at the clock; it was 9:03. Jesus! she yelled as United Airlines Flight 175, another 767,  crashed into the South Tower. Another one!

Cute illusion, Carla smiled as she watched the giant fireball erupt from the opposite wall of the building.

That’s the fuel exploding, Carole said.

Jet fuel is high grade kerosene. Them planes carry about 20,000 gallons. No way that much fuel would atomize in that closed span inside a building.  And where’s the damn plane? she grinned. Fireball blows a hole out the other side but the plane don’t follow it? Come on, this is bullshit.

How youse know what has to atom bomb? Vito shrugged. Youse is a little whore, not no scientific, he grinned.

Time for a math lesson, Guido, Carla grinned. Y’all best take off them pointy assed Guinea shoes, because you ain’t got enough fingers for this one.

Don’t take off your shoes! Carole yelled. I just ate.

Okay, try to wrap your cinder block head around this ‘un, Antipasto, Carla said. Jet fuel or just about any fuel got to mix with air in order to explode. Just like your carburetor or fuel injection does on your car. Otherwise, all it does is burn. 15 to 1 ratio be about right. Interior dimensions of that tower be 138 by 88 by ten feet high. That be 120,144 cubic feet of air on each floor. You got you 20,000 gallons of fuel, which at 15:1 needs 300,000 cubic feet of air. Y’all be short about 60 percent.

You’ve been reading up on this, haven’t you, Carole smiled.

Yeah. I got me a couple more premonitions along the line, and I seen me two big buildings next to each other. I looked into this.

Them douche bags will figure a way to blame the Guineas for this, Vito said with a wave of his hand. You’ll see.

Clarence Jackson stuck his head in the door. What be this, a girly gab fest? he exclaimed. You white motherfuckers best get to work. He was greeted by three upraised middle fingers.

We’re busy, Carole said. Somebody just flew two airliners into the World Trade Center.

Fuck the World Trade Center, Clarence grinned. As long as all the brothers got out, the rest of them rich white bastards can die for all I care. I ain’t living in Jew York.

What a humanitarian, Carole smiled. Do you know there could be as many as fifty thousand people working in those buildings?

How many of ‘em be white? Clarence said. You see where them planes hit? Ain’t no nigger stupid enough to go up on no eightieth floor of no tall building.

Yeah, because spooks can’t read the friggin’ elevator control panel, Vito grinned. Youse is stuck in the lobby with your shine box.

Blacks don’t go into tall buildings? Carole laughed. Where do you get this shit from?

Brother got to keep his priorities straight, Clarence shrugged. You be way up there, makes it hard to get away if the Man comes after your black ass.

"You are the Man," Carole said.

Not in New York, Clarence grinned. Brothers in New York be smart. Keeps they options open.

Asshole, Vito laughed. Youse is an Assistant Chief now? What’s next; they gonna make Flip Wilson governor?

Maybe, Clarence shrugged. We get a nigger governor, first thing he gonna do is deport all the Guineas. That means you, motherfucker, he grinned. You and all them white assholes in them towers. Burn, baby, burn, he said, raising his fist. Black power. Bet you ten dollars they blame this shit on a brother. Probably say the Four Tops hijacked them planes.

They ain’t smart enough, Vito said. Only thing youse monkeys  ever get to do in a plane is clean the shit house or shine the Captain’s shoes. Youse ever see a nigger pilot on a 797? Vito beamed.

Black man invented the airplane, Clarence said, trying not to laugh.

That was Orville Redenbacher and his sister, stupid, Vito laughed.

Before them there was two brothers in North Carolina. Tyrone and Willie Washington. They flew from Winston-Salem to New York with a load of hot cigarettes, in 1897. Them white boys stole the plans out of their house while they was gone and took all the credit.

You better alert Patrol to be on the lookout for people coming here from New York, Vito, Carole said. They will shut that place down, and the rats will try to get out before they do. Should I call somebody in New York for you, Lieutenant? she smiled at Carla.

Shit no, Carla said. I ain’t goin’ down there. This ain’t over yet.

It was almost over by 10:07, when the last hijacked plane crashed in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. At 10:28, the second tower collapsed into a heap of unexplainable dust and rubble. At 5:20, Tower number Seven collapsed for no good reason; BBC reporter Jane Standley announced the collapse 20 minutes before it happened. In the footage, the building was still standing behind her as she discussed the collapse.

Y’all been hornswaggled, Carla grinned as she got up to leave. Big time. You ain’t never gonna prove it, neither.

Larsen Residence

Laurel Dr.

Stratford, Connecticut

September, 2001

That was terrible, what happened Tuesday, Mary said. Just like that movie predicted. That Space Odyssey 2001.

No, mother, I don’t think so, Carole smiled. 

Well, somebody knew about this, Mary said. Carla knew.

Carla is babaloo, Carole said, twirling her finger next to her temple. She predicts something  new every week. Eventually, some of it is bound to come true just by chance.

Carla came in and sat down. Babaloo, eh? she smiled. Okay. I’ll remember that.

It took five years for your grand prediction to come true, Carole said. Something bad will happen in New York. Like that’s a surprise. Something bad happens in New York every day.

Y’all best watch your mouth, Shorty, Carla nodded. Less somethin’ bad happens in Stratford. Like your ass, and my foot.

The President will fix this, Carole nodded. You’ll see.

That asshole? Carla laughed. You see the blank stare dummy look on his face when they told him what happened? That boy be retarded. I seen retards in my day, and that be one. He be straight out of I Can’t Tie My Own Shoes University.

He went to Yale and Harvard.

"That’s because his crooked, no good son of a bitch Daddy paid the way. Now there’s somebody you should be lookin’ at; you like that JFK crap, take a gander at that old bastard. Onliest human alive who claims he can’t remember where he was when JFK got his. JFK Junior had the goods on his ass, too. He were about to publish it in George Magazine, when all of a sudden his plane went down in the ocean. One thing you got to learn, Pixie, there ain’t no coincidences. You see two dead Kennedys and a live Bush, you got you a problem worth lookin’ at."

Go solve it, Carole shrugged. You know so much.

Can’t be done. Them crooks made sure all the good evidence disappeared, and the better evidence never got collected. Forty years from now  you’ll be sittin’ in some rest home with them funny green paper slippers and a Johnny Coat, mumblin’ about Lee Harvey Oswald while some gal shovels oatmeal into yer yap.

Maypo, Mary corrected. Shorty always wanted her Maypo.

Still does, Carla grinned. Got her a box  of that crap in her office.

That’s good stuff, Carole snapped.

So Carla, you don’t think President Bush can fix this? Mary said.

Nope.

Why not?

Because he ain’t smart enough. The people who are smart enough probably did it. Bush will do what he does best; follow orders and start a couple of damn wars in the Middle East. Al Queda my ass. Fifteen of them 19 boys was Saudis, bought and paid for. Ain’t none of ‘em dead, either. You’ll see.

How do you know all this? Mary said.

Long time ago, and I mean real long, a very good lawman taught me how to catch crooks. Worked like a charm, too. You know, like findin’ out how the magician saws the lady and half and she comes out in one piece at the end of the show.

What did he teach you? Mary said.

Become one, Carla grinned. Learn how to think like them, and act like them. I can look a crook in the eye, and he will look away every time, for he has seen his fate. That’s what I seen on Georgie Boy’s face. He is bein’ run by somebody, and he ain’t got the stones to stand up for what’s right.

You think the President was behind this? Mary laughed.

Nope. Like I said, he ain’t smart enough to do something like this. He does follow orders real good, though. He’ll kick some ass overseas, and then we’ll be there forever. Keeps the war  machine well oiled. That’s what them bastards like.

But this is our country, Mary said.

Sure it is, Carla said. You keep thinkin’ that; wear your little flag lapel pin, go out and vote for one of the two crooked bastards they give you to choose from, pay your taxes, and they’ll let you have your little house and your stupid job in a defense plant if you is lucky enough to have one, and you’ll be fine. Just don’t make no waves.

Carole used to do that, Mary giggled. She used to steal my nylons and high heels, and she’d go down to the corner and wave at the cars when they drove by.

I did not! Carole shrieked. That was Halloween, she giggled.

I always wondered why she came home with cash instead of candy, Mary mused. So Carla, we can’t protest this or bring it to the attention of our elected representatives?

Don’t waste your time, Carla said. Besides, what you gonna bring?

Demand they do something. You said don’t make waves. Why not?

You ain’t qualified, Carla smiled. Leave it to them what are. That’s me. I make waves. I am the eternal waters of God, and it’s about to be high tide for these bastards. I have had it with this shit, and I intend to do something about it. News at eleven.

Otis AFB

Barnstable County

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

September 11, 2001

9:15 A.M.

What do you mean, I can’t come into the base? Colonel Bart Smith exclaimed. I am the base commander! And who the hell are you? 

Lieutenant Jones, the man said, his hand drifting to his sidearm. He was dressed in black fatigues and wore sunglasses. Air Force Special Operations Command. This base is closed, per orders of the Vice President of the United States.

But two of my men just flew out of here less than an hour ago! Smith said.

They will be redirected. They will land at Westover, Jones smiled. The Vice President has designated this base as a critical installation for recovery and analysis of critical evidence from the New York incident. You are denied entry, Colonel. Now move out, Sir.

And if I refuse?

I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sir, Smith said. Don’t make me show you why not.

Smith looked at Jones for a long minute, then turned around and left. Two MPs in white Jeeps followed him.

Just in time, a man in the tower grinned. Here they come.

At the back of the base, two Caterpillar D-9 bulldozers continued to dig a huge pit; it was now some one hundred feet long, fifty feet wide, and forty feet deep.

The Air Controller got on the radio and gave directions. One by one, the four airliners appeared and landed on what was known as Runway 14/32, which was some 9500 feet in length, more than what was required for a commercial airliner. They taxied off the runway to two giant hangars, which were now empty. Men in black fatigues, carrying M-16s, directed them to their parking areas.

No one exits the aircraft until the President gives clearance, the Air Controller said into his mike. Each pilot acknowledged. Your country thanks you for your service, he said, trying not to laugh. The training exercise is a success.

Thank God, one of the passengers on American Airlines Flight 11 said. This has been a great inconvenience. Although it does pay well.

Shortly after takeoff, a young Air Force Lieutenant named Jones had come out of the cockpit. We are conducting a training exercise about hijacking, he smiled. We are going to take you to an Air Force Base on Cape Cod after the exercise is complete. After you have been cleared and paid, you will be on your way to your original destination; Los Angeles. The amount of time that you will lose should be no more than three hours. For your cooperation, each one of you will be paid ten thousand dollars. Cash, he grinned. Hundred dollar bills. In return for which you must swear not to tell anybody the nature of the exercise. If you are questioned, just say the ship had to return to the airport for a routine mechanical problem.

Each of the other four ships received the same speech from a similar Lieutenant named Jones. A few people grumbled at first, but the promise of a stack of cash soon changed their attitudes. Little did they know what fate awaited them as they sat in the planes in those hangars on Cape Cod.

United States Air Force Test Facility

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

Office of General James Cagney

September 11, 2001

No! Cagney shouted. No way. You are not coming out here. 

I reached the age of consent, Carla said.

I’ll think about it, Cagney said. What do you want? This place is a madhouse . I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Jesus, I shouldn’t have said that to you, he sighed.

Well, if you let me penetrate your air space, I’ll let you penetrate me, Carla grinned. That way there will be no doubt who’s coming or going. I want to discuss the 911 incident with you.

That is not your jurisdiction. The incident happened in New York. Why would a Connecticut Detective want to get involved?

I like to get involved, Carla said. And I’m a Lieutenant now.

And I am now a four star General, Cagney grinned.

Oooh, Court Martial me, Daddy. Handcuff me in a cell and spank me, and make me do bad things.

You are one sick bastard, Cagney laughed. I suppose you want to bring the Tampon Twins with you.

Yes, I do. Carole is her usual doubting self. She needs some convincing.

I really have no information about this fiasco. It doesn’t fit my mission. This is terrorism. Go talk to the State Department.

You can’t be serious, Carla laughed. Them boys probably engineered this. You got information, you just don’t want to give it up. I got something to trade. I just got me three hundred dollars’ worth of horny underwear from Devil’s Lingerie.

Thursday, Cagney said. I’ll clear you in. Not that it has anything to do with your underwear, of course.

Of course not, Carla said. We’ll see how y’all feel about that if I tell you I didn’t bring it with me. Bye, Gary. Dream about me.

I will. And don’t call me Gary.

Fess up, boy. You charge people to sign his autograph.

Well, I do need the money, Cagney said. Now get off my phone.

Weren’t that a rock song from when you was young? Get off My Phone and Get on My Face?

Bye, Cagney said, and hung up.

––––––––

Otis AFB

Barnstable County

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

September 11, 2001

10:15 A.M.

Only ten people? Senior Master Sergeant Jones said as he perused the list. 

Correct, Colonel  Jones said. Get them off those planes, Sergeant. Unless you want to be a Private again.

No, Sir, Jones said. I mean Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir. Jones dispatched four Senior Airmen to the four planes. The Senior Airmen returned five minutes later with the ten people, who gave Colonel  Jones the thumbs up as they were taken away. Colonel  Jones motioned to the four Senior Airmen. He looked at Sergeant Jones. You are dismissed.

Yes, Sir, Sergeant Jones said, and quickly left the building. Colonel  Jones turned to the Senior Airmen. Looks like old home week, he smiled. You are all named Jones, like me. Congratulations. You are all enlisted men with the rank of E-4. You are all about to become Second Lieutenants. All you have to do is your duty.

What’s that, Sir? Senior Airman Jones said.

This, Colonel  Jones said, holding out a box. This is the final part of the exercise, for which you were all hand  picked.

The box contained eight olive drab canisters with pull fuses. You will each take two of these, board the aircraft, and set them off. You will then depart the aircraft. You will wear your protective masks. This is the simulation part, he shrugged. Like tear gas, which a hijacker would use to take control of the ship.

Yes, Sir, the Airmen said. Right  away, Sir. They took the canisters and headed off to the airliners. Colonel Jones turned and nodded at two Captains who were playing cards at a table. They got up and followed the Airmen.

The four Airmen boarded the airliners, set off the canisters, and ran down the exit ramps. They made sure the doors were locked behind them. At the bottom of the ramps, they saluted the Captains who had followed them.

Good job, the Captains said.

United States Air Force Test Facility

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

Office of General James Cagney

September, 2001

Evil,  filthy  little slob, Carole growled as she shoved Carla into the office. I don’t believe you did that.

What did she do now? Cagney sighed as Carla sat down, her skirt riding up high on her long silky legs.

She was spanking her monkey in the back seat of the Cessna with some big sex toy she brought with her. It was truly disgusting, Carole huffed. I never saw anything like it before.

Y’all be jealous because I bought the last one at Hard Harry’s House of Horny Harlots, Carla grinned. And I got all the extra strength batteries the boy had, too. Ya’ll got shit. He told me you come in there all the damn time. Asked him if he  could get y’all a jackhammer.

I did not, Carole huffed. I went in there to see what he has for sale, because we have an ordinance now. No businesses in Stratford that promote sexual activity.

Y’all better shut down that Town Hall then, Carla said, because most of the town be taking a hard ride up the old keister.

Jackhammer? Cagney grinned. Really, Carole? What would you do with one of those?

My driveway is old, Carole shrugged. It needs to be excavated and re-laid with new ......it is hot in here? she giggled.

I kin tell ya what you do with one of them contraptions, Carla nodded. We took up a collection at the Orphanage and bought us a used one. You attach you a big old rubber peety to the end, fire ‘er up, and ride that bad boy to heaven. Lost us money on the  deal though, because Bobby Lee Jackson stole the damn thing out of the barn, locked herself in her room, and burned the damn thing out in two days. Gave her a good burial, though. Never saw a gal smile like that.

Stop! Carole yelled. You are a sick, crazy person. I wanted to see if Harry had the proper licenses to sell construction equipment.

Yeah, and I got beach front property in Arizona to sell y’all.

Can we get to the subject at hand? Cagney grinned. No pun intended.

Ain’t gonna be no puns hereabout, Carla grinned. She took five thousand dollars in cash out of her bag and set it on Cagney’s desk. Today be Thursday. This here money says you will not report to work on Friday. If I win, you tell me what I need to know on Monday after y’all get out of Sick Bay. If you win, I got to go back to the Orphanage for more trainin’.

You’re on, Cagney grinned. You are about to get the four star experience.

Boy, you are about to learn what Intensive Care be all about, Carla grinned.

United States Air Force Test Facility

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

Office of General James Cagney

September, 2001

Monday Morning

Ya don’t look so hot, Skippy, Tracy grinned. Ya run in to something ya couldn’t handle?

I can handle anything, Cagney whispered. I’m a General. He moved his I.V. stand a bit to the left and took a handful of meds. Where’s my breakfast? he grinned. Last thing I ate was on Friday.

And I bet it didn’t have no nutritional value, Tracy said. When you old guys gonna learn? You’re what, 53? And you want to take on a bet with a seventeen year old sex psycho?

I’m 39, just like Carole, Cagney said as an Airman brought him a tray of food. Right, Carole?

You, me, and Jack Benny, Carole giggled.

I jacked his Benny real good, Carla nodded. Prob’ly won’t be able to use it for a month.

Who’d need to, Cagney sighed as he uncovered his breakfast dish.

That looks good, Carole giggled. What is that? It looks like poached eggs and oatmeal.

Soft food for a soft General, Carla grinned. Boy don’t got enough strength left to chew solid food.

Those eggs remind me of Alice Cranston, Carole said. Only they don’t have worms and pus.

Bastard, Cagney said. Here. He pushed the tray across to Carole, who eagerly attacked it. You never could pass up a free meal, could you?

Nope, Carole said as she dove in. You got any toast?

Boy look like he be the toast, Tracy said. Ya care to take on the Irish next?

I’m going to become a Priest, Cagney sighed. Father Cagney. Then I’ll have an excuse not to.......you know.

Ya’ll took you a flight on the Carla Space  Shuttle, Carla grinned. You’ll get over it in a week or so. Might even want  another ride.

I doubt it. I wish I could believe you, but I don’t, he grinned.

Thank you, Mr. Joshua, Carla said. He got his in the end, if you remember.

So did you on Friday, Cagney grinned. Why are you here, anyway? It can’t just be to teach me that I am not up to the task of keeping up to a nymphomaniac teenager.

Ya’ll got a bigger problem that that, peckerwood, Carla nodded. You got a country about to come apart at the seams. This 911 shit be out of control, and it ain’t right. Nothing about it be right. When be the last time y’all saw two skyscrapers disappear into a fountain of dust?

Cagney looked away.

Thought so, Carla said. You best start talking, boy, or you and me will go at it one more time.

There are........ things we have, Cagney sighed, involuntarily putting his hand over his groin. Bad things. They can do that. I can’t say anything else.

Boy wants another go-around, Carla grinned, putting her feet up on Cagney’s desk, her legs open just enough. You take you a good look, boy. That be the No Panties Express, and it got your name on it. Mmm mmm  good, she grinned. Better than  a strawberry sundae. You had you a taste of that Friday. I figger your heart cannot stand another night of me. Now talk, boy. What’s this shit we got?

They are ........ weapons. We learned this from the ships we recovered. They are called Directed Energy. They can focus all their strength on something and disintegrate it.

I can do that, Carla grinned as she bobbed her foot up and down. You wanna see how? Involves nylons and whipped cream.

I can’t, Cagney gasped. Not this week.

Who is in charge of this shit, boy? Tracy said. Best tell us now, or we’ll lock ya in yer room with the Princess of Poony, and that’ll be the end of ya.

Downstairs, Cagney gurgled as Carla fiddled with her stocking. Cripes, I never thought I’d want to be celibate.

Who we got to see? Not Bruno, Tracy said.

No; his name is Bartram. Professor Rick Bartram. He is on Level Eight.

Ain’t no Level Eight, Tracy said. Elevator stopped at Seven, where Bruno got all that shit locked up.

There is a Level Eight, Cagney grinned. We call it The Apocalypse Level. End of Days.

I got the End of Days right here, Carla smiled as she spread her legs. You feel like dying today, boy?

Not me, Cagney said. I learned my lesson. You’ll need this, Cagney said tossing a card across the desk. Yours won’t work. Nobody’s will. Not even Rick’s. We change the codes on a daily basis; it’s that secure. I don’t believe I’m doing this, he sighed.

That’s what you said Friday night, Carla grinned. You’ll get over it, but you’ll never get over me. Nobody does. It’s just my special little gift.

Where does this come from? Cagney squeaked. Carla pointed up.

So as thou shalt know me, so shalt thou love me and honor my people. No other like me shall have come before me, nor any after me who hath my spirit. Choose as thy will, but always honor my Father. Do you love me, Gary? Carla smiled.

I got to think about that, Cagney said.

Don’t think too long, Carla nodded. Things are already going against you. We shall return. Order some Maypo, she shrugged. I hear that’s a lot easier to eat than pussy. Don’t taste as good, though.

Otis AFB

Barnstable County

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

September 11, 2001

10:35 A.M.

––––––––

Thank you, Sir, Senior Airman Jones said. What now?

Report to the Colonel and he’ll swear you in, Lieutenant, the Captain grinned.

Yes, Sir, the boy smiled. The four of them turned around; when they were six feet away, the two Captains pulled their Berettas and shot the four of them dead.

Ten minutes later, two more men in black fatigues and gas masks boarded the airplanes, along with the two Captains. The doors to the hangars opened, and the new pilots started the engines. They taxied over to the back of the property, and stopped near the massive pit the dozers had dug. The pilots shut down the engines and put out the escape ramps. Four men waited at the bottom of each ramp; the two men and the Captains started sliding the corpses down the ramps. The men at the bottom grabbed them and threw them into the pit.

This one looks familiar, one of the Captains on board Flight 77 said. I saw her on TV all the time.

She still warm? the other man grinned. The Captain stuck his hand up the woman’s skirt.

Yup, he said. Too bad we don’t have some spare time, or we could give her a good sendoff, he sighed as he tossed the woman down the ramp. Lastly, the four Senior Airmen joined the bodies below.

When the job was complete, the four pilots took the planes back to the hangars, then reported back to Colonel Jones. The twenty four men who had unloaded the airliners and the four pilots were told by Colonel Jones to board a small school bus to be taken to Westover. As they waited for the drivers, the Captains appeared with welders and quickly sealed the doors.

Hey! One of the occupants yelled. What the fuck is going on?

He soon found out; a D-9 appeared and pushed the bus into the pit with the 251 corpses as Colonel Jones watched. All that were left now near the pit were the two Captains and Colonel Jones. The Lieutenant who had manned the gate, the Air Traffic Controller, and the two bulldozer operators were having breakfast in a trailer nearby.

Sorry, boys, Colonel Jones smiled, and pushed the button on a radio controller. The trailer exploded and burst into flames. One of the Captains pushed the wreckage into the pit. Burn it, Colonel Jones said. The Captains threw about forty thermite devices into the pit. An hour later, they started the dozers and started filling the pit with the dirt that had created it. The thermite continued to make its own oxygen and burn under ground. They then graded it with small machines and used leaf blowers to cover the fresh dirt with the fall foliage on the ground. By noon, the area looked as if it had never been touched.

United States Air Force Test Facility

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

Level Eight

September, 2001

––––––––

What are you doing in here? Professor Rick Bartram screeched. Nobody is supposed to be in here! Sometimes I don’t even think I’m supposed to be in here. 

Relax, Carla said as she looked around. Cagney gave me his card. Along with most  of his body fluids.

I heard he was sick. What happened to him?

Me, Carla said. He’ll live; don’t you worry none about him. Where you from, boy? she smiled as she eyed Bartram up and down. You is one handsome son of a gun.

Yale, Bartram stammered as Carla came closer, her perfume wafting over him.

Jesus in heaven,  look at this, Tracy laughed as she pointed at a room off to the side. It be Rubber Rhonda.

There in the room, laid out on a bed, was one of Rocco’s Love Dolls. She was dressed in trashy lingerie, and showed some obvious signs of overuse.

You been a bit rough on yer Silicone Slut, ain’t ya, boy? Tracy giggled. She got bite marks on her...

We do not have females down here, Bartram snapped. I don’t even get to participate in Hooker Night. That’s how secure this place is. Sometimes I wish I was dead, he sighed. I never would have signed up for this had I known I’d be some sort of prisoner for the rest of my career. I have no life.

Carole went over and peered into the room.

My God, she giggled. What the hell did you do to that thing?

Never mind, Bartram huffed. You try going without any human contact for ten years.

Hell, Shorty got that beat, Carla laughed. She ain’t had none since Nixon were President. So you been lickin’ and stickin’ Vinyl Vivian, huh, boy? Maybe you need you the real thing to straighten your ass out. Look at you; six foot two, blond, gray eyes, nice build. What kind of weapon you packing, son? Carla grinned.

You want to find out? Bartram grinned. You’re hot. Be careful what you ask for, because you might not live through it.

I take that as a personal challenge, Carla nodded.

I know the guy who made your girlfriend, Carole giggled. He’s in Bridgeport. You want a replacement?

Sure, but who’s going to pay for it? This one was flown in special on one of our transports for Las Vegas that brings in the employees who work the non-secure levels. Everybody thought she was real, he smiled. The government found out what the expense was for and denied any further expenditures for such things.

I can fix that, Carole smiled. You got an outside line?

Sure. Over there. But you have to go through the Operator. All outside calls have to be approved by General Cagney.

Not a problem, Carole said. She dialed Rocco’s number and waited. The Operator came on line.

Larsen? he laughed. You have to be kidding with this call. The government won’t pay for any more Plastic Poony.

I’m paying for it, Carole snapped. Cagney will approve the call. If he can talk, she giggled.

Wait one. The Operator came back on a minute later. Okay, you can make the call. Remember, you are under the NSA Oath. Do not discuss anything about the facility. The call went through, and was put on the P.A. system.

Rocco picked up on the third ring.

Yo, like is that youse, Chief? How they hanging?

Down around her belly button, Tracy giggled.

You shut up, O’Neil, Carole laughed. I need to place an order, Rocco. And they better be cheap, too. In both ways. I need three girl dolls.

Yo, like Carole, the Rockster is disappointed. You didn’t go to the Clamato side of town, did you? I know you ain’t like the hottest chicken in the cage, but youse could probably get a guy. Maybe somebody  who don’t see so good, capisce?

They are not for me, you illiterate, insufferable crook bastard, Carole seethed. And what’s with the chicken cracks?

Chickens got cracks? Rocco said. I got to look into that. I could like have a whole new line of dolls. You know, Rooster Boosters or something. How about a name? Youse is smart.

Cluck You, Carole giggled. Never mind me. This is for a........ friend. He works for some people we both know; I did not have sexual.....

Oh, I know who that is. Is this like related to what the Rockster did for that other thing there?

No. Sort of. Maybe. I can’t talk about it. We both took the Oath. Now, what do you have? He likes dirty, filthy little teenage tramps, Carole said as Carla licked Bartram’s neck and gave her the bird.

I got the School Girl line, Rocco said. Any pervert’s dream. You know, the plaid skirt with the white shirt and tie, the braids or pigtails, and like yabbos you’d die for.

Yabbos? Carole giggled. Isn’t that some sort of fruit from South America?

Yeah, Rocco grinned. Big, juicy melons.

Okay, send three of them. Dress them up in some of that trashy underwear those whores and pigs like to wear. Not that I’d know about that, of course, she said.

I believe that, Rocco laughed. That’s like putting a negligee on Grandpa McCoy’s mule. Nobody wants to see that.

You wait until I get back home, Carole hissed. I’m going to pay you a visit, you bastard.

How’s Lars doing? Rocco said.

Never mind Lars. He’s police evidence in my custody.

Oh, your custody. I figured he was in something you got. Is that what they call it now?

Shut up. Now comes the good part. How much? This is your patriotic duty; remember that.

Three little pigs, Rocco said. I got to go to the Middle School and get some models. Them girls today is bad kids. They’ll do anything for cash.

You go near a school and I’ll have you burned at the stake, Carole said.

Oh. Then the Rockster will have to like make it up from pictures or something.

Use your sister, Carole giggled. How much?

Well, my usual price is like $1500 each, but youse can get a discount. How about four large?

How about one large and I don’t lock you up? Silicone doesn’t cost that much.

Yo, like I got expenses here. Design, molding, makeup painting, clothes, fake eyes and hair, shit like that.  Plus I got like a mortgage, taxes, heat, lights, and insurance. My break even price would be like three grand.

Two grand and Tracy will suck your dick, Carole giggled.

Hey, ya bleedin’ midget bastard! I’ll do no such thing. You suck it, you like it so much.

All right, Carole sighed. Three grand it is. I’ll arrange for the Men in Black to come pick them up. How long do you need?

Two weeks.

Okay, the customer should be recovered by then, Carole said, eyeing Carla, who was giving Bartram a vicious lap dance. She hung up and eyed Tracy. Can’t even blow somebody for Uncle Sam? I’ll remember that. And you get off that dude! she yelled at Carla. We’re here for information, not  for you to entertain your crotch.

Boy challenged me, Carla said as Bartram’s hands went under her blouse. Didn’t you, boy? she grinned. You like them 34Ds? You wanna see what I can do with ‘em? You best give up that information while you are still alive.

Anything you want, Bartram gasped. Just give me one night with you.

"One night with you, Carla sang, is what I'm now praying for; the things that we two could plan, would make my dreams come true. Elvis done that song. You could be deader than him when I get done with you, boy. Y’all picked the worst ride at the Orphanage Carnival. You got you a deal. Now talk to us. She got off him and sat down.

What do you want to know? And who are you people? Bartram gasped.

We are Detectives from Stratford, Connecticut, Carole smiled. I am the Chief of Detectives, Tracy is the Assistant Chief, and this filthy little whore is a Lieutenant. I went to high School with Gary.

Who the hell is Gary? Bartram exclaimed.

Cagney. We called him that because he looks like Gary Busey.

Oh, that. He doesn’t like it when you tell him that. But why are you here?

We want to know how two buildings can be turned into dust. You do know what buildings we’re talking about, don’t you?

Whoosh! Carla said, throwing her hands in the air. Just like that, something big, tall, and hard explodes. I can make you do that, she grinned. Only better  not be not dust that comes out.

I don’t know anything about what happened in New York, Bartram squeaked as Carla crossed her legs. Nobody here knows about that. Honest.

Lyin’ sack of shit, Carla said. You want some of me? You better fess up, boy. You are in charge of these weapons. If you want me to discharge your weapon, you best tell us who got control of this shit you morons made.

People, Bartram squeaked.

Really? Carole said. I thought it might be a Labrador Retriever.

People who are.........above this place.

Ain’t nobody above this place, Carla nodded. Cagney said so, and I believe him a lot more than I believe you. Now tell the truth boy, or the only thing that’s gonna be sittin’ on your face tonight is a wash cloth.

The....... you don’t understand, Bartram sighed. This place is funded by the Pentagon, the CIA, and a Black Ops budget approved by Congress through the NSA. God himself couldn’t figure it out. That is intentional, so nobody can ever be held liable if something goes wrong. Our work has to be approved by certain people before we get money.

What people? Carole said.

I don’t know. Nobody does. That’s how they do it, Bartram said. They keep it secret through some bullshit Act of Congress that forbids anybody from talking. It’s the perfect scam. Do anything you want, but nobody pays for what happens.

Y’all been invited to the wrong party, boy, Carla said. In the world I come from, everybody pays for what they done wrong. Ain’t no exceptions. Never has been, never will be. Who is in charge of this Congress bullshit? Somebody got to have some answers, and I intend to get them.

Senator Bart Franko from Massachusetts  is the ranking member of the Senate Arms Committee, Bartram said. He runs that committee. They approve everything. And I mean everything. They probably don’t even know what they are approving. They just sign off on it if it looks good. Billions, he sighed. For what? For my research I get $175,000 per year to be shoved into this hole.

You done good, boy, Carla grinned. Tonight, you will be shoved into an entirely different hole, the likes of which you ain’t never seen before. You got an assistant? Because you will not be coming to work for  a good while. Now show us them weapons.

There, Bartram said as he turned on a TV screen. There it is. This is the M9904 Particle Beam Weapon. Your tax dollars hard at work. Watch this, he grinned as he fast forwarded the video.

A film of a building came up; it looked like an old hotel. Something flew over the hotel, then stopped. It was very faint. A red line came down from the thing and the hotel erupted into a fountain of dust, just like the twin towers had. There you go, Bartram said.

What was that thing over the hotel? Carole exclaimed.

Something we got from Peru, Bartram snickered. Ask Cagney. He lost a lot of his men bringing that thing back here. They put up quite a fight. In the end, we got the craft and the technology. Took us over ten years to figure it out, but we did.

You mean you did, Carole said.

Yeah. I was the head of the team. What did I know, he shrugged. I was just a starry eyed kid with a fancy degree who thought he could help the government save the world.

Picked the wrong side, Carla smiled. Most people do, except them that know better. You think they used this thing on them buildings?

I know they did, Bartram said. There is no doubt in my mind. Nothing else can turn a building into dust. Nothing.

Well now, boy, Carla grinned. "You just earned you a night on the Carla Love Train. You other bastards shag ass; I will report back to Gary in the