What If ... The Conspiracy Was Real

By G. W. Steen

PROPHECY FULFILLED—
The conspiracy theories are hidden agendas.
Maggie Weiss, a vibrant, free-thinking, grown-up 'child of the '60's', was an only child, born of German immigrant parents, and although inquisitive to the extreme, her heritage was never discussed.
After graduation she applies to the University of Munich and is accepted. She heads to Europe; her goal, to study international journalism, but is soon drawn to, and delves into, her family's history. What she discovers sets her on a frightening and dangerous journey.

Many years come and go before Maggie decides to pen her life story. Soon realizing that the world now isn't the one she grew up in, she wonders why so many have chosen to ignore the obvious.
When an unfortunate accident changes her life forever, her confining disability leads her down a path of secrets, lies and betrayal.
As she, along with her fellow journalist and companion, Jake Rigley, uncover a radical plan aimed at destroying the most powerful nation on earth, the growing evidence is quickly compiled. Their days become more treacherous; they're plagued with anonymous phone calls threatening bodily harm and multiple attempts to eliminate them by various other means.
Yet, they ignore every warning; the irrefutable data they uncover proves, beyond any doubt, that the 'so-called' conspiracies are more than just 'theories', they're indeed shocking fact.
Will anyone believe them?
Will they survive or will they be silenced?
Can the nightmarish outcome be prevented?
Or, even worse, will history repeat itself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. W. Steen
• Release date: Jun 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201021849

G. W. Steen

Gretchen W. Steen was born in Wilmington, Delaware in 1952. Literally a dragon herself, born in a ‘Year of the Dragon’ according to the Chinese calendar, her interest spread to dragons from all areas of the world. The myths, legends and persona surrounding these creatures led to a deeper fascination with the beast. Along with her love of fiction, fantasy and romance, her dragon-tale came to life. Ms. Steen, a mother and grandmother, and long time resident of Pennsylvania, now lives in Pensacola, Florida. Her writing was delayed but never forgotten during the devastation and traumatic aftermath of Hurricane’s Ivan and Dennis, which targeted Pensacola in 2004 and 2005. After a 5-year pause, the dystopian conspiracy tale, "What If...The Conspiracy Is Real?" is finally finished. A tale to make you think ... "Maybe it could happen."

Book preview

WHAT IF ...

THE CONSPIRACY

WAS REAL?

Text copyright © 2020 G. W. Steen

Cover copyright © 2020 G. W. Steen

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Table of Contents

Dedication

CH ~ I ~  Prologue

CH ~ II~  It Turned Green

CH ~ III ~  In The Balance

CH ~ IV ~  Devastating News

CH ~ V ~  Liver and Onions

CH ~ VI ~  Bits and Pieces

CH ~ VII ~  Out of the Darkness

CH ~ VIII ~  Reconciliation

CH ~ IX~  Questions

CH ~ X ~  Confession

CH ~ XI ~  Deliverance – A New Direction

CH ~ XII ~  Premonition

CH ~ XIII ~ Reunion and Introductions

CH ~ XIV ~  Homecoming

CH ~ XV ~  Suspicions Aroused

CH ~ XVI ~  The Reveal

CH ~ XVII ~  Proof

CH ~ XVIII ~  Stratagem

CH ~ XIX~  Dangerous Journey

CH ~ XX~  Eluding Capture

CH ~ XXI~  The Best Chance ... Total Disclosure

CH ~XXII ~  At Cross-Purposes

CH ~ XXIII ~  Covert Escape

CH ~ XXIV ~  Tragic Confirmation

CH ~ XXV ~  Guardian ... or Angel

CH ~ XXVI ~ A Reprieve

CH ~ XXVII ~ An Avowed Promise

About the Author

Dedication

This project, begun over eight years ago, is the result of a flash fiction short story I wrote for ‘Apocalypse Week’ back in 2012.  It sparked interest from my fellow writers, and it was suggested that I create an entire story around this fictional piece. And so it began, with more than a few ‘comparisons’ to my own life. For those who know me, they’ll figure it out. For those who don’t, enjoy this journey. Different from the dragon fantasy I’ve already finished, this is more relevant to the world today.

I would like to thank my family, friends, my proofreaders and editors, who shall all remain nameless; you know who you are and I thank you. And to those who never gave up on me, and through their own ongoing trials, were steadfast and loyal supporters of my work.

Also, to all the unknown authors who still struggle with their own words, don’t give up. Every voice has an ear, no matter the genre. Enjoy the worlds you create, for they are the extension of who you are.

G. W. S.

Chapter I

Prologue

PROPHECY FULFILLED—

The conspiracy theories are hidden agendas.

Maggie Weiss, a vibrant, free-thinking, grown-up ‘child of the ‘60’s’, was an only child, born of German immigrant parents, and although inquisitive to the extreme, her heritage was never discussed.

After graduation she applies to the University of Munich and is accepted. She heads to Europe; her goal, to study international journalism, but is soon drawn to, and delves into, her family’s history. What she discovers sets her on a frightening and dangerous journey.

*

Many years come and go before Maggie decides to pen her life story. Soon realizing that the world now isn’t the one she grew up in, she wonders why so many have chosen to ignore the obvious.

When an unfortunate accident changes her life forever, her confining disability leads her down a path of secrets, lies and betrayal.

As she, along with her fellow journalist and companion, Jake Rigley, uncover a radical plan aimed at destroying the most powerful nation on earth, the growing evidence is quickly compiled. Their days become more treacherous; they’re plagued with anonymous phone calls threatening bodily harm and multiple attempts to eliminate them by various other means.

Yet, they ignore every warning; the irrefutable data they uncover proves, beyond any doubt, that the ‘so-called’ conspiracies are more than just ‘theories’, they’re indeed shocking fact.

Will anyone believe them?

Will they survive or will they be silenced?

Can the nightmarish outcome be prevented?

Or, even worse, will history repeat itself?

***

Chapter II

It Turned Green

December, 2004

Jake’s glasses slid to the tip of his nose as he scratched his salt and pepper beard and stared into his computer screen. A lollipop stick moved from side to side between his lips as he guided the cursor, line by line, through his latest editorial for the Atlantic Journal’s Politics Weekly section.

Reaching the last line and satisfied with what he had written, he electronically applied his signature to his latest column. Scrolling back to the top, he added the title, ‘Don’t believe what you’ve been told! Editorial by Jacob Rigley’ and forwarded his contribution to the newspaper’s proofing department.

His chair squeaked as he leaned back and pushed himself away from the desk; he pulled off his glasses and sighing as his manicured fingertips ran through his shoulder-length hair, he muttered to himself, This one should make their hair stand on end ... if I don’t get canned for it. The nepotism here, only to satisfy the ones in charge ... somebody needs to wake them up—by why must it be me?

He shut down his laptop, shook off his current mood, gathered up his notes and filed them in the desk drawer. "These should go in the circular file," he said, his dry sarcasm bouncing around the walls of his monitored cubicle.

Smiling to himself, he stood up, threw his grape lollipop in the trashcan and stretched his six-foot, four-inch frame.

The digital clock hanging on the partition wall blinked 6:38 p.m.; he sneered and said, Well, I’m out of here, and early for a change.

With his ID badge twirling around his index finger and his jacket slung over his shoulder, Jake strode down the hall, popped his head through the chief editor’s doorway and said, Hey, Chief, I’ve taken care of everything. My article for this week’s edition is finished and sent. Hope people are ready for it, I ‘jumped off the cliff’ with this one. I assume Maggie will perform her magic tomorrow, like she always does, he said with a wink, and added, I’m taking off; leaving in the morning for a long weekend in the Catskills. See you Tuesday!

Not giving his superior time to respond, he slapped at the door frame, turned and headed for the security desk.

Rigley, come back here! Randy Grayson shouted, slamming his fist on the desk, accompanied by profuse coughing. He jumped to his feet and headed for the doorway, shouting, I’m boss here, not you! And who said you could leave? Standing in the corridor, he pounded on the doorframe and wiped his mouth as he watched Jake hand over his ID badge.

Jake, in a mood ready for a confrontation, spun around and staring through Randy said, I don’t answer to you, I was retained by your superiors ... I take my direction from them. They want cutting-edge opinions, and that’s what I gave them. I’m tired of your crap, and if you are inclined to reject my editorial, then I’ll find someone else to print it. You don’t have the balls to do that, you’d suffer, not me!

Turning back to the desk, he signed out, and tapping the counter said, Goodnight, Joe, have a nice weekend.

You too, Mr. Rigley, the security guard replied with a wink and a smile.

Without another word Jake headed for the front entrance.

Randy had appeared the fool and turned back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. Threaten me—we’ll see who’s got the balls, he scowled as he sat down, opened his laptop and began to dig into his freelance journalist’s past. I’ll find something to bring you down with—I’ve listened to your arrogance for the last time!

Unfortunately for Randy, the information he was able to dig up on Jake was stellar; lists of awards and recognitions for his numerous works over the years. Frustrated and angry, he closed his computer and shoved it across the desk.

He picked up the telephone and called the proofing department.

Proofing, Rachel speaking, the cheerful voice said in response.

In a gruff tone, Randy said, Find Rigley’s latest piece and put a hold on it! If it makes this weekend’s paper it’ll be someone’s ass! Understood?

The young woman stumbled over her words but replied, Yes sir.

Randy slammed the phone down; the front doors were still swinging as Jake lit a cigarette and stepped of the curb. Waving his arm at oncoming traffic, he dodged between vehicles, ignoring the blaring horns amid shouts of abuse.

He bolted across Third Avenue grinning to himself, recalling the editor’s expression. Old man Grayson doesn’t know who he’s dealing with—he didn’t hire me and that old beer-belly can’t fire me on a whim either.

His thoughts continued as he flicked his unfinished cigarette into the gutter. Freelance writers don’t have bosses, no matter what that hard-nosed, old-school newspaper man says.

He walked through the parking lot to his classic, but decaying, 1958 MGA with one thought, Maggie, my dear, you taught me well!

He wrestled down the tattered convertible top and, wedging himself into the cramped driver’s seat, tossed his jacket into the seat next to him. The wood-grain dashboard gleamed; the old-world charm was still evident.

Pulling his keys from his pants pocket, he thumbed through them; passing one key, he smiled. No identification, only the scrawled number thirteen. Closing his eyes, he could see her face, hear her laughter and smell her enticing cologne. Shaking off the vision, he fired up the old roadster, and with its spoke-wheels glistening, he turned right onto Capstan Road and headed for home.

His thoughts returned to Maggie once again. I wonder what she’s doing right now...

The traffic at the intersection moved at a crawl and, finding an opening between a transit bus and a delivery van, he inched into traffic as he turned left onto Main Street.

With his eyes glued to traffic, he pulled his cell phone from its belt holder; using his thumb in a well-practiced maneuver, he speed-dialed Maggie’s number, activated the speakerphone and tossed it back into the passenger seat.

After a long pause, the ringing began. On the third ring, a raspy voice answered, Well, hello darlin’, what’s new? Her greeting always brought a flutter in his chest and a wide grin.

Just wanted to check in ... everything’s set for tomorrow; I’m leaving around noon and won’t be back until early next week. Take care, okay? he said.

Maggie laughed and replied, "When do I not take care of myself? You, of all people, should know me better than that—come on, at least give me some credit."

As her voice trailed off, he swallowed and said, I do, I just worry more than I should, I guess, that's all. Trying to quell the unspoken feelings welling up inside of him, he continued, I know the tensions at work, with you and Randy, I mean. You can stand up for yourself, but ... he couldn’t find the words to continue and heard her sigh.

Are you up to dinner? Jake asked, hoping she’d say yes.

Maggie smiled and said, I’m really exhausted, but if you want to get takeout?

He smiled, I’ll be there in thirty minutes or less ... the usual?

No, surprise me, she replied with a chuckle.

I gotcha! he said, and pressing the end-call button, shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator.

Ahead, at the intersection, Main Street turned to Flagler road; the stoplights, beyond the intersection at Route 129 switched from red to green in the encroaching darkness.

*

Maggie grinned at Jake’s familiar knock as she headed for the front door; Bubba, her gray-tabby housemate at her heels. Unlocking and opening the door, she said, You have keys, don’t you?

I do, but I have my hands full, Jake said, producing a large bag of Chinese from Uncle Chang’s in one hand and a bouquet of red roses in the other.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, she said as she felt her face flush. You’re funny, hormone-driven teenagers we are not!

Don’t have to be ... but it would be fun, Jake said unabashedly, half expecting a curt rebuttal. He leaned over and scratched Bubba’s head as the feline circled his legs.

Closing the front door, Maggie took the flowers and found an old vase as Jake spread out the food on the cluttered kitchen table.

I meant to ask you, have you heard from your old high school friend, I forget her name, Jake said as Maggie handed him disposable flatware and sat down across from him.

Ignoring Jake’s question for the moment, she opened several of the boxes and finally dug into the sesame chicken. You know how long it’s been since I’ve had Chinese? Way too long! After several bites, she said, Good call!

Now that you’ve had a taste, can you answer my question?

Yeah, you mean Vanessa Young. I talked to her last week. She agreed it’s been too long and we’re going to meet tomorrow for lunch at the Italian place on First Avenue and Main Street ... downtown.

Jake nodded, I know that place, Figorini’s.

Maggie continued, I hope you don’t mind, but I told her about us and gave her your cell, just in case she ever needed it.

Not a problem, Jake said, always good to have an extra contact.

Anyway, together we’ve been digging into the aftermath of the September 11th tragedy; she said she just found some very interesting data and wanted to go over it with me, she said, taking time out to eat more of her meal. I have a bunch of stuff I want you to look at also, not necessarily referencing the horrific events of that day, but another avenue I’m researching. You know me and my penchant for the ‘theories’, but I believe I’ve stumbled onto something unbelievable, no, inconceivable...but don’t worry about it now; we can go over everything when you get back from your trip.

After enjoying their takeout, Maggie closed up the leftovers and looked at the clock. I hate to cut this short, but it is late and we’ve both got early days tomorrow. A rain-check on the ‘fun’ and we’ll pick up where we left off when you come back? she asked, knowing the answer.

Jake said, in a depressed tone, I guess, then smiled.

Maggie didn’t know what to say.

I’m only kidding ... that food did me in! he said.

Bubba must not realize what we have here, he didn’t beg for any of it, she said, taking notice of her buddy sleeping in his bed. Too late for him I guess.

Maggie and Jake stood up together, and looking into each other’s eyes, moved into an embrace. Jake lifted Maggie’s chin and pulled her closer. When I get back, was all he said, but wanting to confess more.

She replied, Yes ...

Their lips pressed together in a kiss that felt like a final goodbye.

Jake turned and headed for the front door.

Maggie caught her breath and said, Have a good trip.

He turned, smiled, blew her a kiss and, opening the door, left without another word.

I should have told him I loved him ... she thought as she locked the door and watched him pull away. Backing away from the front window, she said, I need a drink or I won’t sleep.

*

Buzzzzz ... BuzzZZZ ... BUZZZZZ ...

Okay, OKAY, enough already! she yelled, hitting the persistent alarm off the night stand, sending it crashing to the dust-laden floor.

Struggling to sit up in bed she looked through the unadorned bedroom window into the half-bright sky and quickly realized she’d overslept.

Damn alarm, DAMN IT!! You only work when you want to, now I’m LATE!!!

She threw back the covers and her feet hit the floor; she couldn’t resist kicking the humming timepiece, sending it spinning across the floor.

The empty shot glass on the nightstand brought a chuckle. Two shots of my Crown Royal worked wonders, but ... her thoughts soon faded as she rubbed her tired eyes and looked back at her companion. Bubba, what’s up with you? Not hungry this morning? You’re usually in my face before the sun comes up, she said, shaking her head at the gray tabby kneading the rumpled blankets behind her.

As he rubbed his head against her back, Maggie felt his contented purring and said, I guess I can forgive you, but you need to be more like my old dog, Lady ...

Thoughts of her first pet surfaced and brought a half-smile, remembering how they’d grown up together. There was never the need for any alarm, wet doggy-kisses and loving ear-nips were the morning routine.

She shook off her memories and focused on the clock a few feet away. Mumbling as she stood up, she stretched and walked away from the bed. She picked it up and staring at the blinking LED display, said, Well, I’m sure I’ll get fired for this, I should’ve been at work thirty minutes ago ... it’s just my luck and right before Christmas, too.

The clothes she’d thrown on the floor the night before would be good enough; she grabbed them up, wiggled into the ragged jeans, pulled on the Ozzfest t-shirt and slipped into her comfortable clogs. They’ll take me this way or not at all, she said, running her fingers through her dark, tangled hair, tugging at the unruly strands as they defied her efforts.

As she walked past the cluttered dresser, she grabbed her gold hoop earrings and rushed to the bathroom.

She glared into the bathroom mirror and fumbled with her piercings.

Splashing cold water on her face, and faking a smile, she inspected her reflection. Good, only mouthwash—no time for paste anyway!

She gargled, spit, rinsed and dried her face. If I don’t get canned for this my ass is LUCKY, she said to the disheveled likeness.

It was Friday—payday! Maggie was the ultimate procrastinator, and with only eight days left until Christmas, she hadn’t even thought about gift shopping. It didn’t matter, as she had no family, and those she considered ‘friends’ were a select few. She’d take care of that later she always thought, but work