Untouchable No More

By Biff Darkly

"Untouchable No More" unveils a gripping tale of power, conspiracy, and the fight for truth in America's media landscape. For years, a group of socialist publishers dominated the nation's politics, controlling information through their media empires. But everything changes when billionaire Dr. Victor Magnason, with a limited time left to live, dreams of creating a conservative news network to combat corruption and radicalization.

Victor's revolutionary plans threaten the existing publishers, prompting them to use their political influence to crush his ambitions. As the battle unfolds, the covert paramilitary unit, the Special Activities Division, led by Director Derrick Mitchum, realizes the incoming administration's sinister intentions. Derrick and his team go rogue to expose the truth, even if it means resorting to violence.

In a race against time, Victor and Derrick's visions collide, and the fate of the country hangs in the balance. "Untouchable No More" is a thrilling narrative that highlights the struggle for a free and open internet and the relentless pursuit of justice, where both men are willing to do whatever it takes to safeguard the nation's future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Biff Darkly
• Release date: Aug 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223388807

Biff Darkly

Meet Biff Darkly, an author with a unique background that sets him apart from other writers. While many authors pursue degrees in literature or writing, Biff started his career in the business world, working in the personal computer industry. He rose through the ranks to become an executive for a leading software company in the Pacific Northwest, where he retired after many years of success. Now residing in a North Georgia mountain community, Biff has been able to pursue his lifelong passion for writing thanks to his years of hard work and a bit of luck. Despite not having a typical writer's background, Biff brings a fresh perspective to his work that readers find engaging and thought-provoking. Get to know this extraordinary author and discover his captivating stories.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

JANUARY 1, 2035

There is something indecent about putting into words, let alone defending, the brutal savagery of that one summer day, a day when a handful of glitterati lost their grasp over the truth, the day the publishers’ power disappeared. over the people, over America.

History had provided glimpses of what lay ahead if those elitists had triumphed; the reprobate in the White House was just a slight taste of what would become a permanent resident if they achieved their aims.  Hitler, Stalin, and Mao had all come to power by almost identical means, maintaining a tight grip over the people by brandishing control over the truth.  Those oppressors were not some improbable illustrations of what might one day be ensconced at the head of the country.  Marx once said, The goal of socialism is communism.  Academians understood this to be the truth, as did the publishers, yet they both persisted in pushing, prodding the country on a course that would one day transform America.

The question remains: were the perpetrators of the brutal measures taken on that day justified?  Even twenty years later, the pundits were frightened to say. Still, the fact remains—the country had dodged a bullet, and instead, America was now recovering from the wrecking ball the old news establishment helped promulgate.  Through the actions of a few unknowns, America escaped a fate that would otherwise have most assuredly taken place.  Only through the likes of a growing number of orthodox news concerns, like Magnussen Enterprise News, had America remained that one shining beacon up on the hill. for all the world to see.

The outcome of that one decisive day will remain a lasting part of American history.  The day when a handful of publishers lost their hold over the news trade and, in turn, their sway over the American people.  Future generations can judge for themselves whether or not the violent acts of one equated to the heinous deeds of the other.  The citizenry would also know that the nation had come very close to the edge, and be cognizant of the reason conservatism was now a pervasive part of news across the land; and of the demise of a small group of men, liars by any other name, who lost their stranglehold over America.

CHAPTER 1

DAY OF RECKONING

NEW YORK CITY- 6:36 P.M.

Americans nationwide went through their customary evening ritual of catching up on the day’s events by tuning into one of the four major networks.

Good evening. This is World News Network, and I am Deena Crawford.

Ms. Deena Crawford, the debutante, and anchor sat in her elevated chair behind the studio bureau wearing a Vuitton two-piece suit, Shelli's diamond earrings, and a pearl necklace.  Behind the irresistible, blue-eyed brunette was the company's emblem, a golden image of the world etched into the white-plate glass, lighted from behind to showboat the letters of the logo of World News Network.

Ms. Crawford was the face of the network, one of the industry’s best, brightest, and most convincing media darlings.  Each night tens of millions of viewers hung on her every word, never questioning her motives, every time in lockstep with her take on the day’s events.  Ms. Crawford was at the top of her game; just one thing had eluded her in her illustrious career: the Pulitzer Prize, the most coveted of awards in journalism.  It appeared Ms. Crawford was going to, at long last, win it, not for her charity work, not for her philanthropy, but for acting as a professional news anchor, one who used the influence of her program to bring down a sitting Republican senator in the most recent election.

The teleprompter fed the anchor her lines, messaging that had gone through an approval process that extended to the proprietor of World News Network, Chairperson and CEO Elliott Abrams.  The same scene was being played out before tens of millions of Americans on separate networks where subtle, clever packaging of words and the use of pictures and videos always conveyed the subliminal messaging the owners wanted to be imparted upon their audiences: a message that promoted their skewed views of reality, a message that moved the political agenda of a handful of men forward. This plan led the country down a path different from that envisioned by the Founding Fathers.  Their viewing public would be treated to an around-the-clock barrage of that propaganda.  There was no countervailing voice to stop them.

Ms. Crawford had one of the largest viewing audiences on cable news, and her broadcast would make the biggest achievable splash for her boss daily during the 6:30 P.M. time slot.  The anchor started her program with television footage of that afternoon’s press conference with Democrat President Nathan Martinez.  Anyone tuning into any major news channel would be treated to the same main story running simultaneously, all focused on the same single event.  The only difference between what a viewer would see on one TV channel versus the others would be the angles at which the footage was shot.

President Martinez’s Rose Garden announcement appeared in one portion of every television set, the live feed of the anchor in the other.  The President was standing behind a raised podium emblazoned with a larger-than-normal version of the presidential seal visible for all to see.  Martinez was flanked on his right by Democrat Senate Majority Leader Jim Rooney and Chief of Staff Nelson Frank.  On Martinez’s left by Democrat House Speaker Patricia Bocchino and Secretary of Health and Human Services Nancy Stoddard.  Behind the President stood a dozen or more men and women dressed up as doctors, some wearing scrubs as if they just came out of an operating room, others in their white lab coats.

The female anchor kept on in an approving tone.  This afternoon, President Nathan Martinez made an unscheduled appearance in the Rose Garden before a group of concerned American families to. to condemn recent efforts by Republicans, excuse me.  The anchor covered her mouth a moment and coughed, then continued, To defund the President’s signature.

The anchor hesitated one more moment, taking a sip of water, then continued to try to get through her lines.

Attempts by Republicans to defund (more coughing). the President’s signature healthcare plan.

The right-hand pane with the news anchor now became a small inset in the upper right portion of everyone’s TV; audio from the news set was replaced by Martinez, whose image filled most of the screen as he launched into his monologue.  The hubbub of cameras could be made out snapping away as Martinez pontificated, adding to the theatrics of the choreographed occasion.

President Martinez could be heard saying in his deep, eloquent voice, Most here understand what I’m trying to do for America, and those that don’t are simply not working on the people’s behalf.  It was the usual coverage the brass pushed each night to help Martinez move his programs forward.  The press would conveniently fail to notice that the President’s policies caused the now downward spiraling economy, rising unemployment, and growing inflation.  Those issues were unimportant or minor compared to the bigger picture.

As the President kept reading from the two teleprompters, the camera crews panned from Martinez to the audience, focusing on those with downcast, despondent, peering faces.  Mothers with children were singled out, as were women who could be seen with tears of joy in their eyes.  The TV audience was now scarcely paying any attention to the President; instead, the viewing public’s eyes were drawn increasingly upon the tragedy that had begun to play itself out in the inset. the news set.

Deena Crawford no longer appeared like herself; the calm, unruffled, and collected facade had disappeared. she, instead, gazed out at the cameras in abject fear, a horrific expression etched on her features.  The news anchor was half standing, half leaning forward on her hands, and appeared to be shouting in the direction of the cameras between fits of gagging coughs.  No sound of what Crawford yelled could be heard, just Martinez droning on in the background.  Inexplicably, the producer in charge of the studio had not gone to commercial, and instead, millions watched as the final seconds of Crawford’s life played out before their horrified eyes. 

Just as suddenly, the shocking scene disappeared. replaced by static!  Those just tuning in would think the static a temporary service problem; they would be wrong.  The major news networks had gone dark...

All of them.

CHAPTER 2

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

SOUTHAMPTON, NEW YORK - The red, limited-edition Bugatti came screeching up to the clubhouse entrance.  It was the world's most expensive supercar, one of only fifteen Sang Noir editions, and at over a million dollars a copy.  This was just one of three exotics the driver garaged at his Southampton estate.  There was also a brand-new silver Bentley and a diminutive Prius hidden under a tarp out of view.  The tadpole-appearing hybrid was given to the patriarch by the Board to be driven on special occasions when Elliott needed to show his support for the Global Warming Movement openly. His news conglomerate helped spawn and keep alive in the minds of millions.  A black Mercedes Benz carrying two of the man's bodyguards came screeching up a few moments later after difficulty keeping up with the madman behind the wheel.

The once green, rolling fairways of this, one of the most expensive and exclusive private clubs in America, were now a dark shade of brown standing out in drab contrast to the white sandy dunes.  Resting on the Great Peconic Bay from the second-story window of the clubhouse, one could easily see the Atlantic Ocean to the east.  It was a serene, peaceful place year-round, opposite the hectic urban life of Manhattan less than a hundred miles to the south.

A short, clumsy little man made every effort to push his stubby arms through the sleeves of the Jon Green tailored winter jacket while maintaining the clasp of his cell phone, switching the device from his left to right ear.  By now, one of the burly bodyguards had stepped out of the idling black sedan and had briskly tromped over and opened the driver's door like a butler.

The chubby driver stepped ungraciously out of the low, slung cockpit, helped by the guard who received no acknowledgment for his efforts.  The driver glanced at the parking attendant only to ensure his toss of the keys would be caught and then switched his cell phone from one ear to the other.

Most Americans had never heard of Elliott P. Abrams, Publisher of World News Network, much less recognized that he was one of the most influential people in American politics.  His eyebrows were jet black and accentuated his piercing grey eyes.  His face bent downward; his shoulders bowed, his breathing heavy as clouds of manmade fog emanated from his relatively wide mouth below the family's characteristic beak-like nose.

Concentrating on the conversation, the parking attendant's question fell unheeded upon his ears.  The young man knew not to push his luck and ask a second time, as it would only provoke a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

The publisher turned to leave only to turn back when he remembered to threaten the car attendant.

Pay attention, boy. There better not be any more miles on that later.

The young car attendant appeared slightly mortified.  Oh, of course not, Mr. Abrams and it will be just as you....

The elderly brute cut him off, And if I see one blemish on the paint, I’ll have you thrown in jail!

Elliott Abrams was an alpha-male elitist who needed to possess rare, exotic toys to make up for his diminutive size and typical appearance.  Elliott was a Democrat, his employees were Democrats, and if he had his way, everyone in America would be a Democrat.

The news baron now made his way along the paved sidewalk running around the north side of the club, followed by the bodyguard, passing both the eighteenth green and the heated Olympic-size pool.  The lawn bordering either side of the pathway was now covered in a thin layer of ice broken in places by the footsteps of the club staff taking a shortcut from the employee parking lot a half-mile away.

How much do I owe them? Elliott Abrams paused on the sidewalk a moment.  When do they have to have it?  The publisher remained quiet as he listened to his attorney’s position before shouting, They said that?  You tell them they’ll see their money in a month!

Elliott Abrams hated being told what to do.  Nobody told him what to do, but the union bosses had him over a barrel. There was no choice.  Yes, okay, fine, just get it to them.

The publisher paid attention for one more moment.

I don’t give a damn what the Board says. Just make the arrangements.

This publisher was not only the most arrogant ass to sit at the head of the company; he was also the most indebted, thanks to a hedonistic lifestyle that even the Queen of England would have envied.

Elliott was the fifth member to carry the title ‘Publisher’ at World News Network. This legacy began at the turn of the twentieth century. Like past generations, he readily availed himself of the clout his news conglomerate carried to empower and hold sway over one of two political parties.  Elliott was part of a small group of elitists who wanted nothing less than to see that party permanently dominate the nation.  This was not simply an idle thought; their objective was close to becoming a reality.

To the publisher’s way of imagining, he was the closest thing to royalty one could be in the country and had reached the zenith of power for a private citizen.  That was one of the reasons America needed to be changed, and from Elliott's vantage point, his family's efforts for the past century were close to being realized.  It had taken him nearly forty years of playing hardball with the facts and this game of his, but he had almost won.

He checked his watch—time for that drink.

Elliott Abrams attended the Columbia University School of Journalism, founded by his family in 1920. Despite growing his hair long and becoming a leader of the New Revolutionaries, an underground anarchist group advocating for the violent overthrow of the government, he managed to graduate. Despite rarely attending classes from the junior year onwards, he graduated with honors thanks to his family's influence. In 1969, he started working at his family’s newspaper.

World News Network was a news conglomerate whose reach had far outgrown its original newspaper from the early twentieth century. It now included several dozen regional tabloids, over fifty local television stations, three cable news channels, and controlling interests in two cable news networks. Elliott's empire commanded just over thirty-five percent of the market. It was the world's largest news organization, making Elliott Abrams one of the most powerful men in politics and the most feared.

Elliott's news organization sat at the top of an industry dominated by one ideology.  His position as proprietor was unique: through his news operations, the publisher set the itinerary for the industry.  The news baron now had his eyes set on taking their political party off the hook for voting in favor of the Iraq war.  Elliott was cognizant that the effort would, sooner or later, result in the Republican Party bearing full responsibility for the outcome. Once accomplished would set his news company to create one more Vietnam in the minds of most Americans.  The publisher’s plan would hand the Democrats the White House in the next presidential election; it was simple and effective and would succeed only due to his manipulation of what tens of millions of Americans thought and believed.

The editors relied on proof from a political hack and former US diplomat who would do and say almost anything for the right price.  The diplomat's claim opposed the findings from American and British intelligence services, thousands of trained professionals, many of whom risked their lives to uncover Saddam's secrets.  World News Network coverage would be followed by his competitors, who would all report the same falsehoods.  The Diplomat, supported by the press, would carry on the charade until her testimony fell apart under oath before a congressional committee.  The party's leaders would ensure the event's timing would occur following the election when the woman had served her purpose. 

The American news industry would forget the whole affair within weeks, if not days.  This was just one illustration of a myriad of propaganda campaigns Elliott’s editors would have spinning at any given time.  It was a clear sample of the power this one man, this demigod, this autocrat wielded over the American people.

Elliott hesitated at the rear entrance, turning off and pocketing his cell phone while his bodyguard opened the door.  He entered the sunlit foyer, passing a No Cellphones Allowed sign as soft music played in the background.

The news mogul ran his business like he wanted to see the nation run.  In his world, propaganda was the enabler, and through it, he wielded power over the politicians in Washington and, through them, the masses.  Elliott’s foot soldiers would propagate what was necessary to effect his desired ends.  Everything revolved around him: He was all-powerful, no threat existed, and soon even national elections would not matter.

The news industry had almost succeeded.  Preying upon emotions and downplaying the role of critical thinking, they created an environment where the Democrat Party maintained a driver’s seat over an immense swath of the country through circumstances that would pit one American in opposition to another.  The power of the media was changing American society, and it was all primarily at the direction of one man, Elliott Abrams.

He looked up to see two women talking with one another. One was exceptionally beautiful, the other a silver-haired patron he had half-seen at several club events and quickly forgotten.

Attractive women were one of his significant temptations in life. From what he had heard, the beautiful blonde was a recent divorcee.  Elliott felt his heartbeat quicken, Good morning, ladies. He received a tepid response, so he glanced at his watch to give the impression that he had not been insulted and continued toward the bar.

The Publisher’s days consisted of drinking, micromanaging his news editors, and power lunches with politicians and lobbyists.  Possessing every material possession one could attain in his secular world, the news mogul spent the rest of his time golfing, traveling, and pursuing extramarital affairs with his executives’ wives and, occasionally, their daughters.  His hedonistic behavior exemplifies the eccentricities a person develops when they wield unchecked power for most of their lives.

He had left his current and fourth spouse, a thirty-something former model, at his Fifth Avenue penthouse, one of four homes.  The other homes included the mansion just down the road, the plantation estate in the British Virgin Islands, and the two-hundred-foot yacht he christened Lord of the Rings.  Elliott was pleased that his spouse had a reason to stay in Manhattan; he would love to replace number four with number five, but it didn’t quite fit into his current plans.  Divorce, he had discovered, cost a hell of a lot.

He sat at his favorite booth as the bartender brought over the drink for the morning, a Belvedere Vodka with orange juice.  The publisher’s morning ritual consisted of reading his newspaper with a drink, followed by the occasional draw from a cigarette.

Elliott smiled when reading one of the headlines,

Poll discovers Americans believe democrats.

He began reading what his editors had approved for print in that day’s edition.

What little public outcry might arise from the right could easily be dismissed.  The Publisher did not give a damn what the Republicans said because he would ensure no one ever heard them.  They could yell, scream, and cry all they wanted; it would do them no good.

His conglomerate would purposely overlook the history of events, how the Democrats initially opposed the referendum for going to war, soon followed by demands to recast their votes.  Only after internal polling showed the leadership erred on their original position that the loudmouths: Senate Minority Leader James Rooney and House Minority Leader Patricia Bocchino, both demanded one more vote be cast.

The Republican majority had already passed the authorization; there was no need for an additional show of hands, but President McKinley made the mistake of accommodating the Democrats.  Today, the Democrats were on record as having voted in favor of the war, an act that no longer served their purposes.  The history of those events was long unremembered by the public, and Elliott, along with the Democrats, would now turn on President McKinley for his act of kindness and naivety.

Elliott's lead would be soon followed by the entire news industry, from cable news networks to the front page stories of his chief competitors, every news outlet in the nation, save one: the small but growing America Cable News Network.

Elliott called the bartender, John, turn the TV to something with the news.

Yes, sir. Your network, of course?

Elliott chuckled, If you want to keep bartending here. Bring me another one of these, holding up his half-empty glass.

A news anchor was discussing a recent interview with Democrat leadership. It was announced today there will be an investigation of the President; Democrats now believe he misled the American people on the intelligence surrounding WMDs.

If necessary, Americans nationwide would be treated to the same story throughout the day, the week, and the upcoming months.

The anchor continued, Earlier, I spoke with Democrat Senate Leader Jim Rooney.  A video of the interview began,  Senator Rooney, you have now publicly stated that you believe President McKinley lied about the evidence for going to war. This is a provocative declaration, and what do you have to say to the American people?

Elliott smiled. There was no way this charade could fail.

There was, after all, nothing to stop it.

CHAPTER 3

THE CAPITALIST

ZURICH, SWITZERLAND - The fifty-five-year-old billionaire sat in the power bucket seat gazing out on the European Alps passing below.  The CEO took no notice, instead staring off in stony silence at the growing darkness on the eastern horizon, detached from his surroundings and deep in thought.

Living carried a heavy burden, a weight that every living person bore with them throughout their lives.  Most would only acknowledge that primal fear late in their life.  That millstone that grew heavier with age was the practical understanding that one's time in this world was not infinite and that people aren’t immortal.  That final day would arrive thirty years too soon for Dr. Victor Magnussen.

Victor kept peering off into the growing darkness, struggling to face his mortality. 

In three decades, Victor succeeded in creating one of the world's most influential venture capital companies,  Magnussen Enterprise, Inc (M.E.I.).  The executive was a clear case of what someone with talent, remarkable ideas, ambition, hard work, and a ruthless nature could accomplish in the one remaining bastion of capitalism, America.

The executive was gifted with extraordinary recall and highly developed deductive faculties, both of which lent themselves to seeing opportunity long before the competition.  Victor was a maverick, a risk taker, and one who came out on top, way out on top.

Einstein once said, The secret to genius is knowing how to hide your sources.  This held for Victor.  There was no such thing as faultless originality; instead, the executive connected the dots, the disparate ideas of others, and created a more complex, more prosperous result.  If someone got in his way, he would usually run them over.

Many of the companies M.E.I. had taken public would become Fortune 500 companies.  Most had started as someone else’s property, but he put his company into motion once Victor recognized that their idea worked.  Appealing to a person’s greed usually got Magnussen in the door.  If that maneuver did not work, another avenue would be taken, generally involving tactics that bordered on the illegal.  Once in, the executive would either pry the business from their hands or find out just enough to create something better.  Usually, the target business never saw what hit them before it was too late.

Damn it!  Magnussen muttered aloud, then thought quietly, I had such grandiose plans, and they now count for shit!

The seven-hour flight from Zürich to New York would allow him to reflect on his limited time ahead and the legacy he wanted to leave behind, something more significant than a venture capital establishment with his name attached. 

The concluding diagnosis from the Swiss doctors had only confirmed the earlier predictions by American neurologists; Creutzfeldt–Jakob was